It just went to show you could have a million cameras lying around, there would always be a blind spot. Someone would always find a way.
Nixon wound up questioning the front desk, and they’d just looked at him with this Bert stare he wanted to savagely rip off.
“I guess the problem is you’re all too fucking beautiful to employ,” he cursed, glaring at the women with disdain. One of them perked up, and he glowered at her. “That’s not a fucking compliment, Janine.”
“Jenny,” she corrected.
“Whatever your name is. You spent the entire fucking time being chat up while someone that looks like he dumpster dives for a living strolled past you.”
“I thought security would take care of unwanted guests, Nixon.”
Yeah, well, security had to be called down to the basement because, get this, there had been a fucking shortage of guards yesterday. Un-fucking-acceptable.
“And,” Janine added, “it is discrimination to kick someone out of our facilities because of the way they look.”
Nixon blinked slowly, flexing his jaw as he stared at her. “Are you saying from now on you won’t be diligent of who comes through the door?”
“No, sir, I’m saying that I didn’t think anything of it when he came through.”
“You…” Nixon paused, trying to understand. “You remember him coming through.”
Janine shook her head. “Well, no.”
“I don’t understand, Janine.”
“Jenny,” she corrected again.
Nixon glanced at Tyrone. “What is she talking about?”
Tyrone looked lost for words. “I uh…think she was saying maybe if she had seen him, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it because…she doesn’t discriminate?”
Janine smiled brightly. “Exactly. Thank you, Tyrone.”
Nixon massaged his temples. Fuck, a migraine was coming on. He couldn’t take pointless conversation. Who the fuck hired Janine, anyway?
It didn’t matter, he told himself.
God, it didn’t matter.
Dropping his hand back down, he levelled the girls with a firm stare, and they straightened in response.
“I will feed you all to my dogs if you don’t pull your heads out of your asses,” he threatened, flaring his nostrils. “No more fucking solitaire on your computer. No more flirting with hotel guests. I pay you to work. Got it?”
The three women nodded at him, wide-eyed with fear.
Good.
He stormed out of the foyer, aware Tyrone followed closely behind.
“Buddy,” he said under his breath, “I’m pretty sure that was workplace bullying.”
“That was taking care of business,” Nixon barked back as he entered the elevator and hit the basement button.
Tyrone stood beside him, shrugging one shoulder as the doors closed. “I mean, I get that you would think that way, but…I’m not sure threatening to feed your employees to dogs is healthy.”
“It’ll up morale, Tyrone.”
“How in the fuck?”
“Don’t want to be eaten by a pack of dogs? Then do your fucking work, and that won’t be a problem. It builds awareness. They’ll have to work harder, and if they work harder, they’ll feel confident they’re not on the menu.”
Tyrone made a face. “That’s kind of fucked up.”
No, what would happen next would be fucked up.
He was going to round up all his muscle and figure out who the fuck let the man through. And then he was going to kill him.
He didn’t care if it was a mistake, either.
In Nixon’s world, mistakes cost you your life.
As the saying went, a chain was no stronger than its weakest link.
*
Sometimes, when he wanted to torture himself a little bit, he thought of how life would have played out if he hadn’t taken that job.
Two years ago, he had accomplished all he set out for. His account was filled with riches, and he was so close to checking out. Maybe he would have settled somewhere cold, like that mountain had been. He loved the cold. The way it made him feel alive.
He didn’t have to take that job.
He didn’t need to.
He’d established himself in the underbelly. Was feared and respected and highly sought after.
But he was bored.
Money was tedious after a while.
And he was in mourning.
He grieved in silence, shut out from the world, on the island he had just discovered, shacked up on the top floor of Hotel Browning, drinking himself to sleep, until he couldn’t take his own company.
So, when Hobbs made that call, had said, “Hey, in case you’re interested, there’s a huge lump of treasure in the heart of Surrey. It’s dangerous. There’s going to be gunfire. One of your men will probably die. Figure you might want a bit of excitement. Better than drinking yourself to death on that lonesome little island. What do you say?”
He wanted to say, Fuck that. No thanks.
He might even toss the phone out the crappy rattling windows and be done with that bullshit.
But he found himself silent instead.
As the seconds ticked by, he began to consider.
He didn’t want to feel the heaviness in his heart anymore.
He sort of wanted to die.
And this job…well, he might end up in a shootout. He could see himself going out that way. Fighting to the very bitter end.
Maybe the law would take him out.
Maybe it would be the cunts he was going to rip off.
Fact was, it was better to die that way than to die of a broken heart, perched in a dilapidated hotel room, on an island that needed too much saving to give a shit about.
“Count me in,” he’d said.
15.
Nixon…
“When are you gonna let the girl go?” Hobbs asked, settling down next to Nixon at the bar of the basement.
Nixon wiped at the blood spatter he’d missed, ignoring Hobbs. He’d literally just taken a seat a minute ago. The morning had been long and gruelling and – as he got down to piecing the events last night – had resulted in an unexpected chase across the marina and into a waiting ferry.
“Nixon,” Hobbs pressed, irritably. “I’m asking you a fucking question.”
“Thought my silence was answer enough.”
Hobbs took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes like he had a headache. “How much blood you willing to spill over her?”
Nixon threw the napkin down and lazily dragged his gaze over to him. “Are you going through some mid-life crisis, Hobbs? You’re taking a huge interest in my life all of a sudden, and last I checked, we’re business partners. We’ve got a job in the next few days –”
“You’re seriously going to leave Vixen behind to rip off some dickhead for a bit of gold?”
Nixon’s gaze narrowed. “She’s safe here.”
“She’d be safer on her own, did you know that?”
He didn’t want to hear it. Jesus, he heard it enough from Vixen lately. The girl had no fear anymore. She was splitting open at the seams, and there was nothing Nixon could do to close her back up again. Long ago, he’d fuck her and it would be enough to silence her for a while. She had enough sense to fear him.