Free To Kill For by Phillip Hunter

switched to vibrate. It wasn’t my phone. I looked around me. The only other people in the cafe were the waitress, who was leaning over the counter wiping up grease, and a heavy Turkish man sitting in the corner reading a paper, who, I supposed, was the owner. Neither of them seemed to have heard the phone.
    Then I remembered. When Derek had tried to make a run for it with that hole in his back, I’d taken his phone away from him. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled it out. It vibrated in my hand. I flipped it open and saw the number of the person calling. I made a note of the number. Finally, the buzzing stopped and the screen told me that someone had left a message. I tried to access the message, but the phone was protected by a PIN. All I had, then, was the phone number of someone trying to reach Derek. It was a landline, and a London code. It might have been Paget, or Glazer. It wasn’t the same number as Bowker had used to contact Paget, but that meant nothing.
    I was running short of ideas. I needed something from King, but had to wait for that. Frustration was building inside me. I found myself clenching and opening my fists, an old habit from my fight days. I drank the coffee and ordered another. I wanted to put some caffeine into my system, get it moving a bit.
    With my own phone, I dialled the number. After one ring, a woman’s voice said, ‘Hello?’
    â€˜Is Derek there?’
    â€˜No.’ There was a pause. ‘Who’s calling?’ she said, trying to keep her voice level.
    â€˜I work with Derek.’
    â€˜Has something happened?’
    â€˜Why would you think that?’
    â€˜He was supposed to be home last night.’
    There it was. Home.
    â€˜He had a job,’ I said.
    â€˜I know he did. He told me he’d be an hour. Where is he? Why don’t you people know where he is?’
    You people.
    â€˜There was some confusion,’ I said. ‘Did he tell you what the job was?’
    â€˜What do you mean? Is this about Elena?’
    The way she was talking, the answers she gave me – it was off somehow. Who was Elena? And why was this woman bringing her into it?
    â€˜I’m worried about him,’ I said.
    â€˜Oh, no.’
    â€˜Can I come round and speak to you?’
    â€˜Come round?’
    â€˜It’s important.’
    â€˜He’s hurt, isn’t he?’
    â€˜I don’t know. Let me come round and talk to you.’
    â€˜I don’t understand. Why?’
    â€˜Something Derek was mixed up in. Something to do with Glazer.’
    â€˜Who?’
    She didn’t know Glazer. Tina had told me Derek and Glazer were friends. I said, ‘I’m pressed for time. I think Derek’s fine, but I need to find him. You can help me. Can I come round?’
    â€˜Alright. Fine.’
    â€˜What’s your address?’
    There was a long pause now, and I knew I’d lost her. She said, ‘Surely you know my address.’
    As I was trying to think of a reply, the line went dead.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    They were waiting for me, spread around like chess pieces, one in the kitchen, in case I came in through the back door, two in the hallway. They watched me as I went past. There was no tension in them, no hands in pockets, so I knew they weren’t here for a grab.
    Browne was in the living room, sitting in his chair, staring at the floor. He looked moody. Eddie was opposite him, drinking tea from a mug, as if we were all in Eddie’s house and he was tolerating us.
    He put down his mug of tea and smiled.
    â€˜Vic would like a word,’ he said.
    â€˜Is this an order?’
    â€˜Relax, Joe, will you. It’s a request. Vic’s not your enemy.’
    â€˜He’s not my friend.’
    â€˜Who is?’
    So, off we went, off to see King Vic.
    I’d never met him, but I’d heard of him. Who hadn’t? I didn’t like organized crime, didn’t want to be part of any pack, always