As for Jimmy Allison… his shoulders were heaving with a crazed species of laughter at the unfolding spectacle as Johnno launched himself on to Hate’s back, one arm around his throat. Calloway was upright again and preparing to charge. Mike was still impressed by the fluidity of the man’s thinking. An ally had become an enemy in the blink of an eye. He couldn’t be sure, though, whether Hate’s demise would necessarily lead to the group’s salvation, which was why he started working away at his own bonds. Westie was halfway to the door now, and Alice was still crying out for help. Calloway had a question for Johnno.
‘Where the hell’s Glenn?’
‘Thought he was right behind me.’ The reply came from between gritted teeth, as Johnno continued to squeeze the life from Hate. But then the giant powered himself backwards into one of the tables. Mike thought he could hear a sharp cracking sound – not dissimilar to the snapping of the cue – as Johnno’s spine connected with the table’s wooden rim. The arm fell from around Hate’s neck, and as Hate stepped away, Johnno slumped to the floor, face twisted in pain. Calloway meantime had aimed a kick where it hurts most, reminding Mike of school playground tactics. But it seemed to have little effect, and Hate swiped his gloved fist hard across the gangster’s jaw. The follow-up punch felled Calloway, knocking him unconscious to the floor. Hate took only a couple of moments to gather himself. Bubbles of blood appeared at both nostrils and his breathing was ragged. His face was near puce from the attempted strangulation. He staggered towards the door and slammed it shut, then bent down to drag Westie away from all hope of freedom. Westie screamed in agony as he was pulled along the floor by his hair. Hate hauled the chair upright again between Laura and Alice. A clump of Westie’s hair fell from his gloved hand as he removed it. Alice was yelling obscenities at the giant, but he ignored her. Instead, he reeled back towards Calloway and Johnno, assessing any level of threat they might still present. Satisfied, he turned his attention towards Mike and the others.
‘I’m going to kill you all,’ he spat, his voice hoarse. ‘And then I’m going home.’
‘Your employers won’t like it,’ Mike said coolly, ‘if you don’t take them their money. Remember – I’m the guy who can deliver it.’
But Hate was shaking his head. ‘A photograph of the corpses will suffice.’
‘You don’t think the police will show an interest?’
‘I’ll be long gone.’ He looked around him again. ‘Calloway has to die, and there can’t be witnesses.’ Hate pointed towards Mike. ‘I’ll be saving you till last, my friend.’
‘Does that make me the weakest?’
‘You’re all weak! This whole city is weak!’ Hate threw his head back ceilingwards and gave a little groan – not, it seemed to Mike, of pain, but rather of dismay at the blunt stupidity encountered so far on his adventure. ‘Someone like Calloway… he’s an idiot, and yet somehow he gets to be in charge? You’re fools, the lot of you.’
‘You might have a point.’
‘Oh, I do.’ A grin spread across the blood-smeared face as Hate reached behind him, into the collar of his shirt. Slowly he pulled out a slender, gleaming knife and started to survey his kingdom. Calloway, unconscious on the floor, blood trickling from one ear. Johnno in a heap, conscious but wishing otherwise, moaning in agony. And the five trussed figures in their chairs.
‘Best thing you can do,’ Mike stated, ‘is walk away from here before Glenn comes back with the cavalry.’
‘Glenn?’
‘Calloway has two bodyguards, remember. You might not have much time.’
‘He’ll find his boss dead, along with the rest of you.’
Mike came to the conclusion that at long last he had run out of options. His only hope was to charge at the man, try ramming his head into his stomach. He knew it was hopeless, but what else was there? Hate himself seemed to realise this and gave a soft chuckle. Mike turned towards Laura. She was trying hard to hold back the tears.
‘Not exactly how I’d hoped things might work out for the two of us,’ he apologised.
‘As second dates go, I’ll admit I’ve had better.’
Westie, who’d started struggling against his bonds again, had keeled over on to the floor for a second time. Alice wasn’t far off joining him. Allison was still chuckling to himself, eyes screwed shut, sanity evaporating. And all of this for a few paintings, Mike thought. All because I was bored, pampered, infatuated, and greedy.
And tricked by the greater villain – Professor Robert Gissing.
It galled him to think that Gissing was dodging all of this, enjoying his retirement surrounded by however many masterpieces. Cocktails on the patio and lazy days in the sun…
‘One last thing,’ he said, gaining the murderous giant’s irritated attention. ‘I’ve told Calloway and now I’m telling you – Robert Gissing is the man who conned all of us. Find Gissing and you’ll have your hands on an art collection worth millions. Remember to tell your client that when you get home.’
Hate thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Thanks for the tip,’ he said. ‘And to return the favour, I’ll make this quick – not painless, maybe, but quick…’
He placed himself in front of Laura, leaned down a little towards her, and drew back the knife. Laura’s scream drilled into Mike’s ears. He squeezed shut his eyes, straining one last time at his bonds. But then there was another sound, that of a door being kicked in. He opened his eyes to the sight of figures streaming through the doorway, dressed in black stab vests and some of them wearing visored helmets. On each chest, the word POLICE was picked out in white lettering. The officer at the front had dropped to one knee, and Mike realised he was pointing a pistol at Hate. Hate froze for a moment, the knife poised. Laura’s mouth was still gaping, though her screams had been silenced by the arrival of the cops. Hate turned his head so his eyes met Mike’s. The look was worth a thousand words. The officers were barking out a repeated order and eventually the giant complied. The knife fell to the floor with a clatter and he raised his arms above his head, kneeling down as instructed, sliding his hands slowly around to the back of his head, awaiting the restraints.
The officers fell on him. The pistol was reholstered only after the handcuffs had been securely fastened.
‘We were told there are firearms,’ one of the faces behind a visor stated.
‘I’ve not seen any,’ Mike told him.
‘Get me out of this bloody chair!’ Alice yelped.
Mike was looking towards the doorway. Glenn, the missing henchman, was standing there. So was Detective Inspector Ransome. Ransome was whistling a little tune, hands in trouser pockets, as he stepped inside. He stared down at Calloway, then crouched down in front of him and checked his neck for a pulse. Satisfied, rubbing a little of Calloway’s blood between thumb and forefinger, he stood up again and headed for the row of chairs.
‘Anybody hurt?’ he asked. For some reason, the question made Laura laugh.
‘Use your eyes, Ransome,’ she said. ‘The guy at the end is barely breathing!’
Ransome ordered two officers to get the curator into an ambulance, then stopped to pick up Hate’s knife, checking it for blood. When he saw it hadn’t been used, he sliced through the tape with it, so that Laura’s hands were free. Despite Alice’s pleas, Mike was next. Ransome handed the knife to laura and asked her to do the honours. She looked towards Hate and then at the knife, but Ransome tutted.
‘Enough drama for one day,’ he chided her. ‘Leave Mr Bodrum to us.’
‘He might be Bodrum to you,’ Mike commented, ‘but he’ll always be Hate to me.’
As Laura began cutting Alice and Westie free – the latter complaining that he’d broken his arm when he fell – Ransome helped Mike rid himself of the ties around his ankles, then had to help him to his feet.