“I’ve never met them before in my life.”
Cheryl opened the oven, noticed that there was nothing inside it, then glanced behind her at the leg of lamb sitting on a roasting tray. “Damn it!”
Smithy reached out to touch her hand. “Honey.”
She pulled it away from him. “Don’t you ‘honey’ me.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Sorry?” she said, no longer holding back the anger from her voice. “Sorry about what? George over there and I have been having quite the chat.” Smithy looked back at the two men. The larger one nodded. “So, which bits are you sorry for? That you got five grand in debt to Benny Wong and didn’t tell me? That you took part in that fucked-up hunt thing, after telling me you’d turned it down flat? Or that you attacked the guy who organised it a few days ago?”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m assuming that was the night you told me you were out doing an all-night shift in a cab as ‘research’ for your play? For Christ’s sake, Smithy! Why can’t you just screw around like an ordinary boyfriend?”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“Stop being reasonable. It’s too late for you to be reasonable,” said Cheryl, slamming the leg of lamb into the oven so hard that she may have violated its rights under the Geneva Convention. “Your latest idiot scheme, which you didn’t tell me about, has resulted in someone sending over hired muscle to try to use me as leverage. Leverage? I’m nobody’s fucking leverage.”
Smithy glanced at the couch again. “I think they get that now.”
“And don’t be charming. Don’t be charming, don’t be reasonable, don’t be apologetic. This is fucked up. All of this shit has been going on, and you told me about precisely none of it. We’re supposed to be a team.”
“We are.”
“We’re not. It’s like I’m your goddamned babysitter. I’m not the sit-at-home-worrying type, and you know that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And don’t be sorry. Above all else, don’t have the nerve to say you’re goddamned sorry.” She turned to the man sitting up on the couch. “George, how is your head?”
The big man cleared his throat. “It’s better, thank you.”
“OK,” said Cheryl, “then I guess you two will be leaving.”
George nodded.
Cheryl picked up the gun and thrust it at Smithy. “My former boyfriend will show you out.”
Chapter Thirteen
The trio of men stood awkwardly, waiting for the elevator. Smithy’s hand was sweaty on the grip of the handgun, which he held in the pocket of his jacket. He’d thought of escorting them down the stairs but the elevator, while painfully slow, was easy to control. Plus, fewer neighbours would see them, which was probably a good thing. If they called the cops, Smithy would have to get into why these guys were here, and that was not something he wanted to discuss with the authorities. Breaking and entering was still a crime, and from what Ms Muroe had told him, she and Reed had plenty of evidence of him doing that.
The big guy, George, stood there calmly, holding on to his blond associate, who still had his hands bound behind his back and his mouth taped. Blood was flowing from his nose in a steady trickle. He looked a mess.
“You can take the tape off his mouth, if you like,” said Smithy.
“Nah,” said George. “I’ve heard more than enough from this figlio di puttana.”
“My Italian isn’t what it should be but I’m guessing you two are not the best of friends?”
“You could say that. I didn’t want to work with him. For the record, he’s the one who tried to get physical with your lady. I don’t do that.”
“Sure,” said Smithy. “You’re a saint.”
George shrugged. “That, I definitely ain’t, but I don’t hit women. I agreed to do this on the understanding it was a simple leverage job. That’s what the lady said.”
“Ms Muroe?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Brunette, thirties, good looking. When I met her, she was wearing a red coat.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s her. Not the name she gave me, though.”
“Maybe she doesn’t give that info to thugs.”
“Hey, man, if I was you, I’d be pissed too. Just because I was willing to do what I was told, doesn’t mean I agreed with it.”
“But you did it anyway.”
“You never do something management told you to that you disagreed with?”
“Actually, no,” said Smithy. “But then, I’ve never held down a job for very long.”
George nodded. “Fair enough. I got kids, man. I’m an ex-boxer with two strikes. You know anybody that’s hiring for honest work?”
“Leave your details and we’ll be in touch.”
Smithy wasn’t in a sympathetic mood. These morons had attempted to threaten Cheryl. Admittedly, it hadn’t gone well for them, but that didn’t make him feel any better about having put her in harm’s way. Then there was the fact that he’d never seen her that mad. There had been occasions when they’d argued before, but this felt different.
The blond guy started mumbling something under the tape.
“Shut up, Karl,” said George.
Smithy looked up at him. “He’s bleeding from the nose. Better take the tape off in case the dipshit suffocates.”
George muttered something before reaching across and ripping off the tape. Karl yelped. “Fuck.”
“Keep your voice down,” said Smithy.
“Fuck you, midget.”
Smithy slammed a fist into Karl’s stomach, causing him to double over. George grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back upright.
“You deserved that, Karl. Don’t antagonise the man further.”
What Karl lacked in social graces, he more than made up for in stupidity. “Fuck you too.”
Before Smithy could move, George had a meaty hand wrapped round Karl’s throat. He slammed him into the wall.
George spoke in a calm voice. “Fuck me? Shut your mouth, you piss-poor amateur. We had clear instructions, but you decide to get physical with a woman. When she kicks your ass, you pull a gun? You dumb fuck. Nobody said anything about bringing a gun. I don’t need hassle, you get me? Get your ignorant ass arrested on your own time. We clear?”
Just then, the elevator doors opened to reveal Mrs Spinola from down the hall standing there, her dog Ruffles sitting at her feet. Neither of them was fit enough to use the stairs any more. She took in the scene, and looked at Smithy nervously.
“Is everything OK?”
“Sure is, Mrs S. We’re just running a scene for a play we’re in.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ohhh, very method! C’mon, Ruffles.” They shuffled past George and Karl, and Mrs Spinola nodded at them as she did so. “I used to do some amateur dramatics back in the day. You boys are so committed. And may I say, Smithy here is a dab hand with a plunger. Such a helpful boy.”
Smithy and George waved as she walked down the hall.