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“The girls are. Jamie’s serving.” I look up, frustrated with that screwup, and watch as she wanders out behind the bar to get this lot full of more booze. “She reckoned they’d know something was wrong if there was no one to serve.” Her gaze glances to me, a small nod letting me know she’s done what I asked.
“And the auction women are in the Mandarin suite?”
“Yes.”
“Our guys?”
“Some in the parking area, others outside the front door.”
“Alright.”
I sweep a look around the place and end up at Dragon as he talks to a man who bought two women tonight. Anders Finch. Seems like tonight set all our primal instincts raging. Mine included. For one of the women, anyway. And that one – my little Naja – is not going home with Anders at all.
“Boss, what’s the plan?”
“Still haven’t got one.”
“Cutting it fine.”
I look at him, then back at Dragon. “What have we got in the way of explosives?”
“Nothing. We haven’t done that kind of shit for years. Although, I could knock something up.”
“With what?”
“Cleaning materials. Petrol. Depends what we’ve got.”
I think some more, taking in the number of people in here, the two remaining Cortez brothers, and Carmen as she parades around now all the girls have finished. They’ll all get hurt if I go down that route, die maybe, but I can’t see any other way out of this. There isn’t a back door out of the Mandarin suite, which is probably why they chose that room in the first place, and without a distraction, I’ve got no fucking hope of getting anyone out of here alive. Me included.
“Get something made then. Big enough to cause serious damage. Quickly. Leave it in the kitchen, then tell Jamie what’s happening. I need the van with the money in the parking area manned and ready to move the second I get to it.” He nods and starts turning away. “Heckle? When this goes off, you get everyone gone. Disappear, you understand? If they’re alive, they’ll come for me, you, and fucking everyone.”
He nods, and I watch him go. Whatever we’ve been over the years, friends or not, he’s been a good ally. Loyal. Dependable. He’s done every damn thing I’ve asked through our time to make sure my name stays loud enough on London streets to make me a king around here. All my men have. One thing that shouldn’t be happening because of my fuckup is any of them dying.
Jamie keeps shoving all the booze out onto the bar for the next half hour, making sure everyone’s having a good time. Abel’s not indulging, instead counting the money. Dragon’s taking seconds and thirds every time she puts another bottle of Jack up on the counter. Could be useful. Drunk means sloppy, and sloppy gives me a chance.
I walk the outskirts of the crowd, half an eye keeping tabs on the hallway that leads to the Mandarin Suite. No one’s going down there that I’ve noticed. Seems like Cortez is so fucking sure of itself that they don’t see the need for security. I sneer at that thought and keep moving. I’ve already killed one of them. Guess they won't have seen that coming either when, or if, they eventually find out, but that’s what arrogance gets you. You tease a beast far enough and he’ll resort to base instinct to prove his worth.
This beast hasn’t been out of his cage for a long time.
The bar turns rowdy for some reason between two of the clients. Too much drink, but it’s diffused by way of more drink being served and Jamie's effective smile. I keep glancing at her to make sure she’s got it all in hand and she's safe. She is, and that’s confirmed further when I see Heckle slide back through the crowd.
He goes behind the bar, talks with her quietly under the noise of music, then comes back out into the crowd again. One nod at me from the other side of the room and he wanders off through the back passages until he’s out of sight and, with any luck, leaving.
Clapping sounds loudly, pulling my attention back to the bar. Jamie’s up on it, stripping. Interesting distraction. She looks at me through the gloom of bodies, points her fingers towards the kitchen by way of dancing and flares her hand twice to show me ten minutes.
That’s all I need.
Thank fuck for hand signals through the years.
I check my watch and take a quick check of Cortez to ensure they’re as interested in the show as everyone else is. They are. Even Abel is now that she's making her way down to him and using her assets to lure his gaze. So I leave under the cover of lowering lights and louder music.
The kitchen around the back of the bar comes up on me fast, giving me no more time to question what the hell I’m about to do. Two jars are in the middle of the cleaned down work surfaces, rags hanging out the top of them and a note scribbled down.
“Light ‘em up,” it says. “Pull the gas main.”
Fuck knows what they are, or what’s in them, but Heckle knows his stuff when it comes to explosives. Irish. IRA bred. This is the insanity he grew up with. He was probably making bombs before he went to fucking school.
I stare towards the doors out into the main bar, not sure how much time I’ll have once I’ve set this in motion. The Mandarin suite is far enough away and will hopefully be protected by the old Victorian walls, but this whole damn bar will go up along with everyone in it. Including Jamie if I don’t get her out of there. Ten minutes, though. She knows the score. She instigated it.
