gleaming with the sheen of sweat, the colours of its scales jumped as the muscles on Contessa’s back twitched from exertion. Glasgow Joe caught up with them when Contessa was opening up the heavy Georgian front door.
He circled Contessa and her prey crouched low like a hunter; Contessa bent down and took off her left shoe. It was no ordinary shoe – the seven-inch stiletto heel made it an offensive weapon in Contessa’s hands.
Firing it, her aim was true; it glanced off Joe’s forehead, buying her enough time to open the front door. Using her bare foot, she kicked the old woman out of the house. The babushka rolled down the three steps and landed in the gutter. Contessa gathered phlegm from her throat and spat on the old woman.
‘ Vacu draculi! ’ she cursed, slamming the casino door.
Chapter Nineteen
Danube Street, Edinburgh
Sunday 23 December, 6.30 p.m.
The Watcher smashed the streetlights and huddled in the dark to wait – he was used to that. All good things come to those who wait. He kicked the shattered plastic into the gutter; he couldn’t afford to inadvertently stand on it. He knew he had to be extra vigilant, although the noise from the casino covered any din he made and he made sure to stand at least one hundred yards from the entrance. Kailash’s employees were always on the lookout for those who would stalk her doorstep, either as a police informer or a pervert. The Watcher was nothing if not careful.
He placed his gloved hands over his mouth and blew; there was no warmth left in him to thaw his fingers. His lips were frozen. It was even too cold to blow rings with his breath. The wind howled down the street. He felt an icy chill run up the back of his thighs as a gust lifted the flaps of his overcoat. He clenched his teeth and heard his breath hiss: this feeling had better just be the cold .
He had arrived at the corner of Danube Street just in time to see Brodie disappear into the high rollers’ casino. Joe kept the journo and the old woman on the doorstep longer than the rest of the party, allowing The Watcher time to choose the perfect viewing point. His heart fluttered – things were going according to plan. He felt a surge of pride that he’d tracked her down so quickly.
The feeling of elation was fleeting.
For a few long moments after the party had disappeared, Glasgow Joe remained on the front stoop, staring up and down the street, searching the darkness. The Watcher held his breath. A tingle of excitement ran through his loins – he was unused to being the hunted. He had to fight the urge to run. From inside the casino, a voice called, ‘Joe!’ Reluctantly, the former assassin turned to answer it, granting The Watcher a stay of execution.
As the door slammed shut, The Watcher allowed himself to think that maybe things were going his way after all; he deserved a break. The snow was falling thick and fast. He was unable to move from his hiding place – the snow formed a virgin perimeter around the casino and his footprints would be obvious as there was no other traffic on the street.
The lamppost was covered in a thick layer of frost. He spat on the end of his glove and traced doodles on the ice with his finger. All the time he whistled softly and pictured how it would be. He felt a familiar stirring – it was never too cold to dampen his ardour for the plan. The Watcher settled himself down, his heart rate slowed as he took himself on a mental journey from the last time. He kept each experience in a separate room in his mind – only he had the key and, when he chose, he unlocked the room and let the exquisite memories unfold.
Years of training had enabled him to recall every minute detail. He sniffed the still night air deeply – underneath the aroma of snow, he imagined fear intermingled with sweat and cheap perfume. Although smell was undoubtedly his favourite sense, he also enjoyed remembering the tiny whimpers that escaped from deep within their bodies. His
He circled Contessa and her prey crouched low like a hunter; Contessa bent down and took off her left shoe. It was no ordinary shoe – the seven-inch stiletto heel made it an offensive weapon in Contessa’s hands.
Firing it, her aim was true; it glanced off Joe’s forehead, buying her enough time to open the front door. Using her bare foot, she kicked the old woman out of the house. The babushka rolled down the three steps and landed in the gutter. Contessa gathered phlegm from her throat and spat on the old woman.
‘ Vacu draculi! ’ she cursed, slamming the casino door.
Chapter Nineteen
Danube Street, Edinburgh
Sunday 23 December, 6.30 p.m.
The Watcher smashed the streetlights and huddled in the dark to wait – he was used to that. All good things come to those who wait. He kicked the shattered plastic into the gutter; he couldn’t afford to inadvertently stand on it. He knew he had to be extra vigilant, although the noise from the casino covered any din he made and he made sure to stand at least one hundred yards from the entrance. Kailash’s employees were always on the lookout for those who would stalk her doorstep, either as a police informer or a pervert. The Watcher was nothing if not careful.
He placed his gloved hands over his mouth and blew; there was no warmth left in him to thaw his fingers. His lips were frozen. It was even too cold to blow rings with his breath. The wind howled down the street. He felt an icy chill run up the back of his thighs as a gust lifted the flaps of his overcoat. He clenched his teeth and heard his breath hiss: this feeling had better just be the cold .
He had arrived at the corner of Danube Street just in time to see Brodie disappear into the high rollers’ casino. Joe kept the journo and the old woman on the doorstep longer than the rest of the party, allowing The Watcher time to choose the perfect viewing point. His heart fluttered – things were going according to plan. He felt a surge of pride that he’d tracked her down so quickly.
The feeling of elation was fleeting.
For a few long moments after the party had disappeared, Glasgow Joe remained on the front stoop, staring up and down the street, searching the darkness. The Watcher held his breath. A tingle of excitement ran through his loins – he was unused to being the hunted. He had to fight the urge to run. From inside the casino, a voice called, ‘Joe!’ Reluctantly, the former assassin turned to answer it, granting The Watcher a stay of execution.
As the door slammed shut, The Watcher allowed himself to think that maybe things were going his way after all; he deserved a break. The snow was falling thick and fast. He was unable to move from his hiding place – the snow formed a virgin perimeter around the casino and his footprints would be obvious as there was no other traffic on the street.
The lamppost was covered in a thick layer of frost. He spat on the end of his glove and traced doodles on the ice with his finger. All the time he whistled softly and pictured how it would be. He felt a familiar stirring – it was never too cold to dampen his ardour for the plan. The Watcher settled himself down, his heart rate slowed as he took himself on a mental journey from the last time. He kept each experience in a separate room in his mind – only he had the key and, when he chose, he unlocked the room and let the exquisite memories unfold.
Years of training had enabled him to recall every minute detail. He sniffed the still night air deeply – underneath the aroma of snow, he imagined fear intermingled with sweat and cheap perfume. Although smell was undoubtedly his favourite sense, he also enjoyed remembering the tiny whimpers that escaped from deep within their bodies. His
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