Slowly, things had changed, though; now the Carter operation was clubs and security, and nearly 100 per cent straight. Nearly. But Max was still the boss, and Max was always a wild card; unpredictable. This latest departure was a classic example; she didn’t know what the hell he was up to.
He’s having an affair, you silly bitch. Because he knows. He’s found you out and he’s having a revenge fuck. He’s sticking it to someone new and – oh yeah – someone younger.
‘What you phoning for at this hour? It’s two o’clock here,’ she asked Tony.
‘Mrs C…’ Tony started, then hesitated. ‘Is Mr Carter there?’
‘No, he’s not.’ Annie frowned. ‘What’s up, Tone? What is it?’
‘I got bad news for you, I’m sorry.’
Annie slumped down on to the sofa. Outside, she could hear the faint dull rhythmic roar of the ocean, pounding up on to the warm white sands of the beach below the villa. Her heart clenched with fear. Max? she thought.
‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘It’s Dolly, Mrs C.’
‘Doll? What about her?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘She’s dead.’
Max watched as the man – who was short but powerful-looking, dark-skinned and wearing a cream Panama hat – unloaded the woman from the car.
Unload was the word. Max had expected that she might be frail, but there was this whole business going on, the man taking the wheelchair out of the back of the car, bringing it to the front passenger door, nearly hauling the woman into it. Then he backed the chair up, closed the door, fussed over her, settled her comfortably, draped a pale-blue blanket over her lap to cover her bony knees and her bright red pleated skirt; then he pushed the wheelchair containing the bent old woman toward the arena where Max stood waiting.
Max watched them coming, watched the dust-devils whirl around them, the man and the woman in the wheelchair. They vanished into the deep shade of the entrance, then reappeared into the vivid sunlight in the centre of this decrepit old place. The woman was wearing a huge broad-brimmed straw hat, pulled low over her face. Her hands were tucked in under the blanket, and her feet were big, clad in sparkling white trainers.
They approached slowly, and man and chair came to a halt six feet from where Max stood waiting.
The man gave a grin and said: ‘Mr Carter?’
Max nodded slowly.
‘I am Antonio, I will interpret for Miss Barolli,’ said the man, and he reached inside his shirt.
Max dived to one side and a spring-loaded knife concealed in his shirt sleeve dropped into his hand. He threw it as Antonio pulled the gun out, and the knife hit the man’s wrist with a hollow
