‘Just because he’s back doesn’t mean he’s safe,’ Shirley said, with a taut note in her voice that hadn’t been there earlier.
‘But nothing we’ve seen suggests he’s in any danger, either.’
‘Someone tried to whack him this morning.’
‘We remember.’
‘If I hadn’t been there, he’d be dead.’
‘That doesn’t mean you’re responsible for him from now on,’ River said. ‘That only happens in films.’
‘Besides,’ said Louisa, ‘he pretty clearly didn’t notice it himself.’
‘It fucking happened.’
‘Yeah, okay, but—’
‘No, not fucking okay. It happened. And until we know why—’
‘Shirley—’
‘—then it could still happen again. And if it happens to him, it could happen to any one of us.’
‘That’s not strictly—’
‘Fuck off, Cartwright.’
‘Okay.’
Louisa said, ‘Shirley, you have a point. Sure. But three of us, in one car? Is that any way to run a surveillance?’
‘You’re trying to get me out of your car?’
‘I’m saying we can’t take shifts if we’re all crammed in here. There’s no chance of any of us getting any sleep. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t intend to be awake all night.’
‘So … So what are you suggesting?’
‘That we need a plan,’ Louisa said. ‘And here it is. We take shifts. The best surveillance point’s that bus stop on the corner. Bound to be night buses on this route, so waiting won’t look suspicious. First relief’s at two, then five. The others kip in the car. Okay?’
‘Here in the road?’
‘No. I’ll park further down, past the shops. Won’t be so conspicuous.’
Shirley said, ‘We gonna draw straws or what?’
‘I’m moving the car. No offence, but nobody else drives this baby. And River’s had two beers, so he’ll be useless until he’s had some kip. So …’
‘So I’m first up.’
‘Well, this whole thing was your idea.’
Shirley scowled. ‘You’d better not be late.’
Contrary to most approved covert surveillance techniques, she allowed the door to slam behind her when she got out.
Louisa said, ‘No, really. Happy to help,’ and waited until Shirley was halfway to the bus stop before starting the engine.
‘You were trying to get her out of your car, weren’t you?’ River said.
‘Yeah. Fuck her. I’m going to bed. Want a lift?’
‘Please.’
They left.
Roderick Ho let himself into his house, turned the hall lamp on, then leaned against the wall. ‘Yeah, course, babes,’ he murmured. Big day tomorrow. Need your beauty sleep. Best not come in, because you’d not get much of that in the Rodster’s bed.
You rock my world. He’d said that to her a time or two. You rock my world. Chicks liked it when you quoted poetry; it made them feel special. And Kim deserved to feel special, but still, he wished she’d stay the night once in a while. Because he wasn’t ashamed to admit this, but he actually, you know, loved the girl. His days of playing the field were over. But he wished she’d stay the night after another evening of letting him pay for taxis and clubs and drinks and taxis.
Still, though. Getting out there, being seen, everyone knowing Kim was with him: yeah.
Roddy Ho, Roddy Ho, manliest of men …
That was the tune on everybody’s lips.
He dumped his jacket on a chair, headed into the kitchen and scored an energy drink from the fridge. Not the common choice for a nightcap, but that was how he rolled. He’d have energy sleep, dreaming energy dreams. Wake full of energy visions. He sent a quick text to Kim – You don’t need beauty sleep, babes: she’d work out what that meant – put both his phones on to charge, and headed up the stairs. Some nights he sat for a while in what the estate agent had called his mid-storey conservatory, an upper room with a mostly glass wall where the previous owner had grown flowers or herbs or shit, but which Roddy used as a den: computers, sound system, high-def screen. Maybe a few tunes before bed, he thought. Sit in his comfy chair and grab a few melodies: he liked big-ass guitar sounds this time of night. Above him a floorboard squeaked. He rose two more steps then stopped, listened. The floorboard squeaked again.
There was someone in his house.
No night bus used this stop, it turned out, so anyone standing here was going to look pretty conspicuous pretty soon, Shirley thought. And then: those fuckers have driven away, haven’t they? To be certain she’d have to walk all the way to the shops, and if it turned out they were there after all it would look like she didn’t trust them, which would piss them off, so as soon as she walked back here again, they would, in fact, drive away. It was what Shirley would have done.
Fuck it.
In her pocket was the wrap of coke, and now would be the perfect time. Keep her sharp, keep her vigilant. But though her hand strayed there and fondled its comfortable shape, that was as far as she went for the moment. Soon it would be midnight, one day sliding into the next, and then she’d have sixty-three days. It was still just a number, but a bigger number than the one she had now. Did that matter? Not really. But just because something didn’t matter wasn’t a reason for not taking notice of it. If it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t matter if it actually happened, either. The number reaching sixty-three, that is.
She shivered, the day’s warmth having dissipated. If Marcus were here he’d be grumbling about how he could be in bed, though they both knew he wouldn’t be in bed; he’d be in front of an online casino, in the never-ending bid to recoup yesterday’s losses. She shook her head. Some losses stayed lost. Her mind drifted back to the morning: the car mounting the pavement, and her own instant reaction. She hadn’t been wrong. Someone had tried to kill Roderick Ho. That was why she was here: not because it was imperative that Ho remained unkilled, but because this was real, and it was happening, and it was something to do.
Her hand still in her pocket, she wandered down the road. Ho’s house was easy to keep an eye on: it had that big window, glass wall almost, on the first floor. The kind of thing estate agents creamed over, but anyone with sense just thought: what the fuck? There was little point in adding features to London houses. If you wanted to increase the value of a property, you only had to wait five minutes. Meanwhile, Ho was home, but hadn’t turned lights on. The others were probably right: nothing suggested he was in danger. But it was her own time she was wasting – well, and theirs – and she’d look an idiot if she cashed out now.
After eleven. Twenty-five minutes until the numbers rolled over. The wrap in her fingers was warm to the touch, but she’d leave it intact for now. Maybe later, if she started to fade. But right now, all was quiet.
His first thought was, she’s come back. Had only been teasing: he’d go into his den and there she’d be, down to her underwear already. Surprise! It was for just such an eventuality that he’d given her a key … But that didn’t work, or only for a moment. Kim was heading home in a taxi, fully clothed. There was no way for her to be upstairs. Whoever it was, it didn’t seem likely that ramRodding was on their mind.
And then he thought: all that stuff that Dander was going on about this morning, when she’d ruined his Pokémon moment. The car she’d said tried to take him out. Had that been for real?
He was on the staircase, two steps from the landing, and frozen in the moment. On and up or back and down? If he turned and headed down, whoever was up there would know. And they’d be behind and above him, which wasn’t where you wanted an enemy to be.