Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [5]
Could feel his stomach rumbling through the lining. He hadn't been able to eat all day. Any stress and his stomach was always the first thing to go.
In Amsterdam, last month, for a few days, business trip—got a nice sale, too—Tommy'd been unable to eat a thing for twenty-four hours. Made him wonder how he hadn't succumbed to stomach ulcers over the years. Although, maybe he had. Maybe it was the ulcers that were burning in his stomach right now.
He'd had a financially comfortable existence for a long time. Prospered in a dangerous business for a few years without getting hurt and then got out of it as soon as he'd made enough to invest. He'd been lucky. Dad always said you couldn't go wrong if you bought property. Not that Dad had ever owned so much as a single brick himself, but that's where Tommy'd ploughed all his cash. And made a packet.
But his existence wasn't comfortable any longer. Not since the arrival of Mr Smith.
***
A TELEPHONE CALL had kicked it off. Tommy was at home in his office, which was where he preferred to work.
He picked up the phone, already annoyed at being disturbed.
"Is that Tommy Savage?"
"Yeah. What do you want, I'm busy?"
"Now that would be telling."
"So tell."
"Well, Tommy. I want your arse."
"Huh?" Tommy wondered if he'd heard right. "You want what?"
"Your arse. It's mine."
Little creep. Tommy didn't know how he could tell that the guy on the other end of the phone was little. But he heard the voice and pictured a small man.
Whatever the creep's size, Tommy'd had a good day up to that point. Taken Jordan to school in the morning, did a couple of hours' work, then popped out for coffee and got talking to an Italian divorcee called Bella. She was in her late thirties, from Napoli, no kids, living in Edinburgh. She liked Blues music, wine, walking and football. He liked her accent, her smile, the way her sweater curved.
They'd exchanged phone numbers. Which was promising. He hadn't had a girlfriend since Hannah and caution was now a habit. Tommy didn't want somebody else 'falling out of love' with him. Fraser was grown up when Tommy and his mother split, but Jordan was only nine at the time. She wanted to take him to South Africa with her. With her and her new boyfriend, Russell.
Dirty divorce, filthy custody battle. But Tommy'd won. She couldn't prove any of her allegations, and he could. She wasn't exactly stable and medical records showed just how fucked up she was. It helped that Jordan didn't want to leave Edinburgh. And that he hated Russell.
But right up to the day she'd got on the flight, Tommy didn't think Hannah would leave.
Anyway, whether it was Bella from Napoli or because the sun was shining, he was in a good mood so he didn't hang up, or swear when the caller said he wanted Tommy's arse.
Instead, he made a joke of it. "Sorry, my arse is spoken for."
"Witty." Same little voice. "I want you to pay."
Tommy wasn't entirely sure how to reply to that. "Pay what?"
"You mean, pay for what?"
"I do?"
"You will pay for what you've done."
Very dramatic. The guy sounded like he was reading the words from a script. "Oh, I see," Tommy said. "And how will I pay?"
"With money."
Thick as mince. Made Phil seem like a brain surgeon, and that took some doing. "So I'll pay by paying," Tommy said. "Is that right?"
"Don't try to be smart. You know you have to pay."
He had no idea what the creep was talking about. "Who are you?"
"You can call me Mr Smith," the guy said. "You'll be hearing from me again." He hung up.
It had to be a crank call. Tommy put it out of his mind. Mostly.
For a couple of days, life went back to normal. And he'd pretty much forgotten about Mr Smith. But sure enough, the bastard called again.
"I was thinking about how best to start the ball rolling," he said.
No introduction, but Tommy recognised the voice immediately. "Not you again."
"Yes, me again. We should meet."
Tommy walked over to the door of his office, closed it. "Why should we do that?"
"Cause I want to show you how serious I am."
"About what?"
"Making you pay."
"Christ's