Dark Market

Chapter Seven

'We need to talk.' Savage heard voices in the background, Devlin's voice, and another.

'We've got nothing to talk about, and if you keep sticking your nose in I'll—'

'I know about the Caymans Michael.' Savage smiled at the old bluff. 'Whatever threat you were going to trot out, forget it. You're not tough enough.'

'Do you—' Michael faltered. 'What can we—what can I do to make this go away?'

We? Savage was just after him.

'Your dirty little secrets won't stay hidden Michael.'

'You've no idea what you're getting into.'

'So tell me.'

'Do you even know what you're doing?'

A door opened. Michael's breathing rasped as he tried not to hyperventilate. The noise of the city sounded over the phone.

'Michael, we can work this out. You know these white collar situations rarely go to court, no-one wants publicity when things go wrong, especially the company. Let's talk. We can find a way through this.'

The breathing got heavier. The man shouted, something Savage couldn't hear.

'Michael? I'm outside waiting for you.'

'Are you really?' He said. 'Do you have any idea? Do you?'

'Artemis Michael,' his second bluff, 'I know everything.'

'Where're you getting this information?'

'Michael. Just finish what you're doing, come downstairs and let's talk. I'll help you.'

'You'll help?' he said quietly. 'Of course, where are you exactly?'

'Just out front, parked on the street.' Savage heard the scrape of tables and chair legs. Michael caught his breath, then a laboured grunt.

'Well, you know what?' Michael said in a loud voice, 'I'm actually really glad you called—'

Savage heard the woman, 'Michael,' she said.

'And you,' he said to her. 'Don't we have everything we need already? What more can you want? What more can I give you?

'Michael,' she shouted, a threat in her voice. 'Come here now.'

'Are you listening?' Michael yelled into the phone. Savage held it away from his ear.

'Michael. Michael, no—'

Moments passed, nothing but the sound of rushing air, then the man's terrified pleas to god.

'Michael?' Savage said.

Michael's body slammed into the silver grey car, crushing the roof instantly, with a noise that Savage now knew sounded like the thump of mortar fire. He'd picked apart the memory of that noise over the years. In his imagination he always heard the crack of bones against the metal.

Savage had run across the street. Michael's body had scythed a deep vee into the expensive vehicle. The driver was pinned to his seat. The couple in back unconscious, sticky gashes on the woman's pretty blonde head. Michael's shredded torso had ruptured the metal, blood poured from him onto the seats below.

Savage had stood and stared. He remembered a voice asking for an ambulance, giving the place and location, then realised it was his own. He'd managed to unfreeze himself and start to help the occupants of the car.

The waiter interrupted Savage’s thoughts with a coffee he hadn't asked for. He followed Savage's gaze across the road, mugged at him politely, sceptical of his customer's intentions, or sanity.