Chapter 40
It is midday in Palm Springs. Even the cacti are begging for mercy.
Tommy Griffin is thinking about Jakob Eriksson. He’d had an interesting dinner last night with some Brits. Well, two Brits, and a woman who could have been pretty much any nationality. Or age, come to that. It was very interesting. It seems that Jakob Eriksson is on manoeuvres again.
Eriksson is crazy, that’s for sure. He was so quiet in Vegas, just sat watching. The only times he perked up were when he saw a particularly big cactus and when Celine Dion encored with ‘My Heart Will Go On’.
They had warned him, the Brits, and perhaps he should listen?
Three people are dead. Vern Blackwood is being squeezed.
The business is changing, getting more ruthless, and Tommy isn’t getting any younger.
He’s trying to get younger, he regularly has his blood replaced and now sleeps in an oxygenated cryo-chamber, but nothing seems to be working.
June becomes July, July becomes August. The clock on the wall keeps ticking.
Perhaps he should quit while he’s ahead? Give up the whole Irish thing? Talk to Jakob Eriksson, tell him, ‘It’s all yours, brother’? He could buy art and play golf? He’s pretty bad at both, but maybe that’s because he hasn’t had enough time to really concentrate on them.
That meeting, the six of them in Vegas. Tommy really thought they’d achieved something.
Really thought they’d come to an understanding.
But it only takes one maniac to ruin all that.
And, looking round the table, your money would have been on Jakob Eriksson.
He was the richest, and the quietest. And ever since, he’s got even richer, and even quieter.
Tommy turns on to Frank Sinatra Way and stops. You know what, people aren’t kidding, it really is pretty hot here. He’s never really noticed it before. Tommy loosens his tie. Hates to do it, but does it anyway.
Perhaps his time in the business is up? Would that really be so bad?
He could reconnect with his kids. They’d be hesitant at first, but no one can resist Tommy for long.
The way in is through the grandkids, make them fall in love with you and the kids will follow.
Maybe read the bedtime stories a little less aggressively.
There are worse dads in the world, Tommy is sure of that. In some ways not being around was actually good parenting on his behalf. After all, you want your children to stay out of danger, don’t you? And what is Tommy if not dangerous? He was doing them a favour.
Business is fun though. Ireland is fun. Risky, sure, but that’s why it’s fun.
There is a glint of light from the mountain.
The sun catching the binoculars of a birdwatcher.
Perhaps he could take up birdwatching? That’s a thought.
Take the grandkids, tell them what all the birds are?
Tommy would have to find out what all the birds were first. Eagles, he knew them.
And vultures, of course, always vultures up above you in the desert.
He will think about it. No need to make a rash decision.
Talk to Jakob Eriksson, man to man. He’s sure he’s right about the English thing, by the way.
You could tell that Eriksson was doing something weird with his voice, but behind it all he’s sure the guy was English.
Not Tommy’s business, we all wear masks.
That’s what he’ll do. He’ll find Eriksson, he’ll tell him, ‘Listen, what’s mine is yours.’ The really smart criminals get out before it’s too late. Gotta time your exit just right.
He nods to himself and tightens his tie again. Even if he’s thinking of retiring, there’s no need to let standards slip, you never knew who was watching.
Did Tommy have time to hear the sound of the bullet?
Even from that distance, probably not. When they found his body, the vultures swooping and grizzling overhead, he still had a smile on his face.