scratched an eyebrow. "Mike owed him money? And Banks wanted someone dead? Maybe you should just tell me instead of making me guess."
"Banksy's more than just a loan shark." She took a final puff of her smoke and dangled her hand out the window. Let the slipstream take the stub. "At least, he thinks so. Sees himself as Leith's answer to Tony Soprano. Dabbles in anything and everything that makes money, as long as it's not legit. Small crew. Main players are Banksy and two other guys: his brother Ray and an older guy called Jack." She checked the mirror. "Don't punch your sister, Kirk."
"She likes it."
"Do not."
"Kirk? Stop it now." She breathed out sharply. "Yeah, Banksy has his slimy fingers in everything. Mike owed him big time."
"How much?"
"Twenty grand."
Her story was getting better. She'd clearly worked hard on making it convincing. Involving Kevin Banks was smart. The brief period Pearce was working for Cooper was the same time Julie was on the scene. She'd forged a neat connection there. Impressive.
"I'm guessing a lot of that twenty grand was interest?"
"You bet." It was less noisy in the back now. Kirk was chattering away to himself while Devon hummed tunelessly. "Anyway, Mike lost his job about six months ago. Landlord said he'd evict us. So Mike borrowed a few grand from Banksy to tide us over till he got more work. But days passed, and weeks passed, and months passed, and still no job. And meanwhile the interest grew. Got out of control." She touched her forehead with the back of her hand. Very melodramatic. She swallowed, placed her hand back on the steering wheel. "In the end, Banksy wouldn't wait any longer. Said he wanted his money back. All of it. Right away. And Mike had no means of getting it."
Pearce could see where this sorry story was going. Broken arm for poor old Mike. Money needed urgently or it would be a broken head next time. That kind of thing.
"Can I trust you, Pearce?"
He sat forward. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"I suppose." She gave her head that familiar little shake. "Look, what I did to you was terrible and I'm sorry. I needed the cash and I used you to get it." She squinted, as if she had something in her eye. "But whatever you think, I did honestly like you."
"I've heard better apologies."
"What can I say?" She sniffed. "I've paid attention to what you've been up to. Heard all about your mum. About her dying. Sorry."
He looked down at Hilda. Clenched his fists. "Long time ago."
"And I saw all that in the papers about you rescuing some crazy guy who'd been held prisoner in a cage in somebody's basement. Weird shit you get yourself involved in."
"That's one way of putting it." Pearce didn't want to think about that. It had taken a while but he was over it now. "Didn't exactly rescue him, though."
"Oh," she said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. The point is, I haven't forgotten you." She placed her hand on his arm, her fingers unexpectedly cold. "Pearce, I don't know who else I can turn to."
He nearly laughed. She thought she was playing him for a sucker. Well, let her. He had no idea where this was leading, but he was going to hear her out, just for the pleasure of telling her he'd seen through the charade all along.
Her fingers were shaking. He felt the tremble in his forearm. Fine bit of acting. She was improving all the time.
She moved her hand away, let it rest on her thigh. "Do you know what a kill clock is?"
7:45 pm
"It's when you have to murder someone within a set time." Julie flicked her cigarette away. Walked over to it and ground it beneath her foot.
"What, like you get an hour to kill someone?"
They'd parked in a quiet side-street off the main road and stepped outside to talk some more. Pearce had left Hilda in the car with the kids. Bit of a risk, but they seemed to be keeping each other amused. And no injuries so far.
Devon waved at him. Pearce waved back.
"Usually longer. Twenty-four hours. So you can prepare a bit. That way you have a slight
"Banksy's more than just a loan shark." She took a final puff of her smoke and dangled her hand out the window. Let the slipstream take the stub. "At least, he thinks so. Sees himself as Leith's answer to Tony Soprano. Dabbles in anything and everything that makes money, as long as it's not legit. Small crew. Main players are Banksy and two other guys: his brother Ray and an older guy called Jack." She checked the mirror. "Don't punch your sister, Kirk."
"She likes it."
"Do not."
"Kirk? Stop it now." She breathed out sharply. "Yeah, Banksy has his slimy fingers in everything. Mike owed him big time."
"How much?"
"Twenty grand."
Her story was getting better. She'd clearly worked hard on making it convincing. Involving Kevin Banks was smart. The brief period Pearce was working for Cooper was the same time Julie was on the scene. She'd forged a neat connection there. Impressive.
"I'm guessing a lot of that twenty grand was interest?"
"You bet." It was less noisy in the back now. Kirk was chattering away to himself while Devon hummed tunelessly. "Anyway, Mike lost his job about six months ago. Landlord said he'd evict us. So Mike borrowed a few grand from Banksy to tide us over till he got more work. But days passed, and weeks passed, and months passed, and still no job. And meanwhile the interest grew. Got out of control." She touched her forehead with the back of her hand. Very melodramatic. She swallowed, placed her hand back on the steering wheel. "In the end, Banksy wouldn't wait any longer. Said he wanted his money back. All of it. Right away. And Mike had no means of getting it."
Pearce could see where this sorry story was going. Broken arm for poor old Mike. Money needed urgently or it would be a broken head next time. That kind of thing.
"Can I trust you, Pearce?"
He sat forward. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
"I suppose." She gave her head that familiar little shake. "Look, what I did to you was terrible and I'm sorry. I needed the cash and I used you to get it." She squinted, as if she had something in her eye. "But whatever you think, I did honestly like you."
"I've heard better apologies."
"What can I say?" She sniffed. "I've paid attention to what you've been up to. Heard all about your mum. About her dying. Sorry."
He looked down at Hilda. Clenched his fists. "Long time ago."
"And I saw all that in the papers about you rescuing some crazy guy who'd been held prisoner in a cage in somebody's basement. Weird shit you get yourself involved in."
"That's one way of putting it." Pearce didn't want to think about that. It had taken a while but he was over it now. "Didn't exactly rescue him, though."
"Oh," she said. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. The point is, I haven't forgotten you." She placed her hand on his arm, her fingers unexpectedly cold. "Pearce, I don't know who else I can turn to."
He nearly laughed. She thought she was playing him for a sucker. Well, let her. He had no idea where this was leading, but he was going to hear her out, just for the pleasure of telling her he'd seen through the charade all along.
Her fingers were shaking. He felt the tremble in his forearm. Fine bit of acting. She was improving all the time.
She moved her hand away, let it rest on her thigh. "Do you know what a kill clock is?"
7:45 pm
"It's when you have to murder someone within a set time." Julie flicked her cigarette away. Walked over to it and ground it beneath her foot.
"What, like you get an hour to kill someone?"
They'd parked in a quiet side-street off the main road and stepped outside to talk some more. Pearce had left Hilda in the car with the kids. Bit of a risk, but they seemed to be keeping each other amused. And no injuries so far.
Devon waved at him. Pearce waved back.
"Usually longer. Twenty-four hours. So you can prepare a bit. That way you have a slight
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