Wealth

Wealth-5

“We understand your needs, Mr Quinn. We’d always have a personal shopper for you.”

“I’d like you to meet my partner, Kaitlyn. She needs….”

“She needs to speak for herself,” she interrupted. “I need some clothes because Mr Quinn has taken all of mine away.”

The lady raised a questioning eyebrow at Randolph. He laughed.

“I gave them to charity. Kaitlyn has renounced possessions and is entering a convent you see. Tonight is her farewell party.”

The woman searched back to Kaitlyn’s face and then joined in the laughter.

“Versace. I see you with Italian flair and I believe Mr Quinn is very much associated with Milano.”

Kaitlyn nodded. This dame had done her homework, and fast. So this was like being rich.

“Chrissy, I didn’t pick up my cell. Could I use your office phone?”

The woman waved and a young male assistant came to escort Randolph. He smiled and walked calmly away. Just what was he on?

“Versace. Shall we take a look?”

“Sure. I guess you know Randolph. He must bring a lot of girls here.”

The woman paused as she appraised Kaitlyn from top to toe.

“Never seen him with a girl. You’d never think he was one of the richest men in the world. He likes to buy gifts for clients but I think this is something new and very very exciting. You’ve got a real look about you—slightly gamin face, full figure but a wiry aura of strength.”

“That’ll be all those burgers from my uncle’s diner on Canvey and my karate,” said Kaitlyn.

The lady gave a weak smile and ushered her to a display of fabulous dresses.

“Vair-Sah-Chay, Chianti, spaghetti, Cornetto,” said Kaitlyn, almost gasping at the beautiful dresses.

“You have a beautiful Italian accent, madam.”

Her eyes fell upon a baroque sleeveless midi dress and widened at the price tag, a mere 2,883 USD. All the same she took it from the rail and gazed at it. It was branded as Wild Side with a slit thigh and gorgeous embroidery. She wanted it. She wanted it. More than that it was sleeveless and would show her tattoo. Then she would know about this guy, then she would be shouting the essence of herself.

“I was just so hoping that would be your choice. May I call you Kaitlyn?”

“Sure, may I try it on?”

She liked what she saw, but her hair was a mess, she’d need shoes and where the hell were they going anyway?

She heard Randolph’s voice outside the changing room. This was it.

He stopped talking as he saw her. She did a nervous spin and ended up staring back at him unsteadily. His eyes had fixed on her tattoo as he nodded slowly. Then he opened his arms to her and she ran shoeless the few steps to him.

“You’re wild,” he said as he held her. “What’s the tatt? I love it.”

“She’s Ishtar, Assyrian goddess of love, s*x, power, and a bag of stuff.”

“Chrissy, we’ll need shoes and underwear. Can you do a quick hair fix, makeup and some sparkly sapphire earrings worthy of a goddess?”

“Mr Quinn, this is so strange, maybe fate. We have a beautiful set of Ishtar jewellery by Bee Goddess.”

“Sold,” replied Randolph.

She’d lost the plot but without orders from above she was just going with the flow. Why fight it? All of this could end in a few blood-soaked seconds. The thought snapped her back to her situation. For a moment they were alone.

“Why did you need to use the phone in their office? You had a cell.”

“So I did. I must have left it in that cab with a wiped SIM, just in case someone might be tracking me. Keep your phone on for now. Maybe about now they’ll be talking to Tommy. Won’t be long until they try a new angle.”

“Would they hurt him?”

“Nah. He’s no threat to them. Won’t hurt to keep alert.”

“You cannot live like this forever and for sure I can’t.”

“Neither of us will have to, believe me.”

Apparently this guy had no criminal record. He was a banker not a bank robber. She’d watched him checking out the in-store CCTV. He was ultra aware of surveillance almost like a trained operator. There were big questions about Randolph Quinn and she had no one to ask except him.

It was nearly closing time as they prepared to leave the store with Manolo shoes, Rigby and Peller underwear, the Ishtar earrings, Stella McCartney clutch bag, and immaculate hair and makeup.

“One last thing. Write down all the important numbers from your cell and then wipe the SIM. Here’s a Nokia 1100 basic handset. Sackman-Platinum will get you another android.”

She thought quickly. She was letting him take charge and she was the cop.

“My DCI has this number. She’s going to call me.”

As she looked at him a middle-aged suited man approached showing half a smile. She noted his pale blue socks and slip on shoes.

“WPC Thorn, Mr Quinn, thank God you’re OK. I’m Detective Sergeant Grant of Special Branch. We’ve got a police car outside. Please follow me.”

Kaitlyn shot a quick glance at Randolph as her karate blow crashed into the man’s throat. She followed him to ground and pulled out a vicious looking flick knife from his jacket pocket. Randolph pulled a slick automatic pistol from a shoulder holster and held it firmly aimed at the guy’s head.

“What the f**k, Randolph?”

“What the f**k, Kaitlyn?”

She ignored him and spoke to the figure on the floor.

“If you’re a cop, I’m a f*****g banana. Where’s your ID?”

He made no response beyond a few groans. A uniformed concierge had arrived at the scene.

“We’ll leave by the VIP exit,” instructed Randolph, his g*n no longer in sight. This gentleman may need an ambulance, I fear.”

Chapter 7Randolph stepped out and signaled toward a black Chrysler 300 parked up the street. At once the vehicle pulled up alongside them. They slid into the luxurious cushioned leather of the back seat. Randolph took her hand and spoke to the driver.

“You know where to go, André.”

“Can we talk?” she asked.

“Sure, you’re safe with my team now on a different level. Forget all your worries.”

“Forget you’ve got what looks like a Walther PPK g*n in a shoulder holster?”

“Some guys have a man bag. Some guys have a purse for small change. I’m tidy, can’t bear a loose g*n in my pocket.”

“I can’t bear some crook with an illegal firearm holding my hand.”

“Normally I wouldn’t date a girl who’d half killed a cop with a karate chop but hey, we are where we are.”

He turned to look at her. His gaze didn’t waver. Nothing that had happened troubled him. She was fighting against him. And he was winning. She decided to attack at a tangent.

“That guy wasn’t a cop.”

“I heard him say he was a sergeant with Special Branch.”

“He called me WPC, that’s old style stuff off the TV. No Special Branch cop tells you where he’s from. And no f*****g cop wears slip on shoes just in case they have to put the boot into some villain like you.”

“Ouch! That hurt. Maybe the jury will believe no cop carries a flick knife and has a g**g name of Cadillaco. If you need a witness call me. If I still love you I’ll take the stand.”

“You knew him?”

“I’m alive. I know who I need to know.”

She sighed and searched for his eyes, all the time squeezing his hand.

“Randolph, just what am I into here?”

“You’re in my limo. And we’re going to be together for a wonderful evening. You’re safe now, my lovely. In this dangerous world you’re safe and that’s my promise. We’ve faced dangers together and a force of fate has control of us. Look, you have brought to me a goddess on your arm. We go to a*****e and they have the jewels made in her name. Sometimes destiny just picks you up. It is bad manners to fight the universe of a man, a woman, and love.”

She was fighting. She was fighting. In the leather seats of the limo with this hunk of a beautiful fearless unattached powerful guy she was fighting. Suddenly she felt tearful.

“You bastard. You absolute smooth asshole f*****g bastard. Don’t let me down that’s all.”

He reached out and turned her face to look at him. He brushed a tear from her cheek with gentle fingers and brought it to his lips.

“How often does a man meet a truly beautiful woman? How often does he meet a truly beautiful woman he can trust? I take this tear and you have let me take it. I want this taste of you but I’ll take nothing you don’t give.”

“One minute you’re barrow boy, next minute you’re lounge lizard. What are you?”

“I’m from the same place as you, but wealth and power is a school in itself. Follow your heart and I’ll do my best to keep it beating. You’ve already shown me you’d do the same for me.”

She stared ahead as the limo rolled past Buckingham Palace and headed down the Mall towards Whitehall, Trafalgar Square, or the City, and beyond. The streetlights were on but the autumn night was still warm. Did she even want to know where they were going? She had her cellphone but it had been stubbornly silent. He wanted her to wipe the SIM and trash it. It was her last connection to the only world she knew. And yet she knew that somehow it had attracted the last attempted attack. She handed it to him.

“I just need the number for my mum, my friend Camille, and Shannon Knightsmith.”

He clicked through her contacts and called out the numbers. She stored them on her new basic phone.

“I’m setting you free, baby. Soon we’re going to be so light and free we’ll be able to just fly away.”

Now the lights were bright against the dusk. They were heading east following the Thames towards the great financial powerhouses of the City and Canary Wharf. Ahead of them was the structure of the iconic and world famous Tower Bridge. André drove smoothly with the defensive style of a professional chauffeur.

“You’re a really cool driver. I could learn from you,” she said, somehow wanting to bring the game down to a playable level.

“Thank you, madame. I believe you have your own skills. I was trained by the Presidential Republican Guard unit in Paris,” replied the chauffeur.

“You’re super smooth. I’d like a lesson when you’re free. We pro-drivers should stick together.”

She could feel the warmth of Randolph’s smile like the sun on her cheek. His hand stroked her fingers one by one. She should pull it away and establish control of law and order as the super smooth limo cruised into the soft violet shapeless seduction of the London night. Randolph was speaking in his deep voice.

“We’ll go aboard. Call the office to collect the car. I fancy a bit of open sea.”

“Open sea?” she repeated.

“England, it’s an island. You’re never far from the sea,” Randolph replied as if this was a normal day at the office.

“Sea?”

“Yeah. It’s the other side of Tower Bridge and the Thames Barrier. Once we’re aboard I’ll fix us both the drink we deserve and you can do whatever beautiful women do. You know all that stuff, not me. I’m going to be staring at a door waiting to see that dress properly displayed. Then we’ll eat, then we’ll dance, then we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

The car was pulling up on the quay next to HMS Belfast, the famous museum battleship. The driver had sprung out and was opening her door. In the distance she could hear piano music, smoochy jazz that just hooked you and melted into your soul like sucked dark Belgian chocolate. Randolph eased his hand into the small of her back and directed her along the dock. A powerful motor launch with uniformed crew was waiting at the foot of some steps. He steadied her as they boarded. The boat pulled away, passing under the bow of the huge gray warship. Moored alongside was a white vessel, maybe even longer. In the side of it was an illuminated open space, like a garage. The launch slid into the belly of the huge white ship. At once the hull closed and a series of engraved glass doors opened into a fabulous marble-floored atrium with palm trees, paneled wood, and waiters in bow ties.

She hoped her mouth hadn’t hung open like some dolt.

“What is this? Where am I?”

Even the questions seemed dumb, but how could such things exist?

“You’re on board the Platinum-Demeter, my personal yacht.”

“It’s a b****y liner.”

“Not quite, but she’s big enough. I hope you don’t mind but we’re setting sail at once. London’s a bit hot for me at the moment and I prefer the neighbors on the high seas.”

“Well, where the f**k are we going?”

“I’ve got some business in Milan. Venice is a convenient port, and I keep a very special Ferrari there. Just maybe I’ll let you drive.”