Ray Teller
It’s three inthe morning when the guest arrives. Duncan and I are playing poker in the security office. I’m not particularly happy about leaving the game to greet whoever’s in the silver Bugatti idling at the front gate.
“Fucking criminals,” Duncan grumbles as he straightens his tie. “Why can’t they keep regular hours?”
We take the golf cart, rain splattering our sides the whole way, but when we see who’s behind the wheel, the journey seems to pay off. It’s a blonde with a great set of cans.
I nudge Duncan. “New girlfriend?”
“Maybe.”
Whoever she is, she’s a rude bitch. She refuses to get out of her car and when we tell her we need to scan her for weapons, she acts like we shoved dog shit under her nose.
“Where’s Mr. Parker?” she demands in a weather presenter voice. “Hesaidhe was going to meet me here.”
“Mr. Parker’s occupied,” I tell her. “We can take you to him as soon as you’re scanned.”
She sniffs and gets out of the car revealing a tight ass under her light purple skirt. I scan her and she comes up clean.
“Please get back in your car and we’ll escort you to the main house,” I tell her. “You can leave your car in the underground garage and then we’ll take you to Mr. Parker.”
She looks at me like I’m dirt beneath her shiny black heels. “Fine.”
Michael Ridge is monitoring the garage, yawning over a super-sized cup of coffee. He appears to be alone.
“Where’s Baskerville?” I ask. “He said he’d be here tonight.”
“Haven’t seen him for ages.”
Duncan laughs. “We all know why that is. He was on duty when January Whitehall got snatched from that truck stop. I’d be surprised if he’s still alive.”
Michael shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear? Parker forgave him for that. Forgave him outright.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I was there, man. Bill and his brother were stood up in front of Parker and Parker’s yelling and flashing his Beretta around and I thought they were both dead. But then Parker goes‘did you motherfuckers steal my fiancée?’and Archie looks him dead in the eyes and says‘if we did, we’d be in a hotel room fucking her end to end, not here talking to you.’”
Duncan gives a nervous giggle. “That worked?”
“Yup. Parker laughs his ass off and said he believed them and they were fine to come back to work.”
“That’s a fucking miracle,” Duncan says. “Isn’t it, Ray?”
“They’ve got balls,” I agree. “But then why aren’t they ever around the house?”
“No idea, word is Parker sent them to—”
“Excuse me?” says an icy female voice. “Is someone supposed to help me?”
The blonde bitch has driven her Bugatti up to the entrance and is looking none too happy to be kept waiting. I flash her a smile. “Right this way, ma’am.”
Parker is still in the dining room when we arrive. The chef, Maurice, says every meal Parker eats has to be a feast and this one is no different. The table’s covered in dishes of pasta and sausages, trays of meatballs and chicken wings, sides of pork and lamb and wood fire pizza.
Parker’s sitting in the middle of the table digging into a plate of lasagne. Emilia’s beside him, her tits falling out of her silver dress as she picks at her spaghetti with her fingers. Probably Xanaxed to the hilt as usual.
“Zachery,” the blonde bitch calls from behind me. “Hello!”
Parker swallows a mouthful of pasta and dabs his face with a napkin. “Mrs. Whitehall! You’ve finally come to see me!”
