"Where’s your invitation!" cried one of the security guys, sounding pissed off with his duties for the night.
He showed him the invite and was ushered on through, no questions asked.
He barged his way through the crowd of smokers hanging around the doorway – no one was allowed to smoke inside the Rowans, except for Tony himself. He constantly walked around the place with a huge Cuban cigar permanently attached to his lips.
He entered the ballroom to the sound of Vivaldi's four seasons; he could see the string quartet on the small stage in the corner. After walking to the bar he ordered himself a bourbon and then went in search of Jennifer. Masked or not he should be able to recognise her; she promised to wear a red rose pinned to her dress.
After looking for a good ten minutes he gave up.
There was no sign of her, which could mean only one thing, Tony had her in the cellar, or the dungeon as he liked to call it. He'd seen a few bodies dragged out of that room in his time. Hell, he'd done the dragging himself on numerous occasions.
He hoped he wasn't too late.
He headed for the spiral staircase at the back of the house and clambered down them, then edged himself along the wall. He peeked out into the dingy lit corridor.
There were two of them.
Gerry and Guido, or, as he preferred to call them, Dumb and Dumber.
One stood in front of the door as the other prowled the corridor. He knew they'd both be armed.
He reached for the change in his pocket and scattered a few coins on the floor.
"What the fuck was that?" asked Guido in his strange nasal whine.
"No fucking idea," replied Gerry.
"Wait here, I'll take a look."
Drake watched the shadow approach him from his crouched position behind the stairs. He watched as Guido came around the corner and looked from side to side. Once he was satisfied that there was no one there he turned around, heading back towards the corridor.
It's what Drake was waiting for; he leaped out from his hiding place, put his arm around Guido’s neck and jerked hard until he heard a satisfying crack.
He dumped the body behind the stairs and adopted the same strange whine that the dead man had been afflicted with since birth.
"Gerry! Get your arse over here."
Gerry rounded the corner and came face to face with the steel silencer.
Drake removed the mask.
"How's tricks Gerry?"
A look of shock appeared across his face.
"I thought you were dead!"
"The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated. Now open the cellar."
He pushed the gun hard into Gerry's back and marched him towards the steel door.
Jennifer was alive; she was tied to a chair, her mouth gagged with duct tape.
"Untie her Gerry."
He did as he was asked.
She run into his arms and he inhaled the familiar peach smell from her hair.
Once he was sure she was okay, he put the gun against Gerry's head.
"Tell Tony you have a problem. Get him down here now. Your life depends on it."
The guard took out his phone and made the call.
"You'll have to excuse me senator," said Tony. "There's something that requires my immediate attention."
"Fucking useless bastards," he muttered to himself as he eased his huge bulk down the staircase. As he entered the dungeon he saw Drake then he felt a sharp blow to his head and everything went black.
When he woke up he was bound and gagged. He lay on his back in the corner of the whitewashed room. The opposite corner contained Gerry's body; his throat had been slit from ear to ear. His head lay in a halo of blood.
He looked down at his chest; he had an archaic looking mobile phone taped to his sweat stained shirt. He didn't have a clue what that was about. He laid his head back on the damp floor.
Someone would find him soon enough, and then he'd make the bastards pay. Wherever the hell they got to, he'd find them.
Drake and Jennifer sat in the small aeroplane enjoying the magnum of vintage Champaign.
"It's time to make the call I think," said Drake. “Do you want to do it or will I?"
"We could toss a coin."
"Jesus no!" replied Drake. “I had enough of that shit earlier.”
She laughed. "Give me the phone. I'll do it, I owe it to the old bastard."
He took out the phone and scanned through the address book till he found Crimson Tide.
"I meant to ask," said Drake. “How did you come up with the name?"
She took a sip of her drink. "The other night when we were planning things, you asked for a name. It was the first thing I saw in the TV guide. It's some movie about a submarine or something."
She shrugged her shoulders.
Drake laughed to himself.
"We'll I must say, it's very apt."
He tapped his glass against hers.
"Cheers."
He handed her the phone and she made the call.
Back in the Rowans the mobile strapped to Tony’s chest lit up. He just had time to acknowledge it before the C4 strapped to the phone blew his body into a million pieces, turning the whitewashed walls of the dungeon a glorious shade of crimson.
BIO:
Steve Christie is a real ale loving Scottish Crime Writer. He is the author of “Good Deed”, and is currently working on “Cold Shot”. You can find Good Deed right here at Amazon.
AS HEROES FALL By Frank Sonderborg
She spotted him standing by the police barrier. It was still chucking down hailstones. So he stood out in his Armani overcoat and smart hat. Not many men wearing smart hats these days. He was staring in the direction of the body by the canal. The wind battering him and the water pouring down his expensive coat. As if he knew she would be forced to go and ask who the hell he was. She ignored him and went back to her day job. She had just been promoted to Detective Constable Anne Silkton. It still sounded so good on the ear. The crime scene guys where doing their stuff and she got a run down as to what they believed happened to the victim. She took copious notes. As the rain threatened to blow her and her iPad away. And wondered again where the hell was her new partner DC Brian Evans. This was a big case and had all the hallmarks of a ritual gangland liquidation. And she was stuck here doing it on her own. She did have a weird feeling about this.
Back in the station there had not exactly been a wild rush to take on the case. But she had just put it down to the bad weather that had been battering the UK for the past month. Evans just told her to head on out and he would follow as soon as he was finished with some very important business.
She had nearly thrown up when she had seen the naked body spread across the canal towpath. Things had been done. How could anybody be that vicious, that barbaric?
He was still there, watching and getting very wet. She thanked the Gods again for her wet proofs. And then decided she better do some detective work and see who this smart dressed good time Charlie was.
She had spent her time pounding the Basingstoke beat and had not come across anybody like this piece of work.
He looked very muscular and very tall, at least 6'4''. So she had to look up under his smart hat, when she asked him the obvious first starter for 10. “So who are you?”
McColl had watched her move around the crime scene taking notes and every now and then looking his way.
She seemed to know her job. Now she was in his face and asking questions.
He waved his big gold detective badge. “Garda Siochana Detective Inspector Vincent McColl seconded to EuroPol. And you are?”
This threw her as she had expected lots of answers but not this. “DC Anne Silkton,” was all she could say.
“Bad business,” said McColl.
“EuroPol?” said Anne “What’s it got to do with the Euro Police Dept.”
McColl looked down at her, dripping water in her wet proofs.