Doing the standard morning walk around, Liam inspected the roulette wheel of the closest table, pleased to see it was free from fingerprints and polished and cleaned to the Orchid standards.
Although it wasn’t yet 10 a.m., every trace of it being busy and profitable last night had been obliterated by the dedicated and conscientious cleaning staff – just as he insisted upon. No hint of anything, short of the lasting and healthy increase in the company bank balance.
His idea of monthly gaming incentives had gone down well, pulling in an increase of just over twenty-five per cent additional profit compared to an average Tuesday night. This was definitely something he would keep going with and, if only he could tell him, Len would be impressed with his business acumen.
Walking towards the corridor leading to his office, Liam’s brow furrowed. He also wished he could tell Len he was worried about Sam. Was it not bad enough she’d dug her heels in and overridden the choice of handing over the reins to John, as was intended?
Even though Len had been unable to legally finalise the details, it wouldn’t have been impossible for Sam to implement. To pull out of her dream business, as well as the property that had all but completed, was insane. Len would be turning in his grave. But not as much as Len would turn if he knew how quickly Seb Stoker had got his claws into his daughter. That she’d actually taken Stoker’s advice over John Maynard’s was unpalatable enough, but to spend so long at the Peacock with the man?
Liam’s eyes narrowed. He’d admit he’d spent the majority of the evening driving past Sam’s dark Symphony Court apartment. And then when he’d finally seen her light come on. Relief…
But phoning up had opened up another can of worms. Sam hadn’t been able to get him off the phone quick enough and that stung. Had he been there with her? Seb Stoker?
Anger and jealousy slithered into Liam’s veins. The thought of that man’s hands on Samantha, taking the place he’d worked so hard for, made his skin crawl. He had to get it through to her, whatever happened, that Stoker couldn’t be trusted.
Approaching his office, Liam spotted John Maynard coming from the opposite direction and a glimmer of hope sparked. ‘John, could I have a word?’
Inwardly scowling, John forced a smile, his good mood over how seamlessly things had gone with jumping that Stoker muppet dwindling. This Liam guy was a prick. Yet another one who thought Samantha Reynold was amazing, the bloody idiot. ‘What can I do for you?’
Liam gestured towards his office. ‘If we could just pop in here?’
Nodding, John entered the room and waited whilst Liam sat down at his desk.
‘Please take a seat.’ Liam indicated to the chair opposite. ‘It’s a bit awkward… I wanted to run a few things past you that are bothering me.’ He shuffled paperwork on his desk as he thought how to broach the subject. ‘I presume you’re aware Sam spent the evening last night at the Peacock with Seb Stoker?’
Tensing, John leant forward. Seb Stoker interfering? Again? ‘I can’t say I was, but it was so busy yesterday I hardly had two seconds to catch up with her at all,’ he lied, unwilling to let someone such as Liam, who had nothing to do with his side of the business, be party to Sam not keeping him informed with the Orchid or its running.
Liam smiled uncomfortably. ‘It’s probably nothing, but Sam seems wary about coming to you. I keep telling her the Stokers can’t be trusted, but she went ahead regardless of my opinion.’
John nodded. ‘Seb Stoker isn’t one of my favourite people, but that’s no secret. What did he have to say?’
Not that it really mattered now because, after last night, Seb Stoker would be far too busy working out who burnt down one of his earners and jumped one of his own to bother with Samantha’s troubles, but if this prick gave him a heads-up, it would save having to dig himself.
‘Well, that’s just the thing. Sam was gone hours. I drove past her place a couple of times. I was worried, you understand?’ Liam said hastily, not wanting to sound like some kind of weirdo stalker. ‘It was past midnight when she got back. I phoned, but she made it clear she didn’t want to speak to me. Neither did she give me any information about what was discussed with Stoker, so I’m afraid I can’t be much help.’
John’s face remained neutral. What had Stoker been filling Sam’s head with? No doubt trying to turn her against him? He sighed loudly. ‘I’m surprised Stoker wasn’t having a paddy that one of the pubs on his protection payroll went up in smoke last night.’ It wasn’t yet common knowledge that the younger Stoker had had his head bashed, so he’d keep that to himself.
Liam frowned. ‘I heard something about that this morning. What happened?’
John shrugged. ‘Haven’t got a clue,’ he lied. ‘But getting back to Stoker, I don’t feel anything he could say would be of benefit to Sam, the Orchid or this firm. The man has an agenda and is using Sam’s inexperience to cash in. As you can appreciate, that’s not something I want to happen.’
He studied Liam. He had to tread carefully. ‘Actually, I’m glad you’ve broached this. There’s a lot of nasty stuff going around about the Stoker firm at the moment – not that that’s anything new. Word has it that a man disappeared shortly after Seb Stoker was seen looking for him.’ John raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m not insinuating anything in particular, but it goes to show the general consensus around this city about the man and it will not do the Orchid any favours harbouring an association with these people.’
‘What should I do?’ Liam asked, his worry accelerating.
‘I don’t think it’s a question of what you can do, Liam. It’s more of a question of what I should do. We both know Len wanted me to run this firm, so I have to ensure I do everything so that it continues to run as well and as profitably as possible.’ John stood up. ‘Leave this with me.’
Liam smiled, glad to have got all of this off his chest. ‘I hope we can put this right. Like you, I don’t trust Seb Stoker either.’
Getting up in the morning to sit behind her father’s desk, rather than the one at the design shop, was a strange feeling and one which would take getting used to, but get used to it she must.
Even with the additional wine last night, Sam had not slept, her mind churning. She stared at her hands, resisting the urge to chew her nails – something she hadn’t done since she was a teenager. She looked around the office, having moved nothing since taking over. Everything was still exactly as her father left it. Like a shrine.
She pulled the first addition of the Birmingham Mail towards her, her eyes drawn to the headline on the front page:
LIVES LOST IN MYSTERY PUB BLAZE
The well-known pub the Gun Barrels, situated off Horsefair in Birmingham city centre, caught fire last night around 10 p.m., trapping many terrified customers inside.
Witnesses close by at the time recalled hearing a loud explosion, followed by fire that spread at record speed, ravaging the historic building. Although the emergency services were on the scene within minutes, several people perished in the mystery explosion including well-respected publican David Thrower, 59.
Mr Thrower had been licensee of the Gun Barrels for over thirty years and was thought to have been in the cellar at the time, where it is believed the explosion and fire originated.
Several other regulars also died, including Mick Fowler, 46. Others are yet to be identified. The injured have been taken to the specialist burns unit at Selly Oak Hospital, where they remain in a critical condition.
Further investigation is being undertaken by the West Midlands Fire Investigation Unit and the Police to determine the definite cause of this tragic event, but the initial findings point to the cause being an electrical fire.
Shaking her head in sadness, Sam took a long drink from a bottle of water in the hope it would slake the dryness of her mouth.
Her nerves fluttered. Talking of fires, the meeting she’d called with the Orchid staff later on this afternoon would be a baptism of fire. It would not be easy gaining the trust and support of the men who had worked underneath her father and more importantly, John, for so many years.
She wasn’t stupid – her decision to take over this role would not be easily accepted. It was no secret the vast majority expected John to continue overseeing the business. More importantly, from the snippets of information she’d gleaned, they were not over the moon about her being in charge either. She couldn’t say she blamed them – after all, on the face of it, she’d appeared from nowhere and had no history, but it was imperative she gained their trust and she had to do that quickly. She would not fail. She couldn’t.
Her resolve strengthened once more.
The general consensus was a woman such as herself would not have the first clue how to run this place. That might be true, but she was learning. But there was also one thing fuelling her that they didn’t have. Her father could have been murdered. Murdered by someone who wanted the Orchid off the map.
The question was – who? And why?
If Seb was correct and the removal of her father had previously been attempted twelve years ago, then someone had waited a very long time before attempting it again. That was a long grudge to hold over gaining possession of a club.
Sam focused on the framed photograph on her father’s desk and a lump formed in her throat. Her parents were beaming widely and she sat in between them – a gappy-toothed twelve-year-old.
At a sudden tapping on the office door, Sam looked up. ‘Yes?’
‘Have you got a minute?’ John asked, walking into the room.
Sam’s stomach churned. The last thing she needed was John adding to her problems. ‘Of course.’ Pushing her mouth into a smile, she gestured for him to sit down, only to notice that he already had. ‘Is everything all right?’
John cleared his throat. Look at her sitting there, grinning inanely like the thick bitch she is, he thought acidly. What he was about to do would leave a nasty taste. The prospect of uttering the words he knew he must say made him want to cut out his own tongue, but it was for the greater good and a necessary tactic.
Looking at Sam, he felt the sudden urge to laugh. She was so transparent it was scary, but at least her downfall would not be a drawn-out process. ‘I see you’ve called a meeting this afternoon?’
Sam deflected her nerves by taking a sip of water. ‘That’s right. I felt it important to formally introduce myself. It’s important that everyone’s on side.’
John nodded. Fat chance of that. He stared his cousin straight in the eyes and cleared his throat. ‘And that’s why I’m here. I owe you an apology.’
Attracting plenty of admiring glances as he strutted down the hospital corridor, Seb glanced at his watch: 1.30, they’d said, so he’d best not be kept waiting. He hated bloody hospitals. That smell and the overpowering weight of misery and death hanging in the air made him want to chin someone.
Following the signs for the ward he’d been told to collect Gary from, Seb turned the corner, immediately spotting his brother sitting fully dressed on the end of a bed, with a doctor speaking to him. If Gary needed to wait around for medication or anything like that, then he’d just have to get a cab.
‘Ready?’ Seb asked, approaching Gary and nodding politely to the doctor.
‘Ah, Mr Stoker.’ The doctor extended his hand. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you. I’m Dr Fisher – lead consultant for the Head Injury Department. I wanted to personally thank you for the generous donation your business made last year.’ He beamed. ‘It funded the purchase of another CT scanner and I can’t emphasise enough how vital that is wi…’
‘You’re welcome,’ Seb interrupted, hastily shaking the doctor’s hand. He hadn’t even known his father had donated cash to the hospital. Still, it never hurt offloading chunks of profit here and there. Generous donations to good causes went down well in the press, plus it meant less Corporation Tax to pay. ‘Is my brother fit, well and ready to leave?’
The doctor glanced at Gary. ‘He’s had a bad bout of concussion, but fortunately there’s no lasting damage.’
That’s your opinion, Seb thought, cutting Gary a sideways glare. Like he didn’t have better things to do than collect people from hospital who had been stupid enough to get beat up. Had he taught his brother nothing?
Oh, he’d seen this morning’s paper and read about the mysterious blaze at the Gun Barrels. His skin prickled. His immediate reaction was annoyance – another place to cross off their list for protection money.
An electrical fire, they reckoned? Seb chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t so sure. One of the people killed was the gaffer – the man who’d offered Jock’s name up. Initially he thought he was reading too much into it, electrical fires happened, but that was until he’d seen the other article a few pages in – the missing person alert for a Melanie Briscoe, fifty-four.
Seb didn’t recognise the name, but seeing the accompanying photo, he’d have recognised the woman’s addled face a mile off. It was that old slapper he’d handed fifty quid to.
Fifty quid for the info on Jock’s whereabouts and the fifty quid that had got her topped.
‘Missing’, it said, but could it really be coincidence?
The two people who had called Jock Sawyer out were now either burnt to a crisp or missing, presumed dead.
Whatever happened, it didn’t sit well.
If it was connected – and it certainly looked like it might be – then it was only a matter of time before it became public that he’d been asking around in the Gun Barrels.
Everyone had seen the state of Phil’s face and knew Seb had wanted retaliation for his runner. He hadn’t needed to voice that.
Seb’s brow furrowed. Phil would be pulled in for questioning next. And Phil worked for him.
Seb clenched his fists. He had to get to the bottom of this before anyone caught up with Phil. He couldn’t have anyone, especially the Old Bill, sniffing around. The Stoker firm could not and would not be implicated.
Seb dragged his hand through his hair. Shit, shit, SHIT!
He knew what this meant. He didn’t like it, but nevertheless, he would have to step in and break the connection, however much against the grain it went.
And now more shit because Gary had got himself clumped like a fucking loser?
Seb glared at his brother, still motionless on the end of the bed with the doctor, waiting for a response. What had the man even said again? Christ, he couldn’t remember.
Rage pumped mercilessly in Seb’s veins. Didn’t he have enough to deal with? This meant undertaking yet another job of retaliation in addition to whatever had gone on with this fire and the rest of it. It wasn’t like a member of the Stoker family could be set upon without reprisal. ‘Thank you for sorting my brother out, Dr erm…’
‘Fisher,’ the doctor prompted. ‘Gary must take it easy for a couple of weeks. Concussion can take a while to settle down.’
Seb jerked his head in Gary’s direction. ‘Come on, then.’ Grabbing his brother’s arm harder than necessary, he half-dragged him down the corridor, itching to get out of the place.
‘Slow down!’ Gary moaned, his head pounding.
Yanking his car keys from his pocket, Seb pulled Gary through the hospital entrance and pressed the button for his car’s central locking.
‘You’ve parked in the ambulance bay!’ Gary cried.
‘So what? I’m busy and haven’t got time to stroll around car parks.’ Seb yanked open the passenger door. ‘Get in.’
Jumping in the driver’s seat, Seb wasted no time firing the engine and screeching away from the hospital. ‘Now do you want to tell me what the fuck really went on?’ he growled.
Gary wished he’d remained in hospital longer. Well, he would, had it not been for the crazy loon who’d tried to piss on his bed three times last night. He knew questions would be asked and there was little point putting off the inevitable. ‘I don’t know what happened, Seb,’ he said. ‘All I know is I got jumped as I walked to get a cab.’
‘What happened to your fucking car?’ Seb growled.
‘I’d had a few and decided to leave it,’ Gary muttered.
‘What were you doing in Moseley?’
‘Just fancied a drink somewhere different,’ Gary said. ‘The handover went well, though.’
‘I gathered that, otherwise I’d have had the Irish on the phone long before now,’ Seb barked, negotiating the traffic lights at Selly Oak. ‘You dropped the cash in the lock-up?’
‘Erm… Not exactly…’ Gary garbled, knowing the shit was about to hit the fan. ‘The money’s gone…’
‘You what?’ Seb roared.