Kris blanched, recalling the morning’s earlier events.
“No, Ishmael,” he said, his voice small.
“Good. I think we have a better understanding of each other now.“ Ishmael turned away from him and picked up his phone from the desk, initiating his phone call.
Kris returned his attention to the paperwork he was sorting, though he couldn’t help but hear what was being said.
“It’s me. I have some information for you, regarding the two men found outside my warehouse. I don’t know where the drugs originated from, but I believe if you look deeper, you will find a connection to these men and an employee of mine who was also found dead this morning, from CO2 poisoning.” Ishmael paused. “I agree, quite the coincidence. I was about to fire him for stealing some of the club’s booze, once I had him help me hire and train his replacement. No, this does not count as me owing you a favour. I could have said nothing and the Met would be bumbling about thinking this was a drug deal gone bad unless they got lucky and understood why Victor Tynesdale’s connection to one of the dead men was relevant. Yes, I thought you’ see it my way. Yes, Ollie told me your department wished to book a private party room. Well, when you sweeten the pot like that, how can I refuse? I’ll make the arrangements.” Ishmael disconnected the call and pressed the intercom on his desk.
“Sir?” came Ollie’s reply to the buzz.
“The room that Birchall requested, make it the blue room.”
“Full surveillance?”
“Indeed. Birchall’s men will be arriving the day before to set up theirs. Make sure Jamal is aware of this. He can re-install ours after they leave. We’ll also need young men instead of just the ladies.”
“Any particular preferences?”
“It’s Tiegan.”
Silence greeted this revelation. Then, “Understood. I’ll make the arrangements right away.” The intercom fell silent.
Kris tried to control his breathing. This was way more than he’d bargained for when he first applied to work for Triborr. Never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed that Ishmael Lux was not merely a premier client of the property management giant, but actually pulled the strings.
Nor that behind the facade of vacation rentals and hotel package deals, there was some mafia style action going on with warehouses, drugs, prostitutes, and, oh God, dead men.
Ishmael’s hand reached down to caress his head. “You finished with those yet, pet? Lunch will be here shortly.”
