The wind eased in his belly, but that didn’t make Driscoll feel better. He wandered slowly around the vast upstairs part of his home, from the children’s bedrooms to the gym, where his wife was working out with a young instructor in tight Lycra shorts, then down the wide staircase to the baronial-size hall, where antique side tables and oil paintings decorated the circular, oak-paneled reception. The spacious drawing room had been copied from a Homes and Garden’s picture his wife had liked. Sitting at the grand piano, he lifted the lid, revealing the ivory keys in perfect condition. No one had ever played it. He looked over the array of large, silver-framed photographs of his family and their various dogs, his daughter’s horse and his son’s aviary.
He loved his family. He was proud of his own achievements. He reckoned that he was a good man. He’d certainly given enough to charities over the years. He had never been a violent person. He’d seen violence at close quarters, but he had never taken up a gun or taken a life. He drummed his fingers on the polished lid of the piano. The villa would have to go, plus the Chelsea Wharf apartment. All the trappings of wealth would need to be sold off, and this just as he had a massive tax bill coming in. Though he didn’t know what de Jersey’s scheme was, he knew that it would be planned down to the last detail. He slapped the piano lid hard with the flat of his hand and swore out loud at David Lyons. He should have refused to invest; he was almost bloody well retired. As he shook his head at his own stupidity, the pit of his stomach started to rumble again.
Wearing an oil-stained overall, Wilcox was leaning over the Ferrari Testarossa. His young mechanic was sitting inside the old car, revving it up. Wilcox spent hours in his garage, tinkering with his eight vintage sports cars. They were like much-beloved toys. He would race round and round the small racetrack he had built in his grounds, testing and reworking the engines. These were the only times he was totally content. His domestic life was clouded. He had always searched for the perfect union, but the reality was he had found it and it had four wheels. Today, however, he was unable to concentrate. The call from Sylvia Hewitt was nagging him like a hungry, mangy dog. He hated the fact that she knew so much about him and knew that she could be trouble. He was also rattled that de Jersey had not brought him or Driscoll into his plans to get rid of Moreno. It was, after all, very much their business. It was also very unlike de Jersey. He had never advocated violence, so why had he murdered the guy? It should not have been his decision alone.
Wilcox sat wiping the oil from his hands, perched on the bumper of a Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce. He had let the mechanic go for a spin on the track. His financial situation had proven even worse than he had at first anticipated. He had left himself short, and he had various outstanding debts that needed to be paid. His drug dealer for one was screaming for his due. Wilcox had been shocked at how much he owed-two hundred thousand pounds to be exact. He couldn’t believe how much he was using. He had planned to cut back, though under this recent pressure he’d needed more. If de Jersey found out, he might consider him a security risk.
Wilcox tossed the oily rag into the bin. What if he trashed the entire garage and hangar and claimed on the cars’ insurance? He couldn’t bring himself to do it, even though the premiums were another vast expense. The days of running twenty garages were certainly over. He’d begun buying and selling cars at the age of forty, flush with the proceeds of the gold bullion robbery. Later, he had blithely and irrationally continued buying vintage vehicles without reselling them. By then he had grown tired of the business side and just wanted to race his cars and enjoy life. He truly did not want to be drawn back into crime, but he knew that he would feel obliged to go along with whatever the Colonel was putting together. The prospect scared and excited him, prompting him to take more cocaine. He needed the drug from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning and used it all day. That was more worrying than anything else. What had started out as a release from boredom had slowly taken over his life.
“I’ve got to kick the habit,” he muttered as he chopped four lines up in the back of the garage. After snorting all four of them, he called Driscoll.
“It’s me.”
“Yeah, I recognized your voice. You heard from the Colonel?”
“Only to warn me about that woman.”
“Oh, right, well that’s why I’m calling you.”
“We’re not supposed to make contact.”
“Yeah, well, I just did, all right? I am really worried about this woman, Tony.”
“She called me at the house.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“I didn’t like it,” Driscoll said. “Are you on something?” Driscoll could tell Wilcox was unusually wired.
“I’m just looking out for us. Is that a bad thing? What’s got into you?”
Driscoll cut across the potential argument. “He’s lost the lot. Did she tell you? Reckons his stud will go down the tubes.”
Wilcox let out a long sigh. “Yeah, she said he’d lost his shirt. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Yeah, he’s more broke than we reckoned.”
After a pause, Wilcox’s voice came back over the line sounding slightly muffled. “No, Tony, it means whatever he wants from me, he’s got.”
There was a long silence. “Me too, I suppose,” Driscoll said, resigned. Wilcox slapped the cell phone off and turned to see the young mechanic standing close enough to have overheard every word.
“What’s with you?” he snapped.
“Sorry, James. We broke down on the S bend, pouring smoke and oil. You wanna take a look?”
“Don’t go sneaking up on me like that,” Wilcox said angrily.
“Sorry, I did knock.”
Wilcox stared at the kid’s young, concerned face. He relaxed. “That’s okay, Dan, no problem. Let’s go check out the car.”
Rika was looking for Wilcox. She headed into the garage and, finding it empty, walked into his back room, where she found the mirror. She licked her finger and tasted the cocaine. She shook her head. It was bad enough him using it, but to leave it out in the open for the children to find was something she would not tolerate. Rika found him with his mechanic, leaning over the open bonnet of the smoking Ferrari on the track. She marched straight up to Wilcox and pushed him away from the car. “Ve got to talk.”
“Not right now, I’m busy.”
“You have to collect the twins from school. I told you diz morning, you are late for them now.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Because I have an appointment wid my dentist. I tell you diz.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll get them.”
“No you von’t.”
“What?”
She faced him, hands on her hips. “You look at yourself in the mirror you leave in ze garage?” she asked. She threw the mirror at his feet. “I’ll get them, but I von’t have diz near to de kids. You should be ashamed of yourself, a man of your age. Vat you think you are playing at? And vipe your nose, it’s running. You sicken me.”
Wilcox gripped her arm and frog-marched her to the side of the track. “You never speak to me that way, you hear me? Especially not in front of someone like Dan.”
“Why? Because he’d lose respect for you? Don’t kid yourself, James. Everyone around you knows vat you are doing; ve can’t miss it! You vant to kill yourself, I no watch you do it! I am leaving you and your kids.”