Читать книгу The Watcher - Grace Monroe - Страница 23

Chapter Seventeen

Danube Street Casino, Edinburgh Sunday 23 December, 5 p.m.

Glasgow Joe opened the front door of the casino to us, looking surprised, to say the least – and he didn’t like surprises. He always said he’d never met an assassin who did, which was fair enough. Not that he was in that line of business any more, of course – he’d given that up for me. The fact that I’d brought Jack Deans with me was obviously another source of displeasure. Joe flicked his eyes over his so-called rival, and I could almost hear him thinking that Deans was too bloody smooth by half. In fact, I’d been wondering myself whether Jack hadn’t been scrubbing himself up a bit better since he’d returned – maybe it was my imagination, but I thought his hair had fewer grey streaks in it than before.

‘What are you looking at?’ I said, ignoring the fact that he was Kailash’s partner in the casino. In spite of Kailash’s protests to the contrary, she was considering dumping the brothel end of her business and concentrating on Internet gambling while still perfecting it in the real world too. The billions-a-year in profit made from online betting was too much for her to resist – she wanted a piece of the pie and had decided to share it with Glasgow Joe. The initial income was set to their quadruple projected forecasts. Joe was going to be rich soon, very rich, but all the money in the world wouldn’t solve the problem he was clearly having seeing me with Jack.

‘Members only,’ he snarled, sticking out his hand in front of my companion. The two men stared, digging into each other. Joe’s eyes were stained with insomnia. Jack was the only one who was smiling, and he smiled like the cat that had the cream – in Joe’s mind the bastard probably had. I was annoyed at both of them – and myself.

‘I told him you wouldn’t let him just walk into your casino!’ shouted Connie, stirring from the back of the line where she was jumping with glee at the thought of Jack being blackballed. Joe was trying to teach her about good sportsmanship, something he knew little about, so, reluctantly, he stepped aside and let Jack in. It was an upmarket establishment, though. How would we explain the smelly old bag lady beside us? ‘She’s with me,’ Connie piped up, as she pushed the crone inside the hallway, obviously having fallen for whatever story she had been fed.