The Damage (David Blake 2) (27 page)

I didn’t wait for the lift. I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the third floor, then headed for flat thirty two. I was only a little out of breath, but my heart was racing like I’d just run a marathon. All I could see right now was Danny wired up to his ventilator with tubes coming out of him. I was trying so hard to banish that sight from my mind because, if I didn’t, I knew I’d start remembering all over again how it was my fault he was there. I just couldn’t deal with that right now, which is why I was standing on the landing of a strange apartment block, pressing the doorbell for a second time.

‘Just a minute,’ came an impatient voice from the other side of the door, and there was the light sound of padding feet on the floor behind it then the door opened.

She was standing there with a white bathrobe tied loosely around her, pressing a towel up against the side of her head, dabbing at her sopping wet hair. She must have just stepped from the shower. It made her look pure and clean somehow. She barely seemed to take me in at first, but then Simone sighed and said, ‘At least I don’t have to ask how you knew my address,’ and for a moment I thought I was in for one of her lectures. Then she looked at me more closely and frowned, asking, ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

Whatever she saw in my face was enough for her to admit me. She stepped back and held open the door while I walked in.

She followed me through a tiny hallway and I walked on into the lounge of a neat little flat. I turned back to face her and saw the concern in her eyes. ‘Sit down,’ she said and I chose the only armchair. She leaned against the arm of her sofa and, as she did so, the bathrobe slipped a little, revealing the flesh of a long bare leg up to her thigh. She quickly pulled the robe tighter, which only drew more attention to the fact that she was naked beneath it.

‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ she asked.

Somehow I dug deep inside me and found the words to explain that my only brother had been shot, three times, and it didn’t look good for him. He wasn’t expected to survive and, even if he did…But I couldn’t finish that bit. Partly because I did not know what kind of life Danny would have if he didn’t die in that hospital tonight – but mainly because I didn’t want to even contemplate it.

Simone listened patiently, hearing me out, and unless she was the greatest actress on the planet she seemed genuinely shocked and concerned for me. When I finished she said, ‘Oh my God, that’s awful,’ and, because she probably didn’t know what else to say or do, she added, ‘let me get you a drink.’

She walked out of the lounge and I followed her as she went back out into the hall, then into the kitchen. It was another small room with a fridge at the far end. She opened the door and took out a bottle of Absolut, then turned around so she was facing me. She hadn’t heard me follow her in there and my presence seemed to make her start. Maybe she felt trapped with me framing the door like that, or vulnerable, wearing nothing but that soft, white robe. She turned away and opened a cupboard, then took out two glass tumblers for the vodka.

I felt a bit claustrophobic in this tiny kitchen. Somewhere there would be one, or maybe two, bedrooms and a bathroom that was probably the size of our shower in Hua Hin. I’d noticed there were a couple of prints on the wall, modern art, nothing memorable, but no family photos or holiday snaps in frames. She reached for the vodka and I heard the metallic click as the lid of a brand new spirit bottle was forced open, followed by a thick, oily glugging sound as she poured a generous measure into the glass. Everything seemed heightened somehow; the noises in the kitchen, my senses. I was on edge.

I watched as she poured Absolut into the second glass. I wanted to pick her up, throw her down on the floor and take her right there until we’d both had enough of each other. Instead I walked slowly towards her, making sure she could hear my footsteps so I didn’t scare her again. When I drew near she turned her head back towards me and there was uncertainty in her eyes. She avoided my gaze by turning back to the drinks. She screwed the lid of the vodka back on the bottle and said, ‘I don’t know what I’ve got to mix it with,’ her voice wavering like she was nervous.

When she turned around again I was standing right in front of her. I put my hand out towards her, and she let out a little gasp, but I was only picking up one of the glasses from the work-top. She watched me drink, then turned her back on me again and picked up her own glass.

I reached my hand out again and this time I took hold of her wet hair and held it gently in my hand. Her body stiffened but she didn’t say anything and I reached higher, placing my free hand under the hair I was holding so it rested on the back of her neck and I felt the cool, damp, olive coloured skin there and began to knead it gently. She pulled her head up at my touch and I began to slowly massage the skin at the side and base of her neck. I could hear her breath being drawn in deeper each time and she let her head flop to one side and rolled it with the movement of my hand.

I let go of her hair then and reached around her; I took the lapels of the robe in each hand and slowly began to open it until the soft material slid from her shoulders. She pressed her body against the work-top to keep the robe from coming off entirely and I began to massage her bare shoulders with both hands. She was breathing deeply now and I was alternating between her shoulders, back and neck, then bent forward to kiss the skin on the back of her neck.

She crossed her arms so the robe slipped no further and said, ‘you shouldn’t,’ but her voice was low and she didn’t move away from me. I continued to rub the skin on her back, then bent low to kiss her again. I took the collar of her robe in both hands and opened it wider, exposing her breasts. I put one arm over her shoulder and reached for her, rubbing her back with one hand and gently touching her breast with the other. As I did this, she pressed herself back against me and we stayed like this for a while.

If she still thought we shouldn’t be doing this she was through saying it. I put my arm around her then, took hold of the belt and slowly pulled it until it came loose and the robe opened at the front. She bent her head back towards me. I kissed her on the mouth and she kissed me back, deeply, urgently.

She broke from the kiss and turned to face me then, letting the robe slide free and it fell to the floor behind her. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and we kissed again. I had one hand pressed against the small of her back and I moved the other one slowly down her body until it was pressed against the smooth flesh high up on the back of her thigh. I let it trail up and down the top of her leg, softly stroking the skin with the palm of my hand. While we kissed, my hand got slowly higher each time before I let it fall again. Then I moved it round to her stomach and guided it gently down until finally, when I was sure she wanted me too, I slid it between her legs. She gasped and broke free from the kiss, closed her eyes and put her head back. I held her there, supporting her with my other hand. She wrapped her arms around me again and clung to me hard while I touched her. When she was finally through, she took my hand and led me to the bedroom.

.......................

‘I
’d forgotten it could be like that,’ she told me.

‘So had I,’ and it was true. We were lying on the bed together; her robe and my clothes discarded on the floor somewhere. We were holding each other, still in the moment. I kissed her and she kissed me back, then she bit my top lip and laughed at the surprised look on my face. She looked very young then, shorn of the world-weary cynicism she always wore in public.

‘Do you want another drink?’ Simone asked, and I shook my head. She kissed me again and said, ‘I’ll be right back,’ like she wanted to add, ‘don’t go anywhere,’ then she got out of bed and went to the bathroom. When she was gone I realised I hadn’t even thought about the rights, the wrongs or the wisdom of what I was doing. Climbing into bed with Simone like this was bound to complicate my life even further but it seemed insignificant compared to everything else that was going on around me.

Simone walked back into the room and lay down next to me. She was still naked and I was glad she hadn’t tried to cover herself. There was just one thing. Now I’d finally had her, I wanted to leave. It wasn’t her fault. It was the way I usually felt about women in fact, except for the early days with Laura, and with Sarah on the rare occasions when we did have sex these days. I was always like that when I was a younger man, back when I was single and every girl I saw was a possibility. I’d meet one, become intrigued by her and wonder what she looked like naked. I’d spend time wondering how she’d be in bed, trying to guess what her face was like when she came, or the noises she made in private, then when we’d finally end up in bed together, once the mystery was gone, I was never too bothered about a repeat performance.

Simone turned over and propped herself up on her elbow. She smiled at me, then asked, ‘what are you thinking about?’

‘I was thinking how amazing that was,’ I told her and her smile broadened. I got the impression Simone had put sex, male approval and self-esteem together in the same basket a long time ago and now they were inextricably bound, ‘and what a pity it is that I’ve got to go soon.’ Her smile disappeared then, ‘my brother,’ I explained, and her face softened. She nodded like she understood he was my biggest priority right now and I realised I had sunk just that little bit lower, because I was using my brother’s wrecked life as an excuse so I didn’t have to spend all night in a girl’s bed.

I didn’t want to go back to the town house so I moved into the small apartment block we kept off Westgate Road. There were eight flats above an underground car park but no one lived there. We used them for clandestine meetings or to house visitors. Occasionally I stayed there when I was tired of hotels. The most important thing going for the site was security. There were toughened glass doors out front and a gated underground car park with an entry code that prevented anyone else getting in. I figured I was as safe here as anywhere.

I asked Palmer to show up early, but I made sure Kinane was there at the same time. I didn’t want to be left on my own with either of them. Not until we had discovered the source of our leak. When Kinane went to the door to let Sharp in, I turned to Palmer, ‘what did you find out from those tracking devices of yours?’

He looked sheepish, ‘Nothing he said. I got Robbie to pore over everyone’s movements and there’s nothing that looks out of character.’

‘Fat lot of use they turned out to be then.’

‘Give them time,’ he told me.

‘That’s the one thing we haven’t got.’

Sharp walked in carrying a case and we watched silently as he set up a laptop and took a memory stick from his pocket. It seemed to take an eternity to fire up and we waited impatiently. Eventually he tapped the keyboard and an image popped up.

‘Don’t ask me how I got this,’ Sharp said, but I didn’t care how he got it. I just wanted to see the footage. ‘I have to return it in an hour. There wasn’t time to even copy it,’ he looked stressed, ‘an hour, tops.’

‘Better get on with it then,’ I said and he hit ‘play’.

‘What you can see is from the overhead camera in the bar,’ he began, as the black and white, grainy image gave us a view of the whole pub. We could see the bar down the left-hand side of the screen, a girl and a guy in their twenties were serving behind it. The tables in front of it were largely unoccupied. It looked like there were four other people in the bar; a couple in their early twenties, holding hands over the table, and the teenaged girl, the only one who had actually seen the hit man’s face, even though he apparently wore dark sunglasses and a baseball cap. She was dressed in an old, green Parka coat, and was reading one of her English set texts at the table, probably making her coffee last as long as it could so she didn’t have to pay for another one.

Tucked away in a corner by the window, was Danny, looking a whole lot healthier than he had done the last time I saw him. Even from a distance he looked pretty chilled, and why wouldn’t he be? He was expecting to see the bar owner to collect a little protection money just like he had done every month for more than a year. It was a routine job. I held my breath because, unlike Danny, I knew what was coming next.

It happened fast. One minute the hit man wasn’t even in the room, next thing he walked briskly through the door, the baseball cap, dark glasses and long coat making it impossible to get a clear look at him. He marched straight towards Danny. Our young’un seemed to have an instinct that the guy was all wrong because he immediately climbed out of his chair and headed straight for the open French windows at the back of the bar. Unlike me, he didn’t have enough time, because the guy sent to kill him quickly drew his gun and fired. The first shot missed Danny as he went into a stooping run. Instead it hit the large window behind him and shattered it. Somehow it stayed in place, but the impact of the bullet sent a spider’s web of cracks spiralling across its surface. Danny kept moving, desperately trying to reach the French windows but he didn’t make it. The second bullet hit him in the arm, spinning him round; the next two hit him in the back. He collided with a table and fell over it, then went head first into the nearest window, which gave way under his weight and broke completely, sending shards of glass tumbling down on him as he lay face down on the floor. The upended table knocked over a second table and a couple of chairs which may have made the difference between Danny being critically injured and dead. The hit man seemed to hesitate for a second, as he surveyed the scene in front of him. You could tell he was wondering whether he wanted to risk wasting valuable seconds clambering over the upturned tables and chairs to direct more shots into Danny’s motionless body, or should he instead trust his instincts, the ones that said nobody could take three bullets and survive.