every move.
‘We called her Kaltrina. In Albanian, it means the blue girl,’ Besmir said flatly. ‘Look. Her eyes.’
The girl looked confused as the woman tried to take her out of Besmir’s arms. She clung onto him, whimpering.
‘She is beautiful. This blue girl.’ She looked at Besmir.
He was surprised to find himself holding the girl tightly, and the woman stared at him. He loosened his grip, but still held onto her.
A door opened at the far corner of the room and a big, well-built, older Moroccan man with dyed black hair came walking in. He wore white trousers, and a black shirtopen at the neck to reveal a heavy gold chain and medallion resting on his very hairy chest. Two thickset henchmen dressed in Moroccan tunics followed him. Besmir pulled himself up to stand tall.
‘You must be Besmir,’ the man said, striding across the room with his hand outstretched. ‘Leka told me.’ He looked at the girl. ‘And he was not wrong about the girl. A beauty.’
‘The blue girl,’ the woman piped up. ‘They have called her Kaltrina. It means the blue girl because of her blue eyes. Look at them. Look how lovely she is.’
The man nodded and touched the girl’s face softly.
‘My beautiful blue girl,’ he murmured. ‘You are like gold.’
He looked at Besmir.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Your work here is finished now. The driver will take you back to the port. I will call Leka to tell him you delivered safely.’ He smiled to Besmir, his dark skin like creased brown paper.
The woman came forward and put her arms out for the girl, but she buried her head in Besmir’s neck. The woman gently prised the girl off him and held her close, whispering to her. Besmir could still feel the softness of her skin on his. Her eyes filled with tears and she started screaming for her mother. The woman stroked her hair and turned to walk quickly out of the room. Besmir tried not to look as he heard the girl sobbing as she stretched her arms out towards him. He could still see the blue of her eyes as she disappeared behind the door.
‘You can go now, Besmir.’ The man shook his hand. ‘Thank you for your good work.’
Besmir said nothing. He glanced at the fat man whose face was wearing a smirk that he would remember long after this day was over.
CHAPTER 9
‘Let me just run that past you, Rosie,’ McGuire said. ‘In case I’ve blacked out or I’m dreaming. Are you telling me that our esteemed Home Secretary not only may have witnessed the kidnapping of little Amy, but was rogering some dusky rent boy at the same time? Oh, fuck me, Rosie! I think I’m going to faint. Just saying it makes me lightheaded.’
Rosie could almost hear McGuire’s brain rattling as he tried to process the information. Nobody relished the dismantling of a public figure more than he, and she knew even before she phoned him that he’d bite her hand off when she told him what the Taha boy had told her.
‘Yep, that’s right, Mick. The boy might be lying through his back teeth, I don’t know, but as we speak, I have in my hot little palm Michael Carter-Smith’s House of Commons pass. His privileged face is looking right at me.’
‘Jesus almighty.’ Silence. ‘Right, Rosie. We need to stand back and work this out.’
McGuire offered a few scenarios. By this time, Carter-Smithwould have noticed that his pass was missing – though if he was still on holiday, he might not notice until he got back to London. If he’d noticed it was gone, he’d be in a flap, trying to retrace his steps.
‘He’ll be shitting himself.’ McGuire said.
‘I know,’ Rosie said, closing the terrace doors. ‘What I can’t understand is why people like him carry these things around with them when they’re out picking up rough trade of a morning. I mean anything could happen.’
‘Do you think this little poofter is making it all up, Rosie? What if Carter-Smith has innocently dropped the pass out of his pocket on the street, for example, or in a
‘We called her Kaltrina. In Albanian, it means the blue girl,’ Besmir said flatly. ‘Look. Her eyes.’
The girl looked confused as the woman tried to take her out of Besmir’s arms. She clung onto him, whimpering.
‘She is beautiful. This blue girl.’ She looked at Besmir.
He was surprised to find himself holding the girl tightly, and the woman stared at him. He loosened his grip, but still held onto her.
A door opened at the far corner of the room and a big, well-built, older Moroccan man with dyed black hair came walking in. He wore white trousers, and a black shirtopen at the neck to reveal a heavy gold chain and medallion resting on his very hairy chest. Two thickset henchmen dressed in Moroccan tunics followed him. Besmir pulled himself up to stand tall.
‘You must be Besmir,’ the man said, striding across the room with his hand outstretched. ‘Leka told me.’ He looked at the girl. ‘And he was not wrong about the girl. A beauty.’
‘The blue girl,’ the woman piped up. ‘They have called her Kaltrina. It means the blue girl because of her blue eyes. Look at them. Look how lovely she is.’
The man nodded and touched the girl’s face softly.
‘My beautiful blue girl,’ he murmured. ‘You are like gold.’
He looked at Besmir.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Your work here is finished now. The driver will take you back to the port. I will call Leka to tell him you delivered safely.’ He smiled to Besmir, his dark skin like creased brown paper.
The woman came forward and put her arms out for the girl, but she buried her head in Besmir’s neck. The woman gently prised the girl off him and held her close, whispering to her. Besmir could still feel the softness of her skin on his. Her eyes filled with tears and she started screaming for her mother. The woman stroked her hair and turned to walk quickly out of the room. Besmir tried not to look as he heard the girl sobbing as she stretched her arms out towards him. He could still see the blue of her eyes as she disappeared behind the door.
‘You can go now, Besmir.’ The man shook his hand. ‘Thank you for your good work.’
Besmir said nothing. He glanced at the fat man whose face was wearing a smirk that he would remember long after this day was over.
CHAPTER 9
‘Let me just run that past you, Rosie,’ McGuire said. ‘In case I’ve blacked out or I’m dreaming. Are you telling me that our esteemed Home Secretary not only may have witnessed the kidnapping of little Amy, but was rogering some dusky rent boy at the same time? Oh, fuck me, Rosie! I think I’m going to faint. Just saying it makes me lightheaded.’
Rosie could almost hear McGuire’s brain rattling as he tried to process the information. Nobody relished the dismantling of a public figure more than he, and she knew even before she phoned him that he’d bite her hand off when she told him what the Taha boy had told her.
‘Yep, that’s right, Mick. The boy might be lying through his back teeth, I don’t know, but as we speak, I have in my hot little palm Michael Carter-Smith’s House of Commons pass. His privileged face is looking right at me.’
‘Jesus almighty.’ Silence. ‘Right, Rosie. We need to stand back and work this out.’
McGuire offered a few scenarios. By this time, Carter-Smithwould have noticed that his pass was missing – though if he was still on holiday, he might not notice until he got back to London. If he’d noticed it was gone, he’d be in a flap, trying to retrace his steps.
‘He’ll be shitting himself.’ McGuire said.
‘I know,’ Rosie said, closing the terrace doors. ‘What I can’t understand is why people like him carry these things around with them when they’re out picking up rough trade of a morning. I mean anything could happen.’
‘Do you think this little poofter is making it all up, Rosie? What if Carter-Smith has innocently dropped the pass out of his pocket on the street, for example, or in a
Similar Books
