Vin of Venus Read online

  Each ring made his hand shake. If he couldn't contact her ...

  "Who the hell's this?"

  "Marta? It's me, Vin."

  A breath. "Oh my God, where have you been? Muroc and I were ready to call the police. You were supposed to talk to Dr. Dorian about the bracelet."

  "Dorian's a crook."

  "But Muroc called him. Dorian said you never contacted. And where did you get this phone? Caller ID says you're a Lance Throckmorton. I almost didn't pick up."

  "It's a long story. Listen, Muroc should've never sent me to this guy. Dorian stole my bracelet and set me up in a psychiatric hospital. I've escaped, but I'm staying with some criminals in Bayswater. I need your help."

  "Bayswater? You're only a stone's-throw from your flat."

  "I know, but I can't leave right now. Please, keep your phone handy and be ready to come get me when I call. I can't go into more detail than that."

  "Of course, Vin, but—"

  He ended the call.

  * * *

  At 10 a.m. a Syrian woman came in and cooked a huge breakfast of toast and sausage. Tony, Charlotte, and Vin, all bundled in plush terrycloth robes, sat off the kitchen and drank coffee from a French press.

  "How was the rest of your night?" Tony asked. With the robe on, he seemed more like a distant uncle than the man who'd slugged his girlfriend hours before.

  "I caught some sleep," Vin lied. "I've had more than enough time to rest, while I was in hospital." The truth was, his pain medications had worn off and his face felt like someone had been using it to strop a razor. He would've liked nothing more than two days of solid sleep. But that wasn't an option. Neither was asking Tony for any pain pills. He needed a clear head for what was coming.

  Charlotte grabbed a slice of toast from the rasher and smeared it with marmalade. A large plaster covered the gouge in her forehead. "You never mentioned any family, Vin. You've got a place to stay?"

  "Actually, I'm kind of between flats at the moment."

  "You're staying with us." Tony patted his sleeve. The way he said it sounded warm and paternal, but also implied no other option. "At least for the time being. I want to get your property back as soon as possible. Once that's been done, we can discuss compensation for my efforts. I'm sure you understand this will involve extra-legal matters."

  Charlotte beamed. "Vin knows all about that kind of thing."

  "I'm, ah, grateful," Vin said. "Really. I appreciate Charlotte's help and you putting me up. But I want it understood, the bracelet is mine. Once it's back the decision to sell rests with me."

  "Of course, of course."

  "We just want to make sure you get a fair price," Charlotte said.

  Tony speared a kipper sausage with his fork. "I had Dr. Dorian spotted this morning, going into work. We know where he's parked. The plan is to get a couple lads together and confront him, when he's ready to return home."

  Vin remembered the rugby-player's scarred fists. "He might have some lads of his own."

  "I don't doubt it. Villains like that usually do."

  "I have a feeling he'll be wearing the bracelet. Probably concealed." Vin wasn't sure why he knew that. But something about the jewelry suggested it had to be worn.

  "That will make things much simpler," Tony said.

  * * *

  Vin dozed through lunch and early afternoon. He'd propped himself in a corner of the leather couch. Tony gave him an old Armani shirt, track pants, and a single trainer to wear. The left sleeve on the shirt had been discretely closed with a safety pin.

  Tony paced the living room, phone attached to his ear. Every now and then he'd shout commands in Arabic. Charlotte had disappeared. Vin pictured her raiding a medicine cabinet somewhere above.

  He dozed again, despite the shouting. Around four o'clock Tony nudged him awake.

  "I'm off to see the good doctor," he said. "He probably puts in a full day like a proper Brit, but I want to be early. Just in case. Amir and another associate will be accompanying."

  Vin pushed himself up. "I'm coming, too."

  "That won't be necessary."

  "I insist."

  Tony's lips tightened. "And what, exactly, would you do?"

  "I want to ask Dorian a few questions."

  Charlotte came dancing into the room, wearing a tiny leather jacket with tufts of ermine at the collar and cuffs. Black jeans hugged her stick-like legs. When she turned to face Tony her eyes were chips of blue porcelain, pupils all but gone. "Are we off?"

  "You're stoned out of your mind," Tony said.

  "Fit and ready." Charlotte raised her hands in a boxer's stance.

  "Good Christ, what am I going to do with you two?"

  "Take the van," Charlotte said.

  "Take the van. So simple." Tony massaged his temples, his jaw. "You'll stay inside the vehicle the whole time, understand? Me and the boys do all the talking."

  "Clear as crystal," Charlotte said.

  Vin crawled into his chair, feeling for the cell phone's bulge inside the leather pocket. He wished he had a gun tucked away, too. Charlotte pushed him down the hall.

  Near the front door, Tony opened a closet and pulled out a nylon shoulder rig. Suspended from the fabric was an old hatchet. Rust coated the head, and the grips had been worn down to smooth rubber. But a millimeter of brightness shone along the cutting edge. Tony slipped the rig on, tucking the axe-head beneath his armpit. He pulled a blazer over the whole ensemble.

  "From the old days," he explained. "Not for shit in a gunfight, you understand. But aces when it comes to intimidation."

  * * *

  They rode in a catering van. Amir driving, Tony shotgun, with Vin and Charlotte huddled in the back, next to giant cans of tahini. Tony played dub with the volume cranked. He drummed his hands against the dashboard and cracked the occasional joke to Amir.

  "He's nervous as hell," Charlotte whispered. "He always gets like this, on a job."

  "He looks calm to me," Vin said.

  "It's all an act."

  They pulled up to a kebab house on Edgware Road. Amir got out. He emerged from the shop minutes later with a wiry dark man wearing a grease-spotted apron. The newcomer took one contemptuous look at Charlotte and Vin before squeezing over to sit next to Tony. He tossed the apron behind him, narrowly missing Charlotte's head. The van started moving again.

  "Bloody Syrians," Charlotte said, her voice just low enough to slip under the music.

  "Who's that?"

  "Tariq. Tony's favorite gunman. When he isn't skewering hunks of lamb."

  "Tony isn't taking any chances, is he?"

  "Never does."

  The van jostled its way towards Central London.

  * * *

  "That's it?" Tony said, peering out the front window at a black BMW. They were in a private car park off Marchmont, scant minutes from the British Museum.

  "That's the one," Amir said.

  Tony shook his head. "This place is too bloody perfect."

  There were only four other cars in the lot. Sculpted hedges screened three-quarters of the surrounding streets, and the attendant booth was empty. Amir had disabled the lone security camera before they'd pulled in.

  Vin still didn't like it. "What if someone else shows up for their car the same time Dorian does?"

  "Then we'll have to try again," Tony said.

  "This area's crawling with Met Police."

  "There's nothing for it. A snatch-and-grab always entails some risk. We try and break into his flat, it'll be harder. Trust me."

  Vin settled back to wait. Charlotte broke out a pack of Turkish cigarettes, and soon a haze of sweet-smelling smoke filled the cab.

  At 5:17 a woman wearing a leather skirt roared off in her Peugeot.

  "Pop the hood," Tony told Amir, "and pretend like you're working on the engine. We need someone already outside when he comes."

  At 5:30 sharp Dr. Dorian stepped onto the lot. He wore an overcoat and gloves. The rugby-player with the blond crew cut dogged
his shadow. At sight of him, Vin felt his skin prickle. He remembered being bound to a length of exposed pipe in the East End warehouse, those same ruddy fists working his ribs.

  "Everybody down," Tony hissed. "Away from the goddamn windows. Tariq, on three we break and head him off before he reaches the beamer."

  Tariq slid an automatic with a five-inch silencer out of his suit coat. He nodded.

  "One. Two. Three."

  Tony and Tariq bolted from the passenger's side door.

  Charlotte pressed herself against the back window. Vin joined her. He saw Amir come stealing up on the rugby-player, seizing the crook of his elbow and pulling it behind his back in a lock. But Dorian had already turned around. He leveled what looked like a gun at the fast-approaching Tony, just as Tariq was sighting in with his automatic. Everyone froze.

  "Fucking standoff," Charlotte said. "We don't have time for this."

  She threw open the back doors and went sprinting towards the men. Her hand flashed into her pocket, came up with a knife.

  Vin looked down at the pavement. It was a about a three-foot drop from the back of the van to the lot. Amir had had to hoist him in here, like he'd done with the steps outside Tony's house.

  What do you think you're going to do?

  He remembered his feeling of uselessness from the night before. Just sitting there and watching Tony hit Charlotte. That wasn't him. When he'd had all his limbs he'd been a man of action. Even without the bracelet to stoke his anger, to manipulate his emotions, he'd never shied from a fight. So why was he balking now?

  Steeling his jaw for the impact, he wheeled himself out.

  The chair struck pavement with a spine-rattling jolt. He nearly spilled out, but managed to keep his grip on the armrest. Less than ten yards away, Charlotte had closed with the five men. Tony snarled at her to stay back. She took one look at Dorian's pistol—the same one he'd pointed at Vin, days before—and let her knife droop.

  Vin zigzagged towards them fast as he could.

  "Who's this now?" Dorian said, squinting beneath his gold-rimmed lenses. He kept the gun trained on Tony. "You again? I'd heard you'd gotten loose from that nuthouse in Camberwell. How'd you manage to round up all these Saracens?"

  Amir had let go of the rugby-player. The blond man's mouth lifted in a sneer. Perspiration beaded on Tariq's forehead and made a slow drip to the pavement. His knuckles were turning pale against the trigger, the silenced automatic still pointing at Dorian.

  "Lose your tongue, too?" Dorian said.

  "You're pretty calm, considering your situation," Vin said. He felt a pang of disappointment the old man wasn't squirming.

  "My situation? You morons are accosting me in broad daylight, in one of the busiest sections of London. Any second now someone's going to happen along."

  "Give me the bracelet," Tony said, "or my man will shoot you dead right here."

  "Not while I have this, eh?" Dorian lifted his own gun a fraction of an inch. His gnarled hand looked steady.

  "How do we know he even has this bracelet?" Amir said.

  "Well, if I didn't, you lot just troubled yourself for nothing." Dorian winked. "But as it happens, I do. Would you like to see?"

  The rugby-player shook his head. "Boss, why even—"

  "Don't worry about it, Donny." Dorian's left hand slid back the overcoat's sleeve. There was a white shirtsleeve underneath, bulging at the wrist. Dorian's nimble fingers un-buttoned the cuff, while his right hand kept the gun pointed at Tony. Late afternoon sun glinted off the bared bracelet.

  Charlotte sucked in a breath. "Bloody hell."

  Tony's eyes widened. The rubies' tiny facets cast a thousand glints of red light.

  Dorian swung the gun left and shot Tariq in the face.

  All at once, people were moving. Tony threw himself flat. Amir leapt for Dorian's outstretched hand, but Donny caught him from behind, looped an arm around his neck while his right foot crashed into the back of his knee. Bones cracked. Amir stooped forward, unable to balance. He twisted and got a hold of Donny's torso, dragging them both to the pavement.

  A sound like a loud cough.

  Dorian howled. Lying prone, blood streaming from his forehead, Tariq had shot him in the foot. Dorian pointed the gun down to finish him off. In the same moment, Charlotte lunged and sunk her knife in his thigh. He whirled, striking her with the gun's barrel, but the impact knocked the weapon from his hand. It tumbled end over end and disappeared in the shrubs.

  Tariq let out a death-gurgle. Charlotte dropped to her knees, clutching at her face. The blow had re-opened the cut across her forehead.

  Now Tony was up, reaching under his blazer. He tore the hatchet loose. Dorian's eyes bulged. Tony grabbed his shirt with his free hand and dragged him into swinging range. "Give me that goddamned bracelet," he said through clenched teeth.

  Dorian shook his head. "It's mine. It won't come off for you. Only I know—"

  "It won't, huh?"

  Tony pushed Dorian to the ground. Straddled him with his knees. He grabbed his right arm and pressed it flat against the blacktop. Hefted the axe. Dorian let out a scream as the hatchet whistled down and bit through his forearm. Blood spurted. Dorian's other hand fluttered to his thigh and wrenched out the knife. He plunged the blade into Tony's back. Tony fell off him, writhing.

  Vin watched from his chair, unscathed. His nerves danced with adrenaline, demanding action. He saw Tariq's pistol dangling from the man's lifeless hands. Not far away. He wheeled over and stooped to try and snatch it up. Just out of reach. He snaked his foot out and touched the gun's bloodied grips with his shoe.

  Amir's neck made a horrible ratcheting sound as Donny finished twisting his head a quarter-turn behind his shoulders. The big bodyguard slumped. Donny rolled to his feet and took stock: everyone else was down, wounded or dying. Except Vin.

  "Gonna finish you off, son," he said, breathing heavy from his struggle. "Finish what I started in the warehouse."

  Dorian moaned for help, but Donny ignored him. His skin flushed a boiling red. Blood dripped from several gouges along his forearm where Amir must've bitten him.

  He's gone kill-crazy, Vin thought. He tried to kick the gun closer. Donny saw what he was doing and lunged.

  Time froze.

  Vin's mind told him, with absolute clarity, that if Donny were to lay hands on him again he'd be kindling in the whole man's grasp. His only hope was the gun. He threw himself from the chair. Tariq's body helped cushion his fall. Turning, writhing like a snake, he grabbed the silenced automatic and brought it up. Donny's body loomed over him, a huge predatory bird in mid-dive. Vin's finger jerked the trigger, not bothering to aim. The gun coughed three times. Donny shuddered. A round scored his shoulder, his chest, and his groin. He collapsed over Vin. Again the snake, Vin wriggled out from under him. Donny made a half-hearted swipe at his ankle. Blood poured from two holes in his track-suit.

  Vin rolled, the only way he could move with any speed. He bumped into Dorian. The doctor had turned pale as milk. He clutched at the near-stump of his right forearm. Arterial red pulsed past his knuckles. Vin saw the bracelet flash amidst all the blood, and reached for it. The gold seemed to tingle when his fingers brushed near. He made ready to pull it loose, yanking Dorian's hand off with it if necessary.

  Dorian groaned: "No."

  The bracelet flashed red and gold. Vin felt a scuttling pressure against his wrist, and in a moment the familiar metal encircled him again. Dorian's own bloodied wrist was bare.

  The damn thing had reattached itself.

  "It's mine," Dorian cried, but Vin was already rolling away, feeling strange elation the bracelet had accepted him back. And it was feeding him—not anger, or fear, but channeling raw determination through his gut. He rolled past the motionless Donny and Tony. One, or both of them, had loosed their bowels. He reached the chair. Got his hand around the armrest and started to draw himself back up.

  "Vin."

  Charlotte stood over him. A welt the size of a gun
-barrel flared across her forehead. The plaster covering her previous wound had been knocked loose, and now the skin-flap drooped past her eyebrow. She held the dripping knife.

  "Give me the bracelet, Vin."

  He surged up and somehow wriggled back into the chair. A siren started to wail in the distance.

  "We've got to get out of here," he said. "Push me. Through those hedges over there."

  "You looked like a worm just now, you know that? Flopping around on those bodies. Tony's dead, and I want the fucking bracelet he died for."

  "Charlotte—"

  "Give it to me." Her blue eyes glinted as she drew back the knife.

  Vin kicked her. The heel of his trainer landed square with her flat stomach. A kick from a one-legged man, delivered in a sitting position, but it had desperation behind it. Charlotte folded. Her head came down and he braced himself to kick again. This time his leg snapped up and his toe caught her under the chin. She reeled backwards, tripped over Donny's body. The knife clattered from her hand.

  Vin didn't wait to see if she'd get up. He did his frantic one-handed chair roll, angling for the nearby curb and a narrow gap between the shrubs. Police would be swarming the lot in moments. The bracelet throbbed and gave him another surge of strength. He got both wheels over the curb. Branches tore at his face, his arms. He pushed his way through, and burst out the other side, onto sidewalk. There was a narrow residential street right across from him. Cars parked in metered spaces. Milling pedestrians.

  If anyone had seen him come through the shrubs, they said nothing.

  Sirens were pulling close from two directions. He saw a coffee shop at the far end of the sidewalk and made for it, moving in erratic jolts. His arm was growing numb.

  "Need some help, love?"

  A woman in her late fifties, with a blue kerchief tied over her head. She'd been walking behind him.

  Vin could've cried from relief. "If you'd just push me to that shop up there, mum. I'd appreciate it."

  "A pleasure." The woman glanced around, nervous. "Sirens. Someone must've just been mugged."

  Vin pulled his sleeve over the bracelet by snagging the cuff on the armrest. At any moment he expected a bruised and bloodied Charlotte to come leaping out of the bushes, knife raised. But she didn't, and the woman pushed him with good speed.