“A dead fucking body and funeral.”
Rory scoffs. “We’ll keep digging. The English have given us everything they have. Apparently.”
Micky’s not having that, I can tell. He’s twitching in his seat like he’s got a plug somewhere up his arse, which would not be totally out of the question.
“And I trust that fucker Goldsmith and his gang of twats about as much as a thief in a bank vault.” He’s definitely got something up there.
I give him an appraising look and he flicks me the V’s.
“Goldsmith definitely sees Blair as a target.” They knew about the night when she was in Londonand I’d disposed of those who’d tried to attack her. Not what happened afterwards. Or at least I hadn’t told them. Micky definitely knew.
“I’m not convinced Goldsmith is behind it.” Rory stretches out, his hands behind his head. “Blair isn’t his type.”
“She doesn’t need to be his type.” Micky. “It’s her position and the power she’ll wield that he needs. Nothing to do with her. She’s not his type. Too old.”
This was true. Goldsmith had his own predilections.
“That’s not going to stop him though. He’s too blatant at the moment, but that makes him easier to deal with.” Rory passes round his tablet that shows a photo he has of Goldsmith with a girl whose age is undetermined, possibly legal. Possibly not.
“What contact have they had with the cousins?”
Rory smiles. “Plenty. And the cousins are playing ball. Nothing like a bit of ambition.”
“You’ve tapped the phones?”
“Everything you can think of. They have no idea.” He stands up, stretches. The guy runs marathons and works out and constantly moves. Micky gets tired watching him.
The conversation becomes more strategic, going through the movements of the day; who’ll be there, where Blair and her parents might end up going. Everything is covered, security heightened because it’s at these events that draw out the psychos and the freaks.
We’re solid and I’m confident we’ll get Blair through the event physically in one piece. Emotionally I’m not sure.
Micky pulls me back before I clear the room. His expression is one I don’t often see; cold and hard.
I brace myself. There isn’t much Micky doesn’t see or notice. I know how Blair can sometimes watch me and I’m all too aware of how my eyes won’t leave her.
Or Isaac.
I wonder if he’s seen that.
“You’re sticking to her like super strong glue, aren’t you?” The words are not quite sneered.
“Yes.”
“She’s the priority. Your priority. Not her parents or the cousins or any fucker else. Blair. If one hair on her head is damaged, it’ll be your testicles I put in a vice and squash. Do you understand that?”
“All of it.”
Micky doesn’t look away from me. He just gives a nod. “Good.” Then his eyes shift. “Hurt her and I will take you for a very long walk off a very very short pier. Do you understand that?”
Again, I nod. “I’m not going to hurt her. I’d rather eat my own eyeballs.”
“But what about yourfriend?”
He knows about Isaac.
“I’d rather eat his too.”
* * *
