“You remember I said I had an extra card to play to make him play ball?”
“Yeah. What of it?”
“It’s footage of Ivanov doing some real nasty shit. Tyson got hold of it for me.”
“So why aren’t you here with it?”
“Because Tyson decided to go to Ivanov and ask for more money than I paid him. That’s why.”
“Seriously?”
“Hid the memory card in the hotel room like we agreed. Only when I turn up, I can’t find the fucking thing, and Tyson is suddenly not answering his phone. Decided to play us off against the Russians, see who’d pay more.”
“Greedy bastard.”
“Ivanov paid him. That’s why he’s happy to come to the meeting. Thought we had nothing, but Antonio got hold of Tyson. Put him in the fridge at his place so I could talk with the son of a bitch. I’m back at the hotel now.”
“So, where is this memory card?”
I crack my knuckles, the popping sound loud in the confined space. “He hid it inside the lightbulb. I’m not even sure how you do that.”
“Used to be an engineer, didn’t he?”
“That was forty years ago.”
“Still got the tricks, I guess. You got it yet?”
“Two minutes.” The elevator slides open, and I step out.
“What do I do about Ivanov? He knows something is up.”
“Just keep him busy.”
“I’m doing my best, but he keeps threatening to walk. Says it’s disrespectful to make him wait this long.”
“Threaten to break his legs. That should keep him where he is.”
“Not sure that would help the delicate negotiations we’ve been working on for the last three months.”
“He turned down a generous offer. Now he’s going to see what happens when you turn down the Lombardifamiglia. He’ll get far less, and we’ll blackmail him into accepting. Tell him that. See what he says.”
He laughs down the line. “He already knows you’re going to try to blackmail him. Just remember, unless you get that footage, we’ve got nothing to use to make him sell.”
“I’ll get it.”
I remember Tyson’s screams before he finally cracked. Lucky for me, Antonio’s fridge is soundproof. There wouldn’t be many customers left if they could hear how much it took to make him tell me where he hid it.
I hang up the phone, looking at Bex’s room door.
To think she was in there while I searched Tyson’s room this morning. A vision of perfection better than any Bernini sculpture, mere feet away from me. Shows you never can tell what’s around the corner in life.
Tyson’s room is how I left it. The maids know better than to interfere when I’m on a job.
I kick the cushions out of the way in the lounge, heading straight through to the bedroom. Climbing onto the bed, I reach up to the ceiling.
I unscrew the bulbs and drop them onto the floor. Stepping down, I lower my foot onto each in turn, crunching them into pieces. Leaning down, I reach between the broken shards. Nothing in the first two. Did he lie?
No. There it is. The memory card I was busy looking for when I heard her screaming before breakfast. I had my drink in one hand and a knife in the other. Glad I put the knife down before I opened my door. Might have put her ex in the morgue instead of the hospital. I saw red when that asshole ran at me. He’ll be lucky to wake up with any of his teeth left.