Chapter Sixteen

The couple sat on the living room sofa. Close. But the emotional distance between them all too obvious.

Scott Armstrong rubbed his neck. He wouldn't look either of them in the eye. The shame too great. Warm air from outside cooled on the parquet floor.

'Water.' Scott croaked. 'Please.'

Violet Wilson looked from her husband, partner, man-chum? No rings on their fingers – to Savage. Asking for permission? No. She shook her head almost imperceptibly and walked to the kitchen. Her heels click-clacking on the floor.

The man's eyes darted about the room, never looking in Savage's direction. The father of two had wanted a permanent out, his troubled eyes still sought an exit.

'You're not married?'

He shook his head. 'Living in sin. Corporate life. We never found the time.'

'So,’ Savage said, ‘tell me.' Hands spread wide, relaxed, open – to make Scott feel comfortable.

Scott's own hands shook.

'I can't.'

'Trust me. The worst has already happened,' he gestured to the hallway.

'There's worse.'

'Tell me.'

'Much worse,' he said. His eyes welled up.

'Tell me,' Savage said with more tenderness.

The Relationship Director just shook his head, and then couldn't stop shaking it.

'I can't,' he said and let out a cry. 'It was never supposed to be like this.'

'Tell him about Cerberus Scott, please.' Violet stood at the door, a glass of water in hand. She moved to him. He took it. Mouth open.

'How—'

'Drink,' she said.

'In a nutshell Mr Savage,' she said, all business. 'My other half has been investing money for some gangsters and they are now extorting more money from him.'

Scott looked up at her.

'What you think I can't check your emails? Your accounts? I run all the computers in our company. We monitor everything as a matter of course.'

'But why?'

'Because for two years now you haven't been my partner.'

'Vi, that's just not true.'

'Isn't it? You've been present, yes. We've got this house, yes, Nice cars, sure. Private schools for the kids, yes, but their father is absent.'

'I did it for you. For the kids.'

'Oh please.'

'It's true, I just didn't realise what I'd gotten into. Then I couldn't get out. You must believe me.'

'You just tried to kill yourself.'

'I didn't know what else to do.'

'You could have talked to me.'

'I wanted to.' He reached out a hand. 'I really did.' She didn't respond. He closed his hand around hers. 'But the less you knew the better.'

She looked up, tears in her own eyes, and put her other hand over his.

'Babe, I love you and the kids,' he said, 'I never meant it to go this far.'

Savage dragged his chair across the floor. Sat down right under their noses, looked each directly in the eye. 'You need to tell me,' he said. 'Everything. Now.'

Scott's story was like so many Savage had heard before, the new kid in town gets suckered. Happens in every big city in the world. Small town evacuees, expats on the make, should probably all take a course in how not to be a sap.

Scott was in a Greenwich pub, conspicuously American, on his own, and waiting for a colleague.

He got talking to a man at the bar. A stereotypically ebullient Londoner. You know the type – cackles after every other sentence because of his rapier wit and profound insight.

At least that's what this guy thinks it is. And so do his pals sat at one of the tables, a chorus of well-fed cockney walruses.

'I'm in shipping,' Scott's new friend said, 'just bought a new Jag, lovely beast. Don't think I'll be driving back tonight though. What's your line?'

'Banking.'

'Really? I know a few investment boys. They like their cars fast and their women faster,' a nudge in the ribs. 'Know what I mean?' Scott nodded.

'Oi, Charlie,' the man said to the barman, 'six pints and a bottle of bubbly for the bird.'

'Right you are chief.'

'Gotta take care of business for my boss,' he angled his head towards a bigger, balder and more charismatic gent at the table.

'You in investment too?'

'Something like that.'

The man looked him up and down, a butcher inspecting the veins of fat in a prime side of beef.

'We should talk.'

'We are aren't we?'

He gave Scott a sour look, then a cheeky smile.

'Hah! Funny fucker. Course we are son. Only I might have a bit of business for you. You here all night?'

'Waiting for a friend.'

'Fair enough,' he waved a hand, 'Charlie, have that tasty bit of skirt bring those drinks over to the table.' He jogged Scott's elbow. 'We'll speak later, yeah?'

When the man reached the table his friends turned, gave Scott the once over, then never looked back. Savage would have left then and there.

An hour later Scott's colleague hadn't shown. No call, no text – one of those. Scott didn't get out much. The strong Dutch brew he drank went down way to easily.

'You still here?' the man said.

Scott stared miserably through the drink haze. 'Unless I'm a figment of my imagination, but then I'd probably imagine somebody a bit more dynamic.'

The man smiled at him. With hindsight Scott would call it a calculating look.

'Charlie! Six pints of champagne and a bottle of lager for the bird.'

Charlie fired off a salute.

'Actually,' he slapped the American on the back, 'Make it seven pints of champagne and don't give me any of that Dom Perignon shit, something good. Would you care to join us Mr...?'

'I should probably get home.'

'Join us,' the man pushed him across the room to his table of friends.

'Who's this?' the big, bald, court holder demanded.

'Tell him your name mate.'

'But who's he?' Scott said, drunk with confidence.

'This is Mr Crystal.'

'Jimmy to my friends,' he said, patting the seat for Scott to sit down. 'My nephew tells me you're an investment banker?'

'No.'

'Hey,' the nephew said, 'don't make a liar out of me.'

'Sure, okay. Well, I sign off investments for the companies I manage.'

'Great, because I've got money I want to invest,' Crystal said. 'Have a drink.'

And that's when the room began to spin.

'I shouldn't.'

'Have. A. Drink.'

Plenty of smiles, but not in the eyes.

The American took a sip, then a gulp, each one that followed took the edge off.

'So,' Crystal said. 'If I gave you money, you could invest it for me?'

'No.'

'Something wrong with my money?'

'Nothing. I just can't.'

'Shame. I got half a million cash just sitting around with nothing to do.'

'Half a million?' Scott said.

But Scott couldn't, could he? He wasn't an investment banker, he didn't know how to invest, he just signed off on accounts of the companies he worked with.

'How much return are your companies getting?' Crystal said.

'My companies?' Scott swayed in his seat, licked his lips. 'Depends.'

'On what?'

'Risk. In short term equity investments anything from 8 per cent to 33 per cent in a year. If it's a hedge fund, sky's the limit, but so's the loss. Green energy is good right now, massive gains over ten years. Depends on—' He belched, the acid burned his throat. 'You know, markets, politics, that sort of thing.'

'So you could get me 33 per cent a year?'

'Yeah, maybe.'

'Good. You passed my little test. Now, how much do you want? One million? Two million? Three?'

And that's how it started.

'I set up a company and made them one of my clients,' Scott said. Savage held his gaze, looking for any tells. 'I thought I was being clever.'

Violet glanced away, unable to look at her partner.

'You forged the Services signature at the other end?' Savage said.

A nod.

'Then you kept the limit below the reporting minimum so only service assistants had to sign off – only you never forged the same name twice?

A small smile split Scott's lips.

'That's a lot of £4,999 cheques,' Savage said.

Scott rubbed a hand over his face, and gave another nod. 'Yeah, then the market crashed,' he said. 'A year later returns are point two of a percent. Exactly nada.'

'And does Crystal care?' Savage said.

'Course not. Just pay the interest on his capital. Then, first late payment, he wants to renegotiate terms. 33 per cent interest every month.'

'But that's not what you agreed,' Violet said.

'Doesn't matter,' Savage said, 'to a man like that.'

'Not if you want your “pretty little wife and those cute kids to enjoy life”.' Scott mimicked Crystal with a bad London accent. 'That fucker.'

He lowered his head.

Violet reached for his hand.

'The payments get higher,' Savage said, 'you send under 25k payments to the Services Manager, then over 25k hits by the Services Director. Big risk.'

Scott nodded again and wiped a bulging tear from his eye.

'But they digitised everything,' Violet said, 'you have to add an email signature, it's supposed to make it more secure.'

Scott shook his head, then burst out laughing. 'Yeah,' he said to her, 'except here's the thing. It's easier than ever. Especially when my better half runs IT—'

'What are you saying? I had nothing to do with this.'

'—and if I use her log-in I now have access to any email account I want.'

She dropped his hand. 'How could you?

'How could I?' he said. 'You've been monitoring my emails? Spying on me?'

'Because I was worried about you.'

'And I was trying to protect you—'

'From what? Financial ruin? Scandal. What about our children Scott? They would have seen you swinging from a rope for god's sake.'

Scott spoke through his teeth. 'I know. Violet, I know, you're right. I was trying to protect you from that man. I can win battles in the office, but I can't win those kinds of battles. I'm not that kind of guy.'

They turned to Savage as one.

'Hey, don't let the name fool you, I'm a nice guy.' He gave them a grin. They looked at each other. When they looked back, the grin had gone. Savage stared at Violet. Eventually she gave in to the power of that glare.

'What?' she said.

'How did you know I'd come?' he said. She didn't look away.

'Vi?' he said.

'I know about Michael,' she said.

'What do you know about Michael?'

'I won't tell you anything unless you help us.'

'Violet,' he tried to get a grip on his emotions. 'What do you know about Michael?'

'Not until you help us.'

He smiled through gritted teeth. He tensed up, then leaned forward.

'You can try and scare me,' she said, 'but I don't believe that's who you are. I know about you.'

'What do you know?'

'I know enough to send you those emails.'

'Are you listening?' Savage said. She nodded.

'Help us.'

'And then?'

'Then I'll tell you the rest.'

He explored her face, searching for the lie.

'It might get worse no matter what I do.'

'I know.'

'If you don't tell me afterwards—'

'I know.'

He stood up, 'Okay then, anyone asks,' he pointed to Scott's neck and the front door, 'Scott foiled a burglar who tried to strangle him. You've already reported it. I'll back you up in the office. Those bruises are too obvious.'

'Where are you going?'

'I'm going to make this go away.'

'How?'

'In corporate speak? I'm going to escalate this up the chain of command.'

*

Savage rounded the corner past the poster shop and approached the restaurant.

Muscles on the door had his back angled away from Savage. He lusted after the scantily clad bottoms strutting on the heath.

A tap on the shoulder. Muscles span round.

'What?'

'Your boss in?' The man towered over Savage, easily six-five or more. 'Only he keeps asking me for a date and won't take no for an answer.'

'Get lost, creep.'

Savage slipped the fingers of his left hand into his jacket pocket.

'Hey, who cuts your hair?' Savage said. 'It's kinda gay.'

The man dropped his shoulder, pulled back, Savage was quicker.

Brass knuckles slammed into the tall man's throat. He dropped to his knees. Savage dusted his temples, made sure the big man wouldn't get up for a while, then walked into the empty restaurant.

The thing about violence Savage had learned was this – you avoid it. You have no way of knowing what the outcome will be. Doesn't matter how tough you think you are: a bullet, a knife, or an accidental daisy can kill you in an instant.

But when it does kick off, you react explosively and violently. The hell with legal consequences.

So if you're walking into a basement room full of potentially violent men, don't leave anyone to sneak up behind you. And never enter unarmed.

Savage only had his knuckle dusters. He'd have preferred to hurl a grenade down the stairs.

The wooden steps creaked under his feet. Five men looked up.

Savage processed the room in a blink. Two seated, one older and balder, one counting out notes.

Three goons stood. One emptied a bag toward the kitchen at the back. Dark wooden tables and chairs stacked around the room.

The overflow area for when the upstairs restaurant got too full.

The nearest man with dark hair and big jowls said, 'Oo the fuhk ah yoo?'

Monkey speak. Savage translated, realised he didn't have any bananas in his pocket and pointed at a sign on the wall. 'Your colleague said the rest rooms are back here.'

'Fahkoff,' monkey man said.

Savage walked quickly to the table. Hands went to hips and pockets – nice to know everyone was tooled up – apart from the men at the back of the room. One reached a hand along the kitchen wall and pulled down a thin boning knife, held it beside his leg. The other pulled a baseball bat from the bag.

'Relax,' Savage said showing his hands. 'If I wanted you hurt, you'd be hurting already.' He took the only other available seat opposite the bald man.

'Mr Crystal?' Savage said. Then his attention was snared by the pink shirt, slicked back hair and excessive bling of the second seated man. 'Nice shirt,' Savage said.

Pinky pulled out a pistol and rested it on the table.

'And a sweet piece,' Savage gave an approving nod. 'H&K P30. Very reliable. Styling's a bit batman for my taste. Illegal of course.'

Savage turned to the bald man who fixed him with a cold grey gaze.

'Ooh, I'm scared,' Savage said. 'Have mercy, pretty please?' He smiled.

The man waved a hand, 'Enough with the wise guy act. What the fuck d'you want?'

Paintings of Spanish bullfighting filled the walls. Dark beasts impaled on rapier spikes.

'You are Mr Crystal?'

'What's it to you, fucker?' Pinky said.

Savage feigned a recoil as if from a slap. 'You know, I had such high hopes for us.'

He turned back to Crystal.

'Just making sure I'm talking to the organ grinder, not the prissy primate in the pink shirt.'

'You,' Pinky raised the gun, 'show some fucking respect.'

'Or what?'

'Or fucking what?' the man spat the words out and jabbed the weapon in Savage's face.

Savage slapped the man's gun hand away with his left, grabbed the wrist, then with his right quickly twisted the barrel up and back toward the man. When he yanked the gun away Pinky's finger broke with a snap and a scream.

The rest of the room bristled. 'You all just got very lucky,' Savage said waving the gun at them, 'I promised not to kill anyone, at least for a while. Wanna help me out?'

He dropped the magazine, racked the bullet from the chamber and removed the top slide. 'Nice move that disarm, huh?' he said to Pinky. 'Very Jackie Chan. Taught to me by a Russian I know.'

Savage slapped the stripped weapon back on the table. 'I'm giving this back for one reason,' he said. 'If I ever pull my weapon, you're dead. Understand?'

Pinky grinned. Savage glanced down at the gun and felt a pang.

He'd just given away the winning hand.

This country was messing with his mind. His old self watched way too many action movies.

Crystal pointed in Savage's direction, 'Batter the cunt,' he said.

The room moved as one.

Green light.

Go like fuck.

Do not stop.

Savage grabbed the stripped slide of the gun and raked it across monkey man's eyes.

The man with the knife jumped on the table to get to him across the confined space of the basement, the other man with the bat ran at him.

Savage grabbed the chair he'd sat on and swung it at the man's knife, it caught, he pulled down hard. The knife skittered across the floor.

Savage charged the bat wielding man, head down, got inside the swing.

Head connected with chin. Enough to distract, he hooked two fingers in to the man's nostrils, ripped back and slammed the knuckles of his other hand into the throat.

Savage seized the bat, swung one-eighty, took the knife man's legs away. The man slammed into the table on his hips, bounced to the floor on his face, rolled.

Savage turned back on the blinded monkey man, destroyed his right knee cap, his balls, and then hit a home run on the choking man's head. Before the man on the floor could recover and grab the knife Savage took a golf swing at his jaw, felt the crack.

Savage sat back down at the table, out of breath, his heart rate maxing out.

He took in the two gangsters. Knew they loved the rep. Hard men. Bullshitters. Nothing tough about hurting those weaker than you.

A flash of colour, the girl's dress, burst into his mind. He pushed it away and the urge to do damage intensified.

Savage hit the table with the edge of the bat, 'God, I hate violence,' he said. 'Don't you?'

He couldn't stop his own cackle.

Crystal's eyes looked calmly back at him. Pinky's pure hate.

'What do you want?' Crystal said.

'I know who you are,' Savage jerked his head at Pinky, 'Who's this guy?'

'My nephew,' he said.

'The family business,' Savage said. 'That's nice. Or are you shooting blanks and can't have any of your own?'

Savage had never seen anyone actually bite their tongue.

'Either get on and kill us or fuck off,' Crystal said.

'I'm not here for that,' Savage said between breaths, 'Just a bit of business.'

'Go on.'

'Scott Armstrong. Maclays Bank. You've got your claws in. But, as of today, the claws come out.'

'You come in here and think that—'

'You'll do what I tell you. Why? Look around you. I come back, that's it for you, understand?'

'Armstrong owes me money,' Crystal said.

'He owes you nothing. If you so much as look at him, or any of your boys, you're dead. Get it? He's mine now, that's all you have to know.'

The two gangsters glared at him.

'Hey guys, I'm not all bad. You'll get your initial stake back minus whatever you've took from him.'

'A big fat fucking zero then,' Crystal said. 'My profit.'

'Atta boy.'

'Bullshit,' Pinky said, 'We've got carte fucking blanche with him mate, we can do whatever—'

Crystal raised a hand, then to Savage, 'You're a fucking amateur. If you wanted my patch you'd kill me now.'

'I don't want your patch.' Savage couldn't keep the smile from his face. 'I can kill you now if you'd like?'

Crystal scowled.