“Food.”
“Again?”
He smirked at me while searching his phone once more. “Told you, I eat a lot. I burn it off very quickly, super fast metabolism. You good with a steak place?”
I considered my savings and reluctantly nodded. “As long as they have some decent sides, I’ll enjoy anywhere you take me.” Actually, now I concentrated on the idea of a barely-seared steak, I felt hungry again too.
Luc seemed quiet while we waited for our food, so I browsed my phone for any hint of the trouble I’d fled from, even going as far as loading the Tratton St Mary Mercury in my browser and scanning every page. There was a tiny paragraph mentioning an unexpected and as yet unexplained death of a thirty-two year old man, named as Christopher Clarke. Still nothing mentioning the club’s threats to me, but I didn’t really expect Ledge to bring the club’s business into the public eye. Although how a stab wound was considered unexplained, I wasn’t sure. But hey, I wasn’t named, so that was a bonus. Poor Chip, reduced to a paragraph in the local rag.
The steak was so rare, a few blasts with a defibrillator might have resurrected the cow; just the way I liked it. I cleared my plate with relish, shovelling in the accompanying onions, mushrooms and tomatoes, but unable to face more than a handful of chips. There was something wrong with me, I knew it. I’d been brought up on potatoes as a staple, and while they’d never filled me with joy, they’d not done me any harm either. But now, there was no way I could force these particular ones down.
Perhaps I should get some blood tests done or something. But what would I even say? I can’t sleep well except in broad daylight, I’m becoming addicted to practically raw meat after a lifetime of eating veggies and lentils, and I can hear the neighbours from three doors away fighting, indoors and with the windows closed. Yeah, no, that was a one-way ticket to la la land.
Luc broke into my musings. “You good to go?”
I stared at my empty plate, realising he’d snaffled my unwanted fries. “Yeah, sure. That was good.”
We headed back to the quayside, and right in front of Ianto’s Shrine was a forbidding-looking forty-something dude with a heavy build and a short, dark beard, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed the passers-by in the low light. Luc made straight for him, so I followed, less enthusiastically.
“Lucien.”
“Gethin.”
“Who’s the hyb—”
“This is Charley. He’s the one Justin told you about. I need to get him somewhere out of the way while we work out what to do next. I’d like to get this part over as quickly as possible, please.” His delivery was polite, but the kind of firm that suggested whatever Gethin had been about to say shouldnotbe repeated. That bugged me. I was the subject of this coded conversation and nobody was clueing me in on the deets. Rude much?
While I simmered about whatever it was that Gethin had been about to say, he led us through a maze of quiet back streets to an unremarkable grey door in a row of terraced houses. He unlocked the door and gestured to Luc.
“Me first, then him, then you. Put the catch up when you close the door.”
The house was so bland, the only word I could find to describe it was ‘sterile’. We headed upstairs to the back room, kitted out as an office. Gethin used some fancy high tech photographic equipment to take shots of both of Luc’s thumbs, then indicated he should sit down.
Luc sat, but asked why.
“Retinal scans. You’ll be steadier sitting. Doesn’t hurt.” He swivelled the equipment around on its base to face Luc and said, “Don’t blink.”
I sniggered. Both men regarded me, Luc with amusement, Gethin with one bushy eyebrow hoiked. I raised both hands in defeat and muttered, “Weeping Angels.”
Gethin now looked puzzled. Luc saved me. “Dr Who, dude. Even your uncultured arse should’ve watched that. Call yourself a Welshman.” The scanning done, he winked at me. To Gethin, he said, “Do I still need a key or will you do some wizardry and update the safe house remotely?”
Gethin was now situated in front of a PC with a giant screen, tapping away. He spared us a quick glance, his stern expression fading to one that made me realise under his scary façade he was quite hot. “No keys. It’ll be operational before you’ve left the city limits,” he said confidently. “Take a cool bag from the cupboard by the kitchen door and fill it from the fridge and freezer. Keeps you off the scent if they can’t track you by substantial food purchases. The place is well stocked with dry goods.”
Luc nodded, looking relieved. I had a sudden thought. “Excuse me, Mr, uh, Gethin…”
“Just Gethin will do. What’s up?”
“I meant to withdraw some money before we left, but time was short. I’m going to run out sooner or later. When do you think it would be the best time to—”
“There is no best time.” My shoulders sank. Gethin continued. “How much is in your account?”
I told him.
He got to his feet and pointed at his vacated chair. “Log yourself into your bank. I’ll get you the money in used notes. You can do a payment to the firm. It won’t raise any red flags unless whoever’s on your tail is more trouble than even we can get you out of.” He clapped me lightly on the shoulder before exiting the room.
I blinked up at Luc. “Is he for real? That’s quite a lot of money.”It’s everything I have.
Luc nodded tersely. “You can trust him.”
