Page 95 of Playing By Ear

“The German MI5.”

The phone seemed to chill in Jamie’s hand. “We sell these to gangs in other countries?”

“We sell them to anyone who’ll pay fifteen hundred pounds each. It’s a free market.”

Jamie swallowed hard. His family was enabling international criminals to perform the sorts of operations that left loads of dead bodies. He had wondered what the MacKrays trafficked in nowadays besides guns and drugs. Here was one answer.

Worse, if these phones were legal, the firm might continue selling them when Belinda turned their operations legit. The family would still support crime even if they didn’t perform it.

“Take good care of that thing,” Belinda said. “Even at wholesale they’re not cheap.” As the wind picked up, she smoothed and reclipped her hair into its sleek blond bun. “Now what did you want to tell me?”

He took a gulp of his white-chocolate mocha, wiped his mouth, then looked over both shoulders. After the recent rain, the trees’ buds were unfurling into bright green leaves, but they weren’t thick enough to hide an eavesdropper.

So he told her about his encounter with Ferret Face at the market, emphasizing the promised bloodshed should the MacKrays not cooperate. He hoped to steer his sister toward the safer option—the path to freedom and decency—without prompting a defiant reaction.

Belinda listened, her face impassive. Then she gave a heavy sigh and looked out across the loch, where the swan population seemed to have doubled in the previous two weeks.

“From your description,” she said, “it sounds like Middle Tony, Victor Coyle’s son.”

“Is he Middle Tony cos he’s the middle son?”

“He’s Middle Tony because he’s bigger than Wee Tony and wee-er than Big Tony.” She said this as though it was obvious, like what sort of eejit didn’t grasp gangster nomenclature?

He touched her arm. “Did you know word had got out about Dad’s illness?”

She shook her head. “It’s no surprise, though. He’s been canceling meetings, everything but the most important sitdowns, worried a headache will strike and he won’t be able to hide the pain.”

Jamie nodded. Martin claimed the pain meds made him pure glaikit. He took them only at bedtime, lest they dull his working-hours wits.

“The under-families may have suspected he was ill,” he said, “but me coming home confirmed it.” Jamie slumped in his seat. “I’ve endangered him.”

“Dad was the one who paraded you around Provanpark like a show pony.” She crushed her empty biscuit bag between her hands. “And since they don’t believe a woman can run the firm, they assume you’ve come back to take over.”

His laugh was half cough. “Me? A gay minstrel who puts spiders out windows instead of killing them?”

“At least you’re a man.” Belinda’s face was a thunderstorm. “I can do the job. Dad wouldn’t have put his faith in me otherwise.”

“Totally,” he said, giving her elbow a supportive squeeze.

“The rub is, women need to be twice as ruthless as men just to be part of the conversation.”

“Ruthless, as in, business practices?” That was probably not what she meant.

“Sure. Business practices. Et cetera.”

He steered his mind away from et cetera and focused on the matter in hand. “Isn’t it better if your rivals don’t know your strength? It’s good to be underestimated, aye?” It had always worked for Jamie.

“Only in poker and snooker. In this line of work, underestimated means weak.”

“Will taking the business legit make you seem weak?”

“Possibly. I may need to lengthen the runway on Operation Respectability, show everyone I’m a good leader first.”

How long would that take? Long enough to put Lucy in danger?

“What if you tell Dad about the direction you want to take the business, and he supports your plans? Wouldn’t everyone respect his judgment?”

“The judgment of a man with brain cancer who’s letting a woman succeed him? There’d be an instant power struggle. Besides, he’d never support it. If he knew what I was planning, he’d leave the business to the uncles.”