Read Online Black Mail (2012) by Bill Daly - Free Book Online

know who it is – Liam Black.’
    ‘How the fuck did you get your hands on that photograph?’
    There was a low chuckle. ‘That’s hardly relevant. As I said in my note, that was just a sample. I’ve got the full, two-hour, uncensored video.’
    The phone was twitching in Simon’s trembling fingers. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘That’s more like it. I’m not an unreasonable man,’ the deep, metallic voice intoned. ‘I’ll settle for fifty grand.’
    ‘You’re off your fucking head!’ He screamed into the mouthpiece. ‘I can’t lay my hands on that kind of money!’
    ‘Come on now! Flash pad in Park Terrace, top of the range Jag, round the world cruises, winter skiing in St Moritz.’ He chuckled coldly. ‘It might take a wee effort,
Simon
.’ His name was dragged out. ‘But it’ll be well worth it.’
    ‘Don’t you fucking-well “Simon” me!’
    Black’s tone changed abruptly. ‘You’re not calling the shots around here. What do you think your wife’ll call you if she sees that photo? It sure as hell won’t be “Simon”. Probably “Pervert”. That suits you right down to the ground. I can see it now – “Pervert Ramsay” – splashed across the front page of the Sunday papers.’
    Simon stubbed his cigarette into the already overflowing ashtray and lit up again immediately. ‘Nobody would publish it,’ he croaked.
    ‘That particular photograph? Probably not. A bit on the crude side for a family newspaper, don’t you think? But the tabloids would fall over themselves to get their hands on the story. How much do think I’d get for an exclusive? ‘Son-in-law of leading Glasgow stockbroker caught in flagrante’. I reckon that would be worth fifty grand of anybody’s money. So you see, I’m not being unreasonable,
Simon
– just asking the market rate.’
    ‘I need time … I need time to think,’ he blurted out, grabbing a tissue from the packet in his briefcase and using it to dab away the perspiration from his brow.
    ‘It’s a bit late in the day for that, Pervert. The time to do your thinking was before you dropped your breeks. Now’s thetime to focus on how you’re going to raise the cash. I want it in used notes – fives, tens and twenties, nothing bigger. You’ve got forty-eight hours to get the money together. I’ll call you at the same time tomorrow and give you instructions for handing it over.’
    ‘You’re crazy! I’m telling you I can’t lay my hands on that kind of money!’
    ‘Forty-eight hours, Pervert.’ The staccato words reverberated in his ear. ‘If you don’t come up with the cash by Saturday morning the story will break in the Sunday papers. It’s up to you. By the way, that’s a nasty-looking big plook you’ve got on your bum. If I were you I’d get that seen to.’ The connection was broken.
    Simon threw the phone into his briefcase and rammed his cigarette into the ashtray. He started coughing uncontrollably. His whole body was shaking. All the colour had drained from his face and his forehead felt as if it was burning. Firing the ignition, he hammered the gear lever into reverse to pull out of the parking bay, then slalomed up the ramps to street level, tyres squealing. He sped across the city centre as far as Charing Cross but when he reached the bottom of Lynedoch Street he had to slow to a crawl to negotiate the treacherous conditions as he climbed towards Park Terrace. Pulling up outside his house he grabbed his briefcase and took the stone steps two at a time.
    Jude was in the kitchen, drinking coffee and flicking through
The Herald
, when she heard the front door being thrown open. She hurried out to the hall. ‘What on earth are you doing home at this time?’
    ‘I forgot to print off a report I need for a meeting this afternoon,’ Simon said as he head towards the staircase.
    ‘Are you feeling all right?’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
    ‘A bit hungover, that’s all.’
    ‘Do