Captives

FORTY-FOUR

Ray Plummer filled the Waterford crystal tumbler with soda and ice and handed it to John Hitch, and then repeated the procedure, passing the other brandy and soda to Terry Morton.

Morton thanked him, interrupted in his appraisal of a pair of Armani statues.

'And this stuff is worth money, is it, Ray?' Morton said, motioning towards the figurines.

'Of course it's worth money, you prat. Why do you think I bought it?' Plummer said. 'Fuck me, I'm surrounded by Philistines.'

He took a sip of his own drink and sat down in the leather chair closest to the fireplace, looking into the authentic fake gas flames as he sipped his drink. He touched his hair self-consciously, worried that the high wind outside might have disturbed it.

Morton remained on his feet, swaying backwards and forwards from the balls to the heels of his shoes. The delicate tumbler was out of place in his heavy hand; he looked as if he would have been more comfortable carrying a bottle of beer. Or a cosh.

'Sit down, Terry, you make the place look untidy,' Plummer told him, smiling at Hitch, who grinned back as his companion sat down hurriedly.

Both Hitch and Morton had worked for Plummer for more than ten years and he trusted them as much as anyone in his organisation. Hence their privileged presence in his penthouse flat. They were two of only a handful of his employees allowed to enter this most private of havens.

Hitch was a couple of years younger than his boss but his long blond hair and perpetual sun tan (the product of a solarium) made him look closer to thirty than thirty-six. Morton was the opposite, dark-haired, squat, almost brutish in appearance. He'd been a successful amateur boxer before he joined Plummer's organisation. The flat nose was a testament to his habit of fighting with his guard down. Hitch maintained he could stop buses with his head (and frequently did).

'So, tell me what you found out about Connelly,' said Plummer. 'Is it right he's moving into drugs?'

'As far as we could find out, he's got no plans to expand in that area, Ray,' Hitch said, sipping his drink.

'He's making bundles out of the money business, isn't he?' Morton added. 'Why should he try that other shit?'

'Because that other shit is worth a damned sight more,' Plummer said scornfully.

'Well, we spoke to at least half a dozen members of his firm and none of them knows anything about a shipment of cocaine,' Hitch announced. 'That call must have been someone winding you up.'

'But why?' Plummer wanted to know.

Hitch could only shrug.

'The bit about the warehouse was right,' Plummer continued. 'Connelly's just bought himself a warehouse down by the docks.'

'Maybe his boats unload there, the ones that bring his mags in,' Hitch offered.

Plummer remained unconvinced.

'You spoke to members of his firm,' he said. 'They're hardly likely to tell you what the cunt's planning, are they? Especially if he's planning to take over London with the money he makes from selling that fucking cocaine.' Plummer got to his feet and walked across to the fireplace, staring into the flames.

'There's no reason why he should want to try and "take over",' Hitch said. 'It doesn't make sense, Ray. There's been peace for over three years now. Connelly's not going to fuck it up by starting a drugs war, is he?'

'He might,' Morton offered.

'Oh, shut it, Terry, for fuck's sake,' Hitch said wearily.

'So what are you saying?' Plummer demanded. 'That the call was bollocks? A wind-up? If it was, I'd like to get my hands on the bastard that made it.'

'Forget about it,' Hitch advised, sipping his drink.

The phone rang.

Plummer crossed to it and picked up the receiver.

'Yeah,' he said.

'Ray Plummer.'

'Yeah, who's this?'

'We spoke a few days ago,' said the voice. 'Well, I spoke, you listened.'

Plummer, the receiver still pressed to his ear, turned to look at Hitch.

'You're calling about the cocaine shipment,' he said.

Hitch was on his feet in seconds.

'Well done,' said the voice.

Plummer put his hand over the mouthpiece and jabbed a finger towards the door to his right.

'The phone in the bedroom,' he hissed quietly.

Hitch understood and bolted for the door, picking the receiver up with infinite care so that he too could hear the voice on the other end of the line.

'Are you still interested in the shipment?' the caller wanted to know.

'Maybe,' Plummer said warily.

'What kind of fucking answer is that?'

'I'm interested if it actually exists,' he said.

'It exists all right. Ralph Connelly is going to be spending the money he earns from it pretty soon. Unless you decided you wanted it.'

'What do you get out of this?' Plummer wanted to know.

'That's my business. Now, if you're still interested, be here at this time tomorrow. I'll call then.'

The caller put down the phone.

'Fuck,' roared Plummer.

Hitch emerged from the bedroom.

'Recognise the voice?' Plummer wanted to know.

The younger man shook his head.

'If I was you, Ray,' he said. 'I'd wait for that call.'