Read Online Royal Heist by Lynda La Plante - Free Book Online Page B

He knew it was against the rules, but he couldn’t stop himself. A little later he went into the bedroom, packed a bag, and went downstairs to Rika. “I’ve got to go away for a day. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    She gripped his arm. “Vhere you going?”
    He pushed her aside. “I’ve got a business problem. Just leave me alone!”
    “I von’t be ’ere ven you get back,” she screamed after him.
    Wilcox drove erratically down the drive, then reversed, almost skidding into the garage. Rika ran from the house and banged on the windscreen, but her anger turned to worry when she saw the look on his face.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. She opened the car door and got in beside him. “I’ve got big problems.”
    She put an arm around him; he rested his head against her. “Maybe I’ll go tomorrow,” he said. Then she helped him out of the Jeep and into the house. He told her that he had lost some money and needed to talk to someone about it. The following morning she drove him to the airport.
    Wilcox flew to Florida. He had to talk to someone, and it could only be Driscoll. He had calmed down since the previous night, but he was cold—the air-conditioning made him feel as if he was still on the ski run. He was sitting at a booth in the bar, behind a massive aquarium with exotic fish diving around elaborate fake rocks. He’d had two diet Cokes.
    Driscoll—white golfing cap, white T-shirt and shorts—entered the bar and saw Wilcox slouched at the table. He headed over and sat down.
    “How did you find me?”
    “Simple. Phoned all the top-notch hotels. Got to the tenth and they said you were there.” Wilcox cast a bleary eye over his friend. “Christ, Tony, you look like a right arsehole! What have you got on your feet?”
    “Gucci sandals. You look as if you’ve had a night on the tiles.”
    “Still a label man, are you?” Wilcox asked.
    “The wife buys it all. I don’t give a shit, but if it doesn’t carry a designer name she won’t buy it.”
    Wilcox slurped his Coke, and Driscoll ordered a decaf coffee from a waitress in a pink uniform. Eventually Driscoll said, “How much did you lose?”
    “My shirt,” Wilcox said flatly.
    “Me too. I mean, I’ve still got a few thousand here and there, some property, but . . . He called you, did he?”
    “Yeah.” Wilcox rubbed his arms. “Bloody cold in here.”
    “Yeah, the hotel dining room’s like a fridge, gotta wear a jumper to breakfast.”
    “What are we gonna do?” Wilcox finally asked.
    “I dunno. The Colonel said he was trying to sort it all but not to hold out much hope. We may be able to salvage something.”
    “That prick David Lyons didn’t top himself for nothing, and we’re in a long line of losers. The Internet bonanza’s screwed thousands like us.” Wilcox twisted his glass. “Gonna meet us at the Ritz again, right?”
    “He’s arranged the meeting for when I get back from here, mid-January.” Driscoll was staring at the fish.
    “What do you think he’s doing in the meantime?”
    “I dunno.” One tiny fish was swimming like quicksilver.
    “I’d say he’s up to his old tricks again. Nosing out some hit. What if he suggests we get involved in something? Are we up for it?”
    Driscoll burped. “Thing is, Jimmy, I owe him. His dad took care of my mother. If it hadn’t been for him she’d have been in a right mess. Paid for my school uniform. Like a surrogate father to me was Ronnie.”
    “I know.”
    Driscoll closed his eyes. “He used to look after a lot of people, did Ronnie, but when the shit hit the fan . . .”
    Wilcox leaned back against the booth.
    “Those villains, Jimmy, were something else. They came in the bookies with fucking sledgehammers, terrifying! I didn’t know Eddy that well then. Seen him around, but he was at the grammar school so we didn’t mix. And after he got into Sandhurst I hardly ever saw him. It was hard to believe they were father and son. I mean Ronnie wasn’t a big fella, and Eddy was