Arrayed on a glass coffee table before them were two magnums of sparkling Moscato, a silver hookah, and a rainbow assortment of phones and computer tablets.
"Having a party, are we?" Charlotte said.
The older man made a show of ignoring her. He gave his friend a sidelong grin. When he turned to face them, his eyes somehow missed Vin completely.
"You're supposed to be in rehab," he said.
"I busted out for a business opportunity. This guy here—"
Tony the Paki held up a well-manicured hand. "Don't be so crass. Ade' and I are almost finished."
He said something apologetic in French to the darker man, who nodded.
"Tony, I'm talking millions of pounds—"
Tony's head snapped towards her so fast she took a step backward. For several moments the only sound was the soft, hypnotic dub pulsing from hidden speakers.
The black man stood. "
Vous m'excuserez s'ilvous plait?
" He grabbed the un-opened Moscato by the neck and ambled from the room, pausing to give Charlotte and Vin an amused glance. His footsteps echoed down the hall. The front door opened and closed.
Tony sat motionless.
When he finally moved, it was an explosion. He leapt from the couch. His left hand jerked back and landed a hook on the side of Charlotte's chin, spinning her. She careened away and struck one of the mirrored panels with her temple. Glass cracked. A bloodied fold of skin tore from her forehead.
Vin could only watch, loathing both Tony and his own sense of helplessness.
Tony leveled a hairy finger. "You useless junkie-whore. Disrespecting me in front of a colleague. Shooting all my money into your veins. Parasite! I pay for you to get help, and what do you do? Escape. Bring me some fairy story about a million pounds, and this, this—" He looked at Vin as if for the first time. "—this cripple."
Charlotte pressed her palm up against the gash in her forehead. "You sent me away so you could fuck that underage Greek. You filthy Arabs are all alike."
Tony raised his fist again. Vin tensed, ready to throw himself forward and ... he wasn't sure what, exactly. Anything, except just sitting there.
"Touch me one more time," Charlotte said, "and I'll talk to my father. You remember him? The one that works for the tabloids?"
"I want you gone." Tony lowered his fist. "Now."
"Hear me out. This isn't some story I'm bringing you. Vin, tell him about your bracelet."
Vin cleared his throat. It felt strange, going from passive observer to someone with a stake in what was happening. He described the ruby bracelet. Instead of calming down, Tony seemed to grow angrier. The skin along his artificial hairline turned red.
"You believed this man?" he said, interrupting Vin to question Charlotte. "Some crazy person you just met in a psychiatric hospital? No such bracelet exists, I assure you. Just one ruby that size would be worth a fortune. Something to keep in the Tower of London. Not on the wrist of a cripple."
"Dr. Dorian from the British Museum believed me," Vin said. "So much so that he stole the bracelet."
Tony turned to him. "Who?"
"Doctor Nigel Dorian. Professor of antiquities."
The muscles along Tony's jaw slackened. "There is a man with that name who moves in certain ... circles. An art-smuggler, among other things."
"He's a rich man now, anyway," Vin said.
"This shit's too crazy to make up," Charlotte put in. "Look at his wrist. You can see the place where a large bracelet used to be."
Tony seized Vin's wrist and examined the band of wrinkled skin.
"Well?" Charlotte said.
"This might be worth investigating."
"I don't have to move out, then?" The flap of red skin hung down over her eyebrow.
"Not tonight."
"You're so fucking sentimental, Tony."
He shrugged narrow shoulders. "Come sun up, I'll have a few men trail this Dr. Dorian. If he works at the British Museum he should be easy to locate. We'll see what develops from there."
Charlotte put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "I need to talk to you for a second. Alone."
"Of course." The two walked out into the front hallway. Harsh whispers followed.
Keeping an eye on the hall, Vin snatched a cell phone off the table and stuffed it inside his gown.
* * *
They gave him a tiny guest room on the first floor. He had no way up the stairs. Charlotte played the gracious hostess, bringing Vin a cup of hot water with two Oxo beefy-cubes.
"We'll get you a proper breakfast and some real clothes later," she said. "Try to grab a couple hours sleep."
He stretched out on the single bed. But he didn't sleep.
Neither did Tony or Charlotte, apparently. He could hear their shouts through the ceiling. A while later they quieted and other noises came filtering down, suggesting their row had turned into something else. Vin wondered how Tony could get it up for the emaciated woman.
Time to make his move.
He crawled into the chair. One door over was an adjoining bathroom. He nudged out into the hallway, wishing he still had powered-assist. Gray dawn spilled through the living room windows. He locked the bathroom door behind him and turned on both taps. With the noise as cover, he fished the phone from his wheelchair's cracked leather pocket and called Marta Krol.
Each ring made his hand shake. If he couldn't contact her ...
"Who the hell's this?"
"Marta? It's me, Vin."
A breath. "Oh my God, where have you been? Muroc and I were ready to call the police. You were supposed to talk to Dr. Dorian about the bracelet."
"Dorian's a crook."
"But Muroc called him. Dorian said you never contacted. And where did you get this phone? Caller ID says you're a Lance Throckmorton. I almost didn't pick up."
"It's a long story. Listen, Muroc should've never sent me to this guy. Dorian stole my bracelet and set me up in a psychiatric hospital. I've escaped, but I'm staying with some criminals in Bayswater. I need your help."
"Bayswater? You're only a stone's-throw from your flat."
"I know, but I can't leave right now. Please, keep your phone handy and be ready to come get me when I call. I can't go into more detail than that."
"Of course, Vin, but—"
He ended the call.
* * *
At 10 a.m. a Syrian woman came in and cooked a huge breakfast of toast and sausage. Tony, Charlotte, and Vin, all bundled in plush terrycloth robes, sat off the kitchen and drank coffee from a French press.
"How was the rest of your night?" Tony asked. With the robe on, he seemed more like a distant uncle than the man who'd slugged his girlfriend hours before.
"I caught some sleep," Vin lied. "I've had more than enough time to rest, while I was in hospital." The truth was, his pain medications had worn off and his face felt like someone had been using it to strop a razor. He would've liked nothing more than two days of solid sleep. But that wasn't an option. Neither was asking Tony for any pain pills. He needed a clear head for what was coming.
Charlotte grabbed a slice of toast from the rasher and smeared it with marmalade. A large plaster covered the gouge in her forehead. "You never mentioned any family, Vin. You've got a place to stay?"
"Actually, I'm kind of between flats at the moment."
"You're staying with us." Tony patted his sleeve. The way he said it sounded warm and paternal, but also implied no other option. "At least for the time being. I want to get your property back as soon as possible. Once that's been done, we can discuss compensation for my efforts. I'm sure you understand this will involve extra-legal matters."
Charlotte beamed. "Vin knows all about that kind of thing."
"I'm, ah, grateful," Vin said. "Really. I appreciate Charlotte's help and you putting me up. But I want it understood, the bracelet is mine. Once it's back the decision to sell rests with me."
"Of course, of course."
"We just want to make sure you get a fair price," Charlotte said.
Tony speared a kipper sausage with his fork. "I had Dr. Dorian spotted this morning, going into work. We know where he's parked. The plan is to get a couple lads together and confront him, when he's ready to return home."
Vin remembered the rugby-player's scarred fists. "He might have some lads of his own."
"I don't doubt it. Villains like that usually do."
"I have a feeling he'll be wearing the bracelet. Probably concealed." Vin wasn't sure why he knew that. But something about the jewelry suggested it
had
to be worn.
"That will make things much simpler," Tony said.
* * *
Vin dozed through lunch and early afternoon. He'd propped himself in a corner of the leather couch. Tony gave him an old Armani shirt, track pants, and a single trainer to wear. The left sleeve on the shirt had been discretely closed with a safety pin.
Tony paced the living room, phone attached to his ear. Every now and then he'd shout commands in Arabic. Charlotte had disappeared. Vin pictured her raiding a medicine cabinet somewhere above.
He dozed again, despite the shouting. Around four o'clock Tony nudged him awake.
"I'm off to see the good doctor," he said. "He probably puts in a full day like a proper Brit, but I want to be early. Just in case. Amir and another associate will be accompanying."
Vin pushed himself up. "I'm coming, too."
"That won't be necessary."
"I insist."
Tony's lips tightened. "And what, exactly, would you do?"
"I want to ask Dorian a few questions."
Charlotte came dancing into the room, wearing a tiny leather jacket with tufts of ermine at the collar and cuffs. Black jeans hugged her stick-like legs. When she turned to face Tony her eyes were chips of blue porcelain, pupils all but gone. "Are we off?"
"You're stoned out of your mind," Tony said.
"Fit and ready." Charlotte raised her hands in a boxer's stance.
"Good Christ, what am I going to do with you two?"
"Take the van," Charlotte said.
"Take the van. So simple." Tony massaged his temples, his jaw. "You'll stay inside the vehicle the whole time, understand? Me and the boys do all the talking."
"Clear as crystal," Charlotte said.
Vin crawled into his chair, feeling for the cell phone's bulge inside the leather pocket. He wished he had a gun tucked away, too. Charlotte pushed him down the hall.
Near the front door, Tony opened a closet and pulled out a nylon shoulder rig. Suspended from the fabric was an old hatchet. Rust coated the head, and the grips had been worn down to smooth rubber. But a millimeter of brightness shone along the cutting edge. Tony slipped the rig on, tucking the axe-head beneath his armpit. He pulled a blazer over the whole ensemble.
"From the old days," he explained. "Not for shit in a gunfight, you understand. But aces when it comes to intimidation."
* * *
They rode in a catering van. Amir driving, Tony shotgun, with Vin and Charlotte huddled in the back, next to giant cans of tahini. Tony played dub with the volume cranked. He drummed his hands against the dashboard and cracked the occasional joke to Amir.
"He's nervous as hell," Charlotte whispered. "He always gets like this, on a job."
"He looks calm to me," Vin said.
"It's all an act."
They pulled up to a kebab house on Edgware Road. Amir got out. He emerged from the shop minutes later with a wiry dark man wearing a grease-spotted apron. The newcomer took one contemptuous look at Charlotte and Vin before squeezing over to sit next to Tony. He tossed the apron behind him, narrowly missing Charlotte's head. The van started moving again.
"Bloody Syrians," Charlotte said, her voice just low enough to slip under the music.
"Who's that?"
"Tariq. Tony's favorite gunman. When he isn't skewering hunks of lamb."
"Tony isn't taking any chances, is he?"
"Never does."
The van jostled its way towards Central London.
* * *
"That's it?" Tony said, peering out the front window at a black BMW. They were in a private car park off Marchmont, scant minutes from the British Museum.
"That's the one," Amir said.
Tony shook his head. "This place is too bloody perfect."
There were only four other cars in the lot. Sculpted hedges screened three-quarters of the surrounding streets, and the attendant booth was empty. Amir had disabled the lone security camera before they'd pulled in.
Vin still didn't like it. "What if someone else shows up for their car the same time Dorian does?"
"Then we'll have to try again," Tony said.
"This area's crawling with Met Police."
"There's nothing for it. A snatch-and-grab always entails some risk. We try and break into his flat, it'll be harder. Trust me."
Vin settled back to wait. Charlotte broke out a pack of Turkish cigarettes, and soon a haze of sweet-smelling smoke filled the cab.
At 5:17 a woman wearing a leather skirt roared off in her Peugeot.
"Pop the hood," Tony told Amir, "and pretend like you're working on the engine. We need someone already outside when he comes."
At 5:30 sharp Dr. Dorian stepped onto the lot. He wore an overcoat and gloves. The rugby-player with the blond crew cut dogged his shadow. At sight of him, Vin felt his skin prickle. He remembered being bound to a length of exposed pipe in the East End warehouse, those same ruddy fists working his ribs.
"Everybody down," Tony hissed. "Away from the goddamn windows. Tariq, on three we break and head him off before he reaches the beamer."
Tariq slid an automatic with a five-inch silencer out of his suit coat. He nodded.
"One. Two.
Three
."
Tony and Tariq bolted from the passenger's side door.
Charlotte pressed herself against the back window. Vin joined her. He saw Amir come stealing up on the rugby-player, seizing the crook of his elbow and pulling it behind his back in a lock. But Dorian had already turned around. He leveled what looked like a gun at the fast-approaching Tony, just as Tariq was sighting in with his automatic. Everyone froze.