Sam spooned another mouthful of lemon sorbet into her mouth and murmured appreciatively, ‘This is absolutely gorgeous, Liam.’
Liam’s eyes ran over Sam’s bare shoulders in the lilac strapless dress she’d chosen to wear. ‘Not regretting me twisting your arm about coming for dinner now?’
Sam laughed. ‘That reminds me! I haven’t discussed blinds or curtains yet. We must get on with that conversation so I can make sure I haven’t wasted the evening.’
Despite her earlier irritation, she was glad she’d agreed to come for dinner. It had taken her mind off how to broach letting down the design company she worked for. They had been really good to her the past couple of years and had opened up huge possibilities, as well as lots of doors. There was a big part of her that felt she was betraying them by branching out on her own, but it was all she’d ever wanted to do and so it would have to happen. Thanks to her father, it was happening sooner than expected.
As for Liam, he was great company when he wasn’t putting pressure on about the possibility of a relationship. To anyone else, Liam might seem like the perfect choice – they got on well together; he’d do anything for her; he was handsome and she was comfortable with him.
But that was the point… He was comfortable. There was no spark. And as much as she wanted there to be one, there just wasn’t. There was no frisson of electricity when he was near – not like there was with the Stoker man.
‘Fancy a club after this? What about the Dome?’ Liam suggested.
‘The Dome?’ Sam shrieked, glad for the diversion from her mind traitorously returning to thinking of Seb Stoker. ‘You’re seriously suggesting we go to the Dome?’ She’d frequented that nightclub on Horsefair regularly in the past, but now felt far too old compared to the rest in there. ‘I don’t know whether you’ve forgotten, but I’m thirty now, not twenty! We’d look like OAPs!’
‘You’d still look better than most people in there…’ Liam winked.
Sam inwardly hoped Liam wouldn’t start pushing again – not when she was having such a nice evening. ‘How come you’re not working tonight? You have a lot of evenings off.’
‘Now I’m the Tables Manager, I have the bonus of not needing to be there late nights like I used to be,’ Liam replied, hiding his disappointment that it looked unlikely he’d succeed in eking out an extended evening with Sam. She had to see sense and give in to him soon. He was counting on it. ‘Besides, they know where I am if anything drastic crops up.’
Finishing her sorbet, Sam placed the long-handled dessert spoon in the dish and pushed it to one side. Picking up her wine, it struck her that perhaps her father was behind Liam’s frequent evenings off in a bid to spend more time with her. That was probably also why Liam had received the last few promotions. Not that he wasn’t good at his job – he was, but she suspected his rapid rise up the ladder in the casino was part of her father’s plan.
Sam knew her father didn’t want her getting involved with anyone from the ‘other’ side of the firm, he’d never made any bones about that, but the casino side was a different matter. That side was completely legit and above board, so a decent man from that side of the business was something her father very much wanted for her. Someone like Liam.
Sam frowned. As much as she loved her dad, she would have to have words with him about that. He’d be busy at the Orchid tonight, so she’d call him in the morning for a chat.
‘Okay, if you class yourself as too derelict for the Dome, then how about Ronnie Scott’s?’
Sam raised her eyebrows. ‘But we’ve just eaten?’
‘We can still go for a drink,’ Liam pushed.
Sam smiled. The well-known jazz club on Broad Street was one of her favourites. It offered some great musicians and a fantastic atmosphere, so it was tempting. Plus, it was only around the corner from her apartment. ‘Well, maybe…’
‘Ah ha! I knew I’d talk you into it!’ Liam signalled the waiter for the bill. ‘I’ll just get this and then we’ll make a move.’
Sam was reaching for her handbag, when the waiter approached. ‘Sorry sir, but there’s an urgent phone call for you.’
‘For me?’ Liam frowned, then glanced at Sam. ‘Maybe I spoke too soon about having a stress-free evening.’ He stood up, seeing the waiter indicate to the phone on the reception desk the other side of the restaurant. ‘I won’t be a moment. It’s bound to be something and nothing.’
Pulling her compact mirror from her handbag, Sam checked her lipstick was intact and began shrugging her lightweight jacket on. If something had come up at the Orchid, maybe they should give Ronnie Scott’s a miss? The meeting she had planned with her director to break the news about her plans was booked first thing and it wasn’t the best idea in the world to attempt that after a late one. Her head had to be clear to ensure what she said came across the right way.
Closing her compact and placing it back into her handbag, Sam spotted Liam making his way back across the restaurant. Concern glimmered at his expression. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked tensely as he approached the table.
Liam raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes searching Sam’s. ‘Shit, Sam, I’m sorry. It’s your Dad. Len, he’s… he’s been in an accident.’
Tom’s legs shook involuntarily. They were shaking so much that he could barely keep his feet on the pedals enough to drive.
Repeatedly glancing in the rear-view mirror for police on his tail, he gulped in large breaths of air. Breathe, Tom, breathe! Stop panicking! he repeated, hoping by some miracle this mantra would stop him escalating into full-blown panic.
Be realistic, he told himself. There was no reason why the cops would be after him. He hadn’t done anything! That silly fucker in the other car had come out of nowhere, so it was his own bloody fault.
No one had seen him over at Reynold’s place. The street had been deserted. And it was only a prang. That other bloke had probably driven off by now.
Tom fumbled for another cigarette as he continued through Quinton. Why he’d decided to take the long way from Edgbaston was beyond him, although going the back way seemed a good idea, giving less chance of running into a cop car. But the longer he remained on the road, the more likely he was to be pulled too.
Tom turned the radio up in a bid to stay alert. He knew that he was well over the limit and the car reeked of vodka. Stupid, stupid!
He stared at the bottle on the passenger seat and considered chucking it out of the window just in case, then thought better of it. He’d be glad of that once he got back and Jock had dealt with getting rid of this motor.
Stabbing at the electric window, the fag smoke choking him out, Tom drove up the Hagley Road. Nearing the Aurora, his brain scrolled through the best way of offloading the hire car. He’d have to think up a decent excuse to the rental company. The tosser who had pranged that tree had better not have clipped this bloody thing. He’d only get stiffed for the rip-off insurance excess on this bloody heap of shit otherwise.
Should he pretend it had been nicked or what? Jock would think of something. He’d always been good with things like this.
Just get back, get back… Nearly there now…
Chucking his fag end out of the window, Tom pulled into the Aurora’s car park, backing the motor into a space in the shadows, right over in the far corner.
Grabbing his bottle of vodka, Tom turned the engine off and breathed a long sigh of relief. He didn’t much fancy the noise in the Aurora, but what choice did he have? He was just relieved Jock was on site to deal with this. He’d have been fucked if he’d had to locate him at this time of night.
Tom stumbled across the pot-holed car park, yanking the key to the front door from his pocket. He wouldn’t stoop to banging on the door like a punter, thank you!
Shoving his way through the stiff door, Tom frowned at the distinct lack of noise. Where was that monkey he paid to stand here and vet the customers? And furthermore, why was it so quiet?
Shaking his head, he walked down the hall. It was impossible they could have suddenly had a night with absolutely zero punters. That wasn’t likely, was it? They were doing all right and word was spreading about the benefits of the place.
Panic intensified. Had the police been here? Shit. Had they shut it down? Had those clowns been busy openly dealing again? He’d already had words to keep it under wraps, not in full fucking view of every passing motorist and the neighbours. Or were the police looking for him because of that crash?
Sweat pooled, his shirt sticky. ‘Jock?’ Tom yelled. ‘JOCK!’ He didn’t have time to fuck about, he needed that motor sorting and it needed to go pronto.
Barging into the gaming room, the one usually packed full with drunks and women, Tom stopped dead. The room was empty, short of the women huddled together in the dim light at the far end. Where was everyone?
‘What the fuck is going on?’ Tom roared. ‘Where’s that idiot on the door and where’s Jock?’ He stomped into the room. ‘Furthermore, where the bloody hell are all the punters?’
He glared at the collection of frightened faces. ‘You!’ he spat, marching across to a grubby-looking woman. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he yanked her head back. ‘Answer my question.’
If Jock had fucked off and left him in the lurch, he’d go tits. What if the cunt had run off with the takings? ‘I’ll ask again… Where is Jock?’ Tom twisted harder at the bunch of hair in his fist.
‘H-he’s upstairs,’ the woman yelped.
Releasing his grip, Tom scowled, then passed his glare along the other women before stomping up to the rooms used for paying customers. He’d sort that bunch downstairs out later, but for now he had to deal with the car. That took priority.
‘Jock?’ Tom stomped along the bare floorboards of the first-floor landing. Pushing open the first bedroom door he came to, it was empty, save an unmade bed.
He grimaced. The cheap whores. Had he not told them to sort the rooms out each time they finished so it was presentable for the next customer? He’d get nowhere at this rate.
Shaking his head in irritation, Tom moved to the next bedroom. Jock better not be off his head and passed out.
Shoving the door open, he immediately gagged at the sight. ‘Fuck!’ he cried, temporarily rendered motionless.
Tom’s eyes locked on the body of Jock crumpled on the floor, a wide gash across his throat, dark arterial blood pooling around him; his face locked in a panicked grimace and his wide-eyed sightless gaze fixed onto the mildew-coated ceiling.
Tom’s attention flicked around the room, clocking the blood splattered liberally over the wall and bedclothes. His head cranking into gear, he feverishly searched for whoever had done this. They could be still lurking about.
Satisfied he was alone, Tom forced his unwilling legs to move further into the room towards the man on the floor. He could see at a distance Jock was long gone, but still felt the need to check. Against his better judgement, he focused on the body and felt the night’s worth of vodka making its rapid ascent up from his stomach.
‘Christ!’ he muttered, turning away, his hand quickly covering his mouth. Hadn’t Jock been testing out a couple of new possibilities tonight? Had one of those slags done this, thinking they could turn him over?
Fury cascading over him, Tom stumbled from the room and somehow made it back down the stairs without his legs folding from under him. What the hell was he going to do about that motor now? And what in God’s name was he going to do about Jock?
He barged back into the gaming room, all women jumping nervously at his entrance. ‘What the fuck has gone on?’ he screamed. ‘Was this one of you? Where’s that cunt on the door? Was it him?’
‘Baz left,’ one of the women muttered. ‘He legged it as soon as that man turned up.’
Tom frowned, a trickle of ice cold running the length of his spine. ‘Man? What man?’ This was the work of a punter? He must have been a big fucker to take Jock Sawyer out. Jock was a prize fighter – or would have been under different circumstances.
He stomped over to the woman, who flinched at his close proximity. ‘What. Fucking. Man?’
The woman looked up with terrified eyes. ‘I – I don’t know… We didn’t see him. All we know is we heard a man’s voice. He raced upstairs and Baz said he wasn’t hanging around with a Stoker on the premises and then he left…’ She began sobbing. ‘Then we heard the screaming. It was horrible.’
Tom’s stomach slithered down to the bottom of his legs, nausea rising quicker and more violently than on seeing Jock’s slashed throat. The realisation that he may have misjudged the way of dealing with his blackmail plans seeped into his brain.
He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands to keep himself from screaming. He had to think. Think!
Firstly, he needed to sort this out. His eyes narrowed. ‘None of you have called the cops, have you?’
Watching the group of heads shake, Tom breathed a sigh of relief – at least on that score. ‘No one is to repeat anything about this, do you understand? Not a fucking word!’
The women nodded nervously, every pair of eyes fixed to the floor.
‘I mean it! If one fucking word of this gets out, I’ll hunt you and all of your families down. That’s a promise!’ Turning on his heels as one of the women began to sob pitifully, Tom pulled his shirt sleeves up. ‘Well, don’t just sit there! Someone get the bin bags.’
He’d have to dispose of Jock and once he’d got the body out, this lot could clear the mess up in that bedroom. Only after that had happened could he work out where he went from here.