 
DIRTY MONEY: Book 1  
Who did you upset?

Neil Andrews
The characters and events depicted in this book are fictional and the creation of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, business establishments, or organisations is entirely coincidental. We would all however do well to remember that sometimes elements of truth can be stranger than fiction.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved below, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means including without limitation electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or any other method resulting in duplication or transmission of the content, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work which have been used without express permission but form part of the story.

Copyright (C) Neil Andrews and Roadblock Publishing Limited.

ePub ISBN: 978-1-910256-72-5  
Mobi ISBN: 978-1-910256-73-2

Smashwords Edition
Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1 - Who did you upset?

Chapter 2 - Rachel

Chapter 3 - Nick

Chapter 4 - Lynette

Chapter 5 - Puerto Banus

Chapter 6 - Sergeant Greaves

Chapter 7 - Rachel getting her thoughts straight

Chapter 8 - The loss adjuster

Chapter 9 - Old friends

Chapter 10 - One year earlier - Jochem

Chapter 11 - Jack

Chapter 12 - Double tap

Chapter 13 - The funeral

Chapter 14 - The apartment

Chapter 15 - Girl talk

Chapter 16 - Sulking

Chapter 17 - Boys trip

Chapter 18 - Tetouan

Chapter 19 - The villa

Chapter 20 - Back to Spain

Chapter 21 - Not another one!

Chapter 22 - Bill's treasures

Chapter 23 - The office

Chapter 24 - Drive to the UK

Chapter 25 - Back in Blighty

Chapter 26 - Visit from Jack

Chapter 27 - Plymouth

Chapter 28 - Tony's pad

Chapter 29 - Information needed

Chapter 30 - Insurance problems

Chapter 31 - Chill out time

Chapter 32 - London contacts

Chapter 33 - Baz

Chapter 34 - New plans

Chapter 35 - Ishmail

Chapter 36 - Dominic

Chapter 37 - Interim pay out

Chapter 38 - Progress at the club

Chapter 39 - Second round

Chapter 40 - Party planning

Chapter 41 - Opening night

Notes from the Author
Foreword

This book would never have been written without the encouragement of many of my friends. My heartfelt thanks to Pete and Sandra who helped me get the story clear in my head; the Barbados crowd for their unswerving encouragement; and Leon for his early name suggestions. Special thanks go to those who volunteered to read the draft, in particular my wife Janice, Barbara and Sandra. Thanks for being willing victims.
Dedication

To my loving wife who has to deal with the aftermath of my using too much energy writing.
Chapter 1 - Who did you upset?

Max ran around the corner of the building to get to the front of the row of shops, almost bowling over a burly builder before sitting on a bench to witness the scene of devastation.

The man looked Max up and down. "That your place is it, mate?" Max nodded mindlessly. "I've already called the fire brigade and the police, they're on their way, won't be long now, mate. You were inside were you? Want me to get you an ambulance?" Max glanced up from the bench he was sat on into the stranger's eyes and then back over his shoulder to the remnants of his burning lap dancing club. Smoke was now billowing out of the lower floor, smearing the blacked-out windows and obscuring the 1950s façade. The car, which was jammed backwards through the front double doors below the Pussycats club sign, was fully ablaze. Max was feeling decidedly shaky. Shortly before the car crashed, he had been about to go to sleep for a few hours in the room above the bar after closing up for the night. If the car had collided just a few minutes earlier it would have wiped him out as he was heading up the stairs. He would never have survived the impact let alone the fire.

"No, I'm fine eh, yeah, I'm fine... Really there's no need to call an ambulance, just a bit shocked that's all, what the bloody hell happened, did the driver lose control?"

"Lose control? Are you having a laugh? You must have seriously pissed somebody off big time. Me and me mates had just turned up to begin work on the site over there," he said waving in the direction of the shops opposite, "when this guy pulls up in a black Toyota and reverses on to the pavement. I says to me mate 'strange place to park', then cool as a cucumber the bloke lines his car up with your double doors and slams it in backwards. Fucking amazing." The builder looked to Max as if he was expecting a round of applause for his description. When none was forthcoming he carried on with the story but with a bit less animation. "Quite a good bit of driving really, he only had a couple of inches clearance on each side." Looking carefully, Max couldn't disagree. Two inches to the right and the car would have hit a concrete post; two inches to the left and the framework of the door and window may have slowed his progress. The guy knew just where to park it to cause _maximum_ damage taking out most of the entrance and bar.

The flames were now roof high and really taking hold. Max looked down the street to see a fire engine's blue lights flashing round the corner. The crew were well-drilled and in a short space of time had their hoses trained on the car and shop front. Initially the onslaught of water seemed to be having little impact on the blaze, maybe it just looked worse than it was, when it's your own property that you've put your heart and soul into things look very different.

Max turned back to the stranger who seemed to be enjoying the morning's show.

"Call me dumb but why did the car burst into flames when it went through the doors? I thought that modern petrol tanks were supposed to have a protection mechanism."

"Well it didn't fuckin' well set light to itself did it?!" The builder lent back hands out wide to emphasise his point. "The bloke driving it climbed out of the sunroof with a petrol can in his hand pouring the stuff everywhere before chucking a match and watching it explode. Fucking amazing he didn't fry 'imself at the same time. Looked like an Asian guy to me wearing a hoodie with the usual wannabe big trainers, probably about five eight not a big guy, so like I said you must have really pissed somebody off." The builder paused and Max could see the cogs turning in his brain while he tried to come up with a funny quip. Eventually the light switched on.

"Not been paying your protection money or what?" The stranger sniggered at his last comment as if he was an expert on the underworld. Yeah lap dancing clubs are seedy with more than their fair share of weirdos, pervs, drugs and sex, but things like this just didn't happen. Not in Basildon, anyway. The odd skirmish over drugs, the odd punter who pushes his luck too far with one of the girls, but that's about it. Max prided himself on running a clean club. He liked to think that it was a drug-free zone. He'd even installed UV lights at the entrance so the door staff could see if someone had a nose full before entering. In reality he knew better; hell the other week he'd even moved some of the white stuff himself, he just didn't want other people selling the drug on his turf.

"Fucking Irish Jack..."

The builder's attention turned back to Max from the fire. "Who?"

"Nothing, mate just mumbling to myself, still a bit shocked..."

Max was saved from further explanation by a fire inspector and two police officers making a beeline towards them to find out what they knew about the fire, either that, or to see what they were gawping at given that not many people were watching the show yet. The builder was straight up on his toes, as excited as a dog with two dicks.

"Alright officer? Saw it all I did." He jerked his thumb in Max's direction. "This bloke's the owner of the club, says he's alright but I'm not sure, looks a bit dicky to me, only just about made it out he did, lucky he didn't go up with the place... Not saying a lot, probably just suffering from a bit of shock. What do you reckon then? Is it a Jewish stocktake or a local drugs gang? Fucking good show before breakfast must say."

The Sarge who looked to be in his mid-forties and definitely had the 'been there seen that T-shirt look', straightened to his full height of six foot four inches and looked down sternly at the builder. Max almost laughed.

"Is there something else you'd like to tell me, Sir? Your medical comments are full of insight." You could hear the sarcasm dripping in his voice. "Are we a bit more than an innocent bystander?" The builder blanched looking decidedly less cocky and started to rapidly back pedal spilling the beans on everything he'd seen and why he was here. Christ, he almost told the guy what he had for breakfast. It's amazing what a bit of old-fashioned very polite police intimidation can do. It couldn't be pulled off by everyone and certainly not by the sergeant's partner who looked very wet behind the ears. Max looked the young PC up and down his thoughts straying from the fire... Where do they recruit them these days, straight from school? Maybe it was just all part of getting older.

Having found that Max was the owner, the fire inspector ambled over exuding calm and efficiency. He explained that he needed to establish what was inside and what hazards his team might be dealing with; the team and the bystanders' safety were his prime concern. Buildings and physical assets could be replaced, lives could not. Max ran his mind through the club layout and fed him as much information as quickly and briefly as he could.

"The building's empty nobody else is inside, it's a two-storey converted shop, around twelve hundred square feet on the ground floor and a thousand square feet upstairs. Downstairs there's the main bar just behind where the car is sticking out the front. There's a mixture of comfy sofas, tables and chairs for punters." He paused clearly thinking. "Most of the sofas are near where the car is so you might get fumes as a few of them are pretty old, umm then there's two dancing poles..." He paused gathering his thoughts again. "Oh, and there's fridges, beer kegs, the usual bar stuff, I suppose the alcohol could be dangerous."

The fire inspector took everything in quickly, "Do you use gas bottles at all?"

"No... oh shit! I forgot, there's mains gas in the kitchen on the first floor. The shut off is around the back next to the rear door."

"Thank you fella, I'll get that seen to, shouldn't be too long until it's under control, looks worse than it is with the flames from the accelerant an' all. How about the top floor? Anything up there going to cause the lads any grief?"

"No there's three rooms for private dances, customer toilets and girls changing area that's all, the girls and staff left about two hours ago."

"Don't go anywhere mate, we'll probably need a debrief and I'm sure the boys in blue will want a statement from you."

Max was left sat on the bench wondering what on earth was happening to his life. Everything seemed to be going tits up lately. Hey, let's be honest everything had been going tits up over the last few years, everything he touched had ended up in trouble. The bloody club wasn't even his idea. His brother Paolo persuaded him to put money into it a few years back... guaranteed return... very low risk... nearly all cash income if you know what I mean... perfect business. Yeah right... yet another of Paolo's hare-brained schemes that he started and never finished.

The deal was this. Paolo's long-term and long-suffering girlfriend Cristal danced nightly at the club and would supposedly oversee everything to do with day-to-day running and management of the place. Max, in theory wouldn't have to do a thing, just sit back over in Spain and collect the cash. Because Paolo and Cristal had past run-ins with the law and a bankruptcy hanging over them, Max and his partner Rachel held the licence for the premises in their names. This licence was hugely valuable as it allowed the consumption of alcohol until gone three - nowadays pubs and bars were lucky to get an extension until midnight. Cristal would operate as the nominated supervisor and it should have been easy money, but Max hadn't counted on Cristal sticking most of the profits straight up her nose.

Max wished he was in Spain now with Rachel. Christ... he must get round to ringing her, it was over a week since they'd spoken and he really needed to tell her what was going on with the club.

The lap dancing club burning down was obviously big news in Basildon. A small crowd had formed along with a few local reporters and what looked to be a TV crew. Max did a double take. When did bloody Basildon warrant a TV crew? They made a beeline for him presumably tipped off by the junior schoolboy PC sidekick. Looked like it was interview time, what do they say...? All publicity is good publicity? Max manoeuvred himself to make sure that the Pussycat's Club sign was in full view even if it was looking very sad for itself and very scorched. The fire brigade, flames, smoke and car stuck out of the front wasn't exactly testing for the cameraman, so after taking ten minutes of general footage, it was down to eyewitness reports. The reporter looked straight at the camera.

"We are here now on scene in Basildon, Essex at the Pussycats lap dancing club which has suffered a catastrophic fire this morning. Luckily no casualties have been sustained but reports suggest that the fire was deliberately started. A black Toyota was apparently used to drive through the entrance doors early this morning. Reports suggest that the driver of the vehicle used an accelerant to set the fire which took hold quickly." The reporter had already explained how he was going to open the report and when he was going to bring Max into the conversation but he still found it disconcerting when the camera panned to include him in the shot.

"Mr. Williams I understand that you are the owner of the club and that you were inside when the incident unfolded. This is clearly a shocking experience but what can you tell us about it?" The reporter proffered the mic under Max's nose and looked on enquiringly as if expecting the answer to e=mc2.

Max stared at the camera and quickly pulled himself together.

"Well, I was in the club just finishing off a few things in the office when there was an almighty crash at the bottom of the stairs. I can't be sure of the exact time but I've been told that it was around seven thirty this morning which sounds about right." Max thought it best to skip the bit about sleeping over. Since coming back from Spain after an argument with Rachel, he had been camping out at the club sleeping on one of the sofas upstairs. The club had a couple of showers for the girls plus tea and coffee facilities so it wasn't too bad really. When the car struck he had just walked upstairs and was preparing to go to sleep. In fact, he'd actually been naked and about to get in to his sleeping bag. The crash, and a quick peek down the stairs, forced him into rapid action and he had to scramble to get into his trademark white T-shirt, blue jeans and loafers. He had made a quick escape with just the clothes on his back, his mobile phone and wallet. There was no time to collect or gather anything else as the smoke was starting to come under the fire door and up the stairs.

"See that there fire door?" Max said pointing to the right-hand side of the car and into the front shop well. "That there fire door saved my life it did. I ran out through the back door and came around to the front of the club as quick as I could. I couldn't believe my eyes. Why would anyone want to do such a thing? It's hard enough to make a decent living without someone deciding to set fire to the place." He was fascinated as the mic swung back to the reporter.

"Well that's the key question, who would do such a thing? Do you have any idea or has there been any trouble at the club recently?" The mic appeared back under Max's nose.

"I really have no idea. Hopefully if the CCTV doesn't get soaked we should get a look at whoever did it. The builder who rang the fire brigade said the guy looked Asian and deliberately set fire to the place after ramming the doors, but that's all I know. We've never had any trouble here in the past and have a pretty loyal bunch of customers, some come to see the girls dance others just come for the relaxed vibe and a late night drink, and hopefully we'll be open again soon."

The reporter rounded to the camera, "Well as you can see we are on scene at the Pussycat lap dancing club in Basildon where we appear to be witnessing a deliberate arson attack. The fire brigade are rapidly getting the fire under control but as yet we are unable to confirm why this event has unfolded, we will keep you updated as the news breaks but for now, back to the studio."

Max ran his mind back over the interview pretty pleased that he got the 'late night drinking and relaxed vibe' in but cringed at the drawl in his voice when talking about the fire door. You can take the boy out of Bristol but you can't take Bristol out of the boy. Sod it, all publicity is good publicity. Must try Rachel. He rang the apartment but got no reply, he then tried her mobile but again no reply... _Strange_ , he thought, _perhaps she 's in the shower or has headed out early on a job_. Max looked at his mobile again. He had just put it on charge when he had to run for his life. The battery light was flashing, not much life left. He decided to ring the apartment one more time and leave a message on the answer phone. He hated speaking after the bleep.

"Hi Rachel..." he paused... "It's me Max. Um, listen. I hope that you're feeling a bit better about life in general and us than you were last week." He paused again... "I really would rather talk face-to-face Rachel. I know things haven't been great between us over the last few months but just to let you know I'm all right, don't forget I still love you. We've um... shit... sorry, um... we've had a bit of a fire at the club. No one's hurt and the fire brigade are here dealing with things. I'll try to call later and fill in some of the details. Don't give up on us babe, things will come right... I still love you." Beep, beep, beep. The battery gave out and Max's charger was still in the club. Exasperated, he ran his hand through his hair and began to talk to himself. "What a crap day! It never rains but it pours... Fuck, I could do with a stiff drink."

The Sarge ambled over and struck up a conversation by going over the obvious points from the morning's events and checking to see if Max needed any medical attention. He pushed the point quite hard as he had seen shock do funny things to people before. They seemed alright and thought that they were fine, but once the adrenaline stopped, people invariably keeled. Shock did funny things to the body and mind.

Max was slightly distracted. His eyes and mind were drawn to the smoke and steam that was still coming out through the doors. There was also a stream of black dirty water washing along the pavement into the drains. He forced his mind back to the conversation.

"I think I'm okay, thanks for asking. What a bloody mess. I should be fine though."

"Well, if you're sure... It looks like the fire brigade are going to be here for a few hours yet damping down the flames. It'll probably be some time after that before it can be declared safe to go back in. Is there anything of value that you need retrieved?"

Max thought about what was in the club, and the less searching around by anyone the better. "No, there's nothing of real value, well nothing that can't be replaced, although the CCTV recorder might be useful to you. Because of the strict regulations covering lap dancing clubs, we've got cameras covering just about everywhere, the bar, lounge, entrance, dancing rooms and two that cover the outside of the building. Those will hopefully give you a good view of what happened."

The Sarge noted the CCTV points down in his notebook. "Where can we find the recorder for the CCTV system Mr. Williams? I assume it's digital given the number of cameras you're talking about."

"Yeah, I only recently upgraded the system. The monitor's on the desk and the DVR recorder is in the cupboard behind the monitor to the right. It's all pretty easy to move and it should have stayed reasonably dry in there."

The Sarge finished scribbling down the comments. "Okay, I'll ask the fire brigade to try to recover it and get them to drop it into the station later where we can tag it as evidence." The Sarge dropped in his usual catch-all question. "Is there anything else you think I should know Mr. Williams?"

He left a long pregnant pause as he'd been taught. It was incredible how many people found the silence unnerving and said the first thing that came into their mind. Once the cat was out of the bag, there was no putting it back, and normally one thing led to another. Max just stood there looking at him shaking his head, his brain overwhelmed by the scenes of devastation.

"No? Okay, I'm going to need a formal statement later. Could you come down to the station around four this afternoon? Hopefully we can discuss things in a bit more detail and have a look at what we know and what we don't know. Now, you're sure you don't need any medical treatment, or do you need me to call anyone for you?" Max shook his head while standing with his hands in his pockets. For some reason he felt like a naughty schoolboy. He shook his head again. "No? Okay I'll see you at four. Try and get some rest or sleep. Shock is bound to kick in sooner or later."

Max hung around outside of the club for another few hours talking to various news reporters to get as much coverage as he could; he even got one or two of the big boys to promise to cover the re-launch. _The Sun_ were looking to run a storyline of 'Page 3 Jihad!' after the Asian link had been confirmed. Another eyewitness had come forward stating he recognised the guy from the local mosque even though he was more than one hundred yards away at the time. Why let facts get in the way of a good story? It worked for Max, bigger headlines, more coverage, and more publicity!

While he was still hanging around outside he also tried hard to persuade the fire chief to let him back in to the club. No such luck, not today at least. One of his men could retrieve anything personal that he desperately needed but that and the DVR recorder would be it for today. Resigned and tired, he thought about where to put his head down for a few hours. He thought about going to Lynette's apartment. He'd been there a few times for drinks and to chat about life, the universe and everything; she wasn't expecting him, but she was one of his best dancers and was more than just a pair of tits and a good body. Punters loved talking to her. He didn't know much about her private life or background, but he did know that she could hold her own when discussing world affairs, politics, and exotic vacation places. You name it and usually Lynette had some view or could add some fascinating snippet to the conversation. They were pretty friendly and Lynette had offered the use of her spare bedroom if he needed the occasional place to crash rather than staying at the club. He just hoped that she really meant it. She'd mentioned it a few times over the last few weeks hadn't she? If all went to plan, he would be able to grab a few hours' sleep and get to freshen up before he had to talk to the police.

Max really needed to clear his mind. Had Irish Jack been serious when he said he could 'organise' a refurb program to help deal with his problems? It seemed more of a threat when Jack had been at the club last week. Max didn't believe in coincidence. Last week's so-called visit had him seriously on edge. Jack most definitely had not dropped into town to visit an old friend as he claimed... it was more about applying subtle or not so subtle pressure. He'd succeeded; Max's nerves were fried.

Max paced up and down mulling things over and getting increasingly worried. What if the police or fire brigade started digging through the debris at the club? Would they stumble across any of his dirty little secrets? Well, not little secrets, huge secrets, secrets that could get a man killed. This was not good.

After the story became old news and a team arrived to board up the property, Max found himself passing under the railway bridge next to the station. Lynette's apartment was just up the street where they'd pulled down the old Ford car showrooms a few years back. He climbed up the outside steps, leaned on the wall and pressed the intercom three or four times. No response, not surprising given that Lynette had probably only been in bed for around six hours. As he rang the intercom for a fifth time, an exiting tenant held the door open and let him inside. Trusting, Max thought, I could be anyone. He took the lift up to the second floor and walked along the short corridor to Lynette's apartment where he knocked hard.

Lynette opened the door on the security chain and peeked at him bleary-eyed. "Max what are you doing here? Hang on let me get this chain off. Come in." As Max entered the small hallway he could see that Lynette was not wearing much to cover her charms. He acted the gentleman and looked the other way; it seemed like an intrusion when he was in her home even though he saw her virtually naked at the club on nights she danced.

"Hey, Max... Come in, come in... Let me get the kettle on... What's going on?" She was quickly pulling herself together as the effects of sleep left her.

"Oh, and Max you can skip the embarrassed gentleman act. I'll go and put a robe on, but let's be honest you've seen it all before." Lynette held her arms wide flashing her boobs at him while indicating the length of her body with her hands.

He was ushered in to the modern bright, airy lounge to sit down while Lynette found her bathrobe and made two decent lattes using her newly-acquired coffee machine. She really couldn't stand the instant crap anymore since getting hooked on 'real' coffee from the plethora of new cafes in London. Times had to be desperate for Lynette to drink dried granules from a jar.

Lynette wandered back into the lounge with the upmarket coffees plus a few warmed croissants with butter and jam. "Here Max, help yourself." She turned to the big aspect window and opened the blinds before curling up in a big comfy love seat designed for two that could rotate on its base. She tucked her long legs underneath her as if she was a big cat, comfortable yet poised if needed. Once she was settled she looked directly at Max perched on the sofa opposite.

"Spill it Max, to what do I owe the pleasure? You know that you're always welcome to have a bed here anytime, but you should really give a girl some notice so she can tidy up her junk room," she laughed teasingly. Max ran his fingers through his hair, sat back into the sofa and blew out through his puffed cheeks while looking at the ceiling. Lynette took in his body language and demeanour. "Wow, that bad, huh, Max. Who've you killed?" She took a sip of her drink and patiently waiting for Max to pull himself together.

Max was still staring at the ceiling. His hands were locked on his head and he was trying to work out where to start. He took a slug from his mug savouring the warmth in his throat and the strong rich flavour. "Good coffee Lynette."

"I aim to please, Max."

Finding the side table, Max set the mug down and lent forward with a serious look. With his hands entwined and eyes fixed on the carpet, he started to fill in Lynette on the events. She listened intently, stopping him to recap every so often but not really asking too many questions. Max found himself opening up and probably giving out more information than he should. Mentioning Jack's visit was a slip up and he hoped Lynette hadn't noticed. He took another gulp of coffee and sat back on the sofa with his head in his hands. His level of stress was obvious.

Lynette swivelled on her seat switching her legs to the other side before speaking. "Jesus Max, what are you going to do? You know that you're more than welcome to stay here for a few days until you sort things out. I know that everybody says it after a mini-disaster, but really, let me know if there's anything I can do to help." She paused trying to get eye contact but failed. "I'll ring round the other girls later to let them know that there's no point in coming in tonight or for the next few weeks, just in case they haven't seen the news. Is there anyone else you'd like me to call for you or anything else that I can do?"

Max was still staring at the ceiling, shaking his head. Lynette took it as 'No'. What she had to say next could prove painful.

"Listen Max, don't take this the wrong way but I need a dancing job to live the high life, and to help keep my mind clear. I like the regular cash and it'll take ages to get the club open again. No offence but I'll probably take Vinnie up on his offer and dance with Cristal at Champers." Max was really not happy about losing Lynette to Champers but what could he say? She was right. It would be ages before the club would reopen.

Lynette was watching the reaction on Max's face. "Come on, lose the serious face, let me give you the big tour of my apartment seeing as you are going to be here for a while. The spare room is full of trash at the moment, well not exactly trash, just my gym gear, running machine and a spare fifty pairs of shoes; so it'll have to be the settee for today, here grab this blanket you can crash out on it later. The main bathroom is through here. And if you need a suit jacket for later, just take one out of the closet by the bathroom door." Lynette waved dismissively at a cupboard before narrowing her eyes looking over her shoulder at Max. Her voice took on a sharper tone. "Carl will not be coming back any time soon, in fact let's say never."

Lynette glanced at the clock. "Listen Max, I've got to go to my day job in a couple of hours so here's a key to let yourself back in, and oh yeah, I'll put your phone on charge in the kitchen - sweet dreams. I've gotta go get ready. See you later."
Chapter 2 - Rachel

Rachel sat on the apartment terrace watching the morning sun sparkling off the sea and golf course while she enjoyed her mid-morning _caf e con leche_. The Costa del Sol wasn't too bad when the holidaymakers went home, and to be fair, the views from her new-build apartment on the Ronda Road were stunning. Late September was her favourite time, still warm but no apartments to clean, no meet and greets, no maintenance men, just some time to herself to try and get her head together. Clare, who ran the holiday letting business for her when she was away, was holding the phone so it should be a peaceful weekend. It was unbelievable how many calls and emails needed fielding when you looked after the keys, maintenance and lettings for one hundred or so clients. Time to kick back and relax.

She'd been through a few tough months with Max, and she couldn't do it anymore. The last ten years had been fun, but the last eighteen months weren't. They were arguing all the time and Max had become increasingly distant and secretive. It was all so different from the way they'd worked together in the past, then they were a team, united. He used to make her laugh and had wanted to have kids with her. He didn't run when she told him she couldn't, saying it didn't matter as long as they had each other. Now they seemed to lurch from one disaster to another. She'd had enough of Spain, enough of his increasingly strange behaviour, and enough of working her butt off to keep them both. Although to be fair to Max, he'd chip in on the cleaning work and carried out most of the maintenance for clients, but she wanted more. Life had just become too hard. Max still believed he could make the big score, chasing dreams, high-risk investments and projects. He'd made a fortune once and was convinced that he could do it again. Pussycats nightclub had caused a lot of damage to their relationship, and as usual, it should have been easy money but it had gone seriously wrong. Just one of a list of problems over the last year or so that made life an endless grind.

Rachel thought back. Things for a while hadn't been good, but all seemed far worse after Max's long weekend trip to Morocco on Bill's friend's boat. One week later they had found Bill dead in his apartment. Max had changed. It wasn't the first dead body they'd stumbled on, looking after elderly renters made it a bit of an occupational hazard, but this one was different. Bill had been with them for about two years, paid his rent six months in advance and had become a good friend. He was educated and well read, but he seemed lonely. Family was never mentioned, and if you brought it up, he'd politely change the subject. You never knew what skeletons people kept in their cupboards on the Costa del Sol... best not to know.

Max was badly affected by Bill's death; he became distant, pensive. The rows seemed to get worse with the fun getting sucked out of things. He would disappear for a few days here or there supposedly visiting friends but Rachel wasn't so sure. She accused him of having an affair but he swore he wasn't. Something else had gone wrong. She sensed something but couldn't put her finger on it; then a few months after Bill's death, he came up with a hare-brained scheme to drive back to the UK taking some cheap booze to the club. Hello! After eight hundred miles worth of petrol and the cost of the ferry, the booze would no longer be cheap!

He just wouldn't listen so she told him to go. They could do with a bit of space to think things through. Perhaps some time apart would solve the problem, sort of make or break. It was about time that she came first. Where did it all go wrong? Was it the trashy Pussycats club that had eaten up their savings, the long hours of work, the fact that they had made and then lost one fortune or had they just grown complacent and stopped working on the relationship? She never blamed him for what happened with the estate agency business but she was becoming increasingly fed up with the promise of 'jam tomorrow' and the dysfunctional friends that they seemed to hang out with. Discussing get-rich-quick schemes down the pub was driving her mad. Nobody seemed to be in the real world. Money just didn't fall into your lap, not that it stopped their friends dreaming or telling anyone who would listen how they were going to corner the market and make a killing. Fat chance!

Stability... that was it, she wanted stability and enough money to stop cleaning crappy apartments; finding used condoms under the beds; dealing with sheets covered with god knows what; and shit covered blocked bogs, not to mention the drudgery of washing and ironing countless sets of bedding and towels. Oh, and then finding the dead bodies! The images still haunted her at night and she swore she could still smell the decaying flesh in her dreams.

She was jarred out of her melancholy mood by hammering at the door. "Okay, okay keep your shirt on, I'm coming!"

As she unlocked the door her neighbour Sylvia came crashing through the entrance all panicky and breathless.

"Rach, Rach turn on the news quick! Max is on the BBC local news channel, the club's been fire bombed or something... He looks all right though, says that nobody's been hurt, there's smoke and flames everywhere and some very dishy fireman. I wouldn't mind meeting them in a dark alley if you know what I mean."

Typical, if it wore trousers and had a pulse it was fair game, if it wore a uniform well... game over unless he could run fast. Sylvia pictured herself as an aged Marilyn Monroe, but in reality she was just a pair of big tits with badly died long hair that needed a wash. A trowel for slap didn't come into it, she probably kept her own cement mixer in her bedroom, but she was harmless enough really - at least when she was sober.

Rachel turned on the TV but the news was now covering national politics. She flicked channels trying to find the story but without luck.

"Are you alright Rach? You've gone awfully pale... oh my god didn't you know?" Sylvia smirked. She was going to enjoy telling everyone that she'd broken the news.

Rachel tried to stay calm even though her insides twisted into a knot. After ten years together you would think that Max would have the decency to call, part of the club belonged to her, he claimed that his heart still belonged to her despite her misgivings, things clearly were worse between them than she'd thought... "Bastard!"

She turned to talk to Sylvia but was interrupted by the phone ringing. Jenny her best pal was on the line. She'd seen the news but at least she was more concerned about how Rachel was, whether Max was okay, and if they were insured. She wasn't just ringing to spread the gloom in a 'told you so' voice. By choice they would never have been involved in a lap dancing club, (it was a long story and a set of very odd events), but if Rachel was honest she enjoyed what Max had coined 'the vibe and the late night atmosphere'.

Rachel had poured her heart out to Jenny over the last six months, flying back to England or Jenny coming over to Spain. There was nothing that couldn't be solved or explained with a bottle of Bacardi, a litre of Coke, some ice and a good girlfriend. Nothing but the enigma of Max! No she wouldn't cry. Not while Sylvia was there waiting to pass every bit of tittle-tattle on and no doubt blowing things out of proportion. News travelled fast here and as the saying goes bad news travelled even faster. She mulled things over in her mind, could things be out of proportion? The man she loved or thought she loved was into the seedy world of lap dancing, mafia and god knows what. She didn't know him anymore. She didn't want to be in Spain anymore. She wanted to be in England with friends and family. She wanted to go on luxury holidays and be pampered.

Sylvia waved from the doorway mouthing, 'Sorry'. Yeah right, sorry. She'd be sprinting across the gardens to her own apartment block to spread the gossip as quick as she could. Rachel put the phone down to Jenny and promised to call back tomorrow.

You never knew who your friends were on the Costa del Sol, everybody had a story, hell; everybody had a problem. Half of them were running away from their past, some thought they could get rich quick, some were dodging tax, others were evading the law. It was like the Wild West. Grudges tended to get settled personally, and the local bar or pub was where everything went down. At least Jenny had always been there for her right from her schooldays. They'd shared good times, bad times and everything in-between. It was Jenny who suggested that she had a trial separation with Max. She'd told her that he wasn't worth crying over every day. She could still hear her words: "Get back out there girl."

She snapped out of her thoughts as the phone rang again. The pattern continued for the next few hours. After fending off numerous phone calls and visitors at the door, Rachel went back on to the BBC News South website to see the story first-hand again without someone looking over her shoulder. She'd poured herself a stiff drink before sitting in front of the PC. There he was; white T-shirt, blue jeans, brown loafers, strong blue eyes and Hugh Grant floppy black hair. No mistaking his Italian genes or looks inherited from his mother. Her heart still melted. Max had been her Italian stallion, her lover, her friend, her confidant, yet he still hadn't called...

"Bastard."

She laughed at his West Country drawl. It seemed stronger. Maybe the pressure he was under brought it out, either that or he'd been hanging out too much with his brother 'Playboy Paolo' or, perhaps he'd been back down to Bristol to see his friends and the rest of the family. His accent became stronger whenever they visited. He even picked up notes of his Dad's broad Welsh accent sometimes. Why hadn't he called? "Sod you Max."

Rachel wiped the tears from her eyes and walked to the mirror in the bathroom turning on the bath taps before critically appraising herself. Thirty-seven years old, long wavy brunette hair, brown eyes that you could swim in, five foot five with curves in all the right places. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and cupped her ample breasts, definitely her best asset. She ran her hands down over her hips while taking off her shorts and checked out her butterfly tattoo etched into the middle of her back just above the curve of her bum. Yep, she still looked good and could party with the best of them down in Puerto Banus. Maybe that's what she'd do tonight. A few drinks at Sinners and the Piano Bar followed by some dancing at VJ's nightclub. Maybe she would call Nick. He worshipped the ground she walked on, had money to burn, and treated her like an angel. He always said that she was the women of his dreams ever since Nicole had tragically died. Maybe things would go further than just dancing, months of no sex gets a girl thinking. Sex with an older man, she giggled to herself before looking carefully in the mirror again, yep, still looking good, apart from the smeared mascara and red eyes.

She took a deep breath. "Pull yourself together girl, time to move on."

She turned off the taps and went to pour herself another stiff drink to help her relax. The answer phone was blinking, probably just more people wanting to gloat. She pressed delete. If it was important they'd call back.

She picked the phone up and called Nick. As ever he was delighted to hear from her, he'd pick her up at nine, head out for tapas, have a few drinks and then hit the club with her. "Oh and Nick, no Ferrari... You can see my legs and panties if you just ask, I don't want to be tripping over my heels trying to get out of the car."

"For you my angel anything, your wish is my command."

Rachel headed back into the bathroom. Time for some gardening, she needed to shave her legs and armpits and her private garden patch was seriously out of control. It needed some work to be presentable for potential public display and so that she felt confident. A neat Brazilian was her preferred mode, but waxing was never her thing, too painful, DIY was definitely preferable. She took a pair of scissors and began cutting away at her soft brown curls and found herself starting to get aroused. Her nipples hardened, she was excited by the prospect of a date and being treated like a lady again. She slid into the bath and soaped up before carefully using her razor to trim away the stubble before moving on to ensuring she was hair free around her delicate folds. No man liked stray hairs if you were going to be wined, dined and sixty-nined. The feel of the razor against her sensitive skin and the clean feel of no hair made her feel really horny. She slowly massaged between her legs and around her lower belly exploring herself with her fingers and gently rubbing her nub. Jesus, it was years since she'd masturbated; it was like being a schoolgirl again. As her pace and urgency increased she tweaked her nipple with her other hand and was shocked at the speed and intensity of her orgasm as she cried out in pleasure. Wow, the afterglow left her feeling relaxed and happy, that and the large Bacardis she'd already had. It was time to hop in the shower cubicle to sort her hair out and rinse off. If this was anything to go by, tonight would be fun!
Chapter 3 - Nick

Nick was one of Rachel and Max's oldest friends on the coast. He had been adopted as a child by a lovely Greek couple in Mill Hill, North London and had been taught the value of hard work from an early age. He was given regular chores helping out in the family deli on Mill Hill Boulevard from as young as he could remember. At thirteen, his father encouraged him to get a paper round on the grounds that if you could get up early every day to go to work in the wind, rain and snow, you would always have a job in life. You learned many lessons as a paper boy: punctuality, service, politeness, even how to handle and account for money when you had to collect payment from the customers on a Friday night. You could do a lot worse.

Despite having a loving family background Nick struggled to accept the fact that his mother had abandoned him. He'd been five at the time and it still rankled with him. Who would abandon a five-year-old? He found relationships with the other sex difficult and became rebellious in his later teens hanging out with the wrong crowd. He was off the rails for a few years much to his father's disgust and even had a few run-ins with the law. He met Nicole when he was nineteen. She helped to put him back on track. He wanted to provide for her and to have a family to call his own and Nicole rescued him. He did well in life. His penchant for hard work, easy-going manner, commanding frame and ability to sell himself meant that he got on quickly. It probably helped that he was six foot three inches tall with a mop of thick blonde hair and hazel eyes. People tended to remember him. Because of his film star's rugged good looks, people assumed that he was a ladies' man but he was never one to play the field, Nicole was the love of his life. To the outside world he was a devoted husband and father.

He came to the Costa del Sol after selling his telecommunications and computing business in the mid-nineties. A friend had started selling new mobile telecommunications to business customers in the early eighties and encouraged Nick to join him. The word mobile was really misleading - they were selling small suitcase or large handbag-size contraptions, with the top-end Motorola model weighing more than seven kilos. Nick and his pal learned the ropes quickly and branched out on their own as they realised that the value wasn't in the hardware but in the airtime contracts and tail end commissions that went with them. They opened their first shop on Marylebone Road and never looked back. As they expanded they moved into the market of what we now call PCs and laptops but back then were thought of as mobile personal computers or desktop work stations. The bestselling Compaq models could run a word processing program, or Lotus spreadsheet from a floppy disk and store the contents for further use later. The machines in reality were anything but portable, luggable would be a better word. The desktop versions were monoliths.

Belying his easy-going manner Nick had an aggressive streak and did not suffer fools gladly. He also wasn't averse to bending the rules or using some muscle to get what he wanted. He made sure that competitors stayed off of his patch by whatever means necessary. Expansion continued at pace given that they were early movers in a fast-growing market. If your business didn't have a PC and shared mobile phone you were nobody in London. Nick swore that half of his clients used the PC on the front desk as an ornament while still using typewriters and carbon copies out back. The handbag-sized phones were displaced by brick-sized mobile phones or car phones and then by smaller but heavy truly portable devices. Everyone of substance wanted a Nokia or Motorola phone for personal use not just for business.

Nick and his partner had already spotted the change in the market opening more retail stores to feed the ever-growing personal demand for phones, laptops and PCs. They employed aggressive young sales staff and gave them stretching targets with the chance of huge rewards.

Given the business' strength in North London they were made an offer they couldn't refuse by a large corporate in the late nineties who wanted to gain market share. Arguably they cleverly sold at the peak, in reality the business had changed too much and Nick wanted out to spend more time with his wife Nicole and son Nico. Long hours of work and late night business entertaining for the corporate account buyers meant that he'd missed much of Nico's early years and he didn't want to miss the next chapter of his son's life. The family ended up on the Costa del Sol after advice from his accountant to become a resident of Gibraltar thus avoiding four million of capital gains tax on the deal in the process. They had holidayed on the Costas before but couldn't say that they knew it well. After some research Nicole settled on residing in a luxury villa overlooking one of the signature holes on the Los Molinos course. This was close enough to Marbella and Puerto Banus for top-end shopping yet near enough to Estepona and San Pedro to integrate into the true Spanish lifestyle. Life was pretty good: three hundred days of sunshine a year; excellent private schools for Nico and more time to enjoy with Nicole.

Nick soon got in with the local business mafia and enjoyed a bit of wheeling and dealing - always on the edge of legal and sometimes downright illegal. He was like a pig in shit but then cancer struck Nicole down. It had been two years since he'd cremated her and every day was still painful, more so as Nico was now away at university. He found himself in the typical expat position, a bunch of so-called friends, a few golf buddies, lots of willing drinking partners, especially if he was paying, but not many real friends to provide company and solace. He was fifty-two years old and for the first time ever was starting to get bored with retirement. Although if he was honest with himself it wasn't boredom, it was loneliness that was affecting him so badly. That and the fact that he had been abandoned by a woman he loved for the second time in his life. Nicole had been taken far too early.

Max and Rachel were some of his only true friends in Spain. They'd met via mutual acquaintances and cemented their relationship through Max's estate agency business. Max invested some of Nick's gambling funds, the money he could afford to lose without affecting his lifestyle, buying up apartments or building plots off-plan before spinning them to new clients one to two months later. Sometimes apartments were even 'turned' on the same day for a five to ten thousand pound profit such was the buying frenzy out there. Everyone knew it was a property bubble that would burst at some stage. It was a bit like musical chairs - you just needed to be out of the game when the music stopped.

Max made his own money on the back of the deals, and after the first few years of trading had four retail offices and a few small developments under his belt. He could have probably cut Nick loose and done most of the deals in his own name, but he kept Nick in the loop spinning deals for him until the market slowed down. Keeping Nick in was a conscious decision. Max would rather have him inside pissing out of the tent than the other way round. He'd heard of more than one event that left a real question mark over Nick's pleasant easy-going persona. The stories and the façade did not sit comfortably.

Nick saw it as loyalty and it meant a lot to him. Max and Rachel weren't just fair-weather friends or the type to try to cream off some of his hard-earned money. When the music stopped he was left with just one apartment to sell in Los Flamingos but in reality he'd made so much money in-between that it owed him nothing, especially as the majority of transactions were for cash. Max and his business associates were not so lucky, but that was another story.

Rachel had been good to Nick and Nico when Nicole was taken ill - like a mother hen, always dropping in with meals she'd prepared. She spent time with Nicole talking about god knows what, painting her nails to cheer her up, even after the funeral she helped them come to terms with their grief. If he was a few years younger, or she wasn't besotted with Max, who knows what would have happened?

Nick put the phone down from Rachel and turned to his diary. He was supposed to go to a champagne reception at The Hacienda hotel with his wealth management company. He could swing by make a quick appearance and then head back to pick Rachel up. She sounded very flirty on the phone. Maybe there's life in the old dog yet. No Ferrari... Oh well, the Bentley drop top would have to do.
Chapter 4 - Lynette

Max locked the door to the apartment pulling Carl's cast-off leather jacket around his shoulders against the cold wind and headed off past the old Trafford House, under the railway bridge, and across the town square towards the police station. He went through the doors into a small lino-floored hallway with notice boards and 'Stop Crime Now' flyers everywhere. There were two orange plastic chairs facing a sliding window on the opposite wall at chest height with a big hand pointing at a doorbell saying 'Ring for Service'. He was a little early, but hey what the heck. He strolled up to the desk and pressed the bell. He stood for a few minutes without anyone responding so pressed the bell again.

This time he heard shuffling and a chair scrapping the floor before being met by a non-uniformed worker. Max had expected a desk sergeant or PC and was momentarily taken aback.

"Afternoon. Sergeant Greaves, please. I have an appointment at four, I'm a little the early but I don't mind waiting."

The civilian worker looked him up and down as if he was deciding whether he should bother talking to him. He almost sneered as he spoke. "I assume that you must be Mr. Williams from the nightclub in town."

Max decided to ignore the tone in his voice and responded cheerily, "Yep, that's me."

A smile came over the receptionist's face and his attitude lightened up. "There's a message from Sergeant Greaves apologising and asking if it would be all right for you to come in around eleven in the morning tomorrow. He's currently busy interviewing a suspect in relation to your case."

Max was surprised. "Blimey. Well, that's what you call quick work, I'm impressed." His positive comments seemed to loosen the receptionist up further and he had now clearly decided that Max was worthy of a conversation.

"Yeah, with a bit of luck he'll have it sewn up by the morning. He hasn't had a chance to view the CCTV yet but they don't call him 'Greavsy' for nothing. Always puts the ball in the back of the net if you know what I mean. Probably a bit before your time but as one of the football greats surely you've heard of him."

Max nodded. "Yeah, I like my footie. Greavsy was a master in front of goal even if it was a bit before the time that I took an interest." Max started to head towards the door looking back over his shoulder to speak.

"Eleven tomorrow morning then, let's hope the Sarge scores a hat-trick." He winked as he went through the doors.

Stepping out into the cool fresh air, he was now at a bit of a loose end. He'd called the insurance company earlier only to be told in no uncertain terms that the building had been made secure and that he must not enter until either the police or the appointed loss adjustor gave him the go ahead. The loss adjustor to be fair was pretty quick off the mark and had already arranged an appointment for Wednesday morning. He also suggested that Max might like to appoint someone to act on his behalf to ensure that there was fair play and that the policy wording was interpreted in a way that was acceptable to both parties. Max had yet to make a decision. He really needed to clear his head and work out how much of his story he needed to share and what could be swept under the carpet.

He strolled back into the town square and over to the indoor shopping mall with the intention of buying some new white T-shirts, socks and fresh pants. He hated shopping so his jeans would have to do for now and Carl's leather jacket was more than an adequate fit. He looked at his reflection in a shop window and thought that he pulled off the James Dean look pretty well. Vanity had never been one of his strong points. After picking up clothes and some essentials, Max stopped in at the wine store and purchased half a dozen bottles of Sauvignon Touraine, his favourite. Cheaper than Sancerre, where half the time you just paid for the label, but just as much flavour. He got back to Lynette's apartment, slipped through the door sideways with his bags and headed for the kitchen where he dug through the cupboards in search of a couple of wine glasses and some ice.

"Lynette? It's me, Max. Are you back from work yet?" No reply...

He poured himself a large glass of Sauvignon put a few ice cubes in and then kicked back on the comfy settee. Thoughts rushed through his head and he spoke aloud, "SHIT, what a mess, what the fuck am I going to do? If the police find the drugs hidden in the club I'm done for, I can't exactly claim that a kilo of the white stuff is for my personal use or that I didn't know that it was there. My prints are going to be all over the bag. Maybe it went up in the fire... jeez dumb arse, you kept it in the freezer out back, pretty unlikely that it got burnt. What about the stuff in the car? Should be okay since it's still hidden behind the headlight and his other secret stash of stones should be invisible in among the ice cubes. Christ! What's Rachel going to think? She already thinks that I'm off my head, if any of this came out it would definitely be the end of the relationship." He grabbed his mobile and rang the apartment, no answer, shit. If only he could make her understand that he was doing it all for her.

He gave himself a quick telling off. "Come on Max, pull yourself together, no point in losing your nerve now, do something useful!" He grabbed his mobile and scrolled through for the number of his insurance broker. After fifteen minutes of chatting and being informed that clause 4b contradicted clause 9a and that the business interruption part of the claim would need to be proved in full, he had agreed to appoint an agent to work on his behalf to deal with the insurance claim. The broker told him that an assessor would cost between six and ten per cent of the total claim paid, but given the complexity of the policy wording and the nature of the claim, it should be money well spent. Max had assumed the claim would be covered in full, but after talking to the broker he wasn't so sure. He really didn't have much experience with insurance, normally he just dealt with the house and car once a year. Apparently commercial insurance was far more complex especially when it involved a potentially large claim where insurers had a habit of trying to avoid paying out. That was all he needed to hear. _More trouble_.

He heard the door to the apartment open and Lynette walked through looking stunning.

"Hey Max, starting early without me I see, where's mine? I could really do with a drink."

Max got up and headed to the kitchen to refill his glass and pour Lynette her first of the day. He was taken by how sexy she looked, the stovepipe jeans and cute butt made her legs look as if they went up to her armpits where he could see her pert breasts just peeking over her crop top. It was amazing how clothes accentuated her curves. She looked better with clothing on than she did when she was showing everything to the world, or perhaps it was just because Max automatically shut down his senses when he was working at the club. He had a strict 'do not touch the merchandise rule' for all staff - although his brother Paolo had rarely taken any notice. Paolo was the typical sleazy owner, keen on very full interviews shall we say. Given his reputation it was a wonder that he didn't have a season ticket to the local STD clinic. Max had never been like that, in his younger days maybe, but eventually all boys grow up, don't they? Maybe not. His thoughts turned to the issues he had with the club as he stared out into space clutching his wine to his chest.

He had thought that his relationship with his brother was over when he told Cristal that she had to go and that she no longer owned any part of the club. She'd more than spent her share and left the business bankrupt. He needed to clean up the act at the club, no more cocaine, no more ketamine, and no more cash out of the till before paying the bills.

During the summer of last year, he had received a call from the bar manager telling him that a bailiff was on the premises on behalf of the Performing Rights Society (PRS) demanding payment of ten grand and that the electricity company was there to cut off the mains supply. He tried to pacify everyone over the phone and Rachel dropped him off at Malaga Airport so he could catch the first London flight. As expected the airline fleeced him for the ticket, but he arrived at Gatwick Airport early and was able to get trains into Victoria and out of Fenchurch Street to get him to the club at ten the next morning. When he unlocked the front door he had to push back a pile of mail, the number of red lined envelopes marked 'URGENT' and 'FINAL REQUEST' did not bode well.

He picked up the mail and headed inside. Working with the bar manager by phone on the way to the airport, he had managed to convince the bailiff and electricity company to come back the following day, when he would be on-site to resolve any misunderstandings and pay the bills. It wasn't easy. The bailiff had insisted on taking a walking possession order in relation to all stock and on being paid for time listing the stock and talking with Max on the mobile. Three hundred and fifty pounds later he agreed to come back in two days for payment or he would be removing this now carefully inventoried stock. The electricity company weren't much better. They had insisted on a substantial payment on account otherwise the supply would be cut - no matter how much he jumped up and down. The bar manager took the last thousand pounds from the safe as cash and paid it into the local bank to get a stay of execution. Luckily the previous night had been a good one and the night's takings together with petty cash just about covered it.

Max breathed in deeply. They could still trade but what other skeletons were hidden in the cupboards or more precisely the piles of paper in the office and unpaid demands he had held in his hands?

It had taken Max the rest of the morning to just look through all of the papers hidden away in drawers and stacked in neat piles. He found the PRS documentation and court order for payment. Why the fuck had everyone ignored it? It was there in black and white addressed to Cristal personally. There was no doubting that without payment they could no longer play music at the club. No music meant no dancing - no dancing led to no girls and no girls meant no business. They were fucked. Cristal had done a real number on him. Max continued working his way through the papers after grabbing a cup of tea. He had to keep a clear head. What had happened to the fifty grand that she was supposed to put in to match his investment? The bank account was empty, last year's corporation tax was unpaid and the VAT returns had been missed for the last two quarters. How had he just sat back in Spain accepting that all was well? His brother Paolo was supposed to watch his back, what the fuck had he been doing? Fucking the staff probably and ignoring everything else.

He had to shut the club down for a week while he tried to get the plan together to save it. He found a website offering royalty-free music that could be played in public places which wasn't ideal but for a small joining fee at least there was something for the girls to dance to. He persuaded two of the girls to go through all of the tracks to select those that were consistent with the club's atmosphere and the type of music they used to play. They ended up with five discs full of tracks which offered enough variation in sound and allowed him to open. He just had to get money coming back through the front door.

Over the course of the next six months or so Max had to invest another seventy thousand pounds of his and Rachel's hard-earned money to keep the club afloat, clear creditors, get the taxman off their backs and to buy a new PRS license. Given the club's track record, everyone seemed to insist on payments being made at least six months in advance, which was a real cash flow killer. It used up the last of his and Rachel's reserves putting an end to overseas holidays and for plans to change their old car. She was not happy. It was not the first time that they had been screwed by his family. If he was honest with himself, having to put in the extra cash and having to spend so much time in Basildon really took its toll on their relationship. Rachel just could not get her head around the fact that Paolo had encouraged them to invest their funds knowing that Cristal didn't have the cash to match theirs. Blood was supposed to be thicker than water but as ever Paolo was being led around by his dick. The old saying 'balls for brains' seemed very apt.

After a good few days going over things with the accountant, it was clear that Cristal's part of the equity and her part of the payment to the previous owner had come out of the funds left in the company itself which were there to pay the outstanding creditors, VAT, and Corporation Tax. Cash generated day-to-day had been used to fund her party lifestyle with Paolo, who never questioned where the money came from. He just enjoyed swanning around at the bar and fucking any of the girls that would let him. Why would he want it to end?

It took a lot of work to turn the club around with Rachel helping to recruit staff, man the bar and to deal with the day-today management while Max concentrated on sorting the historic mess. The head lease remained in the company that they purchased, but for some reason Cristal had been running the business through a separate Pussycats' bar account. In some ways it made it easier to close her out and rearrange things, but in other ways it just complicated who had been contracted by whom. They had worked long hours together and for a week or two enjoyed the lifestyle that the bar provided each night, but the days were more problematic trying to sort out the reality of their finances and legal position. An agreement was eventually reached to shut down Cristal's new accounts and trade on with the existing company. It was looking increasingly likely it would take a very long time get a return on their investment.

Max took another slug of his wine while continuing to stare off into space.

"Max, Max, hello Earth to Max... Come in Max. Can you hear me Max...? MAX!"

He came round from his stupor, grinned inanely at Lynette and apologised. "Sorry Lynette, I was lost in my own little world trying to work out how I got into this bloody mess."

Lynette pulled her feet up underneath herself and crossed her arms in front of herself giving Max her best 'you've been a naughty boy' stare. "Where are you? On a different planet? A girl can get offended you know. Come on, drink up, let's head over to the festival park on the other side of town, have something to eat and perhaps catch a movie. Anything to get your mind off the club and whatever else is troubling you. We can catch a taxi by the station."

Max hadn't realised how caught up he was in his own troubles. Rude really. Here he was with a pretty girl who had allowed him into her home and the least he could do was buy her dinner.

Fifteen minutes later they were directing the taxi driver to the American Bar and Diner where the food was predictable, but satisfying, and normally there was a decent buzz. Max stared out of the window as the cab drove along Nethermayne and turned into Cranes Farm Road.

"Almost there Max, do you want to stop at the bowling alley or cinema or just head straight for some food?"

"Food and another drink sounds good to me. I seem to have forgotten to eat anything today. Listen I'm really sorry for being so distracted and thank you. Thanks for being a friend and putting me up for a few days. I'll try to get out of your hair as soon as I can."

They pulled up in front of the brash American Bar lights. Max paid the cabby and opened the door to the restaurant for Lynette to walk through. He was trying hard to be the gentleman, that and it gave him another chance to ogle her luscious curves without her noticing. Max watched carefully as Lynette slid her pert backside on to a stool and lent over the bar to catch the bartender's eye who was busy serving another couple. Tony's face split into a big grin as soon as he saw Lynette and Max. He finished with the other customers and walked over with a couple of large tumblers of Jack Daniels over ice in his hands placing them on the bar.

"Looks like you two could do with a drink! Here, on the house." He turned back to serve another customer who seemed to think that he'd missed his turn.

Tony was a regular at the club after he finished his shift - looking for somewhere to wind down. He wasn't one to pay for private dances. He was just part of the late night drinking crowd who preferred to spend the night awake and day sleeping, one of many in Basildon that enjoyed the vampire lifestyle rarely spending time out in the sun. Tony was no looker. Probably in his mid-to-late forties, he definitely ate too many loaded potato skins with onion rings on the side and overindulged in bottles of beer. His paunch though belied his strength and it was obvious he worked out. He had a deep chest, strong biceps and broad shoulders. Despite Lynette being in a different league Tony had a bit of a thing for her; he just adored her long legs, deep honey-brown skin and regal looks, something she had inherited from her Barbadian father and good-looking English mother. Whenever she was dancing at the club he followed her around like a lovesick puppy.

The bar crowd thinned out before they had finished their first drinks and Tony wandered over with another couple in hand. "Hey Max, hey Lynette." He paused, making eye contact with them both. "Really sorry to hear about the fire at the club, good news that nobody got hurt, it could have been much worse. No worries about your drinks tonight I'll just keep them coming until you say stop. You look like you both need to drown your sorrows and hey Lynette, you know you can cry on my shoulder anytime." Tony grinned and blew a kiss.

Lynette's smiled at Tony over the bar. "In your dreams Tony, in your dreams, but hey if you're offering free drinks is there any chance of a couple of bottles of Sauvignon? Jack gives me a wicked headache."

Max and Lynette probably spent too much time at the bar drinking wine, sharing a few plates of ribs and chicken wings and reminiscing about the good times at the club with Tony. Lynette wisely was alternating between wine and water to help keep a reasonably clear head. The conversation got flirty and on to the subject of casual sex. Tony was lapping it up as Lynette defended the rights of a woman to use a man for sex - what was good for the goose was good for the gander. The boys were less liberated but both admitted they would if they had the chance. When it came to paying the bill Tony was as good as his word and refused to accept anything. Max, while grateful for the free drinks, thought that no matter what bar owners did to control what was served and paid for in a bar or restaurant, the staff would always find a way round it. 'Skimming' in the entertainment business was an occupational hazard.

During the course of the evening Tony mentioned a room coming free the following week at his place. He offered to rent it for a hundred pounds per week, and subject to seeing it, Max had put down his marker to take it. Tony assured him that the place was neat, clean and the room a decent size. He'd even get a shower room to himself.

Max and Lynette headed out of the bar into the cool night air and caught a cab back to the apartment feeling upbeat and slightly merry after what was actually a pretty disastrous day. Max was just hoping that his head would clear before he had to meet with Sergeant Greaves tomorrow. He was pretty sure that he would be in for a monster hangover in the morning.

As they walked through the door Lynette reached over cupping Max's face in her hands and kissed him passionately. "Come on Max take me to bed. I don't want to sleep alone tonight. Call me a wanton woman that wants casual sex." Max didn't need a second invitation passionately returning her kiss and seeking out her tongue with his before guiding her towards the bedroom. He caressed her face while nibbling her ear and bringing his hand up on to her breasts. Their slightly merry state made it all seem very relaxed and natural if a little unbalanced.

Lynette slowly unbuttoned the fly of his Levi 501s freeing his cock from his pants while looking directly into his eyes with a wicked grin on her face. "Mmm, someone's ready for action. Better slow down big boy I'm gonna teach you what brown sugar is all about." She picked up the remote to her Bose unit which began to play Rolling Stones songs as if they were on demand while Lynette slid her jeans down her long legs kicking them under a chair in the corner of the room.

"C'mon Max I'm heading to the shower first to freshen up. We could always start in there; it's big enough for two and there's plenty of hot water." She blew him a kiss and licked her lips while beckoning him with her index finger.

Max was transfixed, gawping at her body. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Yes he'd had a fair bit to drink but he couldn't believe what he was about to do. _No stopping now_ he thought to himself. Anyway I've always wanted to know what the song 'Brown Sugar' was all about. Max followed suit kicking off his jeans and heading for the shower. He stood and stared at Lynette in the cubicle covered in foamy soap. She had shoulder-length naturally curly hair, big brown eyes and a wicked grin. She looked like she'd stepped out of a modelling agency or top shelf magazine. As she gently soaped her body Max followed her hands and noticed that her snatch was completely bare. No body hair, no tattoos just a small gold barbell piercing through the sheath above her nub. He found it a real turn-on and slipped in to the shower cubicle with her. He cupped her down below and whispered into her ear.

"That's some hot body Lynette. I can't wait to taste how sweet you are and tease you to death with that stud."

She grabbed his manhood slowly pulling back his foreskin while washing his tip with her soapy hands. Max gasped in pleasure, if he didn't have so much alcohol in his system to dull his senses he wasn't sure that he'd be able to control himself. He put a blob of shower gel in his hands and gently rubbed her breasts, stomach and back while alternating between kissing her and giving little nips under her jaw and down the side of her neck. Only when her nipples were hard and taut did he allow his hands to stray further down gently inserting two fingers into her delicate folds. Lynette gasped arching towards him while throwing her head back. He continued to stoke her slowly varying the pace and occasionally flicking the little gold bar with his fingers before concentrating on her swollen nub until she had a shuddering orgasm.

Lynette draped her arms over his shoulders lightly biting his neck. "Mmm. Max, this is going to be a long night."

She turned the water off and led Max out of the shower cubicle by his cock before dropping to her knees and taking him into her mouth. She could taste his salty pre-cum and feel the excitement in the tightness of his balls. She cupped them in her hand while working her mouth up and down his shaft. Max was moaning with pleasure his breathing getting fast and heavy and his stomach muscles tightening towards a crescendo.

"Oh, jeez, Lynette, I'm not sure I can take much more, if you don't stop I'm going to come."

She stopped briefly and flicked his tip with her tongue. "That's the idea. Don't worry. You'll be performing for the rest of the night... Enjoy."

She took him back in her mouth cupping his sac tightly and positioned three fingers behind his balls. As she felt his body tense and his cock twitch she let some of his semen start to rise up his shaft before pushing hard with her three fingers at the back of his sac. Max groaned with pleasure but the expected release of ejaculation never came, just one small spurt. The intensity of the feeling was the same but he was still rock solid and ready for action.

Max slowly manoeuvred Lynette towards the bed while kissing and exploring her body. "I'm going to drive you crazy with my tongue until you beg me to stop." He lifted her and placed her on the bed before running his tongue up the inside of each leg and round her beautifully shaven mound, blowing hot little breaths on to her piercing and nub. He continued until she began to wriggle and complain. "Max!" He took her lips in his mouth sucking strongly before delving inside with his tongue. Lynette gasped and thrust her hips towards him. "Max!" she called impatiently while pushing her hips forward. He mumbled back, "Have patience." He slowly left a little trail of kisses along her body as he worked his way slowly up to take to take a perfect nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard and tweaked her nipple with his teeth, at the same time he put his right hand over her mound exerting gentle pressure but not letting his fingers enter her or brush her more sensitive parts. "Max!"

Max relented and slid down her body concentrating on her swollen nub with his tongue. As she got close to coming Max moved up her body again and took her nipple back into his mouth while using his fingers to make sure her orgasm was intense. Lynette arched her back and cried out in pleasure.

Max kept her nipple in his mouth teasing her until the effects of the orgasm began to subside before reversing his travels, heading back down to once again lick at her juice-covered nub. She gasped as he took her piercing in his mouth and played with it with his tongue. Unusually she seemed to have little control over her body and could feel herself building to orgasm again before getting caught out coming loudly as he took her nub into his mouth.

He pulled himself up her body kissing her mouth. She could taste her sex on him. He moved on to his knees and positioned himself to enter her but was stopped by Lynette grabbing his shaft "Uh, uh not bareback big boy." Lynette grabbed his shoulders flipping Max on to his back before delving into a bedside drawer. She came out with a strawberry flavoured ribbed condom, some beads on a leather string and a tube of KY gel. Max's eyes widened.

Lynette opened the packet and put the condom in her mouth before skilfully positioning it over his tip. He gasped as she took his full length into her mouth while rolling the condom out along his cock. She pulled his right leg up placing his knee against her body to get better access to his anus and slowly massaged KY around his ring and inside his sphincter. "Relax Max, I won't hurt you." Max had never had anyone invade his anus before and had no idea what to expect. He found it strangely erotic and scary at the same time and could feel himself getting harder and more excited by the minute. He was taken by surprise as he felt Lynette push the ceramic beads inside him stimulating his prostate. He let out an involuntary moan. "Steady Max, don't tense up." She pulled on one side of the leather strap and Max felt the beads straighten into a long line. His senses were on fire. His thoughts were racing _she is one kinky bitch_.

Lynette sat astride him and positioned the tip of his cock between her folds. She had the cotton belt off her robe in her hands and told Max to place his hands above his head so she could tie him loosely to the bedstead. Max complied lost in the eroticism. As soon as his hands were bound Lynette slid down his shaft gripping him with her tight muscles, he gasped and pushed up to meet her. "Uh uh, Max, lay still until I say so." Lynette proceeded to ride him slowly enjoying the sensation of his cock spreading her wide. As she could feel her orgasm beginning to build, she leaned back cupping Max's balls with one hand and flicking her stud with the other. "Watch me Max, watch me cum." Max was in heaven and only just holding on when Lynette grabbed his hair pulling him forward so he had to watch his cock sliding in and out while Lynette moaned in pleasure, she felt the tell-tale sign as his cock twitched and grew slightly ready to release his semen and pulled hard on the leather strap causing the beads to follow suit stimulating his prostate and sphincter. Max came so hard he went dizzy as he collapsed back on to the pillow. "Fuck me Lynette."

Lynette grinned. "I thought that's what I'd just done Max, don't tell me you want to play again."

"Jeez no, my head is spinning, I've never cum like that in my life."

Lynette released his hands from the bedstead and went to the kitchen for some water for both of them. She proffered the glass and a couple of headache tablets. "Drink up Max and no bad head tomorrow." The thought was wasted, Max was already asleep, the used condom tied off neatly and dumped on the bedside cabinet. Gross.

Max woke in a dreamy state unsure of where he was or what time it was. He looked around to get his bearings and realised that he was sprawled on Lynette's bed with only a sheet covering his dignity. The images of last night's passion suddenly flooded through his mind and just as quickly the guilt that he had cheated on Rachel left a hollow feeling in his stomach. There was no denying he had been a very willing participant and that he had enjoyed every minute of the evening. He thought that he was an experienced lover but had learnt more than a few new tricks last night. The intensity of his second orgasm had almost made him pass out.

Lynette called through the bedroom door. "Max... Are you decent?" He pulled the sheet up over his body as Lynette came through the door with a cup of coffee and toast for him. He sat up staring at her wide-eyed. "Thanks Lynette, and thanks for last night; talk about intense!"

"Max, just think of it as a one-off. I don't make a habit of sleeping with the boss or older men, and you qualify on both counts. Let's say that you more than fulfilled my needs last night and it takes two to tango, but you'll be in the spare room once it's ready for you tonight."

Max didn't really take in the significance of the comment but just looked at her from top to bottom with a huge grin on his face. "What's with the suit and the glasses? Are you going into a boardroom meeting? Saying that, it's certainly a good look." Lynette was wearing a pencil black skirt with a white tailored blouse that had a strong collar folding out neatly over a jacket that matched the skirt. She wore a pair of patent leather high heels, finely rimmed black glasses framing her eyes and subtle smoky make-up. It was a style that would've made any businesswoman proud.

"Not too far off. I've got a meeting this afternoon at the London Business School to go over my master's dissertation on the positive impacts of crowd financing and charitable loans on the war on African poverty. It's the final part of my degree in finance with a bias towards e-commerce. With a bit of luck, the business suit and showing a bit of leg will keep the number of questions from the male panel down." Lynette gave a twirl and pushed her backside out provocatively.

"You know what they say Max, people form an impression of you in the first thirty seconds of meeting you. They may change that opinion or reinforce it by talking to you, but if you start off on the right foot things nearly always go better. First impressions really do count. I learnt that from my Dad. He was a bit of a stickler. By the way, help yourself to anything else in the fridge or cupboard. I've got to catch the train in about half an hour or so."

Max's face was a picture. "You never said that you were studying for a master's degree, I didn't even know that you had an ordinary degree! What was that in?"

Lynette smiled, "You never asked Max, I'm not just a pretty face. You don't think that I lap dance for fun do you? It's how I paid to get through my law degree and pupillage. Now it's allowing me to finish my master's. If things go to plan I'll be cutting right back on dancing in a year or so and taking up a place in chambers. I don't want to be dancing after thirty Max. If you want to get on in life you have to 'do what you need to' and plan ahead to 'do what you want to'. It's an easy philosophy but not an easy route."

Max pushed his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "Blimey Lynette, I never realised that you were so focused or let's be blunt - educated! You make me sound like a right doughnut. Listen, I know that you've got to go but I really would like to talk more later." Max shook his head and mulled to himself. 'A bloody master's and a law degree, who would have credited it?' He shouted from the bedroom. "You've gotta spill the beans later Lynette, I'm gonna make you talk!"

Lynette smiled as she turned to head out of the door. "Talking's fine Max. Just don't expect anything else."
Chapter 5 - Puerto Banus

Nick stood on the terrace of the hacienda looking out over the tenth tee of the golf course and lake. He was hardly listening to the conversation going on around him; running on autopilot, really only responding when he was asked a direct question. He'd spent an hour at the champagne party drinking sparkling water and mingling with retired expats from along the coast. He passed on the endless supply of canapes proffered by waiters and probably wasn't great company given he was distracted and kept looking at his watch. He'd shown his face and told his host and his wife that he would have to slip out early. Face was saved all round and he could soon head out to pick up Rachel.

He felt a little formally dressed for a night on the town, tailored black trousers, a white silk and cotton double-cuffed shirt with silver cufflinks, a black faced Submariner Rolex and a black grey weave Armani sports jacket. Very coordinated and very monochromatic. He could lose the Armani sports jacket later if need be, he'd only put it on because the invitation to the reception had said 'Smart casual'. He hated the phrase. What was smart casual supposed to be anyway? He caught his host's eye and waved before indicating to the door, they both lifted their glasses in return mouthing ' _thanks for coming_ '. They could have been twins rather than husband and wife they were so in tune.

He walked through the large glass doors and turned right past reception where he had parked his car on the double yellow lines out front. If you were driving a Bentley or Ferrari, nobody bitched about you parking on the double yellow as it just added to the cache of the hotel. Well, that and there was no way he was going to try to negotiate their appallingly designed underground car park. He gunned the engine enjoying the sound of the exhaust note. Not as good as the Ferrari but if he was honest the car was far more practical. The night was balmy for the time of year, so much so that he had left the roof down. He pulled out of the entrance and headed over the horrendous traffic control bumps towards Cancelada and the N340. As he joined the dual carriageway he put his foot down for the three or four miles before turning up the Ronda Road towards Rachel's apartment. He was feeling alive for the first time in ages.

Rachel had dried her hair and applied her make-up and was now looking through her underwear collection and wardrobe trying to decide what to wear. Definitely the black lace high-leg knickers and push-up matching bra from Victoria's Secret - they'd go perfectly with the short lacy black dress with the plunging neckline which made the best of her assets. A pair of stilettos, a gold necklace and large gold hoop earrings rounded off the outfit. Rachel inspected herself in the full-length mirror while sipping her third large Bacardi and Coke. She looked like a modern-day gypsy temptress with her long locks falling around her shoulders.

"Looking hot girl," she said out loud to herself. She checked her watch, five minutes to nine. Nick should be here any moment he was a stickler for punctuality - unusual in Spain where people seemed to be habitually late for everything. She looked over her balcony and saw Nick's immaculate black Bentley with its beautiful pale cream leather interior winding its way up past the clubhouse and towards the front gates of her apartment block. Rachel picked up her small clutch bag, checking the contents; mobile, house keys, lippy, tissues, money (not that she was likely to need it with Nick but it was polite to offer), and ID. "Yep, all ready."

She walked into the hallway set the alarm and closed the door behind her before heading into the lift and pressing B for _bajo_. She still found herself sometimes pressing S for _subterrano_ by mistake ending up in the underground garage. Why couldn't the buttons follow an English convention? After all eighty per cent of the apartment owners were English. Rachel exited the lift and strolled across the gardens towards the main gates, the clip-clop of her steel-tipped heels echoing around the courtyard. She pushed the buzzer to release the door and walked through to the top of the steps looking down to where Nick had just pulled up.

"Hi Nick, spot on time as usual." Once she had his attention she pulled her short dress up above her panties and gave him a full twirl before pulling the hem back down again. "Just thought I should keep my part of the bargain seeing as you brought the Bentley rather than the Ferrari." Nick had a Cheshire cat grin and Rachel developed a fit of the giggles. She took a deep breath. _Don 't peak too early girl_ she thought to herself.

Nick offered his hand to help her down the steps. "Rachel you look absolutely stunning." He kissed her on both cheeks and guided her towards the passenger door of the car.

"You scrub up pretty well too Nick, love the jacket." He opened the car door and Rachel slid into the soft cream leather seats with the flying B Bentley badge embroidered in their back in contrasting colours to match elements of the dashboard and paintwork, the heels of her shoes sunk into the rich luxury pile of the carpet. She could get used to this - far nicer than her old jalopy full of clients' dirty washing.

"If it's okay with you Rachel I've booked us a table at Enrique's for some tapas and champagne before we head into the port for some nightlife." Nick glanced over to gauge Rachel's reaction. "We can stay there as long as you want or just make it a quick visit, entirely up to you. You're the boss tonight."

Rachel loved the fact that the decisions had already been taken. "That's good with me Nick I'm in your safe and capable hands."

Nick pulled away from the front of the apartments with just the low growl of the Bentley's engine as background music. They both waved to the guard at the security gates before turning on to the Ronda Road and heading towards the coast. Small talk came easily to both of them and before Rachel knew it Nick was slowing down for the turning to Puerto Banus exiting left towards the bullring. As the Bentley came up the hill, the attendant outside Enrique's lifted the barrier to the car park and guided Nick into a prime spot outside. Being a regular customer and good acquaintance of the owner had its benefits. They were welcomed at the entrance doors enthusiastically by Antonio who led them to a prestigious table overlooking most of the diners and the entrance to the bar. The restaurant was one of the places to be seen in the Marbella area and a scan around the room showed the usual mix of 'C'-list celebrities and lower division footballers now that it was out of peak summer season. In July and August there were usually some proper celebrities in the room.

Nick didn't even bother looking at the menu but checked first with Rachel. "Still love prawns and fish?" She nodded.

"Could we have a bottle of Laurent Perrier rose vintage champagne, _gambas pil pil_ , some butterfly king prawns and some _boquerones_ , please." Antonio nodded and turned towards the bar when Nick had an afterthought waving to catch his attention. "Antonio. Better bring the _pil pil_ last as it will kill the taste of the champagne."

Nick turned towards Rachel and looked into her big brown eyes and got straight to the point. "Come on then Rachel. Spill the beans. As much as I love going out on the razzle with you it doesn't exactly happen every day does it?" Nick tilted his head to one side trying to keep eye contact. "Is the old man giving you grief on the phone from England or what?"

Rachel twirled her hair round her fingers. "Maybe... or it could just be that I fancied a night out." She laughed, disarming him completely. Strange that Nick mentioned grief from England. Maybe he'd seen the news. "I know, second choice escort as usual," Nick pouted playfully.

"Nick! That's so not true, well... okay maybe a little bit." Nick stayed quiet and just carried on looking into her eyes waiting until it all started to bubble out. The champagne was being poured by a waiter which meant that the silence stretched out even longer making Rachel squirm a little in her seat. Nick always seemed to see through her. "Cheers Rachel, lovely to see you." They chinked glasses and sipped.

After leaving the silence until it was getting uncomfortable Nick decided that a prompt was in order. "Well then...?" He jiggled his eyebrows hoping to take the strain out of the moment.

Rachel took a gulp out of her glass before setting it down on the table "Oh, Nick you're so annoying, why are you always right? But how about we forget my problems and concentrate on having fun?" Nick flicked his long blonde fringe away from his eyes and stared back towards Rachel. She took another gulp of champagne even though she knew that she was drinking too fast. As she set the glass back down it was quickly topped up by the waiter, another sip and she caved.

"Okay, okay, you win. You know that Max and I have been having a bad time and a bit of a trial separation? Well, things have been really bad lately and I just don't know where we're going." Rachel took another sip of champagne. "So here I am out testing the waters as a single girl again. It's really scary Nick. I'm thirty-seven years old and just about to start life all over. I suppose I've got the apartment and the business that brings in a regular income, but I'm just not enjoying it anymore. Spain's just been bloody hard work for the last few years." Rachel sat back in her chair trying to break out of whinge mode. "Please let's not talk about me. I don't want to put a damper on the evening. C'mon let's try to relax and have some fun." She pouted at him playfully until he raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Change the subject. Tell me what Nico's been up to."

The butterfly king prawns with curried mayonnaise was mouth-wateringly good. Rachel asked for more of the sauce to go with the _boquerones_ while listening to Nick's tales of his son's exploits at Newcastle University where he was reading economics. To judge by the stories it sounded like he would also be receiving a degree in partying. Apparently the city was famous for its nightlife around the big city centre market and along the quayside. Any place with eleven thousand students between two universities was going to be lively, and Nico was clearly taking full advantage of every opportunity to have fun. He had his dad's good looks and knew how to work hard as well as party hard, but since his grades were kept up, Nick didn't complain too much about his son's party lifestyle. Rachel was happy just to listen; it took her mind off of the troubles in her own life. She was laughing for the first time in ages and really beginning to enjoy herself. Time seemed to fly by and Rachel's glass seemed to be continually topped up. Had Nick ordered another bottle?

They left the restaurant at around half past eleven and drove the short distance down to the port itself. Nick raked through the glove compartment for his entry pass to get past the barrier and waved it at the machine. Rather than parking up right outside the bars he stopped and reversed into the second-line street opposite the Armani store. As they walked the down to Sinners arm in arm, Rachel could see why they had left the car where they did. People were spilling out from the front of the bars, but given the time of night nobody seemed much inclined to move and let cars through. If you did manage to park then it seemed to Rachel that your roof or bonnet just got used as a drinks tray. Nick waived over the crowd catching the bartender's eye and mouthed 'champagne' which promptly arrived without him having to leave Rachel's side. Given the effects of fresh air on her drinking session so far, she was pretty pleased to have Nick to lean against to keep herself steady on her high heels. _Had she really drunk that much?_ Probably, but hey it was fun to be out.

The crowd seemed to be the usual mix of grey haired 'uncles' with surgically enhanced 'nieces' hanging on their arms and on every word they said, late season holidaymakers, early season golfers and various locals. She wondered what she looked like hanging on to Nick's arm thinking, ' _please tell me I don 't look like a desperate prostitute_'. The level of ladies of the evening in Banus seemed to have climbed tenfold over the last few years. More and more Russian money poured into the sunshine coast and the various mafia-led businesses dealing in sex, drugs and money laundering followed behind. The influx of the new kids on the block also led to some vicious turf wars and disappearances weren't that uncommon. The change in demographic was best illustrated by the local vans and tradesmen - all advertising their services first in Russian then English and Spanish. Money was doing the talking.

Rachel was absently hanging on Nick's arm sipping champagne while he chatted with some guy about a possible land deal. He was well known on the coast as an investor, and it seemed that whenever they went out, somebody always tried to sell him their latest hare-brained scheme. Just over an hour later when they should be heading on to the nightclub leg of their evening, Rachel was virtually asleep on Nick's chest still clinging to his arm for dear life.

Nick felt Rachel's head droop and gave her a gentle shake. "Rachel, Rachel, you okay sweetheart? Sorry the conversation got a bit involved, the guy's been trying to talk to me for the last month and I've been trying to avoid him. Looks like I got nailed. You sleepy kiddo?"

Rachel couldn't string together much of a reply. "Mmm, take me home please Nick, I'm really tired. I think I've had a bit too much to drink." The crowd had thinned out probably heading to the nightclubs or whorehouses leaving a clear path to go and settle the bill and tip the bartender generously. It always solved queuing at a later date and guaranteed snappy service in the future.

Nick had barely poured Rachel into the car before she was asleep. He really shouldn't have bought that second bottle of champagne at the restaurant but he wanted to make sure that she enjoyed herself and had a night out to remember. He'd have to wait and see how much of the night she would recall in the morning. Hopefully she wouldn't have a hangover as the champagne was decent. With Rachel crashed out in the passenger seat Nick pulled out into the traffic and headed for his house. He had decided to put her to bed at his place as he didn't like the idea of her being alone when she was drunk. You never knew what could happen.

He slowed the Bentley to a crawl as he pulled up outside the villa pressing the remote control to open the gates. Rather than stick it away in the underground garage he parked straight outside the front door before opening it and disarming the alarm. Rachel was still curled up fast asleep in the passenger seat oblivious to the fact that they'd stopped. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the guest suite where he laid her down on the bed before going back to lock up and to raid the kitchen for some headache pills and water.

He knelt next to her and put the glass to her mouth. "Here Rachel, come on be a good girl and drink this for me." Rachel mumbled but complied without even opening her eyes, Nick slipped off her shoes before prompting her again. "Come on Rach, help me get your dress over your head, lift your arms up for me." After a bit of a struggle with Rachel keeling over to the left or right each time he tried to get to her zipper, Nick eventually managed to get her tucked up in bed. He left the large glass of water on the bedside cabinet and a bowl next to the bed itself just in case she felt sick in the night. So much for a romantic evening, but he blamed himself for keeping the drinks flowing especially as he was hardly touching the stuff given that he was driving. As Rachel snuggled down under the sheets Nick turned out the main lights and headed to his room. Tomorrow was another day.

Rachel woke in the night desperately needing the bathroom, she had no idea where she was but the shaving light had thoughtfully been left on to guide her to the door. She emptied her bladder, rinsed her hands, and headed back to bed on autopilot drinking the half pint of the water before falling back into a deep sleep. It must have been ten in the morning when she eventually began to stir. Looking around she realised that she was at Nick's place with the two house cats, Rufus and Rupert, happily curled up against her. She stretched out her hand and scratched behind their ears eliciting deep purrs from Rufus while Rupert grumpily turned round in a circle to get comfy again.

"Hello boys, have you been keeping me company? If you're here I assume your daddy put me to bed by myself. Thankfully I still have my undies on but I think I'm going to be eating humble pie. Auntie Rachel got a little over-refreshed!" The room she was in was huge, probably more than half the size of her apartment. To the right of the entrance was a massive relaxation area with a captain's writing desk, a flat-screen TV and a cream leather L-shaped sofa with a matching chair. The cream colouring contrasted beautifully with the rustic terracotta floor and wood beamed vaulted ceiling, soft furnishings and subtle paintings completed the 'design magazine' look. Strange that she couldn't remember seeing this part of the property before.

The security of the cats against her body briefly made her consider putting her head back under the covers and going back to sleep but she knew that she really should get up and face the music. Besides, the smell of bacon being cooked in the kitchen was enticing even if she wasn't too sure that her stomach would appreciate it. As she was about to snuggle back up with the cats, Nick poked his head around the corner carrying a tray with a mug of coffee, Solpadeine, water and a couple of vitamin C tablets.

"Morning Rachel, wakey-wakey." Rachel decided that he was far too cheerful. As Nick took in the scene he blanched and froze to the spot as a wave of emotion came over him. He set the tray down on the desk while staring at the bed.

"What's the matter Nick? Are you okay?" It took Nick a short while to get his composure back, he picked up the tray setting it down besides Rachel before perching himself on the side of the bed with his left leg tucked underneath him. "I'm fine, honestly, it was just a bit of a deja vu moment. The boys here used to cuddle Nicole in just the same way but have never got up on the covers since she died. It caught me by surprise that's all. They clearly appreciate the company and don't think that I'm worthy. Bloody typical when I feed them every day." He stroked Rupert aimlessly.

"Oh... I'm sorry Nick."

"Nothing to be sorry about Rachel. Come on, take the pills and pull yourself together before the day disappears. I've left a couple of Nicole's old casual sloppy joe outfits on the settee with some flip-flops on the floor. Not exactly high fashion but definitely dressed enough for breakfast. See you on the kitchen terrace when you feel up to it." Nick pulled a bit of a face. "And Rach... I'm really sorry that I fed you too much champagne." Rachel just laughed.

"I could always have said no... Give me half an hour or so... I'm going to be a slow mover this morning and thank you for putting me to bed and looking after me, although I don't think I've ever slept with two boys before." She smirked while stroking the two cats.
Chapter 6 - Sergeant Greaves

After Lynette had been gone for half an hour or so Max showered, made himself some fresh coffee and dressed in his newly-acquired pants, socks and T-shirt. He sat in the lounge mulling over things again in his mind and wondering what the morning would bring down at the police station. It had been an incredible twenty-four hours, one he would rather not repeat. Well, maybe last night... but Lynette seemed to be making it clear that it was a one-off. Hell, I don't mind being used and discarded for a night like that he thought.

He locked the apartment and started a leisurely stroll through the town towards the police station. Rather than heading there directly he decided to swing by past the club, it would only be five or ten minutes out of the way. He arrived and sat on the same bench as yesterday looking at the smoke stained front, the blackened pavement and security boarding over the windows. The car had been towed away and presumably was in the police pound or scrapyard; there were still scorch marks indicating where it had stuck out from the front doors.

He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and tried Rachel's number again, to hear the usual international dial tone and then a response in Spanish which he assumed meant that the phone was unobtainable. He had spent more than ten years in Spain and still could only really say hello, goodbye, see you later and a few choice swear words. The only time he seemed to use Spanish was to ask for the bill in a restaurant. He tried her again just in case something had gone wrong with the dialling process, still no luck. He scrolled through the screen again until he found the number for the apartment and pressed the green telephone sign, hopefully he would be able to leave a voicemail but all he got was another voice in Spanish which he couldn't decipher. If only he had bothered to learn more of the language he would have realised that his call was being forwarded to Clare. He would just have to try again later.

"Damn, where could Rachel be?" Max put the phone back into his pocket and walked through the town square towards Broadmayne and the front of the police station. He went through the doors and up to the desk to be greeted by a different civilian worker.

"Hello, my name's Max Williams. I've got an appointment with Sergeant Greaves, if you could let him know that I'm here please." After a fairly nondescript response Max wandered over to the notice board aimlessly looking through home security advice and information for local neighbourhood watch groups, anything to kill a bit of time. The notices were so dull that he decided to take a seat and just wait, but the downside was that he kept running thoughts about events through his head. It was probably another ten minutes before Sergeant Greaves stuck his head round the door and called for Max to follow him to an interview room. He shut the door of the room behind them and indicated for Max to take a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"If it's alright with you Mr. Williams, I need to get a written statement from you covering what you recall of the morning's events and anything else that you might think is pertinent to the case. I've filled out the top of the form with the case number and date and I'll get a couple of cups of coffee rustled up while you get started. Oh, I might be a bit as I need to get a recorder or laptop to play the CCTV back." With that he walked out of the door without so much as a by your leave.

Max felt decidedly uncomfortable as if he was being tested. In reality that was exactly what was going on. 'Don't pass any information on unless they are in the need to know', Sergeant Greaves' rule one. Until Max was cleared of any involvement he wasn't in the need to know, it was as simple as that. Rule two. Leave them in an empty room to sweat a little. It was surprising how different things looked when people were sat in a bare stark room by themselves.

Max decided to go for brevity and just write down exactly what had happened, excluding the bit about sleeping over at the club, nothing else, certainly not anything to do with drugs or Irish Jack's visit.

By the time the Sarge returned to the room, Max had finished writing. A mug was pushed in his direction in exchange for his written masterpiece. Sergeant Greaves scanned through the page. "No surprises then... apart from the fact that you were at the club at an extremely funny time of the day." He stroked his chin as if mulling over a problem. "I thought that you were supposed to close up at three in the morning."

Max shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Nothing unusual in being there in the early morning, there's always loads to do once the punters have gone home. Last drinks are at three and then we need to encourage the last of the punters to leave plus the girls often hang around to chat and talk about how the night has gone. I suppose it was about five when everyone left and then I decided to cash up and complete a bit of paperwork before leaving."

The Sarge looked up from the sheet of paper. "I see." Everything Max had said was consistent with what the sergeant knew, but something was still nagging at the back of his mind. He had picked up the suspect yesterday after tracing his home address from the number plates of his car. The guy hadn't been at the front of the queue for brains. Using his own car to set the fire was pretty dumb. Given the evidence provided by the CCTV cameras and eyewitness reports, the suspect was banged to rights whether he admitted his guilt or not. He was currently full of bravado denying any involvement but once he had finished with the duty solicitor, Sergeant Greaves was confident that he would decide to plead guilty. His sidekick PC was following up a lead from a petrol receipt in the suspect's pockets indicating a purchase three days ago at a local garage. They hoped that the suspect would be seen on the forecourt cameras buying a gallon of petrol providing yet more evidence to link him to the crime.

"Well Mr. Williams is there anything else that you would like to add before we go over the recordings from your security system? As far as I can tell everyone is suggesting that this was just a random act but in my experience there's no such thing as coincidences. Something always sparks off the crime." He paused looking at Max over the top of the sheet of paper again leaving an awkward silence. He opened the door and left to collect a laptop and the CD containing an extract of the recording without saying another word. While he was gone Max continued to sweat. What if forensics had gone back through the history on the disc? Would they see him walking into the club with an ice cream container full of cocaine? He chastised himself mentally. 'Get a grip Max all they would see was him carrying an ice cream container, why would they think that was suspicious?' His mind raced again. 'What about the ice cubes, would they have seen him putting the small packets of diamonds inside the big bag? Ah, fuck it Max pull yourself together and just hope that forensics get what they need and don't look any further. What a mess just keep shtum Max, keep shtum'.

Sergeant Greaves came back into the room set the laptop on the desk and pulled his chair around beside Max. "Right Mr. Williams, I'll play it through at normal speed the first time and then I'd like to freeze on some of the scenes to see if you can identify the suspect." Max watched intently as the clip began to play.

He saw the black Toyota Avensis pull up at the curb before reversing carefully around on to the wide pedestrian walkway. The driver put his head out of the window to check the alignment of the car before calmly revving up and reversing straight through the doors. Max was wide-eyed but what came next surprised him even more. The driver of the car opened the sunroof and proceeded to climb out of it opening a green plastic can full of petrol as he squeezed through the gap. Once he was on top of the roof he began to pour petrol through the sunroof, over the bonnet of the car and up the sides of the doorway. He threw the empty can back into the car before retreating ten yards and trying to light the petrol trail with a match. His first attempt failed as the match blew out before it hit the ground, so he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket lit it, waited until it was well alight and threw it on to the glistening trail of fluid. The explosion was instant and pretty spectacular. The suspect stood for a moment watching the flames take hold before looking straight at the camera lens and then casually turning and walking away. No panic, no running, he was just cool, calm and collected as if he had been out to get the Sunday papers.

The clip continued to roll showing the flames grabbing hold of the front of the building and the smoke rapidly building up. Not much later Max spotted himself running around the corner wearing his white T-shirt and blue jeans. He was clearly very agitated, pacing backwards and forwards in front of the club, pulling at his hair and sweeping his hand back over his head. His anxiety and shock was clear for everybody to see, so why was Sergeant Greaves giving him the third degree? Odd. Sergeant Greaves left the clip running until the fire brigade came into sight then it abruptly ended.

As the clip finished the Sarge stood and began pacing round the room as if sitting still was a chore. He peered through the small window in the door while delivering his analysis. "Well that's just about it, as you can see cool as a cucumber. He's also using a classic mafia technique to firebomb your club. They reverse the car in so that the boot takes most of the rear end impact and the seat cushions the driver greatly reducing the risk of injury from impact. Ram-raiders tend to have the same MO. Once he's through the doors the car interior provides plenty of inflammable material... especially when you add an accelerant." He turned back to face Max making sure that he had his full attention. "So in my old school book it looks anything but a random act Mr. Williams. Shall we go back through it slowly and see what else you might be able pick out?"

Max shook his head. There it was again the implication that this was part of something much bigger. He tried to divert the Sarge's attention by asking to run through the clip at normal speed once again. There really wasn't much more to add, there was no doubting that it was deliberate, very well planned and very well executed. The doubts about who knew what began to run through his head again and settled firmly on one person.

_' Fucking Irish Jack!_'

The Sarge pulled him back to the here and now as he spoke, he'd ignored the request to play the clip at full speed again and brought up a still shot instead. "Here we go Mr. Williams. This is where the accused looks directly at the camera towards the end of the clip; I've also so got it on a hard copy here if you find that easier." He slid a sheet of A4 photographic paper across the desk.

Max drifted again noting the change in language from suspect to accused. Maybe things were looking up and it would be a simple open-and-shut case. He was prodded out of his stupor by a direct question. "Do you recognise him Mr. Williams?"

"Um, no not really, should I?"

"Probably not. Although he says that he has been in your club more than a few times." The Sarge raised a questioning eyebrow.

Max sat back in his chair and chose his response carefully. "We have a lot of people who come a few times and never return again. If I can have a copy of the CCTV clip and still photo I could ask the girls and bar staff if they recognise him. I'm not there every night so he could have easily have come in when I wasn't on duty... He's definitely not a regular. Do you know who he is or have you been able to get a lead on him?"

The Sarge looked very pleased with himself and sat forward. "Better than that Mr. Williams he's in the cells down the corridor."

Max played the game. "Brilliant. What do you know about him then?"

"His name is Mohammed Akbar although he goes by the name of Mo to most of his friends and acquaintances. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed and he's had a few minor run-ins with us in the past for petty theft and drug use, but this is the first time that he's stepped up to something like this. We picked him up yesterday afternoon once we'd traced the number plates from the car."

A grin spread across the Sarge's face. "Using your own vehicle for an arson job and staring right into the camera is not the most sensible idea. The evidence is pretty compelling. I've also got PC Groves trying to close the loop by getting CCTV footage of him buying the can of petrol at the local garage. We found a recent receipt in his pocket." Sergeant Greaves paused. "What I can't seem to get to though is why would he do it? Was he paid by someone who has a grudge against you? He's going to probably go down for somewhere between four and ten years depending on what type of arson we can prove which will be either 'reckless endangerment of life' or 'arson with intent to endanger life'. Either way he'd still have to have a pretty serious reason to do it. So far he's denying everything but the duty solicitor should have talked some sense into him by tomorrow."

"Odd don't you think." The Sarge stood and began pacing round the room again with Max's eyes following his every move. "Any ideas Mr. Williams...?" He used the same tactic of leaving a pregnant pause while pretending to stare out into space.

Max shifted uncomfortably. "I can't think of a reason why he would want to torch the place unless of course he's a religious nutter with his own personal jihad against lap dancing clubs. Let's be honest they're anti-alcohol, anti-daughters, wives and girlfriends showing any flesh but they're some of the biggest spenders we have."

The Sarge, scowled. "We don't use that sort of language here Mr. Williams, we have freedom of belief and it's up to a psychiatrist to decide if there's something mentally wrong with him and if I may ask who are you referring to by 'they'?"

Max felt like a naughty schoolboy who'd had his hand slapped. "Look I don't mean to be rude Sergeant Greaves but let's just say that some of our best paying customers are Asian and African men who pray to Allah by day and spend their money with us at night. I'm not racist; I have good Asian friends, and a fantastic mixed race girl dancing for me. I just don't like extreme attitudes or people restricting other's rights... It's a free country let's keep it that way."

Max hoped that his little speech would get him off the hook while secretly thinking _if someone blows a place up risking his own life and anyone else that gets in the way, you 're a nutter no matter what language you use or how politically correct you want to be_. Another long pause made him feel that he had to fill the gap. "From what you've said there doesn't seem to be any other rhyme or reason why the club has been targeted, so maybe it is a religious thing." End of speech Max thought now just stay quite.

The Sarge stopped pacing and sat back down. "Very well Mr. Williams, let's finish up for today. You can call in later in the week to collect a disc and photo."

As Max was leaving the station he caught the eye of the first cheery civilian worker. "Looks like you were right mate. Greavsy's scored a hat-trick with the accused already in custody. I just hope he doesn't go all politically correct and let the guy off because he had a bad childhood. See you."
Chapter 7 - Rachel getting her thoughts straight

Rachel eventually crawled out of bed, showered and grabbed a pair of black Pineapple dance leggings and a crop top from the back of the settee. Luckily Nicole had been pretty much the same size and it felt much better than putting on last night's dress and then having to make the walk of shame across the apartment gardens later. She slid her feet into the flip-flops checked herself in the mirror and headed out to the kitchen terrace where Nick would be waiting.

"Good morning sleepyhead, how're you feeling?" Nick got up from his chair and walked over to kiss her on both cheeks. "Here grab the seat in the sun, it's fabulous. I'll rustle up some breakfast while you pull yourself together."

Sipping coffee in the warm sunshine overlooking the golf course and out to sea was wonderful. Rachel tilted her head back and let the rays warm her face. It was rare for Rachel to be spoiled, and she was enjoying every minute even if she did feel a bit guilty about drinking so much. She should have known to pace herself. She knew that whenever she felt stressed she tended to knock back he booze. At least she hadn't reached for her old crutch of a cigarette to go with it. She put her arms above her head and legs out in front and stretched. She felt much better than she had any right to be; it would probably hit her later in the afternoon when her body would start complaining about the amount of abuse she had put it through. For now though life was good. She could hear that Nick had finished banging around in the kitchen and was greeted by a plate with two halves of a toasted English muffin topped with the creamiest looking scrambled eggs and slices of crispy maple-soaked bacon. It looked and smelled scrummy. She suddenly felt famished.

Nick let her enjoy breakfast before prompting Rachel out of her day-dreamy state. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Sorry Nick, thanks for a lovely night and a huge thank you for looking after me." Rachel hid her face behind her hands in mock shame. "I feel a lot better after the night out but I'm still struggling to get my head straight after everything that's happened. I'm just finding it really difficult to work out where I am in life and where things fit in. But hey, that's my problem." She sat back in her chair. "I had a great time yesterday though, even if I did get somewhat overindulged!"

Nick and Rachel spent the next few hours talking, or more precisely, Rachel talked and Nick listened. It seemed that her world had been turned upside down by a series of events that she had no control over starting with a pretty wild fiftieth birthday party for Jochem in Marbella, his subsequent so-called suicide and then the deaths of Joe and Bill in their apartments. The impact on Max must have been just as great but she hadn't seen it from his point of view. She had just let things drift and he had ended up becoming a stranger over a relatively short time.
Chapter 8 - The loss adjuster

Max spent the next day or so educating himself on the complexities of commercial insurance. The broker had mailed a copy of the policy wording, talking him through some of the bigger issues and negotiated a fee of seven and a half per cent with Hank Finklestein Ltd, a well-known local insurance assessment company from Leyton on his behalf. His broker told him that the assessor would be worth of 'all of his fee' and that they would claim for items that Max wouldn't even think of including. It sounded good but a promise over the phone could be easily forgotten when it came to the hard, last few yards. Max wasn't that convinced.

It wasn't long after he put the phone down to the broker that Joel Finkelstein rang to introduce himself. The broker had given him some of the details and he spent another half an hour gleaning information from Max over the phone. It could have been achieved quickly, but Mr. Finklestein was famous for using ten words where two would do. Max was even more on edge about the decision. They had agreed to rendezvous at a local cafe later in the week two hours before the planned meeting with the insurer's loss adjustors, a large international outfit. Max hated admin but it had to be done.

The day arrived and Max sat in the corner of the local coffee shop on a comfy brown leather sofa watching the door and aimlessly looking through the shop front window. His attention was drawn to a black, blingy Mercedes SL500 that pulled up outside, definitely not the sort of car that you would normally see in Basildon. He looked on as a dapper, silver-haired man levered himself out of the driver's side and retrieved a small case from the boot before heading straight for the shop door. Max was instantly sure that this was Joel; he looked the part: smart grey suit, pink double-cuffed shirt with a contrasting tie, silver slightly long hair curled up at the edges, a typical Roman nose and a stomach that suggested he was well fed. Max wouldn't have blinked twice if he had introduced himself by saying _shalom_. He rose as Joel walked through the door proffering his hand as he introduced himself.

Before they sat back down Joel ordered two cream doughnuts and a large skinny latte. Max did point out that the skinny bit was a tad pointless given the calories in the doughnuts but Joel was unmoved. Apparently Mrs. Finkelstein insisted on skimmed milk. They started with introductions as Joel explained that he was the third generation of the family in the business. His grandfather had been a Jewish immigrant and together with his father got involved in insurance in London's East End. By Max's reckoning if they were still trading a generation later they must have been doing something right. He started to relax and to develop a little bit of trust.

While the chit-chat was pleasant and enlightening it wasn't moving things forward and remembering the lengthy phone call he decided that it was time to get on to business. He made a show of straightening his papers, sat back in his chair and looked directly at Joel.

"So Joel, what's your take on the policy?"

"Ha, it's not black and white that's for sure! Your insurer is pretty sneaky when it comes to big claims. We're going to be in for a fight already and today it's really important to get our point across. If we get their loss adjustor in tune with our arguments and maybe a little bit on our side then things will be a lot smoother going forward. Today we take the first steps of the dance."

Joel continued to drone on for some time highlighting some of the other potential issues. He was particularly concerned that since the accused was a very religious Muslim the insurers may try to attempt to deny liability under the terrorism exclusion clause. Apparently since the millennium, it was standard practice for all insurers to exclude acts of terrorism. If you got blown up, tough luck, no pay out for you! Max sat at the table open-mouthed.

"You mean if he says he's a terrorist that's it? Game over? No pay out? What's insurance for if it doesn't pay when you've had a disaster? Surely that's not right!" He felt indignant as if he had been conned. Joel with his typical Jewish positive approach in the face of adversity seemed confident that this could be challenged and dismissed. "Listen Max my boy. Relax, these are only potential problems. Have faith, the Finklesteins are on your side. You have to be patient when you're reeling in a big fish, we don't want to break the line now do we?"

Joel seemed to think that unless the guy was part of an organised cell then proving that he was a terrorist was going to be hard work. It would just mean that they ended up with a long drawn-out court case. As long as the police didn't mention terrorism or charge the accused under the terrorism act they should be home free. Max forced it to the back of his mind and hoped that terrorism was ruled out. Joel continued to explain that the primary risk insured was fire and it was the fire that caused all of the damage and resulting business closure.

"So that's good news isn't it? Surely that means a quick pay out." Max's head was spinning from going through the policy and listening to Joel delight in the detail. He just wanted the answer. Preferably in words of no more than two syllables.

Joel didn't seem to take the hint and carried on enjoying himself while he had a captive audience to listen to his favourite subject. He ploughed on through the detail explaining that the physical damage should be covered up to the policy limit of one hundred thousand pounds but the difficulty would be in trying to prove the business interruption claim when so much of the club's profit came in the way of cash and was distributed to employees and the girls on the same basis. Somehow Max would have to find receipts, cash book entries or other evidence to support their case.

Despite the fact that Max was not a talker and that he preferred to get through the details and get to the answer quickly, he found himself growing to like Joel with his slow considered response to every question and relaxed easy manner. He seemed like everyone's favourite grandpa which would no doubt lull the other side into a false sense of security when dealing with him. It seemed that Joel knew the insurance and claims business inside out and he spent a considerable time coaching Max on what to say at the meeting or more precisely what not to say especially if asked about the valuation of certain items.

Max suddenly remembered the comment from the burly builder and it popped out of his mouth before he gave it much thought. "Hey, Joel can I ask a stupid question, I don't want to offend your religion or anything like that but what's a 'Jewish stocktake'?" Joel roared with laughter.

" _Oy vey_. Where on Earth did you hear that phrase? I haven't come across it in ages." He chuckled to himself before continuing. "A Jewish stocktake is where the owner of a property or shop deliberately sets fire to the place to get the insurance to pay out on all of the old crap that they had in the store. Years back it might have been, or let's say was, more common but now with modern forensics, loss adjusters, loss assessors and all the other modern fraud techniques it rarely happens anymore. Don't get me wrong. People still try but usually they get found out, it's not something we have to worry about in this case unless you paid the driver!" He stared at Max with a grin on his face. "I assume the shake of the head is a 'no' then."

The clock ticked by as they drank another coffee and made small talk. Just before eleven they sauntered round to the front of the club to meet the insurer's loss adjustor and a building contractor holding a small box of tools. Max was glad that he had been briefed. The adjustor looked like he was standing with a broom up his arse, clipboard in hand peering over his glasses. 'Jobsworth' could have been stamped on his forehead and it wouldn't have looked out of place. He motioned to the builder who handed out hard hats to wear before setting about opening the padlock and temporary doors. As the builder got on with his work, Mr. Jobsworth, as Max had now nicknamed him, set about briefing them on site safety and asking them not to touch or move any items. Worryingly as far as Max was concerned, he also gave a small speech to the effect that this was a fact-finding mission only and in no way implied acceptance of the claim, anything said would be treated as hearsay until confirmed in writing. Joel looked over to Max and nodded while throwing a wink in his direction which provided the reassurance he needed.

Max was very nervy and just hoped that it didn't show too much. Yes, he needed to get the process of reopening the club underway and the insurance sorted out, but more importantly he needed to retrieve his stash of stones before anyone else did and at some stage he needed to move the drugs.

Joel pulled two flashlights from the Gladstone bag that he was carrying ( _who bloody uses Gladstone bags in this day and age_? _Clearly Jewish loss assessors_ , thought Max), and he also extracted a smart little digital handheld camcorder with its own built-in lighting. The smell of burnt wood, material and foam mixed with stagnant black pools of water was still strong and assaulted the nostrils as they went through the door. Max found himself initially shocked at how much smoke damage there appeared to be, everything was blackened or charred, but Joel seemed completely unfazed by the scene of devastation that greeted them. It was all in a day's work as far as he was concerned, he'd seen much worse. Joel kept close to Mr. Jobsworth chatting as they worked their way methodically through the ground floor. As they passed each area Joel busily recorded the scene giving a running commentary on each chair, settee, window or item of stock that came into view. Mr. Jobsworth seemed highly impressed and clearly would have liked his own DVD recorder. Max heard Joel promising to email the file to him along with details of the equipment that he was using.

The rear of the club was covered relatively quickly as the damage in the area was light. Jobsworth suddenly suggested that they all move upstairs as he realised that he was supposed to be running the show rather than just following Joel's lead. The favourite grandpa act had been working very nicely but something had clearly provoked Jobsworth to take control back. When the others moved on Max saw it as his chance and deliberately lagged behind feigning interest in something on the shelves. As they turned the corner towards the stairwell, he quickly delved into the freezer to retrieve the three packets of diamonds frantically searching through the ice cubes before locating them and stashing them in his jeans pockets. He caught up to the small group as they were heading up the stairs. Nothing was said so it seemed that his brief disappearance had gone unnoticed. For now, the drugs would just have to stay in the ice cream tub in the freezer and behind the headlights of the car. He was pretty sure that the car was safe and it was unlikely that anyone else would be rooting around in the club and most definitely not in de-frosted freezers. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts wondering what his next step needed to be that he didn't initially respond when Jobsworth threw a question his way.

"Sorry, I was a bit lost in my own world; it's quite upsetting seeing all the damage and stuff." Max waved his arm indicating the smoke and water damage. It looked like Joel's tips on what to say and how to buy time had just become a lifesaver.

Jobsworth asked again but in a more conciliatory tone. "Yes, I'm sure that it is very upsetting, Mr. Williams, my condolences. I was just wondering what the sleeping bag was doing on the settee, you haven't had anyone staying here have you?"

Max had to think quickly on his feet. "Oh, umm, yeah that's nothing. If it is a slow night sometimes the girls come up here and use it to cover up and keep warm, they don't exactly wear a lot of clothes and things can get a bit chilly if you know what I mean." Max ran his hands up and down his body grimacing slightly. Jobsworth nodded and moved on. Hopefully he'd got away with it.

After another hour of logging smoke and fire damaged items and checking the state of the plasterboard and electrics with the builder it seemed that the business of the day had been wrapped up. The builder was also onside with Joel agreeing with his arguments that a full refit and rewire would be needed once the landlord's builders and insurers provided a clean shell to work with. There really wasn't that much that could be salvaged. Max assumed that this was good news although Joel's poker face was hard to read. He did notice that the phrase 'treated fairly or interpreted fairly' cropped up on a regular basis, he would have to remember to ask Joel what the significance was.

As they were about to leave the loss adjustor turned to Max. "Are there any personal items that you would like to take away today Mr. Williams? It may take some time to get the claim agreed and the work to get started." Max noted that Jobsworth was back to full stuffy mode peering over his glasses and gripping his clipboard as if it were a shield. He seemed to be looking down his nose at him.

"There's a suitcase upstairs with some of the girl's clothes and if it's not been destroyed by the water, my laptop would help me to put together the accounts and cash entries for the last few weeks."

The loss adjustor nodded. "That should be fine Mr. Williams if you'd like to collect them I'll get the contractor to start making the building safe and secure." Max didn't need a second invitation, he grabbed the case and put it into the boot of his car that was parked out back before coming back inside for the laptop and wiping it over with some kitchen tissue. He had no idea whether it would work but it would make life easier. "Oh, is it okay to get the cash out of the safe? There's probably a couple of thousand pounds in there."

Jobsworth peered down his nose while writing on his notepad, "That's okay Mr. Williams but l will need to count it with you and to log it in to our records."

When Max had finished counting the cash there was just over one thousand eight hundred pounds. Jobsworth insisted on counting the pennies with the extra eleven pounds fifty-four pence being duly noted in his receipt book along with the one suitcase of women's clothing and one Samsung laptop. Once everybody had shaken hands and gone in their separate directions Max and Joel headed back to the cafe for another cup of coffee and to debrief.

Joel now had a lot more information for Max. Unknown to Max he was insured with a small Lloyd's syndicate who were renowned for playing hardball when it came to paying larger claims. When he took the policy out he had just followed his broker's recommendations, after all they were the professionals. He hadn't really thought about whether the insurer was large or small, he would definitely take more notice in the future. Joel continued to talk. Feedback from the loss adjustor suggested that Max was one of three recent larger claims which would put the insurer and their claims handling department under a lot of pressure and it was inevitable that things would be drawn out. _Not good news_.

It transpired that there had been a lot of debate between the two sides over interpretation of the policy wording, what constituted complete loss and what could be viably cleaned up and repaired. The reason that Joel had been using the phrase 'treated fairly and interpreted fairly' was that it was part of the code of practice of the FSC and written into the Institute of Loss Adjustor's code of ethics. He was applying pressure to make sure that the club was accepted as being a total loss and that it would need a complete refit once the landlord's insurer completed the work to the fabric of the building.

Max was dumbstruck, it seemed obvious that everything was lost and he was amazed that there was even a debate about it. It was looking like seven and a half per cent was a bargain! He would have sunk without a trace if it wasn't for Joel.
Chapter 9 - Old friends

Max walked to the back of the club and got in his old Renault Espace. He checked his mobile for missed calls then headed in the direction of the shops along Clay Hill Road. He seemed to remember a launderette where he could wash his caseload of smoky clothes. He was in luck. The tired old shop that he remembered from years ago with flyers stuck to the windows was still operating with its rows of rust-pitted machines along each wall. It looked as if he was the only customer as none of the machines were in use. Given their battered hangdog state, he just hoped that they still worked. The powder machine had definitely seen better days and by the looks of it someone had tried to jemmy the cash box off of the wall. Luckily he could pop in to the mini-market next door for supplies and exact change.

He really didn't have much idea of what he was supposed to do. Rachel had always made sure he had a clean supply of clothes, but he did remember the items that he used to buy on the shopping list. Colour catchers always featured although he had no idea why. A helpful lady at the mini-market told him that he needed to put them in with his washing and if anything had colour leaking out of it they should mop it up. She smiled as she explained that she had seen many a man come out with everything turned a nice shade of pink. Whistling to himself he wandered back to the launderette surveying the various machines with interest. He opted for the biggest looking machine and emptied the entire contents of his suitcase into it before adding four extra-large scoops of powder and four colour catchers. _Well here goes nothing_ , he thought, before pressing the start button with some trepidation and announcing, "Houston we have lift off!" The machine gurgled into life clunking and clicking with lights flashing. Max crossed his fingers.

With his domestic duties now underway, Max settled in one of the orange plastic bucket seats noting that they must have been from the same job lot as the police station, any older and they would have been classed as antiques. He watched his washing go round and round before quickly becoming bored. He had no idea how long a load would take and decided to head back next door to buy a newspaper or magazine, anything to kill some time. As he returned to his seat he was conscious of the small bulge in his right-hand jeans pocket. He pulled the packs of diamonds out and turned them idly in his hand marvelling at the way the light glinted on the facets. What was he going to do with them? One thing was for sure, he really needed to do something with the contents and quickly; walking round with them in his pocket wasn't really an option. Frankly he had no idea how much they were worth or even if they were real. Then again he knew a man that could tell him.

He scrolled through the numbers on his phone for Dominic and pressed the dial button. The phone rang a few times before being politely answered.

"Sterling and Sons may I help you?" Max grinned to himself. The shop assistants were as efficient and pleasant as ever. He asked for Dominic. "Please hold while we try to get Mr. Sterling on the line for you, whom may I say is calling?" Max knew that Dominic was probably out back working on some new piece of jewellery as usual. They hadn't talked for some time but had been and still were the best of friends.

"Max! You're alive you old goat! You've finally worked out how to use a telephone, blimey and there I was thinking that you were a technophobe!"

"Nice to talk to you too, Dom! You've got a phone as well you know."

"Yeah, yeah. What's up? You in Blighty?"

"As it happens I am and I could do with picking your brain on a few things... not that it would take long to pick though!"

The banter continued throughout the call as they discussed family matters, the state of the UK versus Spain and everything in-between. It was easy to talk, just like old times.

"Well Dom, listen there's no time like the present so how's your timetable looking for tomorrow? Can you spare a couple of hours and I'll buy you lunch in return?"

Dominic was only due to be working on orders. He could always make up the time next week. "Sure, I'm around all morning, just call in at the shop when you get here. It'll be great to see you Max... listen... hate to cut you short but I've gotta go see a customer. See you tomorrow."

He had been careful not to say anything compromising over the phone - just that he needed some advice on something that fell within Dominic's professional capacity. His friend was ideally qualified to tell Max what he had in his pocket being the third generation of family to run 'Sterling's High Class Family Jewellers' based in Cornwall Street, Plymouth. It wasn't the fanciest town but he had seen most things come through the door in his years working in the business. He had also worked for a time at one of the local auction houses. His father had insisted that Dominic get experience in the real world and get suitably qualified before taking up the reins of the business. He studied hard in the early years becoming a silversmith and a gemmologist before eventually taking a lead role in diamond appraisal at the auction house. The owners still brought the odd stone in for a second opinion even now. He had a natural eye or aptitude for appraisal. His father had been a shrewd man pushing him hard in the early years. He hoped he could give his children as good a start in life.

Like many other family businesses on the high street, the retail side of the shop was suffering but Dominic had carved a niche buying unfashionable pieces at the bimonthly auctions in Birmingham. He'd reuse the stones in modern settings before sending them up to London to a private jeweller on a 'profit and risk' share basis. The arrangement had been working for the last four years and had literally saved the business. That and small-time pawnbroking and gold dealing as people desperately scrambled to raise money to pay their bills. The divide between rich and poor had never been more pronounced and was neatly illustrated by the chasm in prices between his different business arms.

The link with Max went back years; he could never remember whether they were first or second cousins. They would find themselves thrown together in the summer holidays when the grandparents would look after them - allowing both sets of parents to work during the busy season. Both had fond memories of their time together playing up in the hills, picking berries and catching fish. It's funny how the memory played tricks, it always seemed to be sunny whenever he thought back to those days.

The phone call had helped to kill some time and had put a smile on Max's face. After flicking through the newspaper the washing cycle finished, and with undeserved luck, the whites were still bright. The overkill of a whole packet colour catchers in with the clothes seemed to have done the job. Max threw everything in the big tumble dryer and fed it the requisite amount of pound coins before considering the other calls that he needed to make, Tony, Lynette and Rachel, if she was talking to him that was; strange that she hadn't called back.

He tried Rachel first. Ringing her mobile which went straight to voicemail he said, "Hi Rachel it's me again. I've tried a few times but you seem to be busy or out and about, hope you got the message I left the other day. I met with the assessor and loss adjuster on site today and things should get sorted out soon. Ring me when you get a chance. Love you." Bloody voicemail, he wanted to speak to Rachel not some disengaged answering machine. He rang Tony next and confirmed that he would take the available room, and if it was okay, he would move in on Friday or Saturday. Tony seemed pretty relaxed and said he would make sure the place was cleaned and ready. He then rang Lynette to tell her he wouldn't be back tonight and to give her the good news that he would be leaving to go to Tony's. He remembered to ask how her review meeting had gone, and as expected she had sailed through with flying colours. He pushed his luck a little further and asked to take her to dinner to celebrate and as a thank you for all of her help, but could hear the change in tone in her voice. Lynette didn't seem to think it was a good idea. "If we go out for dinner Max it's dinner only, nothing else, no ties, no promises just dinner. I really don't need another man in my life and definitely not an older one unless he happens to be a billionaire with a super yacht and you don't seem to qualify on that front." She laughed, message well and truly delivered.

As the tumble dryer was coming towards the end of the cycle Max went back next door and bought some clothes freshener to try to eliminate the smell of smoke from the suitcase itself. He almost managed to convince himself it had worked but it was hard to shift and would probably ruin his good work. He decided he would do better to buy some large clear plastic bags and leave the case in the boot with the window open to air things out on the drive down to the West Country.

Once he'd folded his T-shirts, jeans, socks and pants into different bags Max loaded everything into the car and set off. He knew that he had a long boring drive ahead of him and he wasn't looking forward to it. For the first few hours of driving he kept a wary watch on the rear-view mirror, he didn't want a repeat of the problems suffered on his Spanish journey although he couldn't be one hundred per cent sure that anyone had been following him then. It could all have just been coincidence.
Chapter 10 - One year earlier - Jochem

Jochem seemed to have been celebrating his birthday for ages. During the Easter holidays he had a forty-nine and a half barbecue celebration and in the summer a forty-nine and three quarters bar crawl that was legendary among the locals who managed to stay the pace. He intended to have as much fun as possible before finally turning fifty and had a lavish bash planned for the grand finale.

For the last two years, Jochem had been a rental client who always paid on time even though he seemed to have no visible means of support. It was nothing unusual for people on the Costa del Sol. Some used inherited wealth, and others used their national government for overseas support by claiming for multiple sets of benefits in their country of origin. Others claimed to have had small wins on the lottery. Fraud and dodgy deals were rife everywhere, but Jochem was placed in the mostly harmless party animal box by those who knew him.

Max and Rachel really didn't know much about his background. He was six foot one and could best be described as looking like 'a tall thin academic hippy' wearing round glasses and occasionally sporting a small ponytail rather than letting his long hair hang loose. He claimed to come from Holland which, given his penchant for wearing bright orange and his ability to speak Dutch, English, German and Spanish fluently, was probably true. Was he really fifty? It was hard to tell. He looked younger but that could have been down to the permanent suntan and seemingly relaxed lifestyle. He had a few lady friends who popped in and out of his life, sometimes staying for a few weeks before disappearing only to reappear six months later, and a wide circle of acquaintances from all sorts of international backgrounds. He was a bit of an enigma but clients who paid on time and caused no problems were always popular with Max and Rachel.

Jochem spent lots of time in the Irish bar in San Pedro often found in one of the back booths conversing with dodgy characters of various nationalities. His language skills were definitely very helpful; he'd even started to learn Russian as he believed that it would soon become one of the essential languages on the coast. You couldn't really argue with his logic as the Russians, having already taken over Banus, were slowly infiltrating the rest of the high-end, once exclusively English, enclaves. There had to be some logic to learning a new language but unless someone offered information about their business activities it was best not to ask. Jochem would be an enigma for some time yet.

The invitation to his fiftieth birthday party lived up to the hype; it was definitely going to be lavish. He'd booked a large restaurant in central Marbella, a champagne reception, canapes and tapas, a buffet meal, all followed by dancing until you dropped. The invite also had a note at the bottom asking 'Please do not drive. Get a taxi'. Good advice but not something that either Max or Rachel had seen posted on an invite before.

Rachel was looking forward to a night out and was dressed to the nines in a short brown silky figure-hugging dress, matching Victoria's Secret underwear, leather high heels and a small clutch bag to carry a girl's essentials. The outfit complemented her long brown hair and deep brown eyes highlighted with smoky eye-shadow perfectly. Max sat waiting with a beer in the lounge and gave a long low wolf whistle as she entered and gave a twirl to show off her new acquisitions.

"Looking hot girl, you better be careful dressed like that, I could end up chasing you all night."

They had booked a taxi and phoned Sylvia to meet them out front. As ever she was underdressed, over made-up and overexcited about the prospect of new men on the horizon. Someone was going to be lucky tonight whether they wanted to be or not!

As the girls laughed and joked in the back of the cab, Max looked wistfully out of the windows at all of the abandoned cranes and half-finished developments. He had made great money during the boom years and would have still been fine now if it hadn't been for an unscrupulous business partner clearing out the funds. He rarely dwelt on the past but the cranes and building shells were a permanent reminder - along with the endless list of corruption cases brought against mayors and councillors reported in the local freebie papers. Maybe it was time to move on.

The taxi passed Banus and headed down the long tree-lined drag into Marbella. Five minutes later and they pulled up outside the venue. Max stopped to pay the driver. The girls went ahead and as the doors opened he could hear one of the local bands playing soulful easy-going ballads. He followed through the doors and squinted as it took a short while for his eyes to adjust to the low-level lighting. The venue was perfect, comfy sofas, recessed booths, tables, chairs and a nice sized dance floor. There was already a good crowd taking in the party atmosphere. The vibe was laid-back as people sipped glasses of cava and picked at the various selections of tapas and canapes passing by on trays. There were a few people that Max recognised and knew plus a mix of various nationalities which formed Jochem's wider circle of friends. Max spotted Jochem in the crowd and made a beeline towards him.

He grabbed Jochem by the hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Hi Jochem. Happy birthday mate! Thanks for the invite. This is some do, how do you afford to put something like this on? It's about time we put your rent up!"

Jochem in his usual relaxed drawl responded with a smile "Max... dear Max, relax, go with the flow and most importantly enjoy the party, I'm only going to be fifty once. And besides my transport interests have been doing very well of late. Where's that gorgeous girl of yours? I expect to see you leading on the dance floor with her later." The conversation was cut short as a typical Marbella girl, with dyed blonde hair, false boobs, false nails and very high heels threw herself into Jochem's arms and dragged him away to her group of giggling friends. He didn't seem to be that unhappy with the attention.

The party got into full swing and it became pretty difficult to hear over the noise until the band announced they were taking a break and that the buffet was open. Rachel just couldn't believe that anyone would want anything else to eat? Maybe she had just had more than her fair share of the coconut breaded prawns. Even Sylvia had moved on to her favourite sport of man hunting, slowing down on the booze and disregarding the canapes entirely. Rachel spotted her in one of the booths where she had a guy pinned in and apparently deep in conversation, she wondered if he knew what he was letting himself in for? He seemed fairly animated and was doing a lot of the talking but somehow appeared out of place, like a lamb going to the slaughter. Rachel thought about who he reminded her of and decided that he looked like a teacher or a civil servant. It was the way that he was dressed, mainly grey with a grey beard and grey hair. If it wasn't so warm she was sure that he'd be wearing a checked tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. She looked for Max but made a mental note to ask Sylvia how 'civil service man' knew Jochem.

When the band fired up for their second stint with 'Mustang Sally', followed by 'Johnny B Goode' the dance floor quickly became packed. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the switch of singers to a guy with a gravelly voice that was well suited to rock and roll. Rachel was having a ball. Free-flowing cava, free-flowing Bacardi and Coke and dancing... She just loved to be out in the middle of the floor. Tomorrow would be another day and no doubt there would be a few dancing injuries among the older dancers. The last time they'd partied like this Max had thrown his back out, Jerry sprained his calf and more than one of the ladies fell off of their shoes. As Sylvia often liked to say "Oldies can teach the youngsters a thing or two about partying!" She was clearly setting about trying to do just that with civil service man who looked as if he was off an advert for dads dancing badly.

As the clock neared midnight the band wound down and asked everyone to witness the cutting of the cake and to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Jochem. The cake, or more precisely cakes, were very plain by birthday standards with little flags announcing their flavours in three different languages. Rachel spotted banana cake, gingerbread, almond slice and a very dark looking fruit cake.

She grabbed a plate and picked up a slice of banana cake for herself and one of each for Max knowing his very sweet tooth. They kicked back in a large white leather sofa washing the cake down with more drinks. They were both really enjoying the night and were feeling very mellow. Rachel cuddled up to Max nibbling on his ear and whispering sweet nothings to him as the band played a passable rendition of 'Your Love is King'. Things were better than they had been in a long time.

Jochem was wandering round with a pretty waitress with a tray loaded with more slices of cake proffering them to the guests. Max called out to him.

"Jochem, Jochem, over here. What's in the cakes? They're bloody lovely. Here give me another piece."

"Whoa slow down Max, this is grade one space cake and you're going to be flying home if you carry on like that." Rachel looked at Jochem quizzically for an explanation. "Come on you know what space cake is don't you?" Rachel shook her head and Jochem raised his eyes to the ceiling. "You know what I mean Rachel. It's 'special cake'."

"Come on Jochem, any cake is special to Max, you know how sweet a tooth he's got." She laughed while putting half a slice into Max's mouth all at once.

"No you don't understand Rach... It really is 'special'. That's why I said please don't drive. Driving and cake do not mix well." Rachel looked even more confused. "Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Rachel looked back with a vacant expression as Jochem leaned in to whisper in her ear, "My dear sweet Rachel... All of the flavoured cakes here have prime cannabis resin in with the mixture and it can be pretty strong if you're not used to it. Don't let Max go over the top or he'll be flying higher than a bloody Boeing jet." Rachel initially looked shocked and then burst out laughing. "Sorry Rachel, I thought you would have known. Just look after him, okay." Jochem looked sheepish before heading off to the next table with the waitress in tow offering more illicit highs to the crowd.

The party started to break up around two in the morning with those who had the stamina heading to Buddha nightclub to continue partying until dawn. Max and Rachel contemplated carrying on but as the fresh air hit them they were struggling to stay upright. Sylvia and civil service man ushered them into the first available taxi and sent them on their way home. Max had eaten at least five slices of cake plus loads of beer and was feeling euphoric. Unfortunately, he also seemed to have no idea of what he had just said and was like a stuck record either professing his love or telling Rachel that she'd been 'a very naughty girl and just wait until he got her home'. Rachel had to fend him off as he kept trying to get his hand under her skirt. "Max! Behave!"

When the taxi pulled up Max delved in his pocket for some notes and gave them to the driver waving off the change as a tip. The driver was more than happy to accept and took the rest of the night off. Leaning on each other for support they made their way up the entrance steps giggling and staggering across the apartment complex gardens. Rachel eventually abandoned her shoes in her attempt to get Max upright after he had decided to play 'dead ants' halfway across the gardens - involving him lying on his back kicking his legs and arms wildly in the air.

"Max, shhhhushh! You'll wake eveeeryone uup." Rachel was sure that she could see lights come on and curtains twitch in a couple of apartments although in her merry state she didn't much care, let them gossip!

They eventually made it through the front door heading straight to the bedroom where Max literally fell on the bed as the effort of trying to get his hand up Rachel's skirt finished off any sense of coordination that he had. He was lying on his back still professing his love when Rachel went to the bathroom to powder her nose.

Rachel felt horny and decided to undress and wear just a loose robe and high heels to give Max a nice surprise. It could only have been ten minutes before she wandered back into the bedroom to find Max partially undressed, lying on his back, and snoring as if he was playing the trumpet voluntarily.

She shook him gently. "Max, Max, wake up honey..." When she got no response she tried shaking him harder and shouting. "Max! Wake up! Bloody typical! Get a girl all hot and bothered and then fall asleep. Just you wait till tomorrow!" Max just groaned and rolled over on to his side. He was well and truly out for the count.

The phone ringing woke Rachel the following afternoon. She didn't manage to answer it in time but was sure they'd call back if it was important. She attempted to lift her head to see the clock announcing it was three o'clock before the thumping headache and flashing lights made her decide to put her head back down again. She felt around in the drawer for some painkillers, swallowed them with some water and went back to sleep eventually surfacing at eight in the evening. She still felt very delicate so opted for toast with honey, a strong cup of coffee, more painkillers and more sleep. Max was still dead to the world.

Things were looking much brighter for Rachel the next morning but Max was still barely functioning despite regular cups of coffee, painkillers and toast. It took him a further two days to fully get over the effects of the space cake and for much of the time he was in la-la land. When he finally pulled himself out of the fog, he knocked on Jochem's door to find out more about it. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was a slightly addictive nature, but he needed to know more before trying it again. He'd smoked a few spliffs in his youth and enjoyed the buzz but this stuff was heavy shit, he'd read that the new styles of plant were stronger but two days... One serious bender - either that or he'd consumed a shed full!
Chapter 11 - Jack

Over the coming months, Max got closer to Jochem, going for a drink with him at the local, and regularly meeting up in the Irish bar in San Pedro. He learnt a bit about his 'wholesale transport business' by listening to the stories from the various characters that Jochem loosely called 'friends'. Rachel was not happy. Even though Max only relayed a fraction of the information, it didn't take her long to work out what was being transported or the type of people in Max's new circle. He seemingly was a moth to a flame or he had a need to explore the dark side. Whatever was happening, he just wasn't the Max that she had fallen in love with.

Three or four drinking sessions a week with Jochem soon had Max being recognised by the wider group of characters. They were settled with his presence and became less circumspect about talking in front of him. He also thought that he was getting to understand some of the phraseology used if other people were in earshot. He was pretty sure now that bags of sugar were blocks of cannabis resin and that paperwork was the raw weed smoked by so many. He still hadn't worked out what cocaine was as they seemed to have so many names to describe it. He'd work it out in time. Rachel was right, he did get a buzz just being around the edges of the drug trade, not that he'd get involved himself.

Max was sitting with Jochem in one of the booths at the back of the bar and had just ordered another couple of beers when Irish Jack pulled up a seat opposite.

"Morning boys, how we doing today?" Jack had a soft Irish lilt to his voice and often dropped words when speaking. He was a big man, six foot two inches with a thickset body, a salt-and-pepper moustache, soft brown curly hair and what looked like naval or military tattoos on his arms. He reminded Max of a rugby prop forward with his huge hands looking as if they could crush you. He was well-liked by most people locally, known for his sense of humour and the ability to get away with saying 'feck' in front of just about anybody. It just didn't seem as if Jack was swearing.

"Boys, I've got a feckin' problem... Joey's regular van's broken down and I've got an urgent parcel of paperwork that needs delivered by hand to the UK. D'ya know anybody driving back?"

Jochem responded just a bit too quickly. It was clear that he was being defensive. "Sorry Jack, my boys are tied up and Max has got too much on at the moment. Have you tried Bill?"

Jack ignored the question and looked straight at Max. "Now then Max me boy, y've been around a bit, d'ya want to earn a few more shekels and do a delivery for me? The money's good and the papers will all be stored out of sight securely if you know what I mean. We never had any problems in the past to be sure."

Max looked Jack straight in the eye. "Sorry Jack. I'd like to help you out but I just don't have time to go back to the UK at the moment."

"Hmm, a pity, what time is Bill in?" Jack turned and walked to the bar before getting an answer.

Jochem turned to Max bringing his head in closer to him. "Listen Max, I know you enjoy a few beers with the boys here, but whatever you do don't get drawn into the business. It can be messy, very messy... People have a habit of disappearing if they cross Irish Jack. He's way out of my league. I just move a few packages for friends that own bars in Amsterdam to make a bit of cash here and there. Jack runs it as a serious business with very serious consequences if anyone mucks up."

Max looked a bit surprised. "I thought he just did a bit on the side, doesn't he do up cars and a bit of welding at his place up in the hills? He always seems to have something in pieces, old BMWs, Mercs that sort of thing, I assumed that was his business."

Jochem checked that Jack was at the far side of the bar and sat back relaxing a bit. "He certainly knows how to take things to bits and put them back together, mainly back together with a good few kilos of resin or blow welded in place or hidden behind the headlights inside the inner wing. He then sprays it all up with a fresh coat of Waxoyl and stone chip to cover any residual smell in case customs use a dog. He shifts serious amounts of shit each month one way or another." Jochem started digging around in his pockets. "I need a fag Max, this fucking smoking ban in pubs is a pain in the arse."

It was well documented that the Costa del Sol was a drug runner's paradise with vast quantities coming across the Gibraltar straits almost daily, but Max still found it surprising that it was going on under his nose in the local bars. It was the first time that Jochem had specifically referred to how the drugs were moved. It made sense really, there was so much Spain to UK traffic and vice versa each week that customs couldn't check everything. You only had to open the local English papers and read the adverts - 'Man with van leaves Spain for UK every Thursday, comes back Tuesdays. Weekly trips to the UK and back, all things moved.' The bloody adverts were everywhere. Max began to wonder how much stuff was shifted each week.

As Jochem rose to go outside for his cigarette he looked at Jack and then back to Max with concern on his face. "Steer clear. Max, steer clear, he's major trouble."
Chapter 12 - Double tap

A month or so later, the community gardener ran up the stairs in Max's block and hammered on his apartment door. His English was poor at the best of times and Max had non-existent Spanish but the gardener's agitated state, waving hand signals and pleas of 'come, come' had Max following him down the stairs quickly. Something was obviously very wrong either in one of the apartments or with someone in the grounds for the gardener to come and get him. Normally at best they were on nodding terms with a few _holas_ and _hasta luegos_ because of the communication barrier.

Max hurried along following Sebastian, who was wringing his hands, through the gardens with the Spaniard repeatedly saying " _Muy mal, muy mal, mucho sangre, mucho sangre, entender_? _Muertos, muy mal_." Max's pleas for him to speak English fell on deaf ears. The man was not rational and certainly would not be trying out his broken English in this state. Max was pretty sure that 'sangre' was blood which did not bode well.

When they arrived at the front gates Max's attention was initially drawn to the two Guardia Civil cars pulling up with their blue lights flashing, that was until his sleeve was tugged by Sebastian. Max followed his pointing hand to Jochem's old green Cherokee Jeep that had a new internal paint job of blood red all over the windscreen and right-hand passenger window. He thought he could also see the outline of a body slumped against the steering wheel. The copper iron metallic smell of blood was everywhere. He had a very bad feeling about this... _Please don 't let it be Jochem_.

Max had to steady himself against the wall as shock surged through him. "Fuck... Fuck. What happened Sebastian?"

The gardener continued wringing his hands together before responding. " _No se Se ñor, yo mira un problema y llama el policia_." Max could work out that the gardener had seen the car and blood and called the Guardia, presumably he'd then come and got him because he was Jochem's landlord and friend. "Fuck!"

The Guardia officer in charge coolly walked around the car with a look of disdain on his face completing a full circuit before ordering a more junior member to take pictures of the outside of the car as evidence. He slowly pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and opened the driver's door. The reek of blood washed over Max even more strongly making his stomach heave. He swallowed the bile back down. The officer, peering inside pointing out items that needed to be photographed, seemed completely unmoved by the smell or the sight before him. Perhaps he was used to it.

As the more junior officers scurried round looking at evidence and talking loudly into their radios to arrange for transportation and whatever else they needed, the senior man strutted over to Max and Sebastian and started talking at high speed with Sebastian responding just as quickly with many a _si Caballero_ and _si Se ñor_. Max didn't have a clue what was being said but was conscious of the officer's eyes regularly looking him up and down as the conversation rattled on.

Max began to feel uncomfortable. Eventually the conversation stopped, the officer indicated for him to stay where he was and took Sebastian to the open car door presumably to identify the body. Max could hear ' _si Cabellero es Jochem_ '. Hearing Jochem's name on top of his already highly-charged emotional state caused Max's stomach to spasm. He doubled over.

"Shit!"

The officer strolled back immaculate in his green tunic, green jodhpurs, green peaked cap and riding boots, presumably one of the traffic cops who favoured the full military look. Many of the older officers did, harking back to the days when the Guardia had been Franco's personal force. Even in the current day and age years after Franco's death, the Guardia Civil were universally feared by locals. They were not to be trifled with, if they said jump it was, 'Yes, Sir how high'? The officer's hand was on his gun as he turned from the car. He stared at Max and took slow deliberate steps towards him in an intimidating manner. Max was beginning to panic wondering what the stupid shit of a gardener had said. It was nothing to do with him. Christ he didn't know Jochem that well.

The officer spoke to Max his hand still on his gun. "Señor Williams?" The double L being pronounced as a Y made his name almost indecipherable.

" _Habla espanol_?"

Max shook his head conscious that sweat was rolling down the side of his face and that his stomach was feeling decidedly dicky.

" _No habla un poco espanol_?" the officer asked again widening his eyes and expression quizzically as he put the question. Max shook his head. "Señor, you live in Spain, it is necessary that you learn Spanish! I only speak a little English so we do this slowly."

Max felt chided and embarrassed by his lack of Spanish but also relieved that the officer seemed to have perfect English as far as he was concerned. Many of the locals understood or could speak far more English than they let on.

"The man in the car, please look." The officer grabbed him by the arm and led him to the open car door. "Please look." Max gagged excused himself and threw up in the bushes. He'd seen a gun on Jochem's lap, two bullet entry holes next to his temple and bits of blood, brain and bone all over the place. The officer was unconcerned by his predicament and continued with the questions.

"You know this man?" Max nodded. "His name?" The officer had his notepad at the ready.

"Jochem, Jochem Brouwer."

"You rent apartment for him?"

Max swallowed back the rising bile. "Yes, apartment 1821, just over there." He waved his arm in the general direction of Block 18.

The officer scribbled in his notebook before firing off the next question.

" _Tiene un clave_ , _siento_ , you have a key?"

Max lent his back against the wall for support before responding. "Yes." He felt like crap.

The officer waved to one of his compatriots to join him. "Okay, we go look."

Max had little choice. He just hoped that Jochem wasn't dumb enough to keep drugs around. As they were walking the questions kept coming. "He is friend of you?"

"Yes, umm, no. Sort of, I have the occasional beer with him and I collect rent from him."

The officer looked confused. "He is friend or not? You own his apartment?"

Max was relieved that there were two questions and opted to answer the second, "No we are just the agent."

"Agent, what is agent?" He thought about the signs on the various offices of estate agents locally before trying out his Spanish. " _Inmobiliaria alquiler_." The officer nodded apparently satisfied.

Max climbed the stairs let himself and the officers in and went to his key cabinet and security list. The cabinet held around one hundred sets of keys but without the security list kept innocuously inside one of the kitchen cupboards with a bunch of recipes you had no hope of working out which key was for which apartment. Even with the list it took Max a moment to locate them. _Thank Christ Rachel isn 't in_, he thought to himself, _she 'd bloody freak if she saw what was going on, she'll bloody freak anyway when she gets back later_. Rachel had been telling Max to stop hanging round with Jochem for weeks.

As they strolled across the gardens to Block 18 the police officers spoke rapidly in Spanish. Max understood the odd word and thought that he picked up 'drugs' and 'mafia' but couldn't be sure. The silence and stares as they went up in the lift had Max sweating again. He placed the key in the lock, cranked the door open, and stood back to let them in to Jochem's apartment. Max was told to stay at the door with just the two officers going in to search it thoroughly. They didn't seem to be too concerned about tidiness just flinging cupboards and drawers open and rifling through them with impunity. Twenty minutes later they came out with just an address book and a few bits of paper. Max thought it prudent not to mention that there was also a storeroom downstairs. The second officer took a roll of green and white striped tape with 'Guardia' printed on it intermittently from his pocket and plastered it across the doorway two or three times before slamming the door shut and double locking the deadlock. The officer looked at Max sternly. "No one to go inside, you understand? You have no more keys?" Max didn't know whether to shake or nod his head so volunteered that there was only one set. " _Solo una_ ," he said pointing to the keys in the officer's hands.

They stood outside the door on the concrete landing for what seemed like an eternity. The questions he had been asked earlier were repeated and a whole new set were added. Did Jochem have a partner or wife? Did he live alone? Did Max know his family? Max realised how little he actually knew about Jochem as he was unable to answer question after question. Eventually he remembered that they had a number for the next of kin upstairs and volunteered it.

Presumably the Guardia would contact them. For now Max just wanted to lay low.

_Fuck! Jochem was bloody dead!_
Chapter 13 - The funeral

As expected Rachel went ballistic and demanded that Max fill in all of the details while she packed. "Come on Max, we're going to the UK for a while, you're a fucking idiot getting involved with Jochem and his drug-running buddies, it could be us next, it's not safe here." Rachel pulled hard on a cigarette; she'd given up smoking years back but had an old packet in the house and now seemed as good a time to restart as any. Her nerves were shot.

Rachel took another drag before letting loose with another stream of obscenities. "Max you fucking dickhead! What the fuck were you thinking hanging around with a bunch of gangsters?" Her voice changed to a snarky mocking tone. "'Oh but it's just so exciting'. Yeah, crap Max."

"Hang on, Rach. That's just not fair, you always liked Jochem. You even had a soft spot for him and we don't know if he was hanging round with gangsters who topped him or whether he topped himself... You're just jumping to conclusions as usual."

Rachel rounded on Max again. "Oh. So now you've forgotten that he had two holes in the side of his head... He committed suicide twice just in case he got it wrong the first time? Get real Max."

After a few hours of circular arguments Max eventually persuaded Rachel to put the suitcases back into the cupboard and calm down. Now was not the time to comment on her taking up smoking again or the third large Bacardi and Coke. If he was honest, he was also badly shaken up by the day's events and had no idea what tomorrow would bring. One thing was for sure he wouldn't be going up to the bar or into San Pedro for a while. Everything was too close to home and too shocking to contemplate. Max topped up Rachel's drink poured himself another beer and put a large pizza in the oven along with some curly fries. Comfort food and a few drinks would make the night seem better.

The police in Spain didn't hang about, case closed and body released in two months after they labelled the case a _suicido_ or suicide. How the fuck could it be a suicide? Jochem wasn't depressed, he was one of the most relaxed and happy people that Max knew. His family weren't aware of any problems and nor were any of his wider circle of friends, oh and here's the big one, when does someone who commits suicide manage to shoot themselves in the temple twice? It was a classic double tap but the police just didn't want to know. Max tried talking to the gardener pointing to his head and saying " _Dos hoyo, no possible suicide_." The gardener shrugged and from what Max could work out basically said you don't mess with the Guardia. He was hugely frustrated, but as an Englishman in Spain speaking very limited Spanish, there was no way that he was going to stick his head above the parapet and risk incurring the wrath of the Guardia Civil especially as he was fully aware that Jochem was most definitely not Mr. Squeaky Clean.

Max had already swapped a number of calls with Jochem's sister and had helped the family organise the cremation in Estepona. He had checked to see if it was open with the funeral director who spoke good English. For once they had paid their gas bill and were working five days a week unlike the previous summer when they actually got closed down due to non-payment of bills. Only in Spain! He also got the local bar to arrange tapas, beers and wine for the thirty or so mourners that were expected. The funeral was a very sombre affair with the service watched by the small group of friends who could make the trip at short notice. Rachel was taken with the amount of flowers and wreaths. It was amazing that people believed they were discharged of responsibility after they sent a bouquet. _See people in life instead_ , she thought, _they won 't know if you attend the funeral or not_.

With the short service over and the body interred into what they assumed was the furnace, the funeral cortege headed back to the local bar to drown their sorrows and to remember Jochem for the fun, laid-back guy that he had been. The group had been sitting outside under the parasols at the bar for around four hours drinking steadily when Jochem's sister received a call from the funeral director. Jochem's ashes were ready for collection at the crematorium and did she want him to collect them and deliver them to the wake? She had no idea what to say so said 'yes' before handing the phone to Max to give the funeral director directions. Max took the phone and could not believe his ears. He gave detailed directions but couldn't get it out of his head that the ashes were probably still hot!

A rapid delivery and collection later and Jochem's remains were attending his own wake - spooky! Rachel was less than impressed and worked her way through a stream of Bacardi and Cokes to steady her nerves. Death was something she had never dealt with well and the cavalier attitude in Spain was not helping her to improve. She turned back to Sylvia and civil service man who seemed to have been in tow as a semi-permanent feature since Jochem's fiftieth party. Their small group also had a few other apartment owners who had come along for the ride involved in the general discussion. As expected the conversation was dominated by whether or not Jochem had committed suicide. Frank from apartment 3230 seemed to think that he was the local expert and claimed that he had the inside track from the local police who told him that Jochem's prints were the only ones found on the gun and no other prints were found on the door handle. QED suicide!

Rachel was fed up listening to his pompous crap, for fuck's sake he had only just been cremated, she hit Frank with the big question.

"Okay Frank." She paused making sure that she had everyone's attention. "If you're such an expert how the fuck did he get two holes in his head?" Generally she rarely swore but with Max's strange behaviour, the space cake and transportation information from Max, she was in no mood to take prisoners and seemed to be using expletives continually of late.

"Can't you recognise a bloody professional hit when you see one? Haven't you ever read a mafia or spy novel? How many times do they shoot a mark? For fuck's sake! He was topped by someone! He's not even bloody cold and you're trying to suggest he was a nutter... Have some respect Frank!" Her outburst caused everyone around the table to fall silent and then feeling the awkwardness, she tried to lighten the mood.

"Frank, get me another bloody drink! I don't want to listen to any more of this shit. Sylvia, tell me about your new beau Rudi, is he hot in the sack?"

Rudi, (aka 'civil service man'), who clearly had a wicked sense of humour, instantly jumped to his feet and while swinging his hips started to sing, "Yes, I'm hot, hot, hot." His antics helped to defuse the tension with peals of laughter being heard all round as he rubbed his crotch up against Sylvia's back. It was shocking because it seemed so out of character. Rachel decided that she liked him there and then but where the bloody hell was Max among all this shit? She could do with him by her side to help defend Jochem right now. Instead she had Sylvia leaning in for a girlie conversation, which given her drunken state, would take some deciphering.

"He's hung like a donkey if you know what I mean, Rach. Doesn't know what he's got it for but give me a few more weeks with him and he'll be a super stud." She leaned back laughing at her own comments waving her forearm backwards and forwards indicating what she meant.

Rachel blushed. "Sylvia! That's more information than needed!"

"It's more bloody cock than needed Rach but I'm not complaining. It's about time that I had a good airing down there, and he's really starting to come out of himself as well. He's a laugh." Sylvia looked briefly solemn. "Just hope I can hang on to him Rach, he's a keeper and it's lonely being a party girl at my age."

The change in conversation was a relief to Rachel who offered some advice from girlfriends. "Well Sylvia, you know what they say... keep their balls empty, their stomachs full and let them have a bit of boys' time and they'll go to the ends of the earth for you."

"Thanks Rach. That's great advice. Keeping him happy in the sack is fine but cooking! You've eaten my cooking and know how bad it is. Luckily for me Rudi enjoys tinkering in the kitchen and is pretty good in that department. It's worth listening to his boring engineering tales for a tasty meal and a good shag!"

Rachel and Sylvia were interrupted by their next drinks arriving. She looked around expecting to see Max with Jochem's family but he was at the far end of the tables outside the bar deep in conversation with someone that Rachel recognised from the party. A big guy, broad shoulders, curly hair, tatts and a tash. She'd ask Max who it was later. She seemed to recall that he was Irish.

Jack leaned in to Max speaking quietly "Did the Guardia find anything in the apartment?" Jack looked furtively over his shoulder double-checking that nobody was listening. "Jochem should have a couple of blocks hidden away... I wouldn't want it to fall into the wrong feckin' hands if you know what I mean." He turned staring directly into Max's face. "You'll make sure you go over the pad, oh and check his feckin' storeroom and car." It sounded as if it was almost an order.

"For fuck's sake, Jack. You've got to be joking about the car. I don't even know where it is and you won't find me crawling through bits of Jochem looking for a bloody stash. The guy's not even cold yet, give me a break."

"You'll be checking everything else then. Oh and drop in and see me at the Irish bar." With that Jack walked back to the crowd.

Max was dumbstruck, it didn't sound like he was being given a choice. Just how much did Jack think he knew? He didn't want any part of it.

He went back to the table to find the girls giggling as they sipped their drinks. The discussion seemed to be centring on Rudi who was rapidly turning into the life and soul of the party with each drink that he had. He was now the official entertainment singing dirty limericks and dancing a jig. _If only his former work colleagues could see him now_.

As the drinks flowed, the night turned into a complete blur. The last thing that Rachel remembered was staggering back up the hill to the apartment in a big group along with Jochem's sister who was staying in his old apartment overnight. Once the Guardia had decided it was a suicide that was it. The body was released, the apartment was free to enter and the family and friends were just left to get on with it. More precisely Rachel thought _we 'll be left to get on with it_ as the family were leaving late the next day.
Chapter 14 - The apartment

Rachel woke surprisingly clear headed the next morning, made some coffee, and shook Max to stir him. Two cups and some toast later, they were both functioning pretty well. They headed across the gardens to Jochem's rented apartment to meet with the family to discuss what to do with his belongings, the rental paperwork and any outstanding bills. Luckily Rachel had organised most of the papers yesterday morning before the funeral and Max had checked the meters so at least they would have some idea what needed to be paid.

Jochem's sister opened the door and invited them in her accent more stilted than Jochem's but still very passable and understandable.

"Rachel, Max, come in, can I get you something to drink?"

"We're fine thanks Elsa, how are you doing? Yesterday must have been very difficult for you. It was hard for all of us."

"I'm okay thanks. And Max thank you for helping to organise everything yesterday. We would have been lost. We have come to terms with what has happen? Occurred? What is the right word?"

"Either is fine Elsa."

"Yes, we have come to terms with what has occurred... Jochem will always be in our hearts and we have many things to remember him by." Rachel's thoughts briefly flitted to how stoic the Dutch were.

Elsa led them through into the lounge and waved her arm expansively. "None of this is wanted if you have people in need or places that take it to help the old please arrange for it to be collected. I have everything I want from the apartment, his clothes everything can go. It's very sad no? But he would have liked to help others."

The next hour or so was taken up with running through admin, and checking cupboards to make sure that Elsa really did mean for everything to be given away. The rent was all paid in advance and as only two months' notice was needed, Elsa would be getting a rebate. The bills probably wouldn't amount to that much either as they were paid by monthly direct debit. Elsa insisted on giving them five hundred euros in cash to go towards the time that they would spend sorting out the apartment and also insisted that they keep any excess rent once the bills were paid. If anything else came up, they only had to call and she would arrange for payment to be sent.

_Just like Jochem_ , Rachel thought, _considerate and pleasant_. It was a shame that she would never get to know her better.

After spending a few hours with Elsa, Max and Rachel said their goodbyes when the taxi arrived to take her to the airport. They promised to keep in touch if anything needed to be dealt with and offered to pick up local paperwork and send it on as needed. As the taxi pulled away, they waved and walked back through the gardens to their apartment. Rachel was holding on to Max's arm with her head against his shoulder.

"Crap times, Max. Do you think we should head back to the UK? I'm really getting fed up with this business; we just don't seem to have fun times anymore, it's all shit, literally in some cases! I don't want to do it anymore."

"It'll be better tomorrow poppet, things look bad because we've just said goodbye to Jochem... things will get better."

"Really Max... When? We've been doing this shitty job for ages now and haven't been able to even afford a holiday for the last two years because all of our money went into that poxy club deal that your precious brother set up. Oh, and while I'm on the subject, when is Paolo going to pay some of it back?"

"Not now Rachel, we've been over this all already, nothing changes overnight, I'm trying okay?"

Rachel dropped his arm and turned on her heel her temper flaring. "Fuck you Max, I'm sick of you defending Paolo over me. I'm going to see Sylvia for some TLC and a drink. Go play with your druggie friends."

Max stood with his arms at his sides and palms facing outwards in a placating gesture. "Rachel, don't do this... please... not now."

"It's not me with the problem Max. You need to sort your life out. Our life out. I'm sick of working to support your family! I'll be back later."

Max returned to Jochem's apartment and headed down the stairs to the _trastero_ or storeroom. He opened the door and flicked the switch. Pretty much bare walls, a pushbike, one or two boxes and not much else. Max opened the boxes and came up with zip. Just a few old clothes. He lent against the door frame and thought... _If it were me where would I hide drugs_?

The light bulb came on in his head. He locked up, ran across the gardens to get his stepladder and was quickly in the lift to Jochem's apartment. He let himself in and headed to the bathroom where he set the ladder and pushed on the ceiling grill where the main air-con unit was housed. He placed the grill down gently on the floor, climbed back up, and put his head into the ceiling void while switching on the small torch that he had picked up.

Bingo!

Two tightly wrapped white polythene blocks were sitting on the next ceiling tile just about in reach. He had no idea what was in them but could have a bloody good guess. Looked like Irish Jack was right... but how did he know and would handing the stuff over just draw Max deeper in? Whatever! Better be sure that nothing else was hidden around the place, time to take the cisterns apart and check any other nooks and crannies.

When he eventually finished his search he took the stepladder back across the garden to his storeroom and returned with a hessian Mercadona shopping bag. Max walking round with tools or using shopping bags to carry fixings was an entirely normal sight around the complex which shouldn't raise any suspicion. He wandered through the gardens in his slow usual manner waving to owners he saw on balconies on the way before heading down into the garage and putting the bag into the boot of his car.

He spoke to himself quietly. "Part one done Max. Good boy... keep cool."

He took the lift up to the apartment opened the door and called out for Rachel and there was no sign of her. She must be more pissed off than he thought. He knew that he had to do something to solve the issues in their relationship but he didn't want to tear his family apart in the process. He'd had enough of hard times growing up with his brother and didn't want to go back there. Why couldn't she see that he had to try to protect Paolo, he always had, he'd been getting him out of trouble since nursery school. Oh well, as the saying goes, you can choose your friends but not your family. It was totally different for Rachel with her perfect brother Robert. Note it was Robert, not Bob, not Robbie, but Robert. He was something big up in the City and Max swore that he looked down his nose at him and deliberately set him up to make gaffs. With all Robert's snobby ways, he didn't know the difference between Beaujolais and eight-year-old Chateauneuf du Pape. Stick it in a nice bottle with a posh label and Robert would swear it was good even if it tasted like vinegar.

_No point going over it all in your head again now, Max. Let 's see the lie of the land when she comes back from Sylvia's. Tin hat time buddy!_

Max hung out at the apartment for another hour or so having a couple of cups of tea and a few biscuits. It was looking like Rachel was over with Sylvia for the duration and he knew best not to ring when she was in this sort of mood. He might as well get rid of the blocks now by taking it back to Jack, assuming that he was at the bar. Then again Jack was in 'The Office' as the bar was affectionately known most days.

He hopped in the car drove out past the golf course and on to the Ronda Road heading down the hill towards San Pedro. He parked in the new underground car park which was bloody expensive but at least you didn't get a ticket or towed away. One parking fine paid for an awful lot of tickets. For some reason he also felt safer knowing that his car was in theory being watched over by an attendant. It didn't make much difference in reality but he was happier. He nervously checked the bag in the boot of the car before walking the short distance into the bar in San Pedro. He could see Jack's unmistakable frame in a booth at the far end and headed directly to him with unjustified bravado and confidence.

"Hi Jack."

Jack looked up from his discussions with a deadpan face. The bravado and confidence Max had seconds earlier suddenly deserted him.

"Sorry Jack, I didn't mean to interrupt but that matter we were talking about yesterday, do you remember?"

Jack smiled looking Max directly in the eye.

"Do I look like I've got feckin' Alzheimer's, Max? Or d'ya just think I'm a t'ick Irish Mick?" He deliberately sounded out the t'ick strongly.

Max shuffled feeling very uncomfortable. "No Jack, no, I'm sure you remember very well... but you know, I didn't want to say too much if you know what I mean." He inclined his head towards the guy sat next to Jack.

Jack grinned and turned to his compatriot.

"Joey, meet Max. He was a mucker of Jochem's."

Jack switched his attention. "Max, meet Joey, me right-hand man so to speak, don't upset him now though Max, his bite is much worse than his bark. Many a man has underestimated him due to his size."

"Feck off Jack, I'm no that feckin' small, it takes a good man to put me down on me arse."

"As I said Max, his bite is much worse than his bark. Now then, d'ya have the paperwork and sweeteners?"

Max looked over his shoulder and round the bar checking that nobody could hear. "I've got two packages in the back of the car. I haven't opened them and have no idea what's inside. And while I think about it, I really don't want to know, just get rid of them for me please."

"Hmm, get rid of them you say? Joey, will ye go with him now... sounds like collection time it does. Make sure he has a good drink if it's what we're looking for."

Max walked out of the bar with Joey getting increasingly nervous about what he was being slowly drawn into. He didn't want to know Jack's right-hand man, fuck he didn't really want to know Jack but it was becoming increasingly clear that he didn't seem to have a lot of choice. They walked down the stairs to the underground car park where he'd left the car. He popped the boot and opened the bag for Joey to look inside.

"Well Max, it looks like you've held up your side of the bargain, so you have... here." Joey pulled an envelope out from inside his jacket and stuffed it in Max's pocket. "Here's a good drink from Jack, I'll be seeing you around Max." With that he walked off in the opposite direction presumably to put the stash somewhere safe.

The air seemed to leave Max's lungs and the adrenaline surged through his body. He found himself leaning against his car and shaking. Thoughts rushed through his head. _What the fuck was that all about? Jack acting all strange, Joey stuffing an envelopein his pocket, it was all too scary_. He pulled the envelope out and opened it up. He cursed under his breath. "Jesus fucking Christ, there's got to be a couple of grand inside!" He looked to see if Joey was in earshot to return it but he'd already gone, he was completely out of sight. "Now what the fuck am I supposed to do?" Max couldn't see much of a choice he didn't want to accept payment for something that wasn't his in the first place and something that he definitely did not want to be involved in. He glanced around. "Get a grip Max, Get a grip!" No sign of Joey but it was Jack's cash so let's just be nice and cool and tell him it's all a mistake and Joey seems to have given you the wrong envelope. Sounds like a plan. He talked to himself. "Fuck, I need a stiff drink."

He walked back into the bar handed over a ten euro note and asked for a large neat whisky. He knocked it back in one feeling the warmth burn right the way down to his stomach. He shook his head in an automatic reaction to the strength of the booze and headed towards Jack's booth.

"Jack, I've given the shopping bag to Joey and it's real nice of you but I don't need any gifts or payment. Here this belongs to you." He put the envelope on the table in front of him. Jack made no move to pick it up.

"Now then Max, I expect t'is all a big mistake, to be sure I've not seen that envelope on the table, t'would be very insulting to an Irishman, very insulting indeed. You see if Joey made a gift he wouldn't expect it to be returned. No... not at all... Joey would be very unhappy... very unhappy indeed. Didn't I tell ye Max? Ye wouldn't want to know Joey when he's unhappy. Tell you what Max, be a good lad, stick it in your pocket and we'll forget we ever had this conversation." With that Jack stood up, proffered his hand to Max who automatically took it to shake it and walked out of the door. Max chided himself. "What the fuck am I doing shaking hands with a gangster?"
Chapter 15 - Girl talk

Luckily for Rachel, Sylvia was in when she knocked on the door. Flouncing off in a huff would have looked very unimpressive if she had to turn on her heel and go back to face Max.

"Hi, have you got time for a coffee?"

Sylvia swung the door wide open and motioned for Rachel to come in. "Course I have, what's the matter, luv, you look upset."

"Oh, Sylv..." With that the floodgates opened and Rachel let out a huge sob. Sylvia put her arms around her and led her towards the front room. "Come on sweetheart you can tell Auntie Sylvia all about it. Whatever it is it can't be that bad. Come on sit here and I'll get us both a drink."

Sylvia skipped the hot drinks and went straight to the emergency drinks cabinet placing the glass in Rachel's hand. "Here Rach, medicine. Drink some up and then tell me all about it. It's not like you to get all tearful over anything."

"Thanks Sylvia, I'm being silly, it's just that everything is getting on top of me lately." Rachel dug a tissue out of her pocket and dried her eyes before continuing. "It's all just too much, Jochem... cleaning up after renters... the bloody club at home. Max just seems to let it all wash over him but I can't. I try, I really do try but it's either not in my nature or I'm just made differently, I don't know... like I said I'm just being silly." Rachel dabbed her eyes and blew her nose before knocking back a large slug.

"That's it girl, let it out, have another drink. Jochem's death was a huge shock to us all. Such a nice guy, it shouldn't have happened like that, he would have made someone a great husband. Don't believe it was suicide do you? Maybe he was a double agent or something."

Rachel loved Sylvia's innocence at times, under that mop of hair maybe she was really blonde... double agent indeed, she smirked. "Maybe Sylvia, maybe, but you're right about one thing he was too nice a guy for it to end like that."

Sylvia with more experience of girl problems than most prodded gently. "Hmm, but it's not about Jochem is it pet, come on tell Auntie Sylvia what's really the problem."

"Oh Sylvia! I wish I could say that it was just one thing but I suppose at the end of the day I'm just not seeing eye to eye with Max. That poxy lap dancing club has taken every spare penny of cash and on top of that he seems to be spending more and more time there managing the day-to-day business. And if he's not in England doing that he was down the pub with Jochem and his weirdo friends. It was never the idea Sylv... we were going to spend time here together, on the beach, eating out, going away for the odd short break. You know driving down to Portugal for a long weekend. Fun and romantic stuff, I suppose." Rachel sipped at her drink. "So much for dreams, eh Sylvia."

"Dreams don't end just because you've hit a bad patch Rach. Men just don't think the same way that we do, for a start their brains seem to be located in their dicks and they always seem to want excitement of some sort. Look at the number of blokes that have made millions upon millions and still go to work every day. What's that all about? They never think things through Rach... always being the big 'I am'. Ego and status."

"I don't know Sylvia, I just don't know what buttons to push to get Max to talk about things anymore, we used to chat about everything but lately he's just getting more and more secretive. Oh... And god forbid if I question anything about St. Paolo or his family. I just don't get it, all these years together through thick and thin and he still defends his brother over me. It's just not right. I've had enough Sylv."

A good few hours and more than a couple of drinks later, Rachel had made up her mind. She was going to tackle Max about their problems head-on and if he wouldn't listen then she was going to pack up her bag and go visit Jenny in the UK maybe for a week, maybe longer, she needed some time alone. Well, not necessarily alone, but away from Max, his hare-brained schemes and relaxed attitude about everything in life.

"Thanks Sylvia. Thanks for being a friend and giving me a shoulder to cry on. I definitely need a short break and there's no time like the present."

Sylvia gave Rachel one last big hug, "Don't give up yet girl, you never know what tomorrow will bring."

Rachel snorted, "Hmph, knowing Max probably another bloody disaster. It would be just my luck!"

On the short walk back Rachel had really revved herself up for the argument to come. She was not going to be treated as second best or a skivvy! She swung the door to the apartment open with a bang that the rest of the block would have heard let alone Max. No response. She stomped from room to room and shouted at the top of her voice. "Fuck you Max! Where are you?!"

She picked up the phone and pressed the speed dial for Jenny in the UK. "Hi Jenny, it's Rachel."

"Rachel, how are you, great to hear from you!"

"Listen Jenny, can I come and crash out with you for a week or so?"

"Course you can that's what girlfriends are for. When are you thinking of coming over?"

"Hopefully tonight, I'm going to look for a flight as soon as I get off the phone, I'll ring you later Jen, and thanks. I'll explain later." Rachel put the phone back in the cradle before Jenny even had time to respond. She was a girl on a mission and got straight on to the web. Jenny was great, no awkward questions, no _ifs_ no _buts_ , she just accepted Rachel as she was. Twenty minutes later Rachel had a flight into Luton Airport. Not ideal but it was reasonably priced and she could get a train into London and change there. She should be out with Jenny by midnight. She called a local taxi to get her to the airport (sod the expense), and threw a few things into a hand luggage suitcase. She could always borrow some of Jen's clothes if need be, they always mixed and matched.

Time to ring Max.

"Hi Rachel, how are you sweetie?"

Rachel's tone was terse and hard.

"Skip the niceties Max. Where are you?"

Max knew that telling the truth would be a bad idea so sought to avoid the question. "I'll be home in about half an hour sweetie."

"That's not what I asked Max. Where are you?" Silence. "You're in that bar in fucking San Pedro again aren't you Max! Come on Max, deny it like you always do."

"It's not what you think Rachel."

"I'll tell you what I think Max. Your druggie friends and no good lazy arsed brother are more important to you than I am and I've had enough. I'm going home for a while to get my head straight. I don't know for how long. Don't fuck up the letting business while I'm gone! Think about what's important to you Max. I do still love you but things have got to change." The comment about the letting business was below the belt but Rachel was angry. She knew that Max still blamed himself for the estate agency business and she just couldn't help but turn the knife when she on her high horse. She didn't wait for a response. She turned her phone off and went to close her case. She ignored the apartment phone ringing on the assumption that it was Max and headed out of the door down to the waiting taxi.
Chapter 16 - Sulking

For the first day of Rachel being away Max went into typical boy's sulk mode. The whole world hates me, it's not my fault, I didn't mean it, and I was only trying to help. He ran through the whole gambit while trying to find the bottom of a bottle of malt whisky. Before he got too drunk he called Jenny to find out if she'd spoken to Rachel. She was honest and said that Rachel was staying with her but she couldn't add anything and really didn't want to talk about it, if anything Max should be explaining why Rachel had run home to London in her considered opinion. The stinging rebuke of 'Don't fuck up the business' was still ringing in his ears. Rachel was seriously pissed off with him and he just hadn't seen the signs. No honestly he had ignored the signs, he didn't want to take notice of them, and he'd buried his head in the sand.

Three quarters of the way through the bottle plan B kicked in and Max bombarded Rachel's phone with text messages professing undying love. He also found photos of the two of them in happier times laughing and joking together and sent them as media messages. Tomorrow morning he'd send a dozen red roses to Jenny's place and see if that dug him out of the brown stuff. He should have seen it coming. " _Can 't say I haven't been warned_." Knowing that it was coming didn't help the empty pit feeling in his stomach or the guilt. He needed to get back to earning serious money. Rachel was happy then. He'd sleep on it and work out a plan tomorrow.

Another sunny day in paradise... at least that was how most of the retirees thought of the south of Spain. Three hundred days a year of sunshine, golf and sailing on tap, great local restaurants and bars, you couldn't argue with them really apart from one thing... Max had to work for a living and they didn't. Max gave himself a mental slap... 'No I'm not going to sulk today. Talk to Clare, get the business shit together, do a few repairs and then sort out how to get the club back on track and how to make Rachel happy. Solve the first few problems and happiness should follow... life should be so easy.'

Flowers, flowers first. Max phoned Interflora and requested a dozen red roses to be delivered to Jenny's house. He swore that the girl on the other end of the phone almost gagged when he dictated the message. "Rachel, you are my all, my everything. I love you with all my heart. I promise I will try harder. I love you so much it hurts. Max xxxxx." He meant every word. The girl at the other end eventually melted and said that she thought it was lovely and that she'd forgive him as long as he hadn't been dipping his wick elsewhere! Max just wished that he could be sure that Rachel would take the same view.

Second key thing of the day, phone Clare, check the diary and make sure that any arrivals, leavers and cleans were covered. A short phone call later and it all looked good. Max needed to be around for one holiday arrival tomorrow but apart from that it was a pretty quiet week. It was time to tick off a few of the maintenance and painting jobs that never seemed to go away. One in Block 4 and one in Block 3, same colour paint... result.

He found himself enjoying the manual work. It was nice being able to do something that would have an end result. His timing wasn't ideal as Bill Smith was in residence at his apartment, but Bill was easy-going, always good fun and kept the coffee flowing. Shame he was such a lonely bloke. He had a few friends around the place, Jochem knew him well and he'd seen him down at the bar on many occasions. Max was always struck by how impersonal his apartment was - not a photo or book in sight. Nice flat-screen TV, good stereo, very comfortable furnishings, every quality drink that you could think of but somehow it just felt like show, a show flat... that was it.

Bill had excused himself earlier in the day and headed off to Leroy Merlin, the large DIY store up the coast. His logic was that now Max had finally turned up he wasn't letting him out of his sight until every little repair or fitting that he wanted was complete or in place. He returned with speaker brackets, two new light fixtures, a double towel rail for the bathroom and some more paint for the second bedroom. It looked like Max was going to be busy. Bill produced a couple of mugs of tea and biscuits and sat back on the sofa watching Max work.

"What are you up to at the weekend Max?"

"Not a lot Bill, I've got a few other small jobs to finish this week but nothing that'll take too much time, I'll probably be at a loose end, Rachel's still in the UK so I'll be practising being Billy no-mates."

"Well if you're not up to much I'm going over to Gibraltar and then Morocco with a mate of mine on his boat. He asked me to bring along a pal if I could because he knows that I'm useless at crewing. Ropes and fenders just aren't my thing but I enjoy the ride and the craic. You know about boats Max. You used to go out on a boat with your mates quite a bit didn't you?"

Max thought about what he would be doing this weekend. Nothing. Boating could be fun and it was better than kicking around the apartment sulking. "Yeah, I know a bit about boats Bill, can't say that I'm an expert though. Are you sure there's enough room? I don't want to be sharing a bunk with you!"

Bill became a bit more animated at the idea that Max would come. "Hang on I've got a photo on my iPad somewhere, it's a big boat, forty something feet with three separate cabins and every home from home comfort you could want, here what do you think?" Bill stuck the iPad under Max's nose.

Max let out a whistle. "Blimey, count me in, look at that beauty, when do we sail, Skipper?"

The plan was in place for a weekend away with the boys but Rachel was still at the forefront of Max's mind. He rang her mobile with his fingers crossed hoping that she would pick up.

"Hello Max, thank you for the flowers they were lovely, the bombardment of texts was a bit over the top though."

"For you my darling anything... Am I forgiven?"

"We'll see about that for the moment you're in my 'not so bad books' but things have still got to change Max... We can't carry on the way we are... I just can't do it Max, and I'm fed up with dealing with blocked toilets, shit-smeared bathrooms and rude clients. We need a rethink about our business prospects and interests. And, I can't accept you putting Paolo in front of me. It's just not right. I know we're not married but we've lived together for the last nine years as husband and wife and that counts for something doesn't it?"

Max sighed, deflated. "I'm sorry poppet, I know that I should try harder and I know that you find it hard to accept the way that I protect Paolo; it's just that he's always been my kid brother and we didn't have the best start in life."

Rachel interrupted as soon as Max drew breath. "Don't go there Max, I've heard it all before and you know my views. You make your own bed in life and lie in it and Paolo has lain in a lot of different bloody beds. Why can't you accept the root of our problem? He's sucked in a load of our cash to run that poxy club, his girlfriend stuck most of the money up her nose which he did nothing about, we've had zero return on investment and you're still protecting him. Why Max... why?"

"I'm sorry Rachel. I know you're not happy and I will sort it out. I promise. You know that I love you more than anything."

"Oh Max, I wish I could believe that. Change the subject. What else have you done today?"

Max ran through his maintenance program and the work that he had been doing over at Bill Smith's. He didn't quite know whether to say about going away for the weekend or not but in the end decided that it was probably best to keep quiet about things. Least said, soonest mended. A quick chat with Jenny reinforced that he loved Rachel unreservedly and didn't mean to cause her any grief and the call was over. He was stuck again in the apartment on his own with just a bottle of whisky for company... Billy no-Mates.
Chapter 17 - Boys trip

Max got through a pile of maintenance jobs during the week and before he knew it Friday was looming. Bill was going to be leaving at midday and Max was due to be ready in the garage with a bag packed for the weekend on a boat including some smart casual gear to wear at decent restaurants. Max was excited by a weekend away. He'd sent Rachel a text saying that he was going to be out with Bill over the weekend and that he'd give her a call on Monday. Result! He had a text back saying, "Have fun!" That was exactly his intention.

What was it with old Jeep Cherokees? He'd forgotten that Bill drove the same car as Jochem had but he shouldn't have been surprised given the number of them kicking around on the coast. Basically they represented cheap, safe motoring. Having plenty of metal around you with the manic Spanish drivers on the road and even worse the clueless summer tourists was essential for survival, not that it was much of a problem at this time of the year. Max threw his bag in the boot closed it and jumped in the front next to Bill.

"Let's roll Captain, where are we off to?"

Bill laughed. "Well Mr. Keen we've got to drive down to Duquesa and meet up with Paddy on Pantelan four and then I believe that we go to Gibraltar tonight and Smir in Morocco tomorrow."

Max looked confused. "Rewind Bill. What's a Pantelan and why Morocco?"

"A Pantelan is like a dock or jetty and Paddy's mate runs the Gibraltar Morocco rally every year and he wants to go over and sort a few of the arrangements out for the June trip in advance. There should be about three boats going over and it's always a good laugh. Have you been to Morocco before Max? Oh, and you have got your passport haven't you?"

"Aye, aye Skipper, passport, clothing and a positive attitude all present and correct. Can't wait." He rubbed his hands together with the excitement. He just could not resist going into full nautical mode. He needed a break and intended on taking full advantage.

The twenty-five minute drive down the coast road to Duquesa port flew by and soon they were negotiating with the control tower to let them in through the barrier to get close to Paddy's boat. Parking was highly restricted and it took all of Bill's charm to get them through. They parked, got their bags out and wandered over to the gate blocking the entrance to the Pantelan. Bill grabbed his mobile and gave Paddy a quick call to get him to come down with his security tag to let them in while Max took in the scene. White apartments with some sections painted with blue highlights mixed in with bars and restaurants, and of course, lots of boats. It all looked very Spanish or more precisely very Andalusian in style. A rugged, wiry looking guy dressed in blue shorts and a white polo shirt with salt-and-pepper hair who looked to be in his late fifties hopped off a sparkling white boat and headed in their direction. As he neared the security gate Max turned to Bill. "Is that Paddy?" Bill nodded. "Wow the boat looks even better than it did in the pictures... Amazing."

Paddy held out a hand and introduced himself. "You must be Max, Bill tells me that you've got some boating experience which is great as Bill's about as much use as a chocolate teapot. He doesn't know his arse from his elbow or the pointy end from the blunt end... I do try to keep it simple."

"Nice to meet you Paddy. Well I do know the difference between the bow and stern and seem to remember port and starboard. I'm no expert but I have sailed a bit and importantly know the basic rule: listen to what the Skipper says. So we should be okay."

"That'll do for me... welcome aboard."

Paddy didn't wait around. He showed the guys where they would be sleeping, started the engines and got Max to release the bowline having already let go on the stern. The engines rumbled on tickover as they slipped out of the berth and past the control tower into the open sea. Paddy increased the power producing a throaty roar from the exhausts and a long wake at the back of the boat which carved a white slash through the deep blue waves. As they headed out, Gibraltar came into sight. Max had already stowed the fenders without being asked which seemed to please Paddy no end.

"Here Max, take the controls, head for the tip of Gibraltar which is roughly two hundred and ten degrees on the compass. There's not much else about but you do need to watch out for crab pots and fishing nets. Call me if you have any problems or when we start to get near to Gibraltar."

"Are you sure Paddy? This is a lot of boat to trust me with."

"Ah, it's insured, you'll be fine."

Max could not believe his luck. He felt like James Bond sitting high on the fly bridge on a half a million pound boat. All he needed was a Bond girl and a martini, shaken not stirred... Bloody brilliant... It certainly beat moping at home.

As they neared Gibraltar Paddy took control of the helm to guide the boat round Europa Point where the Atlantic met the Med. Here the seas got very confused and sometimes downright rough. Today was relatively calm but Max really didn't want responsibility for the boat with so much local fishing traffic and huge tankers moving in and out. Ten minutes later they were alongside the airport runway heading in to Ocean Village and Marina Bay. Max got the fenders ready on both sides and lines at the ready to moor up. Paddy was on the radio confirming which berth they would be on. The marina was dominated by the huge luxury apartments looming over the jetties, bars and restaurants below.

They were in luck as they had a prime berth on the Ocean Village side close to the casino on a floating pontoon which meant no adjusting the lines at night. Paddy moved the boat into position where a member of staff from the marina was waiting to take the lines, perfect, not a single hitch. Paddy lent over from the bridge and called down, "Thanks Max, life is a lot easier when people know what to do and don't panic. Can you dig out your passport and Bill's as I'll have to go to the control tower to clear customs before you're allowed ashore. Shouldn't take long."

Bill did what he did best and broke out the gin and tonics while the two of them sat on the fly bridge admiring the view of the Rock and the million pound apartments that formed a key part of the Ocean Village complex. The setting sun's rays glinted against the blue glass balconies framing the tower block buildings, as a mixture of tourists and locals started to congregate in the local bars portside for their sundowner cocktails, or more likely, a pint of beer and a few glasses of wine. Gibraltar was a funny place. Fiercely patriotic and in many ways more British than Britain but it had the advantage of sunshine and had adopted the Spanish practice of a glass of wine and tapas before heading home for a late meal. You rarely saw people drunk in Gib and if you did they were invariably well-behaved. It wasn't for everyone, though, as it did tend to overplay the 'fish & chips' and 'tea like mum makes' cards at times. At the moment though, from his perch above the water, life looked pretty good to Max.

When Paddy returned having completed the border control and marina formalities, the three of them headed off into Irish Town to pick up some cigarettes. Even though they were all non-smokers Paddy insisted that they buy the maximum of five sleeves each (it being illegal to carry more than five sleeves in Gibraltar) so that he could take them back to the UK on his next trip. The maths was pretty simple - one hundred pounds to buy five sleeves in Gib, take them to the UK and they would be worth three hundred pounds plus. His haul today would pay for more than a few flights home. He also didn't seem too fussed that taking them back into Spain would be against the law. Max questioned how he would get them back through the port at Duquesa without raising a few eyebrows.

"When there's thousands of sleeves a day going across the land border who's going to worry about a boat with twenty cartons on it? It just doesn't happen, I'm not saying it won't Max, but it's never happened yet to me or any of my pals."

After freshening up in the marina showers, the boys headed to the Argentinian BBQ restaurant at the bottom of Casemates by the bus station which was a meat lover's paradise. It was an all-youcan-eat feast of lamb chops, thin beef steaks, sausages, prawns, and fish all accompanied by a few salad leaves and potatoes. The smoky atmosphere and tacky South American music added to the fun and the meal was washed down with beer; it was fairly satisfying. Once they couldn't face another lamb chop they headed back to Ocean Village's marina to meet up with Paddy's pals at the sports bar. Max and Bill slobbed on the comfy sofas watching the world go by while Paddy got heavily involved in the planning of the next Gibraltar to Smir yacht rally.

Max was interrupted from his chilled mood by a voice that he knew all too well. "Max, what the feck are ye doing in Gib? Good to see you me old mucker." Once he had greeted Max Jack turned his attention towards Bill. "How ya doing Bill, ye did ne tell me you were pals with Max now." Jack waved his finger at Bill as if he was telling off a spotty youth. "I'll have to keep an eye on you."

Bill clearly took no crap from Jack and was quick with a retort. "Fuck off Jack, I've known Max a hell of a lot longer than you have. He's a nice guy with a nice family and he doesn't need to get involved in any of your fucking crap. Leave him be."

"Well on that note, I better be buying the next round. Three pints of the black stuff with chasers it is then."

Jack joined them for the rest of the evening and insisted that they all headed to the casino once Paddy had finished his meeting. It wasn't the normal scene for Max, but hey what the heck sometimes you have to try something new. He even had a bit of luck on the roulette wheel and was a few pounds up on the night. The downside was that the combination of Guinness and chasers had left him extremely drunk. He just couldn't understand why the other three seemed unaffected. As the realization began to sink home, Jack appeared on his arm with yet more drinks.

"You'll be having another one then Max. One for the road... the boys have a bit of a job to do for me tomorrow so they do and it'll be great to have you along for the ride, bottoms up." Jack clapped Max on the back full of bonhomie and downed his chaser encouraging Max to follow suit. It was gone midnight when they eventually made their way back to the boat and got their heads down for the night. Max went out like a light.

The following morning he woke with a jackhammer headache. He was never going to touch Guinness and whisky again. "Fuck why did people drink this shit?" He was last up and the guys were ready to head out for breakfast. Paddy put his head round the cabin door.

"Morning Max, smells like a brewery in here, you need to open up a few more portholes." He laughed, "We're heading down the Pantelan to Whites, see you there in ten minutes. I'll order you a full fry-up and orange juice. Don't be long."

The thought of breakfast turned his stomach but he knew from experience that a full fry-up along with a few painkillers worked for him. A quick shower and scrape of the chin later and Max was heading to Whites where a mug of steaming coffee was waiting for him.

"Morning Max," Jack piped up. "You look a bit green round the gills. Does the black stuff not agree with yer? Finest tonic in the world I'll order yer another. Hair of the dog so to speak and ye'll be right as rain." Max's protests fell on deaf ears and his pint of Guinness arrived well before he had got halfway into his breakfast. The boys were in no mood to let him wimp out and it had to be drunk. He grimaced and poured it down as a fry-up chaser. Not an experience to be repeated.

Half an hour later they were underway heading out past the North Mole towards the straits and Morocco. Max felt surprisingly good; maybe there was something in the idea of having a hair of the dog. As they passed Europa Point Paddy pointed out the Atlas Mountains in the distance which together with Gibraltar formed the entrance to the Med. "The pillars of Hercules Max, always a stunning sight on a clear day." Halfway across the straits they were joined by a pod of dolphins and Bill spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get a decent photo. Each time he clicked the dolphins seemed to go back under the waves but he eventually got a few decent shots of them playing in the wake of the boat. The sun was out, the skies were blue and the seas were calm, perfect.

The trip to Smir didn't take long. They passed the long tunny nets set by local fisherman and rounded the huge concrete block breakwater into the sheltered marina. The air smelled different. You could sense that it was Africa, so close and yet so different. Max had the lines ready on the port side as Paddy expertly manoeuvred the boat alongside the visitors' pier where the marina office and customs shed appeared to be located. Shed was probably the operative word as they had to wake the officer in charge to get their passports stamped and entry forms completed. Max noted that Paddy had left a packet of Benson & Hedges very deliberately on the right-hand side of the desk which the policeman briefly eyed before processing their requests fairly quickly.

As they exited Paddy turned to explain his logic. "Bribery and corruption is now illegal in Morocco but old habits die hard Max. If I happen to forget that I've left a packet of ciggies on the side of the desk things tend to happen a lot quicker. Before one of my pals explained the ritual it took me two hours to get through here once." The marina staff seemed to not need a bribe, they knew Paddy of old and seemed genuinely pleased to see him helping to dock the boat stern to just opposite the restaurants. The _marinero_ dealing with the lines assured Paddy that he would keep a good eye on the boat it was then that Max noted a few packets changing hands, old habits were hard to break but hey, at less than two pounds a throw the cost was insignificant.

Paddy called down from the dockside, "Right boys get yourselves sorted. Ali is going to organise a taxi to Tetouan for us in half an hour or so." Bill and Max looked at each other and grinning simultaneously chanted, "Aye, aye Skipper."
Chapter 18 - Tetouan

The taxi driver that picked them up was a bit of a hoot. He insisted on crooning Elvis Presley hits as they drove as well as trying to impart tourist knowledge along the way in his very broken English. As with most locals he spoke Arabic and French, but unusually also spoke fluent German. English was the next challenge that he had set himself. "Must speak English for tourist, more people, and more money." Well, at least he seemed to have a grasp of basic economics.

Bill had been here many times before. He explained to Max that Tetouan was an extremely old fortified Moorish town that had been a stronghold for various invading forces over the years. They had a bit of time to look round and would probably be starting in the oldest part of the walled city which was the Arabic or Moorish quarter and slowly head their way up to the lighter, brighter Spanish quarter where Bill and Paddy had some important business. Max was curious.

"What sort of business do you carry out in Morocco Bill? I didn't think there was anything here but camel dung and sand."

"You'd be surprised Max. Next time you're in a supermarket look at the fruit and veg, a fair bit comes from here, you'll also find decent wine, dates and other odds and ends but spices are the big trade and I need to arrange some for my restaurant pal in Holland and I think Paddy is going to be ordering some for Jack. It's hugely cheaper here. You can get five kilos of the stuff for the price of a few small jars at home."

"I didn't know that Jack had restaurants - I thought he was Mr. Dodgy. You know dealing in substances that aren't exactly legal."

"I won't deny that he trades in wacky baccy and worse but he also has quite a few legitimate business interests you know. He can come across as a heavy-drinking Irish buffoon if you get sucked in but underneath it all is a hard-headed very successful businessman. He cultivates the t'ick Irish Mick persona deliberately, many a man has fallen foul of him by underestimating him. No he's a sharp boy that's for sure. You can learn a lot by what he's investing and dealing in."

Max was surprised. He had certainly fallen for the act, he thought that Jack was just a local drug dealer flashing a bit of muscle but Bill's opinion was one he valued. He was still musing as the taxi pulled up.

"Here, Max, come on, look sharp this is the lower entrance to the town through the city walls. Look at the size of the gates and the turrets protecting them, spectacular, huh? We'll take the way up through the medina so you can see what life is like, come on follow Paddy."

He was impressed by the huge stone gates with vast wooden doors but was even more taken aback as they slowly wound their way into a labyrinth of alleyways and covered tunnels that made up the medina. The place was full of hustle and bustle. They could only walk single file in many places and smells both pleasant and foul assaulted his nostrils as Max stepped on stone flags worn smooth by constant use. They appeared as if they were there since the Middle Ages. The scene was a strange mix of living history and modern-day life.

Max was taken with a Muslim woman walking towards them carrying a white chicken upside down by its claws; it was obviously alive but seemed unconcerned with its fate. It wasn't flapping at all, it was just bobbing along as if being taken for a walk was an everyday occurrence. Women and men were haggling with shop keepers up and down the alley, money and goods exchanged hands just like any other market in the world. Paddy called a halt to the procession and peered into a shop over the old stone countertop.

"Here Max, look, this is the butcher selling the chickens." Max peered in through the stone doorway and unglazed shop front to be greeted by a sawdust-covered stone floor with forty or fifty creamy white feathered chickens milling around. At the rear of the shop the owner brought a thick cleaver down on the neck of a rooster unconcerned with the blood splattering or the squirming corpse. He bagged the chicken up complete with feathers and its severed head placing it into the hijab-wearing woman's shopping bag. It really brought home the reality of life to Max; it reminded him that he was in Africa without the pleasures of meat wrapped in cellophane from the local supermarket where you could pretend that it wasn't actually a live animal. This was life in the raw. You could take your chicken home alive and kill it yourself or the butcher would kill it, but you would still have to pluck it, clean out the innards and then decide which bits you wanted to eat. It was a scene that would turn many a passing tourist vegan, but that was another thing, where were the tourists? The three of them walking through the alleys didn't raise much suspicion or interest but they hadn't seen any other Europeans in the market sector, it was all locals.

As they continued to climb up the hill along narrow walkways, the smells of spice, sewage and body odour seemed to get stronger until it was overpowered by the smell of decaying fish. Twenty yards on Max came across the source of the smell, a vendor with sardines, mackerel, tuna and all sorts of other fish laid out across the pavement, no ice, no refrigeration, just a cursory splash of water every few minutes to help keep things fresh. To be fair the fish itself didn't look to be in bad shape - although the stench told another story. As if reading his thoughts Bill chimed in. "I'm told the locals have been selling fish on this corner for the last four hundred years. The drains must have more than their fair share of rotting guts and scales stuck in them... if it's going to smell, you may as well keep the stench in one place!" Bill covered his nose with his hand. "Come on Max, let me show you where your old toasters and kettles go to be recycled."

They wandered on past numerous spice shops and apothecaries that seemed to inhabit the next section until they came across row after row of small craft shops with old toasters, kettles, hairdryers, teapots, vacuum cleaners, coffee pots and every other kind of small electrical item you could imagine in their windows. To the side or the rear of the window would invariably be a toothless Arab local working on the innards of some electrical contraption to bring it back to life. It was incredible but Max found the toothless grins and keenness to sell him a recycled toaster a bit off-putting. He turned to Paddy for an explanation.

"Paddy, don't they have any dentists here? Why does everybody have such bad teeth?"

"You'll see later when we stop for the local tea, their diet is absolutely loaded with sugar and honey, particularly the mint tea that they're so keen on. We get our sugar hit or high from alcohol. They get it from tea and honey cake. Why? Thinking of setting up a dentist's business here are you?" Max shook his head.

As they walked through a section selling soaps and candles Max thought that his senses would not be able to take any more, the pungency of the smells were overwhelming him, he never had much liked strong perfumes. He was very relieved as they emerged from the dark alleyways into bright sunshine and a large square with a huge grand building to one side. Paddy spread his arms wide. "Welcome to the Royal Palace and the Spanish quarter; far more civilised than the medina itself, but you have to experience a bit of the local colour to appreciate civilisation." Paddy and Bill both laughed at the torment they had put him through. Max looked unimpressed.

"Ah, come on, it's local flavour Max, you have to experience it at least once but we don't have to go back down that way... unless you want to buy a rug that is."

The Spanish architecture was prevalent everywhere, clean white buildings with wooden balconies, wide shop-lined streets, although it was all still hundreds of years old it felt like being transported back to the modern day. After a short walk down one of the streets leading from the square, Paddy stopped and rang the bell to what seemed to be an office above. The brass plate next to the door was written in Arabic and French neither of which Max could decipher but it looked like a professional place of some sort. A disenchanted voice answered the door in French leaving Max nonplussed.

"It's Paddy, we're here to see Bashar." It clearly worked, the door buzzed open and Paddy led the way up a tiled staircase with an iron bannister to a lobby area on the first floor. They were greeted at the head of the stairs by what Max could best describe as a human version of a gorilla. The guy was massive with lots of body hair but had gentle eyes. When he grunted and pointed to go through the open wooden door, Oddjob from _Goldfinger_ came to mind. All the guy needed was a bowler hat.

The host greeted Paddy and Bill profusely. It would seem that they all knew each other reasonably well. The room and the host was not what Max expected.

"Pleased to meet you Max, my name's Bashar but for ease most of my friends call me Bish as in Bish Bash an old public school joke." Bashar had a cultured English home counties accent and the polish of someone who had stepped out of an advert for Hugo Boss. He was immaculately dressed in black from head to toe which set off his flowing dark black locks, an immaculately trimmed beard and deep brown eyes. The only thing that struck Max as odd was that he wasn't wearing any shoes, nor was the gorilla. The penny dropped as he noticed that the boys were taking their shoes off as well, he followed suit but continued to gawp at the furnishings around the huge apartment. There was a modern black glass desk in one corner with a two huge PC screens that were showing stock market or commodity prices, a huge ornately carved low level wooden table dominated the middle of the room sitting on an exquisite rug with a plethora of silk and leather cushions scattered around it. To the far side of the room sat a modern white leather and chrome L-shaped settee with black and white goat skins draped over it and covering the floor around it. The settee faced a huge flat-screen plasma TV which was slowly changing through different images of modern art. Older cabinets and artefacts adorned the other walls and corners. It should have felt cluttered but the sheer scale of the place meant that it could swallow all of Max and Rachel's apartment with ease. The open space and high ceilings made it feel light and bright. In the background Max could also hear traditional Moroccan music. It was a true clash of styles and worlds.

"Make yourself comfortable on the cushions Max, I will get Ishmail to bring some tea, you seem to have an eye for art, feel free to look around my humble collection first if you wish." Bish waved his arm in the direction of his older pieces. Max noted that Paddy and Bill were already sitting cross-legged and that Bish was about to join them. Maybe they want a bit of space he thought. A wander round won't go amiss.

He joined the table when the gorilla named Ishmail walked in with an ornate teapot and set of delicate glass cups set in small metal frames. He nodded his head in the direction of the table and Max took the hint, no point in upsetting the local wildlife. After setting the tray down he headed back through the door and came back with a second tray full of small platters of sweet offerings before handing hot towels to everyone to wipe their hands before eating. It was a new experience - afternoon tea Moroccan style. The sweet mint tea was poured into the cups from a great height and set before them. Not wishing to offend, Max waited for a cue from his host to drink the liquid and enjoy the treats. Even though he had expected things to be sweet he was surprised at how much sugar everything seemed to contain. It was literally jaw jarring. No wonder the locals were toothless.

The discussion over tea was mainly small talk as far as Max could tell, the sort of things that appeared weekly in the local English papers that were free along the Costas. Two drug running boats caught by the Guardia, the tightening of security at Algeciras port and the regular problems of people trafficking or attacks on the fences at Melia as African immigrants tried to get on to Spanish territory. He wasn't really taking that much notice. To be honest, he was still a bit fuzzy from last night and would like nothing more than to have a nap. The guys were fairly animated about the discussion and the problems of getting export licences for spices at the moment. Apparently this trip was an ideal time to take smaller quantities back to keep everyone going before Bish could get his next licence. Max assumed Bish traded all sorts of commodities with the screens flashing red and blue in the background. Little did he know.

The discussion seemed to be winding up. Max noticed both Paddy and Bill pass over small brown envelopes no bigger than two inches by three inches to Bish who slid one into his pocket and opened the other. He picked out a small stone and held it up to the light admiring its clarity. Max made a mental note to ask why the boys seemed to paying for services in diamonds. Strange. Bish placed the stone carefully in the envelope and slid it back into his pocket as calmly as if they were discussing the weather. He turned and looked directly at Max.

"I'm sorry to bore you with such trivial business Max. It is not my custom to keep guests waiting while others discuss minor matters, please accept my apologies." He inclined his head as he spoke, "No matter, later I shall make up for it as you will all be joining me at my villa tonight as my guests." He grinned expansively showing perfectly white teeth. "I am sure that you will find it more than entertaining."

Max didn't really know what to say, "Umm, thanks for the tea Bish, really no offence taken over your discussions, I know that you haven't seen Bill for a while and probably wanted to catch up, I should be thanking you for your hospitality."

"You are very gracious. Ishmail, drive our guests back to Paddy's boat for them to pick up some clothes and then take them up to the villa, I will be along later." The trip was taking a twisty road. _Well_ , Max thought, _I 'm here for the ride, in for a penny in for a pound, it's certainly been fun so far_.
Chapter 19 - The villa

Ishmail drove them back to the boat in a massive blacked out Lincoln Continental which had every option you could imagine including a bar and flat screen TV in the back. Whenever the car came to a crossroads it was treated like royalty with the police stopping the traffic and waving it through. Bashar clearly had serious clout.

Bill could see the confusion on Max's face and gave him a brief run down on Bashar. "Bish is minor royalty, a minor prince of the realm with connections to the King himself, that and the fact that he has many business interests locally means that he gets the full VIP treatment wherever he goes. He seems very Western due to his English public school education but his Arabic roots run deep, he straddles both worlds very successfully."

Max's curiosity was piqued. "How long have you known him Bill?"

"I've known him for around ten years now and I still have no idea of the true scale of his businesses. I know that he develops property, trades commodities, deals in high end precious stones and has some quarrying operations but you can be sure that it doesn't end there. Oh and despite his charm he is pretty ruthless but fair with it. A deal is a deal. You'll see his relaxed party side later - it should be fun."

The grin on Paddy's face suggested more than just a little fun was going to be had.

A quick change into fresh clothes and a few things thrown in an overnight bag and the boys were back in the car completing the short drive to the villa which turned out to be more like a massive estate or country park. Max swore that the walls abutting the roadside were at least half a kilometre in length and the drive in towards the building itself seemed almost as long. The house itself was spectacular. A beautiful curved entrance drive had a set of glass fronted garages on both sides with a fleet of cars on display that any high end vendor would love to have on the forecourt. The entrance hall or atrium was lavish with fountains, chandeliers and works of art everywhere. It reminded Max more of the entrance to a five star hotel than a house but it wasn't just a display of wealth. The guy had taste.

If anything Bill had understated things. Bish had serious money and serious clout to get permission to build this on prime beachfront land without a neighbour in sight. If it was across the straits in Spain it would probably be worth more than forty million but he had no idea how that translated to Morocco, whatever, impressive was the word.

As they stood outside of the car Paddy glanced at the building and grounds. "Stunning isn't it Max." Max nodded back at Paddy, it was rare that he was speechless but what else could you say?

Ishmail signalled for the trio to follow and took them through to what a plaque on the wall proudly declared to be the guest wing. There were five suites along the stone floored corridor and they were shown into the first available doors with Max taking the final room. They were all identical with huge four poster beds surrounded by thin delicate nets, a bar, a guest bathroom, presumably to save people from having to walk back to their own room, a dining area and a lounge and entertainment area. Max's jaw literally was dragging along the floor. If only Rachel could see this.

The main bathroom was equally spectacular with a shower and steam room, a huge circular Jacuzzi bath and a stone massage table complete with a comfy looking mattress topper. Max could not believe his eyes, he'd slept on beds less luxurious than the massage table. The lighting throughout was sensual and the colours of the walls and soft furnishings vibrant, typical of Andalucia and Morocco. Burnt oranges, blues, rich yellows, terracotta, reds, it was a feast for the eyes and surprisingly calming although that may have had something to do with the faint smell of incense from a few candles strategically placed around the suite.

Ishmail turned to Max. "Is there anything else you need Señor Max?"

"No I'm eh... good thanks Ishmail."

"In that case Señor Bish will meet you all on the main terrace for drinks in thirty minutes. Please make yourself comfortable in the meantime." He turned and walked stiffly as if his body could hardly cope with the sheer size of his muscles.

Max had to shake his head to clear it. He had never expected a weekend like this. He must be dreaming... A quick pinch... Nope it was reality... Well reality if you lived in a world of untold riches.

Drinks and dinner on the terrace overlooking the gardens and beach was exquisite. Bashar was a fascinating host, he rarely spoke unless it was to seek an opinion on world affairs, politics or the state of a particular country or market. Max joined in the conversation and gave his opinions freely but was fascinated by Bish sitting there acting like a sponge. Bish noticed his eyes on him and turned towards him.

"Max, you look curious, as if you have a question to ask, go ahead."

Max was caught in the headlights "I'm sorry Bish I didn't mean to stare and it would be rude of me to question my host."

"Go ahead Max, ask away, it's clear something is troubling you." Bish smiled.

"Well... The conversation has been fascinating but I've noticed that you rarely have an opinion on any of the topics. You introduce them, ask supplementary questions and then watch the game play out. It's not really a question more of an observation I suppose and I'm just trying to get it straight in my head."

Bish laughed as he sat back in his chair. "Ha Max! A very accurate observation I must say. I like to get my friends to sing for their supper." Bish looked pensive as if searching for a word or phrase. "It gives me a how shall we say... a different perspective of what is happening in the world and local markets, the views and feelings of the man on the street if you will. Investors ignore the feedback at their peril and I enjoy listening to the debate and differing viewpoints. People rarely notice that I do not give my opinion. Touche Max." Bish inclined his head in his direction.

"So tell me Max, what is it that you do?"

"I'm just a small businessman Bish, nothing really of interest. I have a small nightclub in the UK, a small property rental and maintenance operation in Spain and I still have some development and land interests in Brazil where I'm trying to get detailed planning permission. It'll take some time to move it forward I'm sure."

Bish sat back in his chair and raised his glass of wine to his lips while keeping his focus entirely on Max. "Interesting. How did you come to own land in Brazil?"

"It's a long story. Let's just say I should have being doing more of what you've done tonight and thought about the man on the street and the global economy. Before the crash I had a pretty successful estate agency and small property development business in Spain which we also expanded to acquiring land in Brazil. I made two big mistakes."

Max shook his head as if recalling it was painful. "Firstly, I trusted a business partner who ran off with a large sum of cash which we had drawn out for black payments and bribes to planning officers. And secondly I just didn't see the warnings of the crash coming. The lack of free cash in the business meant that we couldn't weather the storm and I had to fold the business. It was a very painful time."

"Hmm, Max we all make mistakes eh? Very few people saw the finance crash coming. People were piling into triple 'A' rated mortgage funds up until the crash happened. If they talked to the man on the street rather than the so called professional advisor they would have realised that people were struggling to keep up with their repayments. The house of cards was just waiting to fall. I can't complain. I made excellent money from the crash but I feel sorry for so many losing so much. Not the institutions, the 'average' man who was sold something that he didn't understand."

Bish pushed his chair back and began to stand indicating that the meal was over. "Anyway, enough of the past and enough of business, have you all finished? Yes? Then let us have some entertainment."

He led the way off the terrace to a large lounge that could best be described as looking like a bordello. The floor had the traditional big rugs, masses of scatter cushions and a big low level table on which there was placed a selection of glass bubble pipes or bongs. Ishmail was busy lighting the tobacco or substance, whatever it was, in each of the bowls. There was what looked like a small stage behind the table with big heavy red drapes and light silk curtains covering much of the walls. Bish indicated for everyone to get comfortable and passed round glass filter tips to be used with the pipes. He puffed a few times before taking in a large lung full and blowing delicate smoke rings towards the heavens. Max really felt like a fish out of water holding the tip to his bong while Bill and Paddy were already puffing away merrily.

Bish caught his eye with a questioning look. "Not for me, thanks Bish. I don't do drugs."

Paddy piped up. "Unless it's space cake I hear." Bill and Paddy chuckled away enjoying the joke at his expense.

"It's nothing illegal Max, I drink when my religion says I should not, I have temporary wives which is debatable to some of my religion but I will not smoke anything that is mind-altering. This is a mint and tobacco mixture. I think that you will find it pleasing."

Max attached his glass filter and inhaled. Smoking wasn't his thing but it wasn't unpleasant and he didn't want to offend his host. He was taking his second puff when the evening's entertainment arrived on the dance floor. A beautiful girl with long dark hair and a perfect body began to sway backwards and forwards to the rhythmic music. She was wearing typical belly dancers garb complete with veils, tassels and bells. Her movements were alluring and provocative. She removed the veil covering her magnificent breasts and began to spin the tassels on the end of her nipples. Max was enjoying himself, the last thing he was expecting was a floorshow. The alcohol he had consumed over dinner along with the effects of inhaling the minty smoke had left him feeling extremely mellow and he was spellbound as the girl continued to dance and to remove what little clothing she had until all she was left with was her tassels, bells and a minimal G-string. On her final bow the small audience of four gave her rapturous applause. She left the stage and draped herself over Bish after wrapping herself in a thin silky robe.

The show continued with two girls coming out together and performing mirror image dances. They were much more tactile and were actively teasing Bill and Paddy as part of their routine. Bill had buried his face in the dancer's ample breasts and seemed particularly happy with his lot in life whooping like a pre-pubescent school boy much to everyone's amusement. As the girls finished they dressed in a small robe and sat with Paddy and Bill. Max could see a pattern here. Paddy leaned in to speak over the music.

"The next one's yours Max. It would be very rude to say no. Eating, drinking and whoring together is the Arab way of sealing a business deal. I didn't know that it was going to happen this way today, or I would have warned you, but please be gracious and don't muck it up for me. If we offend Bish all of us will know about it in a big way. Here have another cognac and enjoy."

Max took a slug of the amber liquid and felt it warm right down to his stomach. It was remarkably smooth. He had no idea what to say to Paddy but the silly grin stuck on his face seemed to suffice. He'd never been unfaithful to Rachel, and didn't really want to start now, but he had to admit he was having a really good time and was feeling more than a little horny. As the music changed for the next dancer Max found himself holding his breath. She was gorgeous. About five feet six inches tall, a slim waist, fantastic legs and breasts that seemed out of proportion to her body, her hair was dyed henna red and she had artistic floral henna tattoos running up her fingers and forearms and along her feet and up her legs. Max was mesmerized. Bish leaned over to speak to Max above the noise.

"Her name is Freya. Let her lead the dance with you tonight. After her massage you will walk out of here a new man tomorrow." He chuckled as he moved back into the dark haired girl's arms and watched Freya intently.

When the dance finished and the applause died down, Bish spoke to the girls in an almost fatherly way. "My temporary wives, you have honoured us with your exotic dancing. I ask you now to look after my guests as if they are family; I want them to be relaxed and happy before they sleep. I bid you all good night." With that he put his arm round the dark haired girl's waist and headed out of the room.

Freya grabbed Max by the hand to help him up. "Come Max, my name is Freya and it is my pleasure to look after your needs and to loosen your muscles." It was a strange thing to say but remembering Paddy's words Max decided to go with the flow and let Freya lead him to his suite and into the bathroom. The huge central bath was already full with flower petals floating on the surface and a step at the side to help get up and into it. Freya began to undress Max and as he tried to help his hand was playfully slapped away. "Relax Max, I am in charge." Freya finished undressing him and indicated that he should get into the bath, she still had on her robe which she let slip to the floor before dancing slowly round the bathroom while removing her bells and tassels before finally provocatively bending over to remove her tiny G-string. Max was rock hard and his erection was already throbbing in anticipation.

Freya climbed in the bath with Max and began to wash his arms and chest before moving to his legs and feet. She playfully massaged his feet before pressing on particular spots in a way that Max assumed was linked to reflexology. Freya pressed hard on one particular point on the sole of Max's foot and maintained the pressure for some time. Max could feel the sensation throughout his body although he couldn't really place the feeling... Relaxation? "Pressure on this spot here Max will help cool your ardour. We don't want you peaking too soon, do we?" Freya moved from his feet back up his legs and grabbed his manhood in her soapy hands washing his tip and foreskin with particular care. "Our Arab men do not have this piece." She indicated her thoughts as she playfully rolled his foreskin between her fingers. "It is a shame. They lose much sensitivity and feeling; come you are ready for a massage to relax you."

Max was caught up in the moment and while he wanted to let her lead the way, he also wanted to be sure she had a good time returning the favour of washing her body while sucking at her huge nipples and running his fingers teasingly along her slit. Freya eventually gave in laid back and enjoyed the attention as Max concentrated on her nub and bringing her to orgasm. Her body stiffened as Max bit down on her nipple and flicked her clit. She arched her back and moaned softly while running her nails down his back.

"Max, you are a true gentleman, it is very rare that someone worries about my needs. Come step out of the bath and lay on the table."

He stepped out of the warm water and headed towards the stone table where Freya had placed crisp thick white towels over the comfy mattress. Her cheeks were still satisfyingly flushed but even though they had been intimate Max hopped up onto the bed and lay down on his front to hide his erection. He was feeling self-conscious while Freya mixed fresh aromatic oils with a plain grape oil extract to begin his massage.

"Relax Max, the mix of oils will help restore the balance to your body." _I bloody hope so_ thought Max, _it 's painful lying on a throbbing hard on_. The pressure on his foot had worked for a while but Freya's perfect body and subtle dominance were a complete turn on. She placed a warm towel over his back and began massaging his legs working the knots out of muscles and pinging tendons that Max never knew he had. He could feel the tension leaving his body as she moved up and worked on his back and shoulders cracking nodules and stiff muscles as she went.

Time seemed to pass by and Max found himself drifting off with thoughts of sex subsiding, the massage was just so relaxing. Just as he thought he was about to drop off to the soothing music playing in the background Freya tapped him on each side of his head and asked him to turn over. She placed another hot towel across his manhood and started the same process of working from his feet up to his chest and then his scalp. It was heavenly.

Freya had been wearing a towel round her body for the last half hour or so as Max drifted in and out of sleep. She now dropped it to the floor before removing Max's towel and making him watch as she rubbed warm oil all over her body concentrating on her breasts and running her hand down between her legs. Max's cock jumped to attention and he was suddenly feeling very awake.

Freya poured more oil onto Max's body before climbing onto the table and rubbing her body up and down his. She smiled. "You like Max?"

"Like it? I love it... Mmmm." Freya slid further down his body and took his cock in her mouth teasing his tip with her tongue before sliding back up his body and gently placing his cock at the entrance to her sex. She slid down his length taking him by surprise and forcing him to gasp.

"Hmmm, Max I think you like it. Feel me squeeze you Max." She tensed her internal muscles with such force that Max thought that she would snap him. "My dancing gives me much control, enjoy."

Freya seemed to know exactly how turned on Max was at any point. She rode him gently and as his semen started to rise she would back off or make him withdraw until he calmed himself while she massaged his body with her ample breasts or ran ice cubes up and down his shaft and around his sac. She was playing a game and had total control. Max couldn't take much more.

"Please Freya. I need to come. I can't take anymore."

Finally she slid down his length and upped the rhythm gripping his cock tightly. Max thrust his hips up to meet her body until couldn't hold on any longer and hot spurts poured from him giving him an exquisite release. Freya didn't stop but kept bucking until she also threw her head back coming loudly moments later.

She brought her body back against him and whispered in his ear. "Was that fun Max, did you enjoy? I very much enjoyed."

"Mind blowing Freya, absolutely mind blowing... I just feel so relaxed. It's a cliche but I feel like I'm in seventh heaven." The effects of too much alcohol, mint tobacco, a relaxing massage and fantastic sex had left Max in a soporific state. He just wanted to sleep.

Freya climbed off him and washed their love juices from his groin with warm water and towels before encouraging him to move. "Come Max, you must sleep now, everything will start early tomorrow." Max didn't need a second invitation, he climbed between the rich Egyptian cotton sheets, put his head on the soft duck down pillow and drifted off in to a deep relaxing sleep.

He woke early the next morning feeling totally refreshed. There was no sign of Freya and the bathroom was back to its original immaculate state. Apart from his body being oily and his totally sated feeling it could all have been a dream. That and the fact that the huge flat screen was playing back last night's action leaving nothing to the imagination.

Max ran his hand through his hair and grabbed a towel to cover himself. Fuck! Someone had filmed everything!

He frantically searched for the cameras while the picture of Freya straddling him played back on the big screen. He thought that he could identify a camera woven into a picture and one in the ceiling but with the angles playing back on screen there had to be many more. Fuck! The first time he had ever been unfaithful and some fucker had turned it into a blue movie!

Max showered quickly, dressed and burst into Bill's room, his relaxed state having been totally ruined by the revelations on the plasma TV.

"Bill, Bill... Wake up Bill." He shook Bill out of his mellow stupor.

"For fuck's sake Max... Where's the fire?"

"You won't be saying that when you see what's playing on your bloody bathroom TV... Wake up... Go look!"

"Oh has Ishmail finished the editing already? Fucking great eh Max, your own porn film and you get to star in it. Ishmail will give you the disk over breakfast."

"WHAT? You fucking knew and didn't tell me!"

Bill was now wide awake and looked less than happy that Max had broken his slumber "What's to tell Max? What happens in Tetouan stays in Tetouan, and what happens in this villa definitely stays in this villa. What are you a greenhorn when it comes to a boys' trip? There's a code of honour, nothing is ever revealed at home... What happens on tour stays on tour."

"That's fine for you Bill but I have Rachel in my life."

"Look Max, get over it. You've shagged another girl and don't tell me that you didn't have a good time. If you want to confess all to Rachel that's up to you but you won't find me or Paddy whispering a word... Now if you don't mind, fuck off. I'm going to have a shower while reliving a very interesting evening. I'll see you at breakfast in half an hour." Bill got out of bed stark naked and headed for the bathroom effectively dismissing Max. Conversation over.

Breakfast came and went with no sign of Bashar. Ishmail was running the operation and as Bill had predicted DVD cases were on the table with their names on them acting as a seating plan. Max said nothing over breakfast or on the drive back to the boat. He was lost in his own guilt trip. Bill and Paddy were talking about swapping DVDs. _' Sick_' thought Max. How could he have been sucked in like this?
Chapter 20 - Back to Spain

Once they were back out at sea Max started to relax, probably helped by the boys gentle chiding telling him to get a life and to realise that it had been a weekend to die for. He couldn't disagree. The only bit he was unsure about was if Rachel found out, if she ever did death would not come quickly enough!

Paddy was heading straight towards Gibraltar again ostensibly to refuel but he also said it was easier to go back into Spain via Gib, if asked when they checked back in to Duquesa. There would be a lot less questions about the cigarettes and spices on board if anybody even bothered looking, boats going to Gibraltar to buy tax-free fuel were a common occurrence. After pulling in and loading seven hundred litres of diesel fuel at the CEPSA station, the trip back to Duquesa was uneventful apart from a small pod of dolphins playing in the wake. Max was now actively comparing last night's gymnastics with Bill and Paddy - developing a fairly strong bond with them. They even discussed Bashar preferring payment in diamonds to currency due to scale and transportability. Perhaps there was something to the Arab theory of eating, drinking and whoring together. Maybe it fed the macho bonds but as far as Max was concerned it was a one off. He just hoped that he hadn't caught anything nasty.

An hour or so later the familiar white control tower at Duquesa port came into sight. Paddy carefully manoeuvred the boat to bring them into his berth stern to while Max tied off the lines. Once the boat was secure Max set about giving the boat a wash down before stowing unwanted gear and giving Bill and Paddy a hand to put the heavy bags of spice into the backs of their respective cars. Paddy insisted on a final drink at the Marina bar and gave Max an open invitation to come boating whenever he liked. "It's great to have someone who knows the ropes Max. Thanks for all of your help, you're welcome aboard anytime."

He said his goodbyes to Bill after the short drive back and opened the door to his apartment. The weekend had been fantastic escapism but the reality of life was still here. He had to get back to making decent money to keep Rachel. She deserved it, deserved more and it was his responsibility to do something about it.

_Back to work Max, back to work_. He checked his emails homing in on the weekend sales figures for the club. Not bad. Since he'd got rid of Cristal and Paolo, things were beginning to look up but it was still going to take a long time to get his money back. Some of the profits would have to go into refurbishment as the club was starting to look tired and high end punters did not do 'shabby'. A light bulb came on in his head. Would Bill or Paddy be interested in investing? He'd have to ask.

The next email he opened was from Rachel, she'd booked a flight back over to Spain for this Thursday. The note was very chatty so she was obviously was feeling a bit better about life. She wanted to hear all about his weekend as well... selected bits maybe... but it would be very selective.

The rest of the week flew by, Thursday came round quickly and Max was soon on his way to the airport to pick Rachel up. She seemed genuinely pleased to see him and was quite contrite about just throwing everything in the air and running off to Jenny. She put it down to stress and hormones and Max wasn't going to disagree, anything to keep things on an even keel. He'd even booked her favourite Italian restaurant for later, he knew that would keep her happy.

The next few days went by smoothly and they both got back into the swing of things. Max was still incredibly guilty about his weekend fling and was content to just cuddle up. Rachel thought it was a nice change from him always suggesting sex. Little did she know that he was paranoid that he might have picked up an STD. They also talked. Rachel made her dislike of his druggie friends abundantly clear, although she was pleased to know that Jack had a number of legitimate business interests. He still was on her blacklist though. They talked about the club and what to do with it. The idea of a new investor appealed but it was going to have to get some track record of profits behind it to encourage money out of anyone's pocket. Rachel promised to pull together a one page document with a few key points on it for Max to talk about with Bill. He, in turn, also promised he would talk to Paolo about paying some of the money back even though they both knew that there was a very slim chance of that happening.

For a week or two things were smooth with both of them treading carefully around each other. It didn't take long for the dayto-day grind to start to get Rachel down again though and Max could see that he needed to move things forward. He suggested that they invite Bill and Paddy over for dinner to discuss the club, both were happy to come for a free meal, Rachel's cooking was known by all to be very good.

Over dinner Bill and Paddy tried to be positive. Neither of them had any experience of nightclubs and the investment wasn't for them. They kept what they were really thinking to themselves... _why would anyone want to invest given the track record of problems?_ To them it sounded less like a gold mine and more like a pig in a poke. There only positive suggestion was to talk to Irish Jack. They were sure that he already had nightclub investments and that he was keen to expand. The idea of involving Jack did not sit well with Rachel.

The following day Max drove to San Pedro and headed to the Irish bar affectionately known as 'The Office'. He found Jack in his usual booth near the back alone with his mobile phone and Tablet PC tapping away at his emails.

"Morning Jack, how's things? Have you got a moment for a quick chat?"

"Top of the morning to you Max, of course I've got time for some blarney. How was your weekend with Bashar? I expect you had plenty of fun eh? That boy knows how to entertain I'll give him that." Jack leered across at Max clearly expecting the gory details.

"It was great thanks... Not what I expected at all but very, very interesting if you know what I mean." Max really wanted to change the subject. "Can I get you a drink Jack?"

"Another Spanish coffee would be fine if you're buying." Max waived to the waiter and ordered two Americano coffees with a Spanish brandy on the side. It was a common local pick up in the mornings and a habit that was all too easy to adopt. "Oh and can we have some of the donut type pastry breakfast things please?" The waiter nodded, how he managed to work out what he wanted Max would never know but the correct breakfast and coffees turned up a few minutes later.

"Now what would be troubling you Max for you to come for a chat? I heard that your young lady was none too keen on you being down here... especially after Jochem's tragic accident." Max thought about how to bring the subject up and decided that jumping in at the deep end was probably best.

"I'm told you know a fair bit about running nightclubs and I'm looking for an investor with knowledge of the market to help refurbish my lap dancing club in Basildon. The problem I have is that Rachel and I have ended up with full ownership of the club after our previous business partner ran the business into the ground. We've put a lot more money into it and now it's turning a profit but we really need a partner who has some expertise. We're doing okay but I am sure the club could make much more."

Jack took a sip of brandy and sat back contemplating things.

"Would that be your Pussycats club?" Max nodded.

"Would that be the same club that your brother and his floosy snorted the profits up their nose?" Max nodded again. _How did Jack know the details?_

"Hmm, you see Max there's the problem, if you can't trust your family what makes you think you can trust a new business partner." Jack left the question hanging in the air and tipped the remainder of his brandy into his coffee keeping his eyes on Max all of the time.

It was clear that Jack knew an awful lot about Max's affairs and it was deeply unsettling. The silence stretched before Jack took up the conversation again.

"I'm sure you know the type of investor I am Max, I'll be giving it some thought and chatting about it with Joey... Maybe we can come up with a loan of some sort or a distribution agreement to help give you a bit of cash. I'd not be wanting a stake in the club though - not really my scene. I'll talk to Joey about management contacts for you as well. Now then are ye gonna buy me another Spanish coffee?"

It was clear that the discussion on the subject of the club was over. Max chatted for an hour or so about the Moroccan trip and the spice purchase which caused Jack to rock back with laughter.

"Feckin' hell Max.... What the feck would I want thirty kilos of feckin' spices for??? I t'ink it's you that's the thick Irish Mick here to be sure, to be sure." Jack continued to laugh. "Let's just say that spices disguise the paperwork and sugar very nicely. Feckin' hell Max... you can be so green at times... it's feckin' hilarious."

Max kept a straight face but his insides were churning, he'd been on a drug run and hadn't even known it. The discussions about short term supplies and the busts at the border now made perfect sense. _How na ive could he be and what the fuck was happening to his life?_
Chapter 21 - Not another one!

Max relayed the discussion with Jack to Rachel and put a positive spin on the loan idea rather than having to give up some of their equity in the club. That and the fact that Joey knew a few people in nightclub management who might be prepared to help was all he was going to reveal. At least Rachel's mood picked up a bit on the news, she was desperate for a way out of the current crappy lifestyle.

A phone call from Paddy a few days later did not bode well. He'd been trying to get hold of Bill but wasn't getting any response at the apartment or from his mobile phone; both just kept ringing out to voicemail. He asked if Max had a key and if he could check in to see if it looked like Bill was at home or if he'd headed out on a trip which wasn't that unusual. Ten minutes later Max headed across the apartment gardens and into the underground garage, Bill's car was still in place. He headed up the stairs to his apartment and hammered on the door. No response. He hadn't brought the key over as he expected a response so instead knocked on Sylvia's next door.

"Hi Sylvia, how are you?"

"Max! Come in, come in... how's Rachel? Have you learned to look after that lovely girl of yours? He hadn't even crossed the threshold and he was being admonished... hey, maybe he deserved it.

"She's good thanks Sylvia, and thanks for giving her a shoulder to cry on, it's been a difficult few months. You know how it is." He gave Sylvia the traditional Spanish kiss on each cheek in the safe knowledge that Rudi was now seeing to her needs and it wouldn't be misconstrued. Max had often had to fight her off when she'd been too many sheets to the wind.

"Have you seen Bill about? Paddy has been trying to get hold of him and asked me to come and check. His car's still in the garage but it doesn't mean much. You know what he's like for disappearing for a few days."

Sylvia looked worried. "Now that you mention it, no I haven't seen him and I haven't heard the door to the apartment shut. He's very quiet normally but you always hear these big heavy doors slam. Do you think he's okay?" Max was seriously concerned, Sylvia knew if there was a mouse in the gardens let alone who was coming and going.

"Can I hop over your apartment terrace so that I can have a peek in Sylv? It would be easier than me going back for a key and I really don't want to go into a tenant's apartment for no reason.

Sylvia helped Max climb up on to the dividing wall and jump round onto the veranda. He looked into the lounge but it was immaculate as usual, it was only when he peered into Bill's window that he could see him in bed completely motionless. He banged on the window but got no response. As he shimmied back round onto Sylvia's terrace he delivered the news. "It doesn't look good Sylvia... I think we had better call the police... I can see him in bed but there's no response when I hammer on the window or call for him. At best he's very ill, maybe a stroke or something and at worst he could be dead."

He ran his hand back through his hair pulling it tight while looking up to the sky. "Christ no. Not another one... please."

Sylvia blanched, "He can't be. Max, surely not?"

"I really don't know. Let's just call the police and I'll go and get the keys."

The Guardia arrived ten minutes later. Max had told Sebastian the gardener to bring the police straight up to Bill's apartment in his broken two-way Spanglish and hoped that he had made himself understood. He sat on Sylvia's sofa head in hands waiting for them to come up the stairs.

The clump, clump of heavy boots on the concrete staircase heralded the arrival of the officer well before he strolled through the door with Sebastian in tow.

"Ah, Señor Williams." The double ' _lls_ ' made it sound more like 'Wallyams' than the last time they met. Clearly the officer remembered him.

"So you have found another body? You make a habit of this?" The officer's attempt at humour passed straight over Max's head which caused him to become somewhat frosty. Why should he have to speak English to these people, they were in Spain, his country, they should learn his mother tongue.

He took off his aviator style sunglasses and barked at Max. "You have keys Mr. Wallyams?" Max nodded went to head for the door only to be stopped by the officer raising the flat of his hand to indicate that he should remain seated. "First some facts, Mr. Wallyams. Is this your woman?" He pointed to Sylvia who, presumably attracted to the uniform, gushed out her response.

"No Sir, I'm a single girl, Max is just a friend, the same as Bill is next door." She indicated the general direction by waving her hand. "Can I get you some water or a soft drink while you take down notes officer?" She was in full on simper mode.

" _Gracias, Se ñora, dos aqua sin gas, por favor_." Sylvia was up at a sprint for the boss man and sidekick's water. Remembering she hadn't asked Max, she stopped before going in to the kitchen turning back to him.

"Max, do you want anything?"

"No. I'm fine thanks Sylv."

The officers sipped at their glasses of water and nodded towards Max. "We go."

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door, the putrid smell of death wafted out assaulting his nostrils. Bill must have been lying in bed for a few days and the air-con had not been on. It was particularly pungent in the bedroom. Bill looked as if he was asleep, no pain etched on his face, no blood just a peaceful expression. The junior officer put on his rubber gloves and lifted back the covers examining the body carefully.

" _Si Cabellero. Muerte probable tres, quartro dias, ber lo_?" He indicated for Max and his superior to look at the purple colouring of the skin at the bottom of Bill's back and legs. Max searched for the word 'libidity' that was it, he'd seen it on the CSI programs. The blood settles with gravity to the lowest point and the skin and organs start to degrade. At least this time he was hanging on to the contents of his stomach. Bill's serene expression was in stark contrast to Jochem's brutal death.

The officer rattled off some orders to his subordinate and indicated for Max to follow him through back into Sylvia's apartment where she was waiting expectantly. Max shook his head as he went through the door causing Sylvia to start to weep.

"He was such a nice guy, why does it always happen to the nice ones, Max?"

The questioning from the Guardia took the same line as it did with Jochem but this time Max couldn't fill in any details or phone numbers for the next of kin. He explained that as far as they knew that Bill didn't have any. They were interrupted by the junior officer coming back in with Sebastian in tow. He immediately started speaking Spanish. The senior officer turned to Max.

"He say that the _funeriare_ is here to move the body. The gardener needs your _authorisado_." Max nodded, "Yes, yes that's fine, Sebastian, _gracias_."

"We check body with _el doctor_. If normal, the state arrange a simple burial. It is acceptable to you?"

Max nodded again "Yes, that's okay."

"Well Mr. Wallyams, we have finished here for today." He looked sternly at Max, "No more dead bodies please, it does not look good." With that he got up and strutted out of the door his point made.
Chapter 22 - Bill's treasures

As expected the news of Bill's death and the fact that once again they were dealing with the deceased's personal effects sent Rachel into a tailspin. She really didn't know whether she was coming or going and was increasingly taking out her anger and frustrations on Max or calming them with a bottle of Bacardi. As far as she was concerned it was all Max's fault even when the coroner's report came back confirming that Bill had died of natural causes. He had suffered a massive embolism in his sleep and wouldn't have known anything about it.

The news that Bill's death was natural didn't help; they still seemed to argue like cats and dogs and Rachel was spending more time round at girlfriends' flats than she was at home. Max was left to sift through Bill's belongings on his own. Paddy had come round on the first day but seemed disinterested when nothing of any substance was found in the safe or cupboards. He kept Bill's favourite three quarter leather coat as a keepsake and that was it.

Max was back in Bill's apartment boxing up clothes to go to Adana, a local animal charity, when there was a knock on the open door. In walked Joey with his usual swagger.

"Hello there Max, how ye doing today, I see you're packing up for Bill. Bless him... a sad state of affairs Max... a sad state of affairs."

Max was unimpressed that Joey had sauntered through the front gates unchallenged and walked in to the apartment as if he owned it. "What's it to you Joey? I didn't know that Bill was a particular friend of yours."

"There's no need to be snappy Max, I was offering me condolences all proper like and ye snap me head off for no reason. What's your problem Max? You got a problem with me?"

"Yeah I've got a problem; you turning up here unannounced... Who sent you? ... If Jack is looking for drugs or cash Paddy has already been here and checked the place out... You're too late... Unless Jack takes size ten and a half shoes because there's some very nice ones over there in the corner... too good to give to the charity shop." Max thought quickly on his feet and decided he had better be a bit contrite just in case Joey had any influence over the nightclub decision.

"Sorry if I was a bit snappy, Joey. It just seems like Jochem all over again having to sort through all of the personal items, throw out the bed, and clean up the apartment. It's pretty depressing and to be honest it's been getting me down a bit. Let's start again. How are you Joey, good to see you." Max extended his hand out to shake.

"That's fine by me Max." Joey shook. "To be sure it's bad losing two of them in less than six months, now are you sure that Bill hasn't left any packages around?"

"I haven't checked the air-con unit which is where I found Jochem's stash, oh and I haven't checked the storeroom if you want to look."

He took Joey to the bathroom indicated where the panel was and offered to boost him up with his hands so he could look inside. Joey hopped up and lifted the ceiling grate to get a reasonable view.

"Nope, nothing doing here Max." The storeroom down on the garage level also came up blank.

"Well that's odd one to be sure Max. Bill had asked Jack to shift some gear to Amsterdam only last week as a favour... T'is very strange indeed, but if you and Paddy have checked and now I've checked it must be right." Joey paused and stared hard at Max. "Now if you find the stash elsewhere, like in his car or something, you will be on the phone to Jack won't you Max." It was not phrased as a question more of an order.

"Yeah, no problem Joey... might see you in 'The Office' later in the week."

Rachel had been on the case with Bill's passport and birth certificate scanning any documents she had and sending them over to an heir hunting firm in London. As Max got back to the apartment the news was not good.

"You're not going to believe this Max, but Bill's passport is a fake and according to the company in London, his birth certificate relates to someone who died in their early twenties. There's absolutely no trace of the man or his so called family."

Max took in the papers spread on the settee with Rachel at their centre and shook his head. "Well that's just peachy, what do we do now?"

Rachel thought for a moment. "Go through the rest of his paperwork I suppose, see if there are any more leads, how about that big document box he kept in his bedroom wardrobe? We could go through that later, see if we can track anything down... Someone has to be told Max, he can't just be left unremembered in a pauper's grave."

"Okay, I'll pick the box up after lunch. Remind me to take the cool box over as well and I'll empty anything out of the fridge and freezer that might be useful."

Rachel thrust a plate towards Max from the kitchen. "Let's hope that Bill had decent tastes, here you go - Ploughman's lunch. The short-term renters seem to leave salad stuff and cheese by the ton and I'm running out of ideas as to what to do with it."

Lunch was a quiet affair; Rachel still didn't seem to want to talk about much. She couldn't even be bothered to complain about Paolo and Cristal. Max knew that he was losing her. She was shutting down on their relationship but he had no idea how to fix things.

He wandered back over to Bill's place with the cool box in sombre mood. Why did Paolo always blow all of the money? What a dickhead. His thoughts were running through how to generate cash as he emptied the fridge looking at each packet and either putting them into the cool box as a keep or a black bin bag to throw out later. As he opened the freezer door he was struck by the fact that Bill had three tubs of vanilla ice cream, he could only assume that he'd had a sweet tooth. As he picked up the first tub something just wasn't right. It was heavier than it should be. Max needed to satisfy his curiosity and placed it on the kitchen counter before digging round in the drawers to find an ice cream scoop or heavy spoon.

As he plunged the spoon in to the tub it came to an abrupt stop after piercing the top layer. He moved over to the sink and started to skim the top of the ice cream away to reveal a thickly wrapped black plastic package below. Max instantly knew what it was... Drugs. He spoke out loud as if Bill could still hear him.

"Bingo, so this is where you kept your treasures, Bill. Very clever. Now what do you suggest that I do with them?" He looked up at the ceiling as if expecting an answer.

Max grabbed the other two tubs and plunged the spoons in, same result, solid resistance less than a half inch down. He needed to think, get his mind straight. He placed the tubs back in the freezer and continued his search just in case anything else was stored away in an unexpected place. There wasn't much else to look at. A piece of frozen chicken, some frozen peas that Max poured into the sink just in case and a bag of ice cubes. Max was about to put the cubes and chicken into the cool box when something plastic caught his eye in among the cubes. The ice cubes followed the peas straight into the sink and he ran his hands through the cold mixture coming up with three small plastic bags. He rinsed them off under the tap and patted them dry on the counter top with a tea towel. His breath was coming in short bursts. _Could they be what he thought they were?_

"Well fuck me, you sneaky old bastard Bill... un-fucking believable!"

He grabbed a beer from the cool box, picked up the packets from the worktop, and sat at the dining table in the lounge. He took a long drink from the can to try to calm himself down and ended up almost emptying it. He grabbed another and sat back down just sipping this time to settle himself before he opened the small Zip-Lock packets. He pulled at the first one and let the contents spill out on to the black glass table top. The stones twinkled and sparkled in the artificial light from the downlighters above the table. Max could only guess what he was looking at but was keen to see what the other packs held. He pulled them both open and repeated the operation making sure that he kept everything in three separate piles. He spoke out loud to himself trying to help himself believe.

"Diamonds Max, they've got to be diamonds, you know that Bashar insisted on payment in diamonds so these have got to be diamonds as well haven't they? Come on Max pull yourself together, you've got somewhere around five kilos of drugs and god knows how much in diamonds and nobody knows they exist, think Max think!"

He decided to put everything back where he found it for now, carefully trying to smooth the ice cream back over the top of the first drugs stash and trying to separate a reasonable amount of ice cubes from the frozen peas. Once everything was back in place he poured himself a stiff single malt from Bill's extensive collection popping a hastily rinsed cube into it before stretching out on the corner section of the settee with his feet up.

It was a gift from the gods or more precisely a gift from Bill! His papers were false, he never gave up any information about family or friends. Christ hardly anyone else even knew that he was dead. It was just what Max needed to get back on his feet, there had to be at least two hundred grand of value in the freezer, maybe even more. The diamonds, if they were diamonds that is, were less of a problem, he could take them down to Dominic in Plymouth. He'd be able to tell him what they were worth and what he should do with them. The drugs were another matter. Jack suspected they were here somewhere but he needed to get as much cash as he could to win Rachel round. Max spoke his thoughts out loud again.

"Take the drugs back to the club Max. Paolo can fence them for you and you'll get near street value, it's about time the little shit did something of use." He raised his eyes to the ceiling again talking to the disembodied ether. "What do you think Bill?"

The next hour or so slipped by as he topped up his glass while trying to work out what to tell Rachel and what to keep to himself. In the end he decided that the less she knew the better, it was the best way to protect her if anything went wrong. He'd have to work out how to stash the drugs in the car and a story for driving back to the UK, something that would convince Rachel and keep Jack off his back. He was sure that his crew would still be sniffing around, he'd just have to show his face a few times and bluff things out to try to keep them at bay. He looked at the clock, he really should be getting back to the apartment and going through the paperwork with Rachel. Hopefully she would be starting to wonder where he was but given her frame of mind it wasn't that likely.

Max went to the bedroom and pulled the box of files and papers down from the top shelf. He weighed in his hands and judged that he should be able to put it under one arm and carry the cool box in the other. He gave the apartment a quick check over, rinsed out his whisky tumbler and threw the tins into the recycle bin. Before shutting the door he looked skyward and said a silent thank you to Bill.

As soon as he got through the door to his own apartment it was clear that Rachel had been on the Bacardi and Coke. Thankfully it would mask the smell of whisky on his breath. He sang out a cheery 'hello' and placed the box next to Rachel on the settee where she was watching some chick flick and headed back towards the kitchen.

"Chilli con carne okay for dinner Rach? It won't take me long to sort it out and we can go through Bill's paperwork after dinner once your film's finished."

Rachel was monotone in her response. "Whatever you fancy Max, the film's got about another forty minutes to go."

He rinsed the rice over the sink before putting it on to boil and put two pots of chilli into the microwave from the freezer. He'd start them off there and then switch them to the hob once they were reasonably defrosted. He poured Rachel another Bacardi and Coke and took it in as a peace offering.

"Good film?"

She was curled up on the sofa with her feet tucked underneath her focused purely on the screen, she hardly acknowledged that he was there. "Not bad, let me see the end of it and then we can talk about your day."

Max retreated to the kitchen to plan what he was going to say. Nothing about the diamonds, nothing about the drugs... He needed to get back to sort out problems at the club... that made sense... but why would he take the car? He needed to come up with a reason. Cheap booze! There was a load of good quality booze in Bill's place and he could buy cheap spirits and wine and drive back with them. It would pay for the trip and hopefully Rachel would swallow it as a cover story.

He waited until the film had finished before setting the table, opening a bottle of nice Rioja and bringing out their meals. Rachel seemed very down so Max thought he should lead the conversation.

"I've got a fair bit more done over at Bill's today, the fridge and freezer are pretty much clear and I've boxed up a few of his clothes." Max hoped that Rachel didn't check up. "Oh, and Joey popped in to see if we wanted any help. I told him to see if anyone took the same shoe size as Bill, they're too good to give away to the charity shop, I've no idea why he had so many... How's your day been?"

Rachel snorted "Joey offering help? He's one of your druggie friends isn't he Max? Fat chance that any of them want to help... I bet he was just looking to see if there was anything of value that he could steal, either that or to make sure that there was nothing incriminating in the apartment... Don't bullshit me Max."

"He's not that bad Rach and besides he's already put the word out for a new manager to take on the club. Talking about the club I'm going to have to go back soon to sort out a few problems. I thought I might drive back and take the ferry. There's a load of quality booze in Bill's apartment and if I buy a few cases of wine and beer the trip will pay for itself. It'll make a change from the boring flights." Max watched Rachel's body language and expression and braced himself for the torrent that was sure to come.

"What bloody planet are you on Max? By the time you pay for the petrol and ferry crossing it's not going to be cheap booze. Why do you really want to drive back? Running an errand for your druggie mates are you? Grow up Max! Oh and while I'm on the subject of growing up you still haven't sorted out our problems with your poxy brother."

Max tried to look contrite. "I'm trying babe, I'm trying."

"Don't babe me Max and I'm sick of hearing 'I'm trying'." Rachel spoke the words 'I'm trying' in a squeaky baby type voice while making air quote marks with her fingers. "I'm going to bed Max, you can have the sofa or spare bed. Not that it will make any difference you never come near me anymore anyway." With that she stormed out of the room and slammed the bedroom door.

"Shit, well that went well." As usual Rachel had hit the nail on the head, her intuition was always spot on. In a roundabout way she was right about the drugs, she was also right about Paolo; Max hadn't even bothered chasing him up. The sex was another thing, his guilt at his fling in Morocco was still on his mind and was causing a bit of a mental block, it had been months since they had been intimate. He rubbed his face and hair exasperated, to coin a phrase it was all going Pete Tong.
Chapter 23 - The office

Max slept in the spare bed and grabbed some clean clothes from the airer rather than disturbing Rachel. She hadn't put her head round the door and it was now nine; it looked like she was waiting for him to go out. He called out from the hallway.

"Bye Rachel, I'll be back later on."

He'd already decided on breakfast at 'The Office' in San Pedro to get his story straight with the boys. He headed to his car and roughly ten minutes later he was strolling in to the bar looking round to see if any of the crowd had arrived yet. He was in luck; it looked as if he was the first in this morning. He sat at one of the tables rather than the booths and ordered a full English breakfast and a Spanish coffee. He flicked through the local papers while eating his breakfast. He noted that it looked like the war on drugs was still pretty hot at the Algeciras entry point from Morocco. The Guardia were pictured with a lorry in bits and a stack of one hundred or more black plastic packages similar to the ones in Bill's freezer. From the plaudits in the press it looked like it had been a very good day's work for them.

He was just finishing up his coffee when Jack strolled in with Joey.

"Morning to ye Max, what brings you out at this early hour?"

"Morning Jack. Morning Joey, the usual thing, Jack... wife troubles. I thought I'd be better getting breakfast here than being forced to wear one at home. Rachel is well-known for her fiery temperament." Jack and Joey both laughed.

"If ye have a women scorned Max, t'is best to be out of the way that's for sure. Another beverage? Guinness? Let's go back to the normal booth... I'm a creature of habit so I am."

The drinks arrived as soon as they sat down, Jack rarely had to place an order. The owners knew him so well that they just brought his 'usual' depending on what time of day it was. First thing in the morning was always an Americano with a generous side glass of Spanish brandy.

Max opened the paper to the drugs bust page. "Not one of your crew I hope Jack."

Jack pulled the paper towards him and scanned the article. "The bastards are red hot at the moment; they're making life a tad difficult shall we say." He paused. "On the plus side it's pushing up the street price of sugar but we'd rather life was a bit easier. Isn't that so Joey?"

Joey looked up from a newspaper proving that he could read and not just look at the pictures. "To be sure the Guardia are a pain in the arse at the moment." Max thought it was a good time to chance his arm and dig for more information.

"I thought that the spices were supposed to cover the smell from the dogs."

Jack looked pensive. "I wish it was that easy... Small amounts in a car can be masked with spices and a good coating of Waxoyl spray but when you're shipping large amounts it's not so easy." Joey interjected.

"That and the fact that we might well have a nark somewhere!"

"We don't know that Joey, they might just be getting lucky of late, the small transportation operations are still going to plan aren't they?"

"I still think it smells fishy to me Jack, something's not right." Max sat looking thoughtful before nudging the conversation again.

"So how come they don't check the cars or vans you send back through Europe?"

"Partly luck, mainly good planning on where you put things; or instance, welded in to the door sill or in the spare tyre, behind the headlights, somewhere difficult to find and somewhere you can mask the smell. You also need to avoid the days when the sniffer dogs are out if ye can. It's not so easy."

Jack lent across the table with a questioning look on his face. "Ye wouldn't be thinking of going in to the business would you now Max?"

"No, no, not the business Jack, but I am thinking of taking a load of cheap booze and ciggies back next week to sell in the club. Boost my profit margins a bit if you know what I mean and I was wondering how much interest I might get at the border."

Joey interjected, "Ah, you should be fine. Just keep it well covered with some domestic junk and they won't give you a second look, I used to do it all the time before transporting more interesting things shall we say... but make sure you have a good story. If they stop you it has to be for personal use, like you're throwing a party or something, if they get the slightest whiff that you're going to sell it they'll take the booze and the car."

"Thanks Joey, good advice. It's got to be worth a go though. I can get vodka here at four euros a bottle, stick it in a Smirnoff bottle at the club and I can sell it for two hundred quid. That'll more than pay for the trip! I'll take your advice and make sure it looks like normal family junk in the back though... just in case eh?"

Jack leaned forward again. "Now you're sure that you won't be transporting anything else will you Max...?" He paused looking Max in the eyes. "You've not found anything else at Bill's?"

Max tried to keep a poker face but his insides were churning and he could feel sweat starting to run down his back. "No, nothing of interest. Unless you count the fact that his passport and birth certificate are both false. Rachel tried to get an heir hunting firm to track down relatives for the bit of money in his accounts and more importantly so that they knew he was dead... zip... it was all fake. Apparently William Smith died when he was 24 years old."

Jack nodded slowly. "You know what it's like on the Costa Max, everyone has their little secrets."

He spent another hour or so with the boys swapping small chat before heading home. Rachel unsurprisingly was nowhere to be seen. He pulled the box file onto the table and started to delve through Bill's life. A list of passwords all very cryptic, basically hints or reminders like Julie's old number or GJ plus RC date of birth. He wouldn't be able to do much with them. What he found next came as quite a shock. Cayman Island company accounts and British Virgin Island company accounts. All sent out to Bill with a covering letter referring to his 'investments'. The next few pages gave an insight to what they might be the investments... cash... and lots of it. One million sterling held in a bank in Hong Kong, seven hundred thousand dollars held in a bank he had never heard of in Luxembourg and one million euros plus change held in a small bank in Switzerland. If things didn't work out with the drugs and diamonds this would more than make up for it... a real 'Plan B' although he didn't have any idea of how to get to the cash.

The following day Max got to work on his old Renault Espace in the basement garage taking care to make sure that he was not seen. If anyone came in or out he went back to changing filters and oil saying that he was off on a road trip to the UK and thought that the old girl could do with a service. He stopped short of cutting and welding but did remove the headlights where he found a very useful cubby hole to store a few packs and he also took the rear door cards off to find a useful bit of storage. To get the dogs off of the scent he made sure that everything had a liberal dose of Moroccan spice and found a Spanish under sealer that smelled suitably bad that he daubed under the wheel arches and all over the underside of the car.

_Job done_ he thought. Now to get Rachel on side... easier said than done.

He wandered back up to the apartment prepared dinner and set the table with a bottle of wine and a candle, very cheesy but hopefully Rachel would like it. She'd left a note saying she should be back in around seven. Her bath was already drawn and the Bacardi on the side just needed ice and a splash of Coke added. Max was going all out.

Spot on time the door opened. Max added the ice and Coke and handed the glass to Rachel as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Hi sweetie, bath's run for you, dinner will be about thirty minutes."

"Hmm, the food smells good Max but everything else smells of a rat, what's going on." She stood defensively with her hands on her hips.

"Nothing... I just wanted to talk over dinner... patch things up a bit... I know that we're not seeing eye-to-eye. And I know I've got to sort things out. It would be good to talk Rachel." He looked at her imploringly.

"We'll see, if it smells like a rat and looks like a rat guess what, it's usually a rat."

Rachel wandered off to the bathroom leaving Max to ponder his next move. Things were not going to plan. He needed to get the evening back on track. He heard the bathroom door lock. Another bad sign, Rachel never locked the door.

Dinner didn't go much better. Small talk about the events of the day got little response and you could cut the air with a knife. Rachel pushed the rest of her dinner to the side of her plate and put her knife and fork down. She really didn't have much of an appetite. "Okay Max spill it." He was caught in the headlights and lowered his gaze suddenly finding his vegetables very interesting.

_Well here goes nothing_ , he thought. "I've decided to drive back to the UK later in the week. I've loaded up the booze and serviced the car and I'm heading out before the weekend." There he'd said it, no going back now.

Rachel sat back in her chair dramatically. "Great and we were going to discuss this when?!"

"We're discussing this now aren't we? Don't make this difficult Rachel."

"Difficult, what could be more difficult Max? I don't know you anymore. Cards on the table Max I think it's best if we take a break from each other. Get back to me when you sort out the mess with your brother and the club." Max went to speak but Rachel threw up her hands. She needed to end this before she burst into tears.

"End of conversation. Call me when you have some news, have a good trip." She made it to the bedroom and locked the door behind her. She collapsed on the bed sobbing. It was finally over, clearing up the mess of their joint finances and projects would take time but the key decision had now been taken.
Chapter 24 - Drive to the UK

Max was mortified by the way the evening had gone. He was stunned after all they had been through together that Rachel had thrown in the towel and all over the ridiculous nightclub and money owed by his brother. Why now? They'd been through worse. He couldn't imagine life without her. He needed to get his arse in gear and get things fixed. There was no point in trying to discuss things once Rachel dug her heels in; that was it. It was a quality he admired. She'd put up with things for so long, and then look out if you were on the receiving end. He had to put things right. Get back to the UK, sort out the club, and get the gear shifted.

Rachel left the house very early creeping out while Max was still dozing on the settee. No goodbyes, nothing. She had nothing to say and didn't want another re-run of last night. Max with one eye half opened heard the front door click, jumped in the shower and grabbed a suitcase. He flicked through his drawers but didn't have to think too much. White T-shirts, blue jeans, underwear and socks, pretty easy really. He decided that he might as well get on the road as hang around moping. If he took his time and stayed somewhere overnight he'd have some thinking time. It had to be easier than trying to drive to the port in one ten hour hit as previously planned. He felt empty as if he had a gaping hole in his stomach; driving would give him a distraction.

The first few hours past Malaga and heading up towards Granada sped by without Max noticing much of anything. He was driving on autopilot following the signs to Madrid. He turned in to a service station with cheap fuel to top up the tank, grab a drink and take a comfort break. He needed to pull himself together before hitting the heavy traffic of Madrid. He knew that he just wasn't concentrating as his mind replayed last night and the highs and lows of his relationship with Rachel. If he didn't stop sweeping his hand through his hair he was going to end up bald!

Back on the road he settled in to driving with vast areas of olive trees providing the scenic view against a backdrop of mountains in the far distance. Just how many olive trees were there is Spain? He'd been driving past them without a break for at least an hour. The roads were pretty empty but he was seeing the same few cars and vans heading north presumably towards the ferry ports or on up into France. It wasn't that unusual. As he pulled in for his next pit stop, a white Mercedes Sprinter looked as if it was going to follow him but ended up going past. Maybe the driver was tired, it was easy to just fixate on the car in front.

After re-joining the road heading north he passed the next rest stop to see the white van edge out onto the carriageway and take up its position behind him... Was it following him? It was easy to imagine all sorts with the precious cargo he was carrying. He reached the outer ring-road for Madrid which normally sorted the cars and traffic like shuffling a pack of cards. He put his feelings down to paranoia and started to concentrate more on the road as the traffic got heavier. Despite the increased volume of cars, he always preferred to go straight through the middle of Madrid, the ring roads took you dramatically out of the way and were a bit of a pig to navigate with two or three roads running parallel all signing similar exits. Generally the central route was easier, quicker and better on fuel due to the shorter distance.

An hour later and he was through the other side of the city out in the suburbs and passing the old motor racing track on the far side heading towards Bilbao. It looked as if white van man had also decided to go through the centre as he was sure he could see him four or five vehicles back. Maybe just imagination... he had plenty of time to keep an eye out. He planned to stop the night at Lerma which would leave him a two to three hour drive the following day allowing a late sleep in and a decent lunch before catching his booked evening ferry to Portsmouth. The lack of food in his stomach was starting to contribute to the emotional pangs after last night's break up. He'd have to try and eat.

He pulled over into a larger rest area with the usual _venta_ , in essence a cheap and cheerful roadside cafe, offering the _Menu del Dia_ for a ridiculously low eight euros fifty. He didn't know whether he could face a whole meal but at least it would get him off the road and he could relax. As he parked up he kept his eyes on the road. The white Mercedes Sprinter cruised past.

As he expected his appetite just wasn't up to much. The chicken soup and bread roll starter was all he really needed. He pushed the pork cutlet and _patatas fritas_ around his plate trying to force himself to take a few more mouthfuls before eventually giving up leaving ten euros on the table and heading to the rest room. He looked at himself in the mirror, black circles around his eyes stared back at him along with two days of stubbly beard. He looked and felt like shit.

Two hours later he pulled off at the turn for Lerma. The white van had been with him for much of the way but he relaxed as he saw it sail past the turn and continue towards Bilbao. It must have all been in his head. The entrance to Lerma was spectacular. A windy little road led to a huge stone gate which, once driven through, gave way to a narrow high street. Continuing for a couple of blocks, there was then a spectacular main square and the palace of some fifteenth century duke. It had been a key staging post for the Crusades but Max had never been one to take much notice of the history; he just loved the look of the building and the lively atmosphere in the cafes around the square. The palace was now a Parador, a government run luxury hotel, but a room there would cost a lot more than Max wanted to pay. Instead he parked up and walked round the corner where he was pretty sure that he had seen some small family run inns, ideal for what he wanted and less than half the price. He checked in at the first one with available rooms, took a shower and tried to get some sleep.

He slept fitfully through the night playing out the problems of the last year with Rachel in his mind. How could he have possibly let it get to this? She was the most important thing in his life and he'd cocked up big time. When he did sleep for an hour or so he woke in a cold sweat unable to remember the dreams that brought the sweating on. The morning sun on the bedroom window was a welcome sight and an excuse to get up and stop tossing and turning. He showered, shaved and then wandered to the town square to get some breakfast. As he walked past the parked cars he checked for the white van and looked to see if his cherished old Renault was okay. It was still there but something looked off. He quickened his pace and opened the car. He was sure that some of the items in the back had been moved but nothing had been stolen... weird. As Max turned to shut the door his heart hiccupped. The front door card had clearly been tampered with, by the looks of things it had been levered off enough to see into the cavity before being re-secured in a rush. Someone knew about the drugs!

He checked the back doors... untouched... He looked round the headlights... untouched. His cargo was still in one piece but clearly someone suspected him...

Max spoke out loud to himself. "Fucking Irish Jack or his tosspot henchmen, fuck, fuck, fuck!" He stamped his foot and balled his fists in frustration.

As the panic eased he swept his hand through his Hugh Grant floppy hair, his usual nervous tick or tell and clasped his hands at the back of his head. What the hell was he going to do? Clearly they hadn't found the drugs but it wouldn't stop them trying again. He was going to have to be more careful.

He chose a bar where he could watch his car while he forced himself to eat some breakfast and drink some warm milky tea. His stomach was churning but he had to try to eat and drink. His thoughts turned again to his relationship troubles and he picked up his mobile to send a text to Rachel.

_Hi Rach, Got as far as Lerma last night, missing you terribly, I will get things sorted, don 't give up on me yet. All my love Max. xxx_

He pressed send. He hoped for a reply but didn't particularly expect one. He headed back to the hotel, settled his bill and got back on the road. He had plenty of time to catch the ferry at Santander and made a few detours through towns and villages to throw anyone following him off of the scent.

He arrived early for the ferry and joined the back of the short queue of cars that had already formed next to the lane of trucks where drivers were using the waiting time as part of their required breaks. Tachographs were frequently checked on long distance trucks and a decent rest time helped the hours that could be driven when they got to Portsmouth. Max scanned the waiting cars and commercial vehicles. The Mercedes Sprinter was nowhere in sight. That had to be good news, perhaps they had given up.

He reclined his seat opened the windows and watched as the Guardia walked up and down the line of trucks. His breath caught as he spotted a brown and white springer spaniel working on a long lead presumably looking for drugs. He broke out into a sweat. What if they checked his car? Would the spice really mask the smell? Should he turn round and go or would it just draw attention to him? The dog suddenly started scrabbling at the side of a Spanish truck and the Guardia swooped on the driver. The scene quickly escalated as more officers joined the fray and the truck was systematically dismantled where the dog had indicated. They had clearly hit pay dirt. Luckily for Max the commotion was still ongoing as the ferry started to load up, they had their big score for the day and didn't need to look further. He breathed a sigh of relief conscious of the sweat running down his back and pooling on the seat. He was a mess, emotionally and physically.

With the car parked up he got off of the car deck as quick as he could and headed up on deck. He watched the loading operation checking every vehicle that came on board. When the doors closed he was happy that the Mercedes van hadn't joined the ship. Maybe he could relax now and get some sleep.

He sent another text to Rachel:

_On board safely and heading for the UK, will let you know when I arrive. Love you. Max xxx_

He slept better on the crossing, maybe it was the rocking of the waves or perhaps it was just exhaustion catching up with him. Whatever it was he woke the next day feeling refreshed and with a steely resolve to follow his plan through. The daytime section of the ferry trip dragged until The Isle of White came into view meaning that he would soon be disembarking at Portsmouth. From there it would be a two and a half to three hour drive to Basildon. He'd phoned ahead and arranged to stay over at Paolo's. They needed to talk.
Chapter 25 - Back in Blighty

The M3 and M25 flowed quite well and Max made good time. He pulled up outside Paolo's at around half past nine and knocked on the door. He was greeted with a warm embrace from his brother.

"Good to see you brother, how was the trip?"

"A cup of tea would go down very well but I can't complain, the drive through Spain was stunning and the ferry is a pretty relaxed way of travelling for the second day. Is Cristal about?"

"No she's dancing and won't be back until the early hours, so we've got peace and quiet for a while."

Max and Paolo sat in the small lounge catching up on family gossip before he dropped the bombshell.

"I've got some bad news as well Paolo, don't take this personally, it would probably have happened anyway but the strain of the club and the amount of money that I've had to put into it has put enormous pressure on my relationship with Rachel. She's given me an ultimatum to sort it out and until it's sorted..." Max paused looking down at the floor. "Well let's just say that we're taking a relationship break at the moment."

"You've split up with Rachel!?"

"Yeah... well... Rachel has split up with me until I sort this mess out with the club. What's the chances of you repaying some of the money Cristal stuffed up her nose? I hate to ask you Paolo but I need to show that I'm not ignoring her concerns."

Paolo was taken aback. "Look Max, I'm really sorry about what happened with the club, but we haven't got any money. Cristal was going to ask you to pay some money to us for our share not the other way round."

"For fuck's sake Paolo, how fucking thick is she? She didn't put any money into the venture when she was supposed to have paid in fifty grand cash for her share of the business. She didn't pay a fucking penny! You do know that she used the money in the company account to make the payments to the seller don't you. That money was there to pay the tax bills. They're on my back as well now."

Paolo could see that Max was enraged by the comment but pressed on.

"Well that's not really true Max, she did pay ten grand towards the first capital payment; the problem is that it wasn't her cash, she sort of took a loan from one of her pals... one of her not very nice pals."

"Not my problem Paolo, she's ruined my life. What part of that don't you get? Rachel has split up with me because Cristal has bled us dry. She lied about having money. She lied about the club making cash when she was spending it on coke. She didn't pay any of the bills for how long... nine months... a year? So she must have been spending four grand a week and all the time Paolo you didn't ask a single bloody question about where the money came from." Max couldn't stay seated and started to pace around the room.

He waved his arms around angrily. "What happened to blood being thicker than water Paolo? Why didn't you protect my back like I have for you?"

Paolo looked down at the floor. He couldn't look at his brother.

"I don't know what to say Max. You know that I'm crap when it comes to money and business. Punters were coming in and spending money so I just assumed everything was okay, I didn't know she was paying the past owner out of the company account. I've never even seen a statement."

"For Christ's sake Paolo... I only invested because you were going to look over everything, you were going to protect my back and now look at the fucking mess I'm in. A club in deep trouble, seventy grand out of pocket and a ruined relationship, thanks brother! Anything else you'd like to add? Do you want me to give you a knife to finish me off? I take it that I'm in the spare room as normal. Just make sure you set Cristal straight before she starts yapping at me in the morning because I won't be holding back with opinions." Max looked directly at Paolo before making his next comment.

"And just to be clear Paolo, I don't give a flying fuck about the ten grand. She owes me five times that. Paying it back is your problem, not mine. Good night Paolo, see you tomorrow." Max didn't wait for a reply. He grabbed his holdall from the hallway and walked up the stairs. God knows how long it would take him to calm down enough to go to sleep. He decided to text Rachel.

_Hi Rachel, How are you? I 've arrived safely at Paolo's but things haven't got off to a good start. Paolo is pleading that he's broke and that Cristal 'borrowed' the money she actually put into the business from some low life. I'll keep plugging away tomorrow. I love you. Xxx_

He put the phone down but it pinged telling him he had a message. His hopes built up when he saw that it was a reply from Rachel, but they were soon dashed by the terse tone of the response:

_Not my problem Max. Good luck with it. Let me know when it 's sorted. X_

Shit, she could be a hard nose bitch at times. Maybe a phone call would be better. He dialled her mobile and waited. "Come on Rachel pick up."

"Hello Max, glad to see that you've finally decided to try to sort things out with Paolo and Cristal."

"Well I am trying but it's not going to be easy, Cristal is dancing at some other club so I can't talk to her direct and Paolo is fretting about the money they borrowed to put into the club in the first place."

"It's not our problem, tell them to take out a loan or something. I told you I'm not prepared to live like this anymore. Call me when you've got some news. Night Max." Rachel hung up leaving him staring at his phone. Jesus things were bad. Sleep did not come easily.
Chapter 26 - Visit from Jack

Things didn't get any better over the next few days: a screaming match with Cristal who seemed to think that she'd get her legs broken without some money to repay her unsavoury friends; Paolo asking if he would mind getting some digs elsewhere to ease the pressure on him; and oh, the club was trading like shit.

Max decided to go hands on. He fired the manager, illegally moved in to the upstairs section of the club and set about trying to turn around his fortunes. He spent his days cleaning up the place and the evenings trying to upsell punters, although the girls were very good at extracting extra cash from the clientele. All thoughts of dealing with the drugs in the car and the diamonds in the freezer went out of his mind. _Basics, I 've gotta get back to the basics_, thought Max. It had always been drummed into him.

He'd been managing the club for around ten days when he was greeted by a stocky looking guy in a suit who wanted to talk to the boss. Not your normal time for an appointment mind you, ten thirty at night was not what you would call office hours.

The man leaned on the bar and smiled at Max. "Hello mate, I'm looking for a geezer named Max who runs the place."

"Well you've found him."

He held out his hand crushing Max's hand in his. "The name's Vince, I'm your co-owner."

Max looked at him quizzically "There must be some mistake. I own this place outright, you can check at Company's house If you like. Last time I looked the shares were held in my name and my partner's name." Max continued to polish glasses.

"Well you see that could be a bit of a problem. We might just have a bit of a difference of opinion. I lent Cristal ten large one's when she took over the club to put into it, now she tells me that she's nothing to do with it and that you'd sort it out and square me up, so as I see it I'm your co-owner."

Max leaned on the bar to emphasise his point "That fucking bitch has taken me for seventy grand join the queue and try to get your money out of her, you're looking in the wrong place here mate. You need to be talking to Cristal. She probably stuck it up her nose to keep her drug habit going."

Vince looked less than pleased and was starting to get a bit aggressive about things throwing out a few threats when Irish Jack walked into the bar.

"Hello Max, me old mucker, how ye been keeping? Got a drink for an old pal? JD on the rocks if you've got it."

"Jack! What are you doing here?"

Jack ignored Max, placed one elbow on the bar, and stared directly at Vince.

"And who might you be? Giving my pal here a bit of a hard time are ye?"

"It's none of your business mate. It's between me and him. He owes me ten grand."

Jack turned his head to Max and lifted his eyebrows in a quizzical way. "Would that be right Max?"

Max explained the problems with Cristal borrowing money to put into the club and then spanking it all on drugs. Jack stood tall looking down on Vince.

"Well it's pretty clear to me that you have no business here. I suggest you jog on back to your hole in the ground and leave my pal alone."

Vince did not look happy and squared up. "Who the fuck do you think you are sticking your nose in my business?"

"Oh sonny boy, I don't have to think about who I am. I know who I am, Irish Jack to me pals and 'Sir' to lowlifes like you. Now don't get antsy, I wouldn't want to have to get the boys to pay you a visit. Before you do anything stupid check with your boss but keep the fuck off my turf and your nose out of my pal's club."

Vince went to take a swing but Jack caught his fist in mid-air while delivering a Glaswegian kiss with his forehead. The crack of bone was audible and a claret stain spread across Vince's face and down his crisp white linen shirt. Taking advantage of him being stunned Jack pulled the fist he had held in his hand around Vince's back and cranked it up to the shoulder, physically shoving him out of the door.

Once outside he put his head close to Vince's ear.

"Now you stupid fucker, you've no idea who you're dealing with have ye? I've asked you nicely to fuck off. Now if you hassle this place again you'll be disappearing in an Irish peat bog or taking a swim off of Southend pier in a concrete overcoat... Do we have an understanding sonny boy?"

Vince nodded.

"Good... now feck off." Jack heaved Vince forward and he clattered onto the pavement from where he threw a few choice swear words and threats in Jack's direction.

It was water off a duck's back to Jack. He walked past the stunned doorman and back into the club where his JD was waiting for him.

"Quite a performance Jack I must say. Drinks on the house. Here help yourself." Max placed the bottle on the bar along with a large glass of ice and some tongs. "Thanks for sorting him out although I'm sure Jimbo on the door would have set him on his way."

"So Jack, what brings you here?"

"Well you know I have a few different business interests and I was in the area. I thought I might just drop in to say hello and have a little nosey around if you know what I mean."

Max nodded but didn't say AND... which was what he was thinking.

"Are you going to show me around then Max and introduce me to your team?"

He gave Jack the full tour, which didn't take long and introduced him to a few of the girls. Jack took an instant shine to Lynette but she gave him the brush off as he was a friend of the owner.

She turned to Max. "You know my rules, paying clients only... free dances aren't my thing."

Jack was still enthralled. "She's a feisty one you have their Max."

"There's no doubting that Jack. She's our top earner and regularly takes home a thousand a night cash in hand on a weekend. She won't put up with any funny business and can put a bloke in his place in a minute. Mind you the punters love her and buy her champagne by the bucket load. There's a lot easier fish to catch Jack, that's all I'm saying."

Jack seemed undeterred buying Lynette drinks and champagne until a regular dance customer came in. She made her excuses and moved on. Jack chuckled to himself.

"And they say that the men are predatory in this type of place. They've no idea until they've seen a smooth operator like Lynette. That guy is going to be a few hundred quid lighter before he knows it... It must be fun watching it unfold."

Jack cast his eyes around the bar area. "It's a shame that the place is looking a bit tired Max, it really could do with an update, it doesn't really carry off the late night smooth bar scene does it?"

Max nodded. "Yeah, fair comment, it could do with a refurb but I just don't have the cash to do it up at the moment."

He looked directly at Max. "It's not a problem, you could earn some extra cash driving for my transport business, you'd soon have enough to do the place up, either that or I could arrange a refurb for you if you know what I mean Max... " He left the comment hanging in the air.

Max was nonplussed. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, come on now Max. You've heard of insurance haven't you?"

Coming round to midnight the bar was starting to get busy and Max had less time to talk to Jack, he seemed happy though, talking to a couple of regulars and Lynette when she wasn't extracting money from clients.

Jack waved him over "Max, I've got to head off soon but one more thing... I see your car has a new paint job underneath... Ye wouldn't be holding out on me now would ye? I wouldn't like to think that Bill had a few packages and that you forgot to share..."

Max hoped he had managed to keep his face straight. "No Jack, I just painted the bottom like you told me to hide the smell of the extra ciggies, worked like a dream... Thanks for the advice."

"I'll be seeing you soon Max. Lynette thank you for your company, it was a pleasure." With that Jack walked out of the door.

Max broke his own rules and poured himself a stiff drink, thoughts rushing through his head. What the fuck was that about? And what did he mean by arranging for a refurb? He had to somehow get out of Jack's clutches. Jochem was right. The guy was dangerous.

It was ten days later when a refurbishment of the club was enforced by a car being reversed through the doors. Was it Vince who organised it? Or was it Irish Jack?
Chapter 27 - Plymouth

The drive down to the West Country was a real bore, nose to tail on the M25 before finally freeing up on the M4 towards Bristol and then down the M5 to Plymouth. Roughly a five hour, three hundred mile drive, a real ball breaker. Max hated driving long distance in the UK, it was just so tedious. He took a break along the M4 for a bite to eat and to see if he could book ahead for the Travelodge at Drake's Circus in Plymouth. It would probably take him at least another couple of hours to get there and all he wanted to do was get his head down and to be able to stop thinking about his problems in life. He was in luck, two rooms left and one at a decent rate. He could arrive, shower and get some sleep.

As he pulled back onto the motorway he nervously looked for cars coming out at the same time - was he being tailed? He didn't think so, no harm in being careful though. As he got to the outskirts of Plymouth he started to relax, forty minutes later he'd parked his trusty old car, checked in, found his room and hopped in the shower, the warm water running down his back was bliss, he would sleep well tonight before meeting with Dominic in the morning.

Max woke early, shaved, put on a clean T-shirt and jeans before heading into town. He stopped at a greasy spoon near Drake's Circus shopping centre for a bacon roll and coffee trying to decide how much he was going to tell Dominic. He picked up a discarded newspaper and flicked through absent-mindedly. He and Dominic went back years together and Max knew that he could trust him but he really didn't want to give out more information than he needed to and he certainly didn't want to bring any trouble to Dominic's door. It was going to be a tough call.

As he started reading the property adverts for the second time he realised that he was just putting off going to the shop. He really didn't want to be judged by Dominic in the same way that Rachel seemed to do lately. She could make him feel like he was a naughty child with just a look. If a prize falls into your lap and the owner no longer needs it, do you really have to hand it over to an unknown lawyer or police department? He had rationalised the argument many times in his head.

He settled up with the cafe owner and headed out of the door and past a few shops before entering Cornwall Street. With very few shoppers up and about this early Max could see the big old clock still hanging outside of Sterling's High Class Jewellers from a good distance away. It always looked majestic with its huge white enamel dial face, black numerals and black and gold casing hanging from a wrought iron bracket. It had graced the front of the shop for three generations but was largely ignored as a local landmark.

Max swung open the door and an old-fashioned bell on the back of the door clanged noisily alerting people to his presence. It fitted the style of the shop perfectly, but the very obvious high tech cameras, smoke cloak and sirens fitted around the shop showed that it was anything but vintage when it came to security. Dominic had always had a bent for technology and with small jewellers being robbed on a regular basis you needed every deterrent and piece of crime fighting technology on your side.

As he stood on the threshold he was greeted by a pretty young shop assistant with a name badge.

"Good morning Sarah, my name's Max Williams. Dominic should be expecting me if he's in yet, is he still a late riser?" He winked at Sarah causing her to blush.

With a 'just a moment please', Sarah scuttled out back to locate Dominic who came out from the rear of the shop, shook Max's hand and threw his arms around him.

"Max! It's been too long. I don't have enough hours in a week to come out to Spain. You really need to come home more often." His hug and grin were totally genuine putting Max at ease.

"I know Dom, it has been too long but it's the same out there as here, life's pretty hard and I have to work bloody hard just to keep my head above water, it's not all sunbathing and parties you know!"

Dominic finally released his hand and stood back. "How's Rachel?"

Max's head slumped. "Things aren't so great at the moment if I'm honest Dominic, I need to look after her more so I thought that I'd come to the best jeweller in the country to make her something special. Hey, more importantly how are your Mum and Dad. You're starting to look more like your old man than ever!"

Dominic was about five foot nine, medium frame, with intense blue eyes hidden behind silver framed glasses that he regularly looked over the top of. His hair, once jet black, was now decidedly salt and pepper coloured and it was clear that he would follow his father's colouring and probably end up with perfect silver hair - Sterling by name and sterling silver by nature. Not that Dominic would complain if he was half as active as his father at his age he would be happy.

"They're both great thanks Max. The old man still checks up on me occasionally in the winter, that's if he's not watching Plymouth Pirates play rugby. In the summer the only time I seem to see them is if the family goes out on the boat. Last summer was great, he taught the kids to catch their own mackerel, fillet them and cook 'em. Lizzie was pretty unimpressed with the state of the kitchen but the kids loved it. Come on, let me take you out back and get you a coffee, still black no sugar?"

After catching up on the general gossip, family news and having detailed discussions about Max's impromptu appearance on the southern area news, Dominic sat back in his chair.

"Okay Max spill the beans, it's great to see you but you said something about problems with Rachel and wanting me to make something, what gives?"

He reached in to his pocket for one of the packets of stones. "Dom, I want you to promise that you won't breathe a word of what's said today or tell anyone what you see today. Not even Rachel or Lizzie, it's really important to me that this is just between the two of us."

Dominic laughed nervously as he smoothed a piece of black velvet out on the table. "Blimey Max, you've not made me promise something like that since you thought that you had Millie Bridger pregnant. What have you got there? Let me see."

Max pulled open the small bag and let the dozen or so stones spill out onto the cloth. Dominic was transfixed. Cut and polished diamonds was not what he thought Max would have in his pocket.

He let out a low whistle. "Well aren't you full of surprises. Not what I was expecting!"

Ever the professional he rapidly pulled himself together and got his loop up to his eye to examine the stones.

"Are they real Dom? I've done a bit of research and used a tester off the web and think they're kosher, but I know that you would tell me if they were fakes or dud's." Max paused hoping for an instant answer...

"Whoa slow down Max, I'm not a machine. So far I've only looked closely at this one. He held it between his finger and thumb up to the light as if to emphasise the point. If they're all like this you're laughing. It's a good stone."

He continued to look through his loop and started a commentary for Max, "Round brilliant cut diamond, looks as if it was probably mined in Russia but I would need to do more tests to check that, looks to be about three quarters of a carat... Excellent colour or I should say colourless? Could even be grade D, I'd need to look at it under a better scope. Internally flawless as well by the looks of it and the cut is very good. Roughly four grand on the web I would say from one of the GIA wholesalers." He compared the stone in his hand with those on the velvet. "Most of the stones look to be in the three quarter range, probably not all are as good as this one but you have got to be looking at fifty big ones, maybe even more."

Dominic turned slowly and looked directly at Max. "Where did you get them Max... or don't I want to know?"

"Dom, you know that I'm crap at lying. All I am prepared to say is that they aren't stolen and I have them legitimately." Max went to his pocket and pulled out the other two packets.

"There's only ten in this pack but they are a lot bigger so I assume that's another seventy grand and the final pack is pretty similar to the first one but there's twenty five stones from memory. So as long as this lot are real I'm on a winner then. I've gotta be honest Dom I really could do with some luck to help sort out the club."

Dominic let out a long slow whistle. "Shit Max, you haven't got an effing clue what you've been walking round with have you?! Prices of diamonds rise exponentially with their size. One of those big stones could fetch fifty grand alone if the four C's are right."

Max looked confused. "Speak English Dom, what do you mean by four 'C's'?"

Dominic peered over his glasses making him look like a schoolteacher before giving his lecture.

" _Carat_ which is a measure of the size. _Cut_ which is the shape. _Colour_ which goes from perfectly colourless to tinged yellow, purple, blue or brown for example. And finally, _Clarity_ , is it completely clear or does it have any inclusions or marks in it? The one diamond I've just looked at is near perfect... " Dominic picked out one of the bigger stones put his loop to his eye and checked it.

"A quick look at this one Max tells me that it's top notch as well. I can't bloody believe it." He bounced the stone in the palm of his hand. "I'm guessing but say two carats, or in other words a serious amount of dosh and you're walking round the streets of Plymouth with them in your jeans pocket - unbelievable."

"Listen Max, we go back a long way but if these are hot I'd prefer it if you put them back in your pocket and walked straight back out of the door. I don't deal in stolen property, everything in this shop and about this business is legit. I just can't risk anything dodgy. Reputation is everything in this business."

"Cross my heart and swear to die Dom. As far as I am aware the stones are completely legal. My source used to keep them as an investment or asset just like some people hold gold."

Dominic rarely missed a trick and looked intently into Max's eyes. "You said 'used to' Max... In other words you're talking about your source in the past tense. Did they leave them to you in a will or something?"

Max shuffled on his seat, he felt really uncomfortable under Dominic's gaze. He never could lie to him. He caved. "Okay, yeah it's past tense. They came from a guy I knew out in Spain who died of natural causes. Rachel and I organised his funeral and cleared his apartment and I came across these hidden away. We've tried to trace his family and even contacted one of those heir hunting companies but they say that the details on his passport are completely false. Apparently the person whose name he assumed died years back when they were twenty-four. They reckon that there's no point in going any further and that any assets will just end up with the state. ...Well they would've done if he died in the UK, but I don't know the rules in Spain to be honest."

He flicked his hand through his hair. "Look Dom, my logic says he doesn't need them anymore and he clearly doesn't want anyone to know who he was or where he was. I'm not going to hand them over to some policeman in Spain for them to disappear; they weren't interested in the guy anyway as far as they were concerned it was an open and shut case of a codger dying in their country." Max leaned back in his chair waiting for a response. As far as he was concerned there was little else to tell.

"Sounds dodgy to me Max, are you sure that the club wasn't targeted because you've got these? People get killed for much less. Be honest with me Max, first I see you on the news getting a car reversed through your front doors and your club going up in flames, then you bring these to me. It sounds like something out of a spy novel, it doesn't happen every day does it?"

"I really don't know whether I want to be involved mate."

"I can see it looks bad Dom, but, I've not stolen them and no one else has a claim to them. As for the club the police reckon it's some Muslim nutter. They've already got him in custody and the Sarge dealing with it reckons that it's a slam dunk. It's just about how long he goes down for so the answer has to be no, it's all just coincidences. It just looks bad that's all, nothing else."

Dominic stared at Max without saying anything for what felt like an age before taking a decision. "Okay, I believe you, you're either telling the truth or you've finally learnt to lie which is pretty unlikely. So here's what we're going to do. Let's start with you picking out the stones that you want me to make up for Rachel. I'm assuming an engagement ring and a necklace unless you've got other ideas, I've got a catalogue or two over here that you could look through to work out some designs, whether you want white gold, yellow gold or platinum as a setting. There's pictures of lots of different designs to choose from. Here let me show you what's hot in the London market at the moment."

Dominic got up and opened the large safe door to his right and pulled out a fantastic looking diamond ring with a large centre stone with two offset smaller diamonds to the side. It looked very Art Deco and as if it cost a packet.

"Shit Dom, that's lovely but I can't afford something that big."

Dominic couldn't help but laugh. "So says the man with a pocket full of diamonds, you're a dopey git at times Max. I'll use one of your bigger stones and two smaller ones. No charge from me but you'll have to pay for the setting which I'm sure you can afford from the quarter million quid or so you've got here."

"Shit... that much?"

"It could be more and stop saying _shit_ , you sound as if you're verbally challenged. Now the rest of the stones will take some time to go through and grade. I could produce paperwork for each one but to be honest Max if I try to shift these with my grading certificates there will be a lot of questions asked. The auction house that I use in Birmingham specialises in jewellery and stones but check the provenance of goods carefully, that and the fact that I'm normally a buyer rather than a seller would probably raise a few smoke signals. You'd be better to sell just a couple through local auction houses up your way and I'd be interested in buying a few for settings to sell in London. It's going to be slowly, slowly catchy monkey unless you want to risk selling a bulk lot in Amsterdam or Hatton Garden but rather you than me Max, it's dog eat dog in that world."

Max sat back taking in his friend's advice. "That's fine thanks Dom, I'll go with what you say. Can you keep them in your safe in between? I could do with a few on me to auction off just in case I need a bit of cash, but I'm happy to take the longer term view on the rest and will go with whatever you recommend. I know that you'll do your best for me." He stood and clasped Dom in a man hug. He meant every word.

Dominic was keen for Max to stay over for the weekend and spend some time with Lizzie and the kids but Max was wanted to get back on the road to sort out the mess of the club and to move into his new room at Tony's. A compromise was reached and he agreed to stay for dinner and drive back on Saturday. There really wasn't much he could do on a weekend anyway.
Chapter 28 - Tony's pad

Max was glad that he stayed down for dinner with Lizzie and the kids. Helping them build Lego models and playing board games that he seemed to lose comprehensively every time brought him back down to earth in the best possible way. Playing games and laughter could cure most things. The kids were so innocent about life and looked at things so simply. Why did adults make it all so complex? Lizzie had told him that he would have made a great dad but Max preferred being an uncle, it was much easier. He could give the kids back when he'd had enough! Such a shame that Rachel couldn't have kids, maybe life would have been different.

The following morning after breakfast Max said his goodbyes, got into his old jalopy and headed back towards Basildon - another five hours in the car; great. At least this time he felt relaxed and wasn't looking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed.

He pulled in at a petrol station before the motorway to fill up and buy some water and a chocolate bar to keep him going throughout the journey. Before getting back into the car he strolled towards the road to use his mobile, bloody garages and the no mobile rule... pathetic. He dialled the apartment and got the answerphone again.

"Hi Rachel, It's me Max. I'm just leaving Plymouth after visiting Dom, Lizzie and the kids, they all send their love. I'd really like to hear your voice again soon sweetheart. Can you call me please? I still love you Rachel, call me, love you."

_Shit. Bloody answerphone again, where the bloody hell was she?_ Max scrolled through his screen again and selected 'Rachel mobile' before pressing the green phone button. The phone rang for a minute or so before the change in tone indicated that it was going to go through to voicemail. Max readied himself for another message.

"Hi Rachel, it's me Max. I've been leaving messages for you everywhere so I am now your official stalker, call me please. I really do need to hear your voice. Dom, Lizzie and the kids send their love. I miss you sweetie, please ring. Love you."

Well that was that, time to get on the road. With the M4 and M25 as dull as ever Max found himself alternating between playing his _Rock Classics_ cds on full volume and driving for ten minutes with the window wide-open until his cheeks got cold. It didn't work. He got as far as South Mimms services and decided to pull in, stretch his legs and have a pee break. A hot drink wouldn't go amiss either. Max sat sipping on a fancy coffee, thinking what a bloody rip off. He hated motorway service prices. He called Tony to give him the heads-up that he was on his way back and to check that he was going to be around to let him in. Max couldn't quite put his finger on it but Tony sounded a bit off... just not his normal self... maybe he'd just got up after a late night.

Forty minutes later Max pulled up outside Tony's house, a three bed semi-detached ex council house not far off of the town centre in Kingswood. Walking distance to the club... what was left of it and walking distance to Lynette's - in your dreams Max - and good for the rail station; sweet.

Tony opened the door and invited Max in.

"How's things Tony?"

"Good thanks Max, well, maybe good... let's see."

Tony opened two small beers and motioned for Max to sit at the kitchen table. "Look Max I'm keen to rent you the room but I need to know that you're on the level. Friday night at the club there was a sparky little Irish guy called Mickey asking after you and wanting to know if you were dealing drugs. You know that I like a good drink Max and that I'm very broad-minded but I don't want a drug dealer or druggie in my house. It's just not my scene and I don't want the hassle so what gives?"

"Fuck, what did the guy look like?"

"What does that matter?"

"It matters to me Tony. Was he about five foot six, lithe, pure muscle, a slightly squashed nose like a boxer, black hair swept back over his right eye and a chip on his shoulder bigger than Harry Ramsden's fish shops?"

"Yep, that about describes him... You know him then do you?"

"Unfortunately I've met him and know his reputation." Max fiddled with his beer bottle nervously while working out what to say.

"Do you remember me telling you about Jochem getting double tapped out in Spain?" Tony nodded. "Well Jochem used to hang out with a bunch of Irish guys dealing in hash and resin between them. Jochem was just a mate, nothing more. I've had nothing to do with the dealing scene but it seems that his colleagues are just making sure. The bloke you had the pleasure of meeting who said his name is Mickey sounds very much like Joey, right-hand man to a guy called Jack who's been trying to recruit me into the business. He just doesn't seem to accept the word 'no'." Max swept his hand through his hair. "Fuck it! What a mess."

"Tell me was Jack the real big guy with tatts on his arms and a moustache who was in the club flashing his cash about a week before the fire?"

"Yeah, that's him, how come you remember him?"

"Hard to forget a guy that buys a bottle of Jack Daniels and shares it with you refusing anything in return."

Max shook his head "Trust me Tony. Jack always wants something in return... You just don't know what it is yet." He decided that he wouldn't correct Tony about Jack buying the booze.

"Nah, he'll be cool we developed a mutual respect from similar experiences shall we say. You know, time in Ireland and stuff."

"So Max, cut to the chase. Are you clean, not taking drugs, not dealing?"

"I'm clean Tony, you know that I cleaned up the drug culture in Pussycats, I'm not into dealing but I do have a problem, not a personal drug problem mind you. But............."

Tony leaned across the table. "Best get it off your chest Max."

_I 've got to talk to someone the pressure's starting to kill me. Here goes nothing_. "Well, look Tony... It's umm, like this, don't judge me eh. I've got a couple of blocks of coke, hash or whatever the fuck it happens to be hidden away in the bodywork of the car from one of Jochem's dead friends and I don't have a fucking clue what to do with it. It seemed like a good idea to bring it back to the UK but to be honest I've been shitting myself ever since I found the stuff. If I admit to Jack or Joey that I found something he might even top me. It's a right fucking mess. Listen Tony... I understand, I'll find another room. But thanks for listening Tony, I feel better for getting it off of my chest."

Tony put his hands up in the air in front of his chest. "Whoa, slow down Max, I didn't say you couldn't have the room, I just wanted the truth and it sounds to me as if I just got it. Fuck... My mate Max the drug smuggling strip joint owner. Ha, I can dine out on that for years." He chuckled pointing at Max as if he had a gun in his hand.

"Very funny Tony, very funny. Forgive my sense of humour by-pass."

Tony suddenly turned very serious "Talking of sense of humour by-pass have you got any idea what you're into?"

"Well apart from drug running maniacs that seem to treat life as a commodity, no I don't have a clue really, tell me something nice... please!"

Tony grimaced. "Sorry mate, not great news... I guess you don't know what Jack's tattoos are then?"

"What? Not a clue, just military aren't they? Loads of people have them don't they?"

"They're paramilitary tattoos Max. You know as in the Ulster Defence Force or whatever it is that they call themselves these days, the people on the opposite side to the IRA but just as fucking stupid. They'll blow up their granny or kneecap you just as soon as look at you. How the fuck did you get involved with heavy dudes like that Max?"

Max looked panicked. "Please tell me you're winding me up Tony... Jochem told me not to go anywhere near Jack but I've not had a lot of choice in the matter, events seem to have me crossing his path on a regular basis and Rachel thinks I'm just about sleeping with him... never thought it would be this bad... You are kidding right? Surely all that shit disbanded years ago."

"Mate, I did two tours in Ireland and still carry the mental scars. It's not the bullet wounds or shit like that, it's not being able to forget trying to hold your mate's guts in when some stupid fuck has set off a car bomb next to the pizza place where the squaddies go. I don't cope well with the Irish whatever faction they belong to Max. Unless they happen to be buying me Jack Daniels and Coke or have a great pair of tits that they're flashing at me that is."

"Listen, steer clear or if he comes to the club again call me and I'll have a word. As I say we seem to have developed a bit of mutual respect due to my time in the hot seat. He'll keep popping up and winding you in until he has enough on you to tell you what you're going to do and you won't have a choice, blackmail, involvement by association, call it what you will, these guys are experts... be very careful Max."

"Well, I suppose it doesn't change much. My heads still a complete mess. Are you going to show me the room Tony? Here four hundred quid, one month in advance as agreed."

"You haven't even seen the room yet mate!"

"I'm sure it'll be fine Tony. Give us a hand to get the stuff out of the car, oh and dig out your Wi-Fi code, I really need to check my emails."
Chapter 29 - Information needed

Max settled into life at Tony's quickly. The house was kept very clean and tidy and his room was more than adequate. It suited him to the ground. At least one thing was sorted.

Midweek he received a long email from Joel. He'd put in a preliminary claim after much discussion with the loss adjuster representing the insurers but they were refusing to accept liability until they had further detail. The email also came with a list of stuff that Joel needed to move things forward. He looked down the list and scratched his head. Admin was never his strong point. Company accounts for the last two years, management accounts for the year to date, the budget / forecast for the next twelve months... how was he going to get that lot pulled together? He chided himself mentally. "Come on Max, get moving, phone the accountants for the statutory company accounts and then pull together the cash entries, ball-breaker or not it's got to be done."

After much digging through weekly cashbook emails and monthly sets of summaries, he eventually had a rough spreadsheet which covered the six months of the year to date. The accountants had emailed a spreadsheet that covered the previous year's results and he had just followed that, hopefully it would be sufficient for Joel but even to his untrained eye there were some pretty big swings in profitability. He'd get Tony to have a look when he saw him tomorrow.

His mobile rang. "Is that Mr. Williams?"

"Yes, speaking."

"It's Sergeant Greaves here, I was wondering if you could spare me ten minutes to discuss your case?"

"Hi Sergeant. Not a problem. When would you like to catch up?"

"Are you free at the moment or later today? I could come to you or if you don't mind I'll be at the station until around eight o'clock."

"If you get the tea I'll see you in fifteen minutes." Max put on his coat and started walking towards the town centre, his mind ticking over. _What could Sergeant Greaves want? Surely the case was all wrapped up_.

Not long later he was sitting with the Sarge with a steaming cup of tea in front of him, two sugars whether he liked it or not. _Oh well at least they tried_.

"Well Mr. Williams I am pleased to say that with have a deal with the defence and Mr. Akbar is going to plead guilty to reckless arson provided we drop the higher charge of arson with intent to endanger life. He should go down for about five years but something still bothers me about the case. It doesn't feel right if you know what I mean. Call it a hunch but I smell a rat. Now you know what they say don't you, Mr. Williams?" Max shook his head and thought of Rachel quoting the same cliche in Spain. "If it looks like a rat and smells like a rat then it probably is a rat." The Sarge left a long gap to see if Max said anything.

"I'm not following you Sergeant. You've got the bloke, he's confessed, so where's the rat?"

"Motive, Mr. Williams, motive. Mr. Akbar says it was because the girls being dressed in skimpy outfits offended his religion but then why did he visit more than once? Why also did he have pornographic pictures on his iPhone if he was offended by naked flesh? It doesn't fit together Mr. Williams. Now tell me about the fracas at your club that happened the week before, what was that all about?"

Max felt extremely uncomfortable and could feel the colour rising in his face, he was taken aback by the question and stalled for time. "Umm, what fracas would that be?"

"Oh come now Mr. Williams, you don't have fights there every night and certainly not ones involving Vince Grange. You know the guy, around five foot nine and almost as wide. Apparently he was thrown out onto the pavement in front of your club with a bloody nose. I haven't bothered going back through the DVR but I can do if need be." He raised his eyebrows and piled on the pressure.

Max inwardly sighed, best come clean. "The short story is that my brother's partner borrowed money from Vince to put into the club. Ten thousand is what he told me. Anyway he came into the club looking for me to repay him, which given that I had already had to put another seventy thousand in to bail out the mess left by my brother and his partner, I wasn't inclined to do. Vince, as he had introduced himself to me, started to get somewhat threatening and abusive and another customer took it upon himself to remove him from the premises. I think they knew of each other because Vince decided to take the hint and go home."

"Well that's pretty close. Actually he went home via casualty to get his broken nose taped up but he won't be pressing charges; it's not in his nature. Now, the guy that threw him out, friend of yours is he?"

"I've seen him once or twice in Spain, sort of a friend of a friend, it was the first time he'd been to the club, a bit of a shock to see him really." _Shit the questions are getting to close to drugs, be careful Max, be careful_.

"Hmmm, and you have no idea why he would have just dropped in?"

"No, none at all. Look, Sergeant Greaves, I really appreciate you getting the culprit and all but I don't see where this is leading. If he was paid, why don't you just ask him? Put him on a lie detector or something; surely he has to tell you where the money came from. All I know is that I'm bloody glad that I have insurance even though they haven't paid me a penny yet. Have you talked to them? My assessor says that they'll check just about every avenue before they pay out. It could take months before I'm open again so could it be my competitor who made the payment? Frankly I'm clueless and just want to get my life back on track."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Williams we are not at liberty to use lie detectors in the UK, and yes I have talked to your insurer and competitor. Just so you are aware I have not raised any of my concerns with your insurer. They only have the provable facts confirming that we have a confession from the accused and that he has come to a plea bargain arrangement. If anything, that should speed up your payment."

The Sarge looked steadily at Max before speaking again. "Well Mr. Williams, I suppose that about wraps things up, I doubt that you will have to appear in court now that we have a guilty plea being entered. I will bid you goodnight, thanks for coming in."

Max headed home unsure of where the Sarge was going with things. He needed to get his mind off things and went to sleep watching an old Bruce Willis action movie. He woke when Tony came in from his night shift and relayed the day's events. Tony by his own admission was not a lot of use in relation to the finances or the person to ask, he did however suggest that they catch up with Lynette who had some sort of degree in business.

"She knows what she's doing with figures Max. I'm sure she can sort it out. You might also want to talk to her about your other little problem. She probably knows someone out of the area that can take it off your hands without you starting off a turf war. She really is a fascinating girl when you talk to her you know. She was brought up on a tough estate in South London so is bound to have some good contacts, you've nothing to lose really."

"You know Tony, It sounds like you might have an idea there. I'm going to put my head down and give it some thought. Thanks mate, goodnight."

The next morning he waited until eleven before phoning Lynette, he never really knew what hours she worked between dancing, part-time legal work and studying. How did the girl fit it all in?

Lynette saw her mobile flash up Max's name and picked up. "Hi stranger, how's things?"

"Good Lynette thanks. Listen I'm sorry to disturb you but I was wondering whether you could have a look at a few figures for me before I send them off to my loss assessor, somehow they don't look right to me and I don't want to raise another raft load of questions by sending in the wrong information. Being as you're the educated one among us I thought you'd have a better view."

"Sure Max, bring them over, I'm around all of today but tied up tomorrow and over the weekend in the evenings."

"Great, half an hour's time, not too soon is it?"

"No time like the present, I'll grab a quick shower, see you soon."

Max sat down at the table in Lynette's lounge diner with his laptop open and two hard copies of his workings in front of them.

It took no time at all for holes to be picked in his hard work but then again that's why he was here.

"This all looks wrong Max. What's the huge expense in October listed under 'other'?"

Max flicked through his spreadsheets "Umm, that's the settlement with the PRS paying off last year's debts."

"So why's it showing in your figures for this year? You need to adjust that out and put a note at the bottom, similarly other expenses in January has a big swing what's that?"

"That's easy. It was where we refurbished the loos and shower areas, new sanitary ware, new tiles, the whole caboodle."

"Well that's capital expenditure. It shouldn't go through your profit and loss account in one month but should be smoothed out. We'll spread it over three years, that's assuming that it will be three years before you have to carry out another refurb, does that sound about right?"

Lynette continued in the same vein for the next hour or so and at the end of it the figures looked consistent for the past six months trading and the next twelve months forecast. She also provided some commentary about the figures and told Max to keep using the phrase 'Consistent and Prudent'.

He wasn't so sure. "Oh come on Lynette, I don't want to sound like Gordon bloody Brown and his budget... Mind you after you've finished working the numbers over I suppose there's a similar element of fantasy about them. As long as it doesn't put me in a much shit as he put the country in it should be fine. You know that admin's not my thing."

"You've got to learn the lingo Max. Whoever looks over your claim is going to want it to be fair, prudent and consistent. They should ban politicians from using the phrases as we all know that they talk crap no matter who they say they represent and the bunch in Europe are even worse... pigs around a trough."

Before Lynette really got on her soap box about the political scene she was interrupted by the doorbell, Tony had finally surfaced and was keen to see the result of their work.

"Blimey Max, the business looks great on paper now, I'd invest in that or pay out your claim, it looks brilliant as far as I'm concerned. Have you talked about your other little problem mate?"

Lynette's ears were twitching "What problem, or should I say what opportunity, every problem is an opportunity to do something different. Come on boys cough."

Max decided to go the long way round the story and started with his trip to Morocco and inadvertently smuggling drugs back, then onto 'The Office' and how the guys transported stuff to the UK and finally he went back over finding Bill Smith dead and searching the apartment with Joey before revealing his find in the freezer. He deliberately left the diamonds out of it.

"So now you know the background to it all Lynette. The dumb thing is, well, I'm not sure how to put this but, you see I've umm brought the packages over to the UK with me and they're stuck in the panels of the car. The only thing is I'm shit scared of what to do with them, especially after Irish Jack showed up at the club and all but accused me of having some gear on me. Oh yeah and the fact that Sergeant Greaves is on my case and doesn't believe that Mo Akbar burnt the place down for religious reasons. He seems to think that there's a conspiracy theory behind it all. The last thing I want is him sniffing around and finding out what I've got. I need to get rid and quick. Tony here thought you might know someone." He ran his hands through his hair and put them behind his head. Telling the story brought all of the stress back to the surface. _Fuck this is difficult_.

Lynette could see that Max was getting antsy. "Calm down, I might be able to sort that little issue out for you. I need to make a few phone calls but if you breathe a word to anyone you're a dead man, and I mean that Max, it's important to me. Not a word to anyone. For now you concentrate on sorting your insurers out and leave the rest to me."

Max was hugely relieved, it was a weight off of his shoulders. "Yeah okay, I'll arrange to see Joel tomorrow, thanks for all of the help guys; I don't know how I would get through it without you."
Chapter 30 - Insurance problems

Max met with Joel the following day to discuss the papers he had pulled together and where the claim was going. Joel seemed impressed.

"Well Max, the management accounts and forward forecast all seem fine so we can tick that box, most of the other bits of information they want we have already dealt with but they're still being really stubborn about admitting liability. You say that the police have got an agreement with Mr. Akbar's lawyers and he's going to plead guilty?" Joel lent back in his chair before continuing to think out loud. "We know that there is absolutely no mention of terrorism. Your landlord's insurer has already accepted liability and has started to pay out so where's the problem? The insurance company's loss adjustor is in agreement with me over valuations so the property damage element of the claim is quantified... hmm... Okay so we haven't got the business interruption part of the claim in yet but now all of the paperwork is here. Looks like they're just playing hardball and looking for an out either that or they're just a bunch of s _chnorrers_ (tight wads)."

"Right sorry about that Max, just getting things clear in my head. On the plus side we have reached agreement with the other side's loss adjustor on valuations and I think you are going to be very happy my boy, what did I tell you? You have the Finklesteins on your side." Joel slid the schedule over the desk for Max to look at it.

"Wow, that's going to let me kit the club out to a really high level. How did you manage to get two grand for each tatty old leather sofa?"

Joel tapped the side of his nose. "That's for me to know and you to guess. It takes a bit of work but it's how I earn my fee. Don't forget eight percent of that figure is mine!"

"I thought that we'd agreed on seven and a half percent?!"

"Just testing Max, just testing but how am I going to run my Mercedes when you nickel and dime me?" Joel shrugged his shoulders and held out his hands palms up.

"We also have approval to now start to remove items and carry out a basic site clean-up. To be honest they need to let you get the place emptied out as the landlord's insurer wants to start patching the building up. Can you afford to pay for a contractor before the claim gets finalised?"

Max thought about the two diamonds going through auction this week that should give him a pretty good payday. "Yeah I should be able to do that thanks Joel."

"Good, here's a couple of contractors that I normally use in your area. Both are insurance industry approved and if you end up having to delay payment for a while, I should be able to smooth things over for you. Now then Max, given what we've managed to get agreed on the contents schedule it's about time that you bought me lunch. There's a lovely little bistro and deli just round the corner, their salt beef sandwiches are to die for and you're paying!"
Chapter 31 - Chill out time

Rachel decided to take Nick up on his offer and to spend some time at the villa with him. He had a big charity function coming up which Rachel had agreed to go to, and he had managed to convince her to pick up some things from the apartment. He suggested she could get some rest away from the phones and day-to-day hassle of her letting business. Without Rachel knowing, he had also been to see Clare and paid her a thousand euros cash to run the business full-time for the next few weeks. She was more than happy to accept the money and earn a bit extra. If Rachel needed peace and quiet, she'd get it for the thousand euros, and Nick had promised more if the arrangement needed to continue for a while, a win-win.

Nick treated Rachel like a princess. She had her own suite, he cooked her breakfast in bed, her evening meals were imaginative or they ate out and on most days they had lunch overlooking the sea or in one of the ports along the coast. They went to the local gym, played paddle ball (badly) and Rachel drove Nick round the golf course in the buggy watching him play. She was a very happy girl. She was daydreaming over lunch when Nick snapped her out of it.

"Right Rachel, come on, finish up your wine. We need to go shopping."

"What for?"

"A dress for you for the charity ball of course."

"But I already have a load of dresses that I could wear."

"That's not the point, it's been great to have some company Rachel, and I would like to buy you an outfit... Please, it would make me happy. Come on I've seen a fantastic little number in Armani."

While Rachel was heading into the changing room to try on a dress her phone pinged, another text from Max.

_' Hi babe, been to see our loss assessor today with all the figures we required. Things are looking good he's agreed values with the other side, we now just need to get the money out of them and get on with the refurb. Things will come straight soon, I promise. Love you. XX_'

Rachel sat on the bench in the changing room and read the text again. Well he's persistent but we still don't have any money or any real excitement in life. Why couldn't he just see that it's over? It's time to move on.

Rachel put the phone away into her handbag and pulled the black Armani dress over her head. It fitted like a glove and looked a million dollars, mind you with a price tag of three thousand euros so it should! She put on her heels to give her some height and pulled back the curtain to give Nick a twirl. "What do you think Nick?"

"I like, I like it a lot but I can see your panty line."

Rachel flicked her hair over her shoulder and pulled the dressing room curtain round herself playfully showing the split in the dress that ran up to her thigh. "Well then, it looks like I won't be wearing any doesn't it. Anyway it's too expensive."

"Nothing is too expensive if I get you out of your panties. I'll get the assistant to find the matching shoes and clutch bag, don't take it off yet."

Rachel was in heaven and even if they didn't buy the dress just trying it on was fun. The assistant came back with the bag, shoes and what she called an invisible bra which looked like a couple of bits of tape to strategically hold up a girls best assets.

"Madam you have the perfect figure to wear this dress with your wonderful breasts but if we are to go without panties we also need to go without a bra, may I suggest that you let me fit these for you?"

Rachel nodded. It was strange having another woman manhandle her boobs but what the heck. The assistant taped her up, pulled the dress back into shape patted her boobs on both sides and stepped back.

"Perfect I suggest Madam now tries the full ensemble minus her panties to get the full effect. Will Madam be requiring any assistance to disrobe?" Rachel blushed.

"Eh, no thanks, I'm sure that I can manage." Jeez, did the assistant really want the sale that badly or do the super-rich expect this kind of treatment?

She stepped out onto the main shop floor. She felt incredibly sexy and by the reaction looked it as well.

"Wowser! Now that's how to wear an outfit." Nick was beaming and the assistant could smell a sale.

"Madam does carry it off superbly well. Have I seen you in some of the fashion magazines Madam? You carry the outfit so smoothly." _Smarmy bitch_ , thought Rachel, _but hey the help with keeping the tits up was much appreciated_. She had decided that Saturday would be the night, no more just cuddling up on the sofa, she was going to have her wicked way with Nick whether he wanted it or not and judging by his reaction to the dress he was more than keen. She provocatively rubbed her leg up his thigh and threw her arms around his neck pushing her groin into him.

"No panties gives a girl ideas you know... I might just have to take you home and have my wicked way... You're a naughty boy!" She laughed heading back to the changing room but not before she felt him begin to get hard. _Perfect, as planned_.

Rachel had plans for Nick when she got him home. It was time to move on from the old fashioned flirting and cuddles. She needed physical love.

As they wandered through the villa, Rachel called out to Nick from the kitchen.

"Nick can you run a bath for me and I'll open the champagne."

"No problem. What are we celebrating?"

"Patience, you'll see!"

She reached up to the cupboard and pulled out two of Nick's best champagne glasses. They had intricate designs on them and she seemed to remember him saying that they had been hand-blown at the glass factory in Gibraltar. Next she went to the wine fridge and selected a bottle of Laurent Perrier rose vintage champagne before setting everything on the side and steeling herself.

Right girl, it's now or never, no time to be shy. She shimmed out of her dress letting it fall on the floor and stepped out of it carefully making sure that her high heels didn't catch the fabric. She then reached behind herself to unclip her bra and also let it fall to the floor before flicking her hands through her hair. She was feeling sexy and judging by her nipples and the dampness between her legs she was definitely turned on. _Well, here goes nothing_.

Rachel called through to Nick to make sure he was still in the bathroom. "Turn the cold down Nick, I like my bath hot!" She heard a muffled yell. "No problem." Great he was where he needed to be. Picking up the champagne bottle in one hand and the glasses in her other she walked through from the kitchen into her suite and headed for her bathroom, her heels clip-clopping on the tiled floors as she went. As she entered the room Nick was leaning over the bath testing the water temperature.

"Nick... Can you take these, please?" He stood and his eyes went wide as his hands automatically went out to take the bottle and glasses. He was staring but couldn't break his eyes away. Rachel had him right where she wanted him. With his hands occupied she moved forward and slowly started to unbutton his shirt before moving down to his belt buckle. All the time she was staring up into his eyes.

"I thought you might like to come and join me in the bath." She pouted.

"I'd love to Rachel but it's been a long time and you'll have to forgive me for being a bit nervous."

She slid her hands into the band of his boxers grasping his shaft in her hand making his body tense "Well some bits of you seem to be less nervous judging by the feel of things." She pulled his jeans and boxers down around his knees before standing and sliding her panties off. She grinned at Nick standing with glasses in one hand, a bottle in the other and his trousers and boxers around his ankles. As she flicked her hair over her shoulder she headed for the bath calling back, "Last one in is a loser!"

"Hey, that's not fair!"

"I didn't say I'd play fair did I? Come on Nick pour the champagne and get in the bath before the bubbles all evaporate."

Nick shuffled towards the marble topped sink and placed the bottle and glasses on the side before stepping out of his jeans and pants, luckily he rarely wore socks unless he had a suit or formal trousers on. He left his shirt on while he opened the champagne and poured it slowly down the side of the glasses.

"I like the waiter's cute bum but a girl could die of thirst in here before getting served." She eyed Nick's body up and down. He kept himself lean and trim and didn't look his age, this was going to be fun.

"Patience, Madam. Refreshments are on their way." Nick slipped out of his shirt and walked over to the bath with glasses in hand conscious of the fact that his manhood was standing out like a flag pole in front of him. Rachel grabbed strategically and pulled him towards the bath.

"Okay, okay I'll get a move on, patience you hussy."

Nick slid into the other end of the huge roll-top bath, handed Rachel a glass, clinked them together and they both took a sip suddenly lost for words. Rachel broke the ice.

"Nick, if it's any consolation it's been a long time for me as well so let's just take things slowly, I don't want to be seen as a money grabbing 'hussy' after you for one thing."

He leaned forward and took the glass from her hand placing it at the side of the bath with his. "Come here Rachel, turn round so we're at the same end." He lifted her round so that her body was between his legs and back against him. He pushed her long hair out of the way and planted tender little kisses up and down her neck. "I was only teasing calling you a hussy you know, if I'm honest I've been chasing you for months hoping to pick up the pieces if things went pear-shaped with Max, I just wasn't confident enough that someone as pretty, funny and intelligent as you would see anything in an older man like me, looks like I was wrong and should be more confident about myself."

Nick lifted his hand cupping one breast and using his other hand to angle Rachel's head towards his. They kissed passionately before Nick went back to nibbling her neck letting his hand stray down between her legs. He circled his fingers slowly round before pushing gently at her lips. Rachel moved slightly to let his fingers explore her, she was very wet and it wasn't from the bath water. She felt trapped, she could feel his cock pushing against her back but couldn't reach it and Nick had her hemmed in with his legs. She decided to just lie back and enjoy it. His kisses and nips along her neck along with his delicate playfulness down below was starting to drive her crazy. Thankfully he picked up the signals and quickened the pace with his fingers flicking at her nub each time he brought his finger up through her folds eventually concentrating solely on her clit while squeezing her breast in his other hand and biting down on her neck. Rachel's back arched and she groaned with pleasure before convulsing and grabbing his hand to stop him driving her mad.

"Mmm that was nice but a bit one sided, can I have some champagne please? I'm hot and flustered."

Nick handed picked up her glass and brought it to her lips letting her slowly sip before she took hold of the glass herself.

"Don't you dare mark me Nick, I haven't had a hickey since I was in college!" The only reply she got was a, "Hmm Hmm."

After enjoying the afterglow, Rachel was starting to squirm and was getting frustrated that she couldn't get her hands on Nick. He was dictating the pace and she was getting close to coming again. She insisted on moving to the other end of the bath claiming that the heat of her orgasm had left her very pink cheeked and glowing all over, which wasn't a lie. Moving round to get back to the other end of the bath and more importantly her hands on Nick wasn't exactly ladylike but the bath time fun squeaks and pops had them both laughing.

"That wasn't me and I hope it wasn't you!" Rachel exclaimed at one particularly loud squeak. "Anyway what's a girl got to do to get her glass topped up around here?"

Nick had stupidly left the champagne bottle on the side and Rachel knew that he would have to get out of the bath to get it giving her a chance to gain some control over the fun which had been very one-sided so far, not that she minded, it was lovely sitting between his legs having her neck kissed while she basked in her orgasm.

Despite already being intimate Nick did the typical man thing of trying to cover his erection with one hand while holding the bottle in the other. Rachel held out her glass which he topped up expertly. She took a mouthful of champagne and waved her glass in front of Nick's hand to for him to take it from her which he did. She had him right where she wanted him grabbing his balls and pulling his manhood towards her mouth while he stood helpless with both hands full. She slid his tip into her mouth letting the champagne bubbles tingle his senses before swallowing the champagne and sliding down his shaft. Nick groaned. She nipped with her teeth and worked her tongue round the bulbous head before working her mouth up and down his shaft while squeezing his sac. As Rachel felt his muscles begin to tense she moved her head out of the way and concentrated on stroking his shaft with her hand causing him to come in hot strong spurts all over her breasts. She looked up at him playfully.

"Oops, that was a bit messy, you better get back in the bath and wash it off for me." Nick was grinning from ear to ear.

"Your wish is my command."

After cleaning up they towelled off and curled up in Rachel's bed sipping champagne and exploring each other's bodies. It wasn't long before Nick was hard again. He positioned himself between Rachel's legs looking down on her. "Um, this is a bit awkward Rachel but I don't have any condoms with me, Nicole and I never needed them."

"I can't get pregnant if that's what you're worried about, and I haven't slept with anyone but Max in the last ten years." Rachel blushed, talking about your sex life was a real passion killer but she supposed that it was better than catching something that you could never get rid of, it made her feel like she was having sex for the first time. Nick moved to Rachel's side propped up on one elbow unsure of how to proceed, he was ready for sex but the moment had been lost and he hadn't been entirely honest. It was a long time since he'd had sex with Nicole but he was a regular down at the local whorehouses.

"Let's just take things slowly shall we Rachel. It's been a long time since Nicole died and I haven't been able to give myself to another. Today's been a lot of fun; let's take it one step at a time."
Chapter 32 - London contacts

After the guys had left Lynette scrolled through her mobile to find the number for Baz. It was a long time since they had spoken. She had met him when she was younger working as a high-class escort for the princely sum of five grand a night. Baz was Mr. Generous and often doubled her fee. He could afford it. He was typical of the young Arab princes in London who sowed their wild oats, drove fast cars and got high on drugs and booze, so much for their religious ideals. Lynette had a very explicit or some might say perverted sexual education during her time with Baz but what started as a commercial transaction developed into much more.

"Baz, hi it's Lindy, how's things?"

"Lindy! Where are you girl? You've just about dropped off the face of the earth since you went all legitimate as a lawyer, are you up for some fun? Come on please tell me you're up for some fun."

"No Baz, you know that I'm out of that game, besides which you like them young, I'm far too old now."

"Lindy I've matured, I'm a legitimate business man now. I can't have teenagers hanging off of my arm; I'd have to claim they were my niece or something."

"Very funny! It's still a 'no', Baz. Listen I have an opportunity that you may be able to help with and it could work to our mutual advantage. An acquaintance has four black packages that he needs to move quickly. Total weight about five kilos. Half resin, half the white stuff. He's nervous and wants to get rid of it real quick, are you interested in buying at say half of street value."

"Lindy, if it helps you then of course I will buy it, I can't promise half of street value as it depends on the grade and how it's been cut. Text me some pick up details and I'll send Ishmail to come and get it. I assume you'll want cash, oh and there's one other condition Lindy. You will have dinner with me Saturday, Ishmail will collect you at seven. Do we have a deal?"

"As long as it's only dinner Baz, I know you and your scheming." She laughed it would be good to see him again; an unexpected bonus and she would take her night's fee out of the payment to Max.

Baz loved the sound of her laughter. "Okay I'll try and be good, Ishmail will bring a down payment of fifty grand and I'll settle up at the weekend. Thanks for the call Lindy, until Saturday."

Half an hour later and a few round robin phone calls she had organised a meeting between Ishmail and Tony at Upminster tube station for eleven the following morning. The timing should give Max enough time to extract goods from the car and to buy a plain black flight bag from Debenhams, nearest priced to eighty pounds so they should look the same. A quick swop and hopefully all would be okay. Tony seemed to be completely unfazed at the idea of carrying round drugs and a shed load of money. The guy must have ice in his veins. Once he completed the pick up the plan was to rendezvous at his place around two to take stock.

When Lynette arrived Tony and Max were cooing over an open bag stacked full of fifty pound notes. Neither of them had ever seen so much money in real cash, they both had mortgages and saw the zeros at the end of their statements but seeing and being able to handle notes was somehow different.

Max made some tea and plonked himself down on the sofa, things were looking up. "So Tony, I've been thinking, how would you feel about managing the re-fit of the club and taking on the running of it? I'd pay a bit more than you currently get at the American Bar and throw in a profit share of ten percent but that would mean no skimming and proper stock control. It should make at least five grand a month net so that would give you an extra six grand a year."

Tony played it cool even though the idea excited him. "Come on Max, ten percent is chicken shit and you know I could skim that and still convince you that you were doing well. Let's have a proper deal, thirty grand salary, twenty percent profit share and if I fail to make you five grand clear every month you get your room free for two months anytime I miss the target. What do you think?"

"You've got yourself a deal." He stood and shook hands before picking up the bag and counting out some notes into two piles. "Here Lynette five percent commission for you and Tony here's your five percent for the drop off and pick up. The other forty-five grand in the case is your budget to get the club refurbished and up and running as soon as you can. The landlord's builders want to start work next week so you probably want to chat to them and Joel has organised a gang to clear the place out over the weekend. To be honest I've no idea how long the landlord needs to fix things up before you can get in there but you probably want to get started on the plans, colour schemes and anything else you might need. Oh, and I'm not a complete idiot, I realise that forty-five probably won't cut it and that it'll take more but it's a start right?" Max looked for reassurance.

"No worries Max, you should know by now that cash is king in Essex. I know quite a few builders who'll give me mate's rates for cash plus one or two on the 'rock and roll' who will gladly do a bit of work on the side. Should be no problem but fifty or sixty would be better... What do you think about taking the wall out at the back and opening up that rear room to give us space for a small stage and more seating? It could work well for music or comedy acts earlier in the week when having the girls dancing just doesn't pay."

"Yeah great Tony, just come back with some plans and the three of us can discuss it, what do you think Lynette?"

"Hey, don't drag me into it, I'll just be there to dance, oh and by the way Max to get your deal I had to agree to go out to dinner on Saturday and lose my dancing earnings so when you get the balance I'll be deducting my expenses."

"That's fine Lynette, you've no idea how much I appreciate you organising it all, sorry to muck up your schedule, hope it doesn't cause you too much grief. Tony, do you know someone who could draw up a few plans so we can look them over?"

"As luck would have it one of my old man's mates used to design showrooms and store windows for some of the big retailers, I know he's done the odd cafe and show home so it won't be too much of a leap. I'll try and catch up with him Sunday."
Chapter 33 - Baz

Ishmail parked the Bentley Mulsanne outside of Lynette's apartment just before seven and rang the intercom.

"I'll be down in a minute."

Lynette was wearing a fantastic little number by Moschino with a pair of high-heeled Jimmy Choo's and a matching bag. The outfit was set off by a diamond tennis bracelet, a diamond studded Rolex and a pear drop diamond necklace. She was pulling a Louis Vuitton overnight case behind her with a change of clothes and one or two more interesting toys just in case the evening went the way that she expected it to.

"Ishmail you big brute, long time no see give a girl a hug."

"Ishmail's normally sombre face cracked as he beamed with delight. "Miss Lindy you look fantastic, we miss you in London, why do you live all of the way out here?"

"Ah, you know Ishmail, I've done the London scene, it's quieter here plus when I moved here I could afford to buy my apartment outright. It suits me. The Big Smoke is only a train ride away if I want to see the bright lights... Tell me what have you been up to?"

Lynette had a solid bond with Ishmail. He'd always looked after her, always saw her to her door, mopped her brow when she threw up... amazing really but then he was Baz's Man Friday in every sense. The car ride flew by as they chatted and before she knew it they were pulling up outside a posh Michelin starred restaurant in Mayfair.

"Have a lovely evening Miss Lindy, Señor Bashar will meet you at the bar." Ishmail bowed politely going back into formal chauffeur mode in case his employer could see him. It would not do to be seen to be personal with Miss Lindy.

Lynette wandered in to the bar buzzing with excitement, she'd missed London and the classy eateries. She spotted Baz at the bar and quickened her pace throwing her arms around his neck.

"Baz... It's been too long... You look great." She stepped back to take in the view. "A bit more business-like with the flash Italian suit and the carefully trimmed beard... but you still look great... Give me a hug, Baz."

Bashar pulled her to him and kissed her passionately before holding her at arm's length to admire the view. "Lindy you look as young as ever and you still have my presents. You honour me by wearing them; I'm so pleased that you kept them... It means a lot to me... Why did I ever let you go?"

"Because we were both too young and you were getting too kinky for us to have a normal relationship that about sums it up, but let's not dwell on the bad times... remember the fun we had? Some of the tricks we used to get up to? All those rockets we let off at Christmas, we almost burnt your neighbour's shed down!"

Dinner flew by with both of them reminiscing and giving some details about what they had been up to since. Baz suggested that they have dessert and after dinner drinks at his London house as he had something important that he needed to discuss which was not for public consumption. Lynette laughed inwardly thinking, _yeah you randy old goat I know that I 'm probably dessert_!

At the house Baz opened a bottle of Dom Perignon, handed a full glass to Lynette and proposed a toast.

"To us Lindy, I had forgotten how much you make my ribs hurt from laughter!" They touched glasses and Baz looked thoughtfully over the top of his at Lynette before sipping.

His mood turned sombre and he suddenly became all business. "Lindy, I have to ask a few questions, I hope you don't mind but it is important to me." Lynette nodded, it was unusual for him to be so serious with her. _What was going on?_

"The drugs you sold me, where did you get them?"

"You know I can't tell you that without a very good reason Baz."

"Yes, yes, forgive me I should explain... You see the drugs you sold me were mine... Not mine in the UK but they have my shipping mark on them which means that one of my customers bought them from me in Morocco before shipping them to their respective markets. For the UK I only sell to one buyer. He takes all of the transport risk once they reach Spain or if he collects from me in Morocco. And this is the important bit, he is not missing any of his shipments as far as I am aware. If the drugs came from him, Lindy, then I am concerned for your friend's safety and for you. I would never let them harm you of course but your friends... well... you know what the underworld is like... particularly the underworld with terrorist links." Baz held his hands out with his palms upwards while giving a little shrug and shaking his head.

"It is very difficult for me Lindy, I need you to understand."

Lynette's mind was racing, how much did she reveal? At the end of the day she went back a long way with Baz, far longer than Max or Tony. The truth seemed like the best option. She took a deep breath. "I can tell you what I've been told Baz, whether it's true or not I really don't know. The drugs came from Spain, normally they would have gone to Amsterdam but as I understand it one of your buyers had a heart attack before he shipped them on. A friend of mine brought them to the UK but really had no idea what he was going to do with them or how he was going to sell them, that's when I thought of you."

"Do you remember the buyer's name Lindy?"

"Bill or William Smith, an old guy with false passports apparently."

Baz visibly relaxed. "That's good Lindy, for a moment I thought that you or your friends might have double crossed Irish Jack, believe me that would not be good news."

A thought sparked through Lynette's brain 'Irish Jack'? "Would he be a big guy who says 'feck' a lot? He's probably about six two tall, has a salt and pepper moustache, soft brown curly hair and tattoos? Oh, and he drinks Jack Daniels."

Baz blanched and looked very nervous. "Where did you meet him Lynette? You do not want to know this man."

Lynette decided to come completely clean and explained the connection with Max via dancing at the club, how Jack had thrown out some other lowlife and how he was trying to pressurise Max into the courier business.

"I met him where I dance on weekend nights and I think he burned my friend's club down and put me out of a job. About ten days after he visited the place and boasting about being able to arrange an insurance refurb, one of your lot reversed his car into the place, poured petrol all over and set light to it."

"What do you mean by 'one of my lot' Lindy?" Baz looked quizzical.

"Sorry Baz, you know I'm not racist. I can't be with my mixed heritage. A Muslim guy has pleaded guilty to setting the fire. Mohammed Akbar I think; says it was for religious reasons but I'm not buying that, he's been in the club more than a few times. Someone paid him."

Baz looked worried and picked up his mobile. He dialled a number and waited.

"Jack, I have a question for you." No pleasantries, no introduction, straight to business. "Did you or your boys set fire to Pussycats lap dancing club in Basildon?"

"How the feck do you know about that place... fecking amazing... where do you get your intel, Bish? You got your boy following me eh? Feck... no, it wasn't me or me boys. I did offer to arrange a Jewish stocktake but the owner didn't seem that keen, maybe he got the idea and arranged it himself, what's it to you anyway, Bish?"

"It's nothing Jack, just a minor irritation but I would be grateful if you could go easy on the owner for a while and leave him out of your plans, he's the guy I met in Tetouan, isn't he?"

"I think he came over with Bill and Paddy to help Paddy with the boat, his name is Max... He's not one of my boys, just a friend of Jochem's really but we can give him a bit more space. Now if he's got issues with that scumbag Vince that need sorted let me know; me boys will be more than happy to oblige."

"Thanks Jack, good night."

Baz turned back to Lindy and topped up her champagne. "Well... it looks like we are in luck, the fire was nothing to do with Jack but just to be sure I'll get Ishmail to persuade a few people to be more forthcoming... I don't like the idea of you being at risk Lindy, not after losing you for a while, anyway my darling can I persuade you to my bedroom? Will you join me in my hot tub?"

Baz felt like a comfy old blanket to Lynette, his body still provided a thrill but his slow deliberate foreplay took her back to their earlier life. They exited the hot tub and Baz laid Lynette out on the bed.

"You look beautiful babe, let me get some oil and massage that wonderful body of yours."

Lynette was not complaining as Bashar poured warm oil on her back and slowly began to work it in around her shoulders and down to the small of her back before concentrating on her buttocks just teasing the gap between her legs. He began to massage her sphincter to relax it when Lynette reacted.

"Uh, Uh, Baz, no anal sex, you know that I don't like it and it's not good for either of us when it comes to health."

"Sorry my darling, I will behave."

He turned Lynette over and moved down to her feet, sucking her toes before oiling her legs and slowly working his way up. He nibbled at her lips and flicked her clitoris with his tongue eliciting a moan. Lynette pushed her mound upwards forcing Baz to concentrate on bringing her to the first of the night's orgasms. He held her clit softly between his teeth until the wave of pleasure started to subside before bringing her to the heights once again. Satisfied that she was content for now, he poured more warm oil over her body and slowly kneaded her breasts, playfully nipping her nipples and neck with his teeth.

"Baz, be careful, don't mark me! I'm not your exclusive plaything anymore."

"Oh, Lindy, it's so hard not to bite and you know that I still want you as mine."

"Hmm, if you're getting close to biting it's time to change over and let me have my fun."

She slid out from underneath him and went to her overnight case bringing out four lengths of black velvet rope.

"Now big boy if you can't behave then I'm going to have to tie you up. Come on hands above your head."

Lynette bound Bashar's hands above his head and to the iron frame of the bed before taking each leg and tying them to the lower end frame leaving him spread eagled.

"Lindy, I would never let anyone else do this to me, you know that I trust you completely don't you?"

Lynette put her finger to her lips before pouring a generous amount of oil over Baz from a height, she straddled him and massaged it into his body stopping each time he tried to squirm and enter her.

"Ah, ah, not yet Baz, we have lots of playtime yet."

Lynette went back to her case and brought out some nipple clamps, a straw and a small cut throat style razor.

"Do you still like pain Baz?"

He nodded and looked increasingly excited. She made him lift his body and placed a pillow under his backside to lift his cock further up into the air before taking him into her mouth and sliding down his length. Baz groaned and didn't notice the slight nick to his scrotum that Lynette made with the razor. She placed the straw into the hole and blew gently inflating his sac eliciting further moaning.

"Steady now Baz, we've a long way to go." She sucked on him like a lollipop before straddling him once again and slowly attaching the nipple clamps to his chest. As she allowed him to enter her folds she pulled on the chain extending causing him exquisite pain and pleasure all in one heady mix. She rode him teasing with her muscle control around his shaft while occasionally tugging the chain to snap his attention back to her. She never knew with Baz if it was the pain or the pleasure that gave him the kicks or a combination of the two, judging by the sounds coming from him and the extension of his head and neck Baz was enjoying himself.

"Do you trust me Baz?" He looked directly into her eyes and nodded.

Lynette picked up the final velvet rope and slowly and deliberately wrapped it round his neck. As she slowly rode him she tightened the rope cutting off his air supply forcing him to struggle against his bindings. She could feel his cock swelling and gripped harder. The combination of fighting for air and his heightened erotic state caused him to cum in deep spurts while grunting and gasping for air.

As he started to come down from his high he struggled to speak. "Fuck me Lindy, my god I've missed you." He gulped for more air. "Fuck that was good but can you let the air out of my balls because it's a bit uncomfortable, Jesus you've emptied me."

She slowly lifted her body off him and went back to her case bringing out a strong antiseptic and small plaster. She removed the nipple clamps and patted the nipples with the antiseptic causing Baz to gasp as it found the small cuts in his flesh.

She admonished him, "Don't be a girl Baz."

His balls were still inflated meaning the straw needed to be re-inserted to allow the air out. She squeezed softly until they were down to normal size. Before carrying out a final inspection she took a testicle into her mouth and sucked causing him to writhe on the bed and start to get harder again.

"Not now, here a bit of antiseptic sting will cool you off."

Lynette was at her most sadistic, she used to enjoy the games with Baz until he just took them too far and wanted to introduce other people, a shame really, in many ways they were well suited but in others a chasm apart.

"Now then Baz, while you are at my mercy how do you know Max and who's Paddy?"

He laughed.

"Lindy you don't need to keep me tied up, you only need to ask."

Bashar freely gave the information of the problems with supply via Algeciras and the need for a small boat trip. Max had been roped in as he knew how to handle a boat and was a pal of Bill's, he hadn't any idea of what he was letting himself in for or the true purpose of the trip.

"He was a nice guy Lindy, interesting to talk to and very polite, it's probably best though that he does not know of our relationship just yet, I really want to sort the fire problem with Jack first. You know how it is, saying 'no' and meaning 'no' can be different things and Jack might have just conveniently forgotten that he asked for the fire to be set."

For the next hour or so the two of them cuddled up in bed until Baz's obvious erection continued to get in the way. Lynette slowly stroked up and down his shaft before taking him in her mouth and sucking him dry. He groaned in pleasure. He never had to ask Lynette; she was tuned in to him and just seemed to know what he wanted. Lynette was starting to get sleepy and decided it was time for a quick shower and to head home.

Baz really didn't want Lindy to leave. "Are you sure you have to go Lindy? Couldn't you stay for a few days? How about becoming my personal legal advisor? I would pay you the market rate plus twenty percent."

"No Baz, It's time to go but if you're a good boy I will come visit you later in the month."

"Just think about it for me Lindy, I'll pay a fifty percent premium to the market rate! By the way I've put the balance of the cash in a briefcase in the hallway, the street value was around two twenty so I've put another forty-eight grand into the case and twelve thousand into a small bag as your commission, plus of course some spending money for you."

"Hmm, don't spoil it Baz, I'm not in the game anymore. Tonight was for old time's sake, it was good to see you and I enjoyed myself Baz. It's not one sided. I still have feelings for you."

"Consider the cash a gift Lindy, buy some dresses or whatever it is that you girls do and thank you... thanks for coming back into my life. Please don't be a stranger anymore."
Chapter 34 - New plans

Lynette handed over the briefcase to Max the following week letting him know that it was already net of her commission leaving him with forty-eight grand of clean cash to do whatever he wanted with. It had turned out to be a nice little earner for Lynette, almost a fifteen thousand from Max plus a five thousand pound gift from Baz. With those figures it was tempting to go back on the high-class escort circuit, but she'd promised herself before that once she had enough money to buy an apartment and pay for her education, she would stop. She mentally told herself off. _Come on Lynette, you can 't break promises to yourself... it screws you up too much_. Not revealing just how much commission she had out of the deal was different, hell she was a lawyer, they were always in the top five most hated and least trustworthy professions. She decided she'd live up to her billing and besides it would help compensate her for lost income, and if she wanted, she could have a break from dancing at slimy Vinnie's.

Tony had been very busy and thrown himself into the refurbishment with gusto. His plans were beautifully drawn, not formal lines and measurements, but fluid drawings full of motion and ideas. The colour scheme was vibrant deep reds, coloured panels, mirrors and coloured lights gave the place a feeling of space particularly with the clever use of LEDs. The three of them were onsite to look at bringing his vision into reality. He had the drawings stuck up on the bare walls and a can of spray paint and a marker in his hand to agree the layout.

Max was impressed. "Bloody hell Tony, how did you get the place stripped back so quickly?"

"I've got plenty of mates prepared to do a bit of labouring for sixty quid a day and to be fair they all worked their balls off, mind you. They also finished off some of the bottled beer as part of the deal to get them to finish in two days. The grab lorries were a fortune though; it's bloody expensive trying to get rid of waste these days. Oh and I did remember to clear it with Joel that I was going to use our own guys. We saved a packet."

Lynette piped in, "Come on then Tony, sell it to us."

He wandered round with his spray can marking up mirror positions, lights and wall colours, when he came to the dividing wall, he stopped and looked to Max. "I know I said I could deliver this for fifty but I might need a bit of flex when it comes to taking this wall out, to be safe I really need to put a steel through here, then we won't need to go to the landlord and beg permission. You know the way it works, forgiveness is easier than permission eh Lynette?"

"Not a problem mate, we did pretty well out of the London deal and your idea to bring in other acts sounds good to me." Tony grinned and carried on with the rest of his tour marking out the new stage area in the back area before heading to the bar.

"One of my mates fits granite for a living so we thought that we'd go for a black granite bar top with plenty of sparkle in it, and loads of LED lights over the top sunk into a false ceiling, Jimmy reckons he can build one up from wood and plasterboard pretty easily, it'll be fine honest Max. Don't look so worried."

"I don't know Tony. I'm just not very good at imaging things from paper drawings or just bits of paint on the wall. What do you think Lynette?"

"I think it'll be pretty cool but if you're gonna open up the back we better put another pole in so we can have three girls dancing if it gets busy. Make sure it's a decent pole Tony, no cheap crap."

Max just couldn't get that excited at the thought of spending his sudden windfall if the insurance company weren't going to pony up. "Listen guys, we better clear things with Joel before we go any further, I know he says that it should get sorted but you never know."

He left Lynette and Tony chatting and picked up his mobile to call Joel. The news was still not good. The insurer was still delaying despite the two sides' claims advisors agreeing. Apparently there was still a debate about the exact wording of the policy despite assurances that this had previously been resolved and Joel was convinced that they were still trying to find a way to wriggle out of things. It really wasn't what Max wanted to hear.

"Well what do I do Joel? I'm ready to start to refurbish the place. If it was your cash would you risk it?"

" _Oy vey_ ... My boy... I probably would. You say that the police have ruled out terrorism, it was most definitely a fire, so at some stage they are going to have to pay out. If they don't pay out then the FSC will get involved and I'm certain that they will force them to honour it, your only issue is that it could take six months or even a year to get solved."

"Didn't Sergeant Greaves give you a call about the accused? There's no mention of terrorism."

"Yeah nice guy. Confirmed what you had said. You know you have to remember, like I said before, that this is a big claim for a small insurer. They could just be trying to smooth their cash flow as well as looking for an out. I'll give their loss adjuster another call and get the number for the claims manager so that I can nudge him. I'll give you a call when I've got some news Max, I realise that it's frustrating."

Max turned back to Tony and Lynette. "Well we still don't seem to be any further forward but in for a penny in for a pound. Unless we get the doors back open we won't be making any cash, how long until the landlord's crew finish their work Tony?"

Tony looked around the bare shell before responding. "There's nothing structural so they reckon they should be out of here within four weeks and as long as we don't get in their way they're comfortable for us to work on isolated areas alongside them. So say eight to ten weeks to be safe... if I can get it done quicker of course I will."

Max ran his hand through his hair. He was out of his comfort zone. "Okay, let's review it again in a one week's time Tony. I'd rather get a firm date so that we can talk to some of the press to cover our re-launch. If we provide them with free drinks and food we should get some decent coverage. It might even tie-in with the sentencing of the little shit that did this with luck."

Max decided to break the good news to Rachel and rang her mobile; for a change she picked up.

"Hi Rachel, how are you?"

"I'm okay Max, how are things at your end?"

"Really going well, we've started the club refurbishment it's all cleared out and Tony has the plans all in place for the rebuild so we should be re-launching in around six to eight weeks. You will be here for the re-launch won't you Rachel?"

She could hear the tension and pleading in his voice. "Look Max, I really don't know, I've moved on from our relationship, it was great while it lasted but the fun had gone out of life. You need to move on as well."

"Rachel... You can't give up on us yet... I've almost sorted everything... The club will be back on track and I've got enough money to move forward in Brazil, replace the car... even take holidays. How about we go away on holiday somewhere nice like the Caribbean?" He was clutching at straws.

"Where did all the money come from Max? Have you being playing with drugs and your druggie friends?" Rachel's voice was calm and collected. "I've already told you, I've moved on Max, I'm spending time with Nick and having fun. When you've finished in the UK we need to talk about dividing up our assets."

Max felt like he had been kicked in the gut.

"Look Rachel I understand that it's not a good time to talk right now, I'll ring you in a few days. Love you."

He terminated the call in a hurry and wandered outside for some fresh air, how had their relationship ended up in such a mess?
Chapter 35 - Ishmail

Bashar was not happy with the number of coincidences in life. He didn't believe in them and wanted to know what was going on.

"Ishmail, I need you to arrange some research and to go and talk with this Mohammed Akbar. Find out where he's from, where his family live and put pressure on him via them to get to the truth. A personal visit may be in order." Ishmail nodded, he had worked long enough with Bashar to understand the unspoken words. He would get to the bottom of this one way or another.

Four hours and many phone calls later, Ishmail had a small folder on his desk with all the details he needed to move forward. He had Mo Akbar's criminal record, his work records, his address and more importantly the addresses of his brothers, sisters and elderly parents. It looked as if his parents had come to the UK seeking work, settled in Britain for forty odd years, and returned to Tangier to live with their elder son and his family. It was just the sort of pressure point that he needed. He would send an emissary to Tangier and visit the family in the UK personally.

Ishmail put on an expensive Italian suit and took the Bentley, looking the part was important when it came to applying subtle pressure. He jumped in the car and headed for North London and arrived unannounced.

The house was on a busy road but looked to be in good order. A typical Victorian detached five bed villa which had been extended, they were a favourite of Asian and African families who would fill the house with relatives to pay for the mortgage. It wasn't unusual to have two or three loosely related families under the one roof. He parked his car in the middle of the driveway and strolled up to the door where he rang the bell. A small girl answered the door, took one look at Ishmail, shut it again and scuttled off to get her parents.

When it was opened for a second time Ishmail loomed large. "Mr. and Mrs. Akbar?" The man nodded and pushed his wife behind him, Ishmail inwardly grinned, this was exactly the effect he wanted.

"My name is Ishmail Benou, I am here as the personal emissary of Prince Mohammed Bashar Aahdil Kaddouri the bringer of tidings and enactor of judgement. I seek an urgent answer from your brother Mohammed Akbar to find who is responsible for paying for the fire to be lit at a nightclub in Essex." Ishmail stood to his full height and glared.

Mr. Akbar needed to change his pants. "Please, Sir, I know nothing of my brother's actions we are a humble family and I have little contact with him."

"As if that is believable, I can smell your lies; you are an insult to the people of Morocco! Know this. My colleague is due to speak to your brother and parents in Tangier; perhaps they will be more forthcoming... He is less pleasant than I am." Ishmail paused implying a threat before delivering one verbally.

"Here is my mobile number." He gave the family a business card with nothing on it but his phone number. "I need an answer before the day after tomorrow or your family will be considered as being responsible and judgement will be made and executed." As he enunciated 'executed' he slowly pulled his finger across his throat, he thought that the guy had definitely shit himself this time. Satisfied with the level of intimidation he turned on his heel got back in the car and drove off leaving Mohammed's brother standing on the doorstep open mouthed.

It wasn't long before the phone rang in the household, it would seem that Ishmail's accomplice in Morocco was somewhat less subtle - threatening everything from rape and pillage to disembowelling. A rapid visit to Chelmsford jail ensued the next day and Ishmail's phone rang just after noon.

"Sir, it is Amir Akbar I have visited my brother he had _Diyya_ to pay... blood money... you understand?" Ishmail grunted. "If he failed to pay it would have brought great shame on us all so our Imam took money from someone to pay the debt. In return Mohammed set the fire using religion as an excuse." Amir stopped talking expecting a response but got nothing. The silence was too much and he begged for mercy. "Please tell me that is sufficient information Sir, I have no more, I beg you for mercy, I beg for my family's lives."

"Text me the name and address of the Imam and do not tell him anything about me. If the story is true we will consider being merciful but if I do not get a name you will still be held responsible in full, you understand?" Ishmail terminated the call and smiled, things were going more quickly than he thought. Akbar was so scared he was bound to be on the phone to the Imam already, he would let them sweat for a day and find an inconvenient time to visit.
Chapter 36 - Dominic

Dominic was amazed at the quality of the diamonds that Max had brought him. He'd made a few decent rings with some of the smaller stones and a few statement pieces with some of the larger ones, the clarity and cut was superb. As he was selling them through his London partner he had carefully appraised each stone and provided paperwork with them, the three larger rings he made had sold like hot cakes. The bonuses paid in the banking world must have been good this year. He was due to deliver his next batch up to London later in the week and also needed to deliver Rachel's ring and necklace to Max. He picked up his mobile phone and scrolled through for his number.

"Hello... Max? It's me Dominic, how's things?"

"Looking up, thanks Dom. How's my jewellery business coming along?"

"It's been pretty good, that's what I'm ringing about. Can you make lunch in London on Friday? I've got to bring up a few more pieces for resale and I've also finished the two presents for Rachel."

"I'll be there Dom, where do you want to meet?"

"I've got to meet someone early at The Institute of Directors on Pall Mall but I should be finished about midday so I'll meet you outside then we can head out to get some lunch. What food do you fancy? There are a few good places around in walking distance. Oh, and I need bank details to send you some money, well actually quite a lot of money."

"Great, I love getting paid! I'll text you some details and see you on Friday. Give my love to Lizzie and the kids."

Max left the club and wandered straight over to his bank in the town square. It was best to talk about money coming in and going out before it came up on someone's radar and he found himself getting reported to the police. He knew the manager and staff there very well now after all of the issues he had with the club. He kicked himself for not asking how much to expect. He picked up his mobile and dialled.

"Dom, hi it's me, sorry to disturb you again but how much should I expect to come into my account later in the week, I'm just heading over to the bank to give them a heads up."

"Hang on, I can give you an exact figure. One hundred and nineteen thousand four hundred and fifty pounds."

"How much!!!??"

"One hundred and nineteen thousand four hundred and fifty pounds, that's the best I could do for you on the first batch Max were you expecting more? "

"No, no Dom that's bloody brilliant, I didn't expect anything like that much cash, Jesus I've gone from stony broke to having cash coming out of my ears... thanks Dom... fantastic... any ideas on how I explain this away?"

"Well the payment will be coming direct from my jewellery and pawn broking business so if it was me I would say that a great aunt died and left you a load of jewellery that proved to be very good... What's your worry Max? They're hardly going to think that you're a drug dealer are they?"

Max winced. "That's another story for another time Dom. Look forward to seeing you Friday, cheerio."

For a change the bank manager was in and available for a quick meeting. As Max explained his story the manager raised an eyebrow at the amount of money coming into the account but was content that the funds were coming from a reputable business. He was also glad that his hunch to back Max had come off. It hadn't been the easiest of decisions to make.

Max prattled on about the refurbishment, insurance and getting the club open again before deciding to invite the manager to the opening party. He seemed pleased but wasn't too sure when Max suggested that he bring his wife... _a lap dancing club ... hmm that would take some selling_. He'd explain it away as a late night lounge bar and head off before the clock struck twelve. He'd always wanted to know what went on behind the club's closed doors; it was definitely one of his more interesting clients. Before finishing up Max arranged for seventy thousand to be converted into euros and sent out to be paid against the mortgage account in Spain. He couldn't remember exact figures but knew that it was around the hundred and ten thousand euro mark. He didn't want to overpay as getting the money back could be a problem, best just to pay a large chunk down. He'd have to phone Rachel and tell her later, maybe he'd text. The last call had not been so good.

Friday came round pretty quickly and Max caught the six minute past ten train from Basildon to Fenchurch Street before walking round to Tower Hill to catch the District line to Embankment. He enjoyed the short walk along The Strand and stopped off to admire Nelson's column in Trafalgar square before heading along Pall Mall to the IoD. It was a sunny day and Max was content to wander slowly along looking in the odd shop window and marvelling at the range of languages that he heard as people passed him. Just before midday he crossed the road and was about to stand outside when Dominic came bouncing down the steps.

"Max! Perfect timing... you owe me lunch!"

"Nice to see you too, Dominic."

"Oops, yeah hi Max, sorry, good to see you... I'm a bit hyped up after seeing some of my partner's new design ideas. You know I love the creative bit and anyway you do owe me lunch after the cash transfer I sent you." Dominic was running on full speed as if he had drunk too many strong coffees.

"Come on, there's a nice little restaurant in Jermyn Street where we can get a table at the back to discuss things in peace and quiet."

It wasn't long before they were toasting each other with their first glass of Sancerre while working through the menu. "Looks great Dominic, what do you recommend? You've obviously eaten here a few times."

"It's up to you Max, everything is pretty good, I particularly like starting with the grilled Cornish sardines, followed by the Dover sole but that's me being a fish lover, the filet mignon is good for carnivores like you."

"Okay, boring as ever I'm going to have the shrimp and crab timbale followed by steak."

"It's not boring if it's what you like, now come on spill the beans what are you doing with all of this money and what are you doing about Rachel? Oh, by the way I've got her two pieces here."

Dominic retrieved a small black velvet bag stashed in his briefcase, unfolded another piece of velvet to set them on and laid his creations out on the table.

"Dom they look absolutely stunning... a million dollars."

"Not quite Max but believe me if you were buying them here in London say across the road in the Burlington arcade at full retail you wouldn't get a lot of change from a hundred grand... You know that jewellers basically mark things up by around three hundred percent don't you? Gotta make the money to cover the overheads in this business, particularly if you're paying London rents." Dominic was still in full flow as he topped up both of their glasses. The waiter obviously didn't appreciate the need to slake his thirst.

"Anyway Max enough about that, how's it going with Rachel? Have you patched it up yet?"

Max folded the pieces back into the bag and sighed. "It's not good at the moment Dom, you can't patch up a relationship over the phone, we really need to sit down together and talk things through. Rachel is convinced that it's over but it's only because she thinks all of the money that I've suddenly come into is from transporting drugs. Mind you, how do I tell her that it comes from Bill Smith's diamond stash? She's probably going to be just as pissed off with that and will end up shopping me as a thief or something... I don't know... I seem to be lucky with other women lately if I want but the trouble is I don't want. I really want Rachel back in my life."

"Listen mate, once you sit down together and talk things through I'm sure it'll work out okay. Just tell her the truth, tell her you love her and present her with your new gifts. I've never known a woman to turn down diamonds, especially diamonds as beautiful as those." Dom inclined his head towards the small bag. "Think of it as a new beginning."

"Make sure you take care of them Max. We're going to have a few drinks; I made sure that I didn't bring anything else with me in case we get pissed. If the worst came to the worst they'd probably be covered under my jewellers' insurance."

"Top the glasses up Dom, for a change the pair of jeans I've got on have an inside zip pocket, I'll just nip to the loo and put them next to my Crown Jewels."

Lunch turned into a very boozy affair with two bottles of Sancerre and a bottle of Rioja for good measure. Dom couldn't bring himself to drink red with his Dover sole so left the red to Max and had another glass or two of house white. They spent so much time chatting that the business lunch crowd had been and gone by the time they settled their bill. They toddled outside to get taxis to their respective mainline stations. Negotiating the Tube in a slightly pissed state was never a good idea, nor was sending Rachel drunken 'I love you' texts from the back of the cab, but a little lubrication went a long way at lunchtime.
Chapter 37 - Interim pay out

Max was feeling flush and decided to take Lynette and Tony for dinner. He'd had a great time with Dominic the day before and was keen to carry on the following evening. He'd spent a bit of time with Tony to oversee the refurb and also been on the phone to Joel for a considerable time. He just didn't know how to get the urgency of the situation over to him. He was so relaxed about things it was untrue but Max wanted his bloody money... What was it with this guy? He'd employed him because he thought that the Jewish boys were hustlers. Lynette had firm views.

"Look Max, nobody does anything until you start to squeeze their plums, you really need to get something strong down in writing, registered post or signed for as received to show them that you mean business and that you're not going to be pushed around. Find out what the key phrases are that float their boat and who the governing bodies are. Come on. We can do it now. No time like the present."

Lynette pinched Tony's laptop and began trawling the web looking up the Government Financial Services sites, there seemed to be quite a lot of information about treating customers and consumers fairly. She then went to The Chartered Institute of Loss Adjustors' site and picked up a few key lines of information from their code of ethics. One last check revealed the CEO of the insurer.

"Right Max, here we go, I've drafted an email for you to the CEO of the insurer and copied it to Joel and the insurer's loss adjuster. Basically it's complaining that despite agreement between the two parties there has been no admission of loss and importantly no reason given why the losses should be excluded. You've received legal opinion and have been informed that you should complain direct to the FSC on the basis that the insurer is not treating you fairly as a customer and that the insurer is breaching the FSC requirements. It should stir up a bit of a hornet's nest especially if we also send it as a recorded delivery letter and mark it 'without prejudice' which ironically means just about the opposite. Log in to your account and send it."

Max marvelled at how quickly Lynette got things done and wasn't going to complain, he hated admin so was mighty pleased to just have to cut and paste and press send. It couldn't do any harm. Hopefully he would get a response sometime tomorrow.

The night out was good fun with plenty of alcohol consumed. Max and Tony tried to persuade Lynette to let either of them into her pants. Some of her put-downs were legend so the two of them gave up and decided to get drunk instead. As Lynette was working in chambers in the morning she stayed sober and had the delight of watching the man love or 'bromance' increase with each drink.

Tony slung his arm around Max. "You know mate I love you. I love my new job... It's gonna be fucking fantastic." Lynette had seen enough, it was starting to get sloppy.

"Right boys, come on drink up, time for you two to go home and slobber over each other there or whatever else it is that you do when two blokes are deeply in love."

"What d'yu mean? He's just my mate he is......I bloody love 'im."

"Yeah, yeah, come on Tony, the taxi is waiting."

She made sure that the boys managed to open the door to Tony's place before continuing home to her apartment. It was just gone midnight and she was feeling a bit lonely having been left out of the fun for much of the night. She picked up her phone and called Baz.

"Hey Baz, how you doing?" She knew that the Baz of old would still be up as he was a real creature of the night.

"Lindy! All the better for hearing from you, what's the matter my darling you sound low. Do you want me to get Ishmail to come and pick you up? Is there something else I can help with?" Typical Baz, he always acted as the knight in shining armour but one of his team always had to do the work.

"No Baz, I just wanted someone to talk to. It gets lonely keeping up the uber bitch act and fending off the losers in this town, anyway, change the subject to something else. Have you found out anything else about who set fire to the place?"

"Funny that you should ask that... Ishmail has been very persuasive." Baz paused while thinking about the word. "Yes, persuasive is the right word. He's followed the money trail to Mill Hill in North London but I haven't seen him since he paid the Imam a visit, I would imagine by now he will have a name."

"That's great news, listen Baz, I won't object if you say no but would you come to the re-launch party at the club with me? It's not London, it's not flash but I would love you to be my guest for a change. You can stay over with me for the night but just remember that your spare room is probably bigger than my lounge."

"Lindy, if I get to be with you then I don't mind if we are together in a match box, of course I'll be there, text me the date and details."

After spending another ten minutes on the phone Lynette curled up in bed with thoughts running through her head. Maybe she should go back to Baz. She would be free to work on whatever projects she wanted and if they had kids they would be beautiful, but if they had girls she would be bringing them up in a society where they were third class citizens. She needed to get back dancing, exercise helped her sleep and stopped her having time for silly thoughts.

The following morning Max was late rising so it wasn't long after his shower and breakfast that the phone rang. "Max, it's Joel, have you turned into an _Alter Cocker_ (complaining old man) or what?! Are you trying to take my job? I'm _schvitzing_ (sweating) for you day in day out and you land a nuclear bomb on my desk, _Oy, oy_ , _oy_ ..." Max didn't know how to respond to being called an _Alter Cocker_.

"Max are you there? I'm only kidding my boy, but it might have helped to give me a heads up. _Oy vey_ you've kicked the hornet's nest and a few people will get stung along the way but for you, yes for you, it's good news. The CEO has sanctioned an interim payment of forty thousand and has put his trouble-shooter on the case. It should get resolved much quicker, probably the next few weeks. Where did you learn to write such legal jargon and which buttons to push... I could give you a job. You could drive me round in my Mercedes sports car in the day and write letters at night." He could hear Joel laughing at the other end of the line.

"That's good news Joel but I have to be honest it wasn't me that drafted it, believe it or not one of my dancers is a qualified barrister and this is just chicken shit stuff to her."

"Max... Why have I not met this girl already? You need to introduce me."

"All in good time Joel, all in good time. Hey, can you come to the opening party? Tony is doing a great job on the refurb and we should re-launch in a few weeks' time, with a bit of luck. I'm also going to try to tie it in with some press coverage when the little shit that did it gets sentenced."

"I'll be there already if you introduce me to your hot little dancer with the legal brain but don't tell Mrs. Finkelstein or I'll end up like the Polish pickle slicer."

Max wasn't really that with it. "Joel you're not making sense, what's the Polish pickle slicer got to do with things?"

"It's a joke Max... I'll tell you when I see you next."

"Aww come on Joel, you can't leave me in suspense."

"That's the great part of it Max, always leave them wanting more." With that Joel hung up.
Chapter 38 - Progress at the club

Tony was making fantastic progress at the club and it was really starting to come together. The main room had been opened up, the wiring and lighting circuits completed and the stage area had been constructed. The bar was still work in progress waiting for Tony's friend to come up with the granite work surface at a knock down price. The walls had been plastered and had various daubs of paint indicating the colour scheme that was being put in place. Finally Max could imagine what it was going to look like. Tony also had pictures of the various tables, chairs and sofas that were due to be delivered the following week.

"It's amazing Tony, but how much is it all going to cost me? You must have spent double the bloody budget!" Max was in full on panic mode.

Tony laughed. "Have faith Max, I told you that I might need an extra ten thousand because of the steel joist but at the moment I'm only four thousand overspent so in my eyes you've saved six grand. You've got to know where to look for the materials and where to get the trades. Some of the gear comes from free recycling sites, other bits come off eBay, the tables and chairs come from a restaurant that went bust up the road. Of course getting labour at mate's rates is bloody helpful. Amazing what flashing a bit of cash does eh mate?"

"Amazing is the right word, I just can't believe it." Max turned in a circle imagining what it was going to be like. He was confident that it would be good.

"Okay, we need to plan for the opening night, when do you think you can do it for Tony? Two Thursday's from now? That would give us the chance to hold the party and if everything went well we could open up on the Saturday night as normal, you could use the Friday to iron out any issues... What do you think?"

"Yeah we can do that, it's better to have a deadline. We'll need to order in more stock and sort out the catering though. I've planned a fairly simple menu that anyone can cook up for weekend and band nights so it doesn't put too much pressure on the kitchen, most of it is pre-packed and involves either a combi-oven, micro or deep fat fryer. Perfect for soaking up the booze. Do you want me to start ordering stuff up and arranging deliveries?"

"No, you concentrate on what you're doing and just tell me what you need. It'll give me a chance to tell the suppliers that you'll be taking over ordering and running the place, I'll get some invitations drawn up for the private party as well. How many can we take?"

"With the extra space probably a hundred and twenty, oh and I'm going to have girls wandering round topping up drinks as a bit of an experiment."

"Okay, mate, I'll get out of your way and start on the things that I need to do... See you later. And thanks Tony."

Max was really happy with the way that things were going. All he needed to do now was get Rachel back on side. He thought things through for a change and phoned Jenny first. She was free for the opening party and Rachel could stay with her or they would get a local hotel together somewhere. Step one completed, now the difficult bit. He phoned Rachel and spent the next fifteen minutes persuading her to come over to the UK and the opening party. By the end of the conversation she had even agreed to have dinner the night before to talk about things. Max took that to mean discuss getting back together but Rachel was thinking more along the lines of how to divide up their belongings. They were really at cross purposes at the moment.

Rachel put the phone down and slumped back in the comfy chair. What was she going to do? Life with Nick was easy, he loved buying her clothes, shoes whatever she wanted. He insisted that she used the drop top Bentley to go anywhere and even asked if she had enough cash in her account and if she needed it topped up. She loved the glitz. The sex was okay, the lifestyle was what she imagined the stars experienced but the passion just wasn't really there. Could she really live as a kept women? Seeing Max again was not going to be easy but she owed it to him to talk face to face and try to get both their lives heading in opposite directions as smoothly as possible. If only she knew what she really wanted in life, anyway, it would be good to see Jenny. Girl talk would help settle things down.

Nick came back from one of his many cafe business discussions and found Rachel still slouched in the comfy chair with a glass of cold white wine in her hand and melancholy music playing in the background. He could see that she had been crying by the redness around her eyes.

"Hey babe, what's the problem, we can't have you crying. What can I do to fix things? Have I been leaving you on your own too much, not paying you enough attention?" Nick took a tissue and slowly dabbed her eyes dry.

"Oh Nick, it's not that, it's just that I can't continue to hide here at the villa, I need to sort out the other bits of my life, the letting business, the club, the apartment and Max. He's reopening the club soon so I'm going to have to go over and deal with things face to face."

Nick looked very concerned at the mention of Max. "You don't have to do anything Rachel. I can get my lawyers to sort everything out. If you want you can just walk away."

"Surely you understand that I can't do that Nick. It's not fair. I owe Max more than that... As much as it's going to be painful I'm going to have to sit down with him and talk things through. I've told him it's over but he's still clutching at straws and thinking that everything will come right." Rachel shook her head. "He's either playing dumb or is just being pig-headed."

Nick could see that he wasn't going to win the argument or get her to do things from a distance. He changed tack. "Well if you've got to go let me come with you and support you through the process."

Rachel looked up at him. "I know that you'll support me whatever Nick but this is something that I've got to do alone. You can't micro-manage my life no matter how much you try. Oh and by the way, Clare would have looked after the business regardless so I hope you didn't give her too much money."

He looked surprised. "How did you know about that?"

"Come on Nick, we're in a village down here, whispers always get back. It was very sweet of you but completely unnecessary. And talking of unnecessary I can pay my own bills in restaurants, it was embarrassing yesterday when the owner wouldn't let me or my girlfriends pay for lunch." Rachel put on a foreign accent and wobbled her head. "I so sorry Madam but the bill it is already paid, Mr. Nick he insist.........You've got to let me live my own life Nick."

"I thought we'd sorted that last night Rachel, I've promised that I won't do it again."

"Yeah I know, sorry I'm just a grouch, call it PMT or whatever. I'm going to have to go back next week. I'll stay with Jenny for a few nights before going to Basildon. She's agreed to come with me to the opening party so I'll have moral support. We'll book in to a local hotel and NO I don't need you to book it for me."

Rachel felt like she was losing her own identity. Nick didn't mean to smother her but she liked her own independence, she didn't want to be known as Mrs. Nick and have people fawning over her, she was used to working for what she got in life. Was Nick a control freak or was he just being over-protective?

It was time to phone Jenny, get on the web, and book flights. She would just text Max to say that she would be there, now was not the time for another emotional phone call.
Chapter 39 - Second round

After much discussion Nick had relented and let Rachel sort out her own flights and make her own travel arrangements to Jenny's. He'd wanted to have her picked up by chauffeur but ended up compromising with dropping her off at Malaga airport himself. He was applying subtle pressure constantly - asking when she would be back, what she wanted him to get in for dinner and would she be back in time for the Charity do? It wasn't helping, she felt under pressure from all directions. After promising that she would ring or text every day she eventually got through security and headed to the bar to get herself a drink. She seriously needed some Bacardi.

The flight was as boring as ever. Rachel stuck her head in a book and steadfastly avoided talking to or making eye contact with anyone else. She wasn't really reading. She'd been on the same page for the last twenty minutes, and her mind was spinning trying to work out how to get Max to accept that they both needed to move on. Max had no clue and at the end of the day nor did she, was the next stage of her life with Nick? Was it Nick, was it just his money or just the fact that he was there when she was on the re-bound? It was all infuriating.

She collected her case from the carousel and wandered through the blue European customs lane before spilling out into the arrivals hall with lots of tourists from far-off destinations all sporting various shades of suntan. She was in her own little world.

"Rachel!... Rachel for Christ's sake... Hellooooo!" Jenny was hanging on to the chrome barrier with one hand and waving frantically with the other. "Jeez girl what planet are you on?"

The trains running in to London were on some form of 'go slow' due to engineering works so Jenny had decided to surprise Rachel by picking her up at the airport. Given her dreamy distracted state of mind it looked as if it was a really good call. Jenny could tell that her friend was zoned out, never a good thing when you need to travel through London. She would have been typical fodder for the pickpockets and scammers.

"Come on Rachel. I had to park up. We'll probably have to hold up the cashier at the newsagents to pay the charges." Rachel laughed and gave Jenny a big hug.

"I can't believe that you came to get me... you're such a good friend." Rachel's eyes started to well up with tears.

"Ah no! No tears until we get home and get some wine or Bacardi into us then you can tell me all about it."

Jenny stuck to small talk on the way back in the car and studiously avoided the subject of Max or Nick, she wittered on about what she'd been up to, the extended family, work, anything really to keep Rachel's mind on other things. It was a relief to arrive home and get into the house.

"Usual room Rachel, run a bath or have a shower if you want. I've put towels on your bed and I'll bring a drink up and chat to you if you're going to soak for a while. Alcohol or tea? No forget that I'll open some white wine for the pair of us."

Jenny could hear the bath water running and waited until Rachel was in and soaking before walking upstairs with two glasses of ice and the open bottle of wine. "Knock, knock." She nudged the door open with her foot and sat on the loo seat balancing the glasses in the sink before pouring a tumbler full of wine for Rachel and one for herself. "Cheers girl, drink up and then you can tell me what's been going on."

The girls stayed in the bathroom until the water was almost cold and the wine had been finished. Once Rachel had started talking it all came spilling out. The fact that she still loved Max, the problems with Nick trying to micro-manage her life, the awkwardness of sex with condoms, even the fact that Nick was strictly a missionary man which made Jenny laugh no end. "Oh Rachel, you can't go through the rest of your life in the missionary position, you'll have to get a bit on the side, a sexy Spanish waiter or something."

Jenny went downstairs to open a second bottle while Rachel dried off and got into her slouchy track suit and a big fluffy pair of Jenny's old slippers. She curled up in a big chair while Jenny sprawled on the settee, glass in hand.

"Well Rachel, despite all of the money and living like a princess it sounds to me as if you still don't really know what you want. Let's break it down to what's really important."

"That's easy to say Jen but not so easy to put in words... I just don't know... I want everything to go back to the way it was five years ago when Max was really happy. We were really happy..." Rachel was thinking out loud. "Yes, we were really happy then, we weren't rich in cash terms but the business was going well, our sex life was brilliant and our friends were interesting and fun... I don't know why our relationship has gone downhill so much? Max hasn't been happy for ages. If I'm honest looking back he was probably depressed. And I didn't help just nagging him all of the time... oh Jen... I just don't know... what am I supposed to do? It's not just money, relationships need that buzz as well don't they? Nick's lovely and I would never have to lift a hand again to clean or cook but I'm not sure that I can cope with someone being so controlling, he literally rings me ten times a day, and he even pays my lunch bills when he's not there. That really pisses me off."

They talked late into the night reliving their youth and fun times and bemoaning the fact that it was so hard to get a decent man. If Rachel could take the best bits of Max and best bits of Nick she would be a very happy lady but she had to be realistic... Neither of them were going to change. Tomorrow would be another day. She had to tell Max that it was over and be brave enough to go out into the world on her own.

Rachel became increasingly nervous as the day went on. She was due to see Max at seven in the hotel bar and they were going to go to dinner in the restaurant. Max had offered to take her wherever she wanted but staying in the hotel confines felt safe and hopefully a few other people around would ensure that neither of them started shouting or screaming at each other. She decided to make an effort to look good but tried to make sure that she didn't look sexy. She was wearing tight jeans with a blue and white striped linen shirt, navy blue heels and a high quality crop style blue soft leather Jacket. Despite thinking that she was dressing down, her makeup and general demeanour made her look hot.

Max rose from his seat at the bar and tousled his hair. He'd traded his normal outfit for a pair of black narrow leg jeans, an open neck crisp white shirt and black tailored Jacket. Rachel was impressed; he'd made an effort and was looking really good. More like the old Max that she used to know. Max gave her a hug and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Thanks for coming Rachel, you look stunning. I've got a bottle of Sancerre coming and of course some ice. How have you been keeping?"

Rachel was more confused than ever but decided that it was cards on the table time. "I'm good thanks Max. Things have been very different. You know that I've been living with Nick for a few weeks so I tend to get very spoilt, at some stage I'm going to have to get back to reality and stand on my own two feet again. How are things working out for you?" Max inwardly winced at the mention of Nick's name. He was supposed to be a good friend, but at the first sign of trouble between the two of them Nick had barged in as the unwelcome knight in shining armour giving Rachel all the things that he couldn't; what happened to honour among pals?

"Apart from missing you, pretty good thanks. You've seen that I've been able to pay off our mortgage on the apartment." Rachel interrupted and responded with a sarcastic tone in her voice. The night had hardly begun and it looked as if the arguments were about to start.

"No Max, I didn't know that you paid off the mortgage. It must have slipped your mind. How did you forget to tell me something so important!? And listen Max, if any part of that payment is from your dirty money from drugs you can take it right back."

"Whoa, sorry Rachel, don't jump down my throat, I thought that I'd already told you. Sorry okay. Listen let's have a glass of wine and start again. Let me tell you what I've been up to and hopefully it will explain things in a better manner. It's not dirty money it came from Dominic but let me start at the beginning. It's a long story and you know that talking about things has never been my strong point... try and cut me a little bit of slack before judging me... please." Rachel could see how uncomfortable and emotional Max was, he was constantly running his hand through his hair and looking down. She owed it to him to listen in silence.

Max, was unsure what to include in his story and what to leave out. He decided to come clean on the diamonds but would keep any mention of drugs out of the conversation.

"You remember Bill don't you?" Rachel nodded. "And you remember that his passports were all false and that he had money stashed away in various offshore accounts." Rachel nodded again and took a large sip of her wine, she really wasn't sure where this was going. "Well... When I was clearing out Bill's apartment I found some valuable stones... diamonds actually... hidden in a bag of ice in the freezer. Ironic huh? I don't know what caught my eye and I only just stopped myself throwing everything in the bin... and then, well, you probably know some of the rest of the story. I suppose I went a bit off of the rails..." Max looked to Rachel for understanding, she nodded and twirled her hand indicating for him to continue.

"I just didn't know what to do with them. I wasn't going to give them to Jack or Joey for them to traffic more drugs so I decided to drive back to the UK with them hidden away in the door of the car. That's when I said I was taking back the booze, but you saw through that didn't you." Rachel nodded again. "I should have been honest but... oh, I don't know... we seemed to be arguing over petty things and I just didn't know how you would react." Max stopped and brushed his hair back with his hand before taking a large sip of wine and looking at the floor, he felt embarrassed by his subterfuge.

"Look Rachel, I'm really sorry, I should have trusted you and told you the truth, maybe it would have made things a lot easier. I kept it secret because you'd been busting my arse for months over my friendship with Jack and his cronies... I don't know why I hung around with them... I was missing excitement. I didn't feel in control of my own destiny or life... It's no excuse Rachel but I felt really down, really alone. I should have talked to you... but at every turn you thought I was dealing in drugs... just ask the guys at the club... I've insisted that it's a drug-free zone... My moral compass may be a bit off Rachel but it's not that far out."

Rachel was taken aback. Her theories discussed with Jenny last night were being played back to her as if the conversation had been recorded, it wasn't the time to attack. She talked quietly avoiding Max's eyes.

"Listen Max, we were both in a bad place. I shouldn't have been so negative all of the time... I know now that it was wrong, but things had been building a head of steam for a good time. Why didn't you tell me you were depressed? We could have talked. We should have talked more! Whatever happened is water under the bridge and we need to think about new lives for both of us."

"I only want a life with you Rachel. I cocked up, I made a mistake and should have talked more rather than just burying my feelings but I still want you Rachel, I'm still not giving up, we had something really good and there's no reason why we can't get back there especially now as some of our money worries are dealt with."

The maitre d' interrupted their conversation to hand them both menus. Max ordered another bottle of Sancerre as the first one seemed to have evaporated. It gave Rachel a bit of time to think. The conversation was not going the way that she had imagined. She tried to get things back on to a business footing.

"So Max. Let's sum up our evening to date. We both agree that we were unhappy and both agree that we just weren't talking anymore."

Max nodded. "It was my fault Rachel, I just didn't feel like a man anymore, didn't feel in control of anything, changing light bulbs and unblocking loos wasn't exactly challenging."

"That may be Max but we had stopped talking. You then find a bunch of diamonds in Bill's freezer and decide to liberate them and drive back to England to give them to Dominic to sell for you? You make enough dirty money from the sale to pay off our mortgage and presumably refurbish the club?"

Max tried to interject. "No, yes, no... I mean none of the money from the diamonds was used towards the club. Joel our assessor with a bit of help from Lynette has managed to get a really good deal from the insurers and it'll pay for all of the work that Tony has put in. You'll be amazed how good it looks for the little money he's spent."

The waiter hovered again ready to take orders. They both quickly scanned the menu although to be honest neither of them were that hungry.

"I'll have the pasta marinara please." Max didn't look at the menu, "Yeah, make that two."

The maitre d' lead them to their table essentially killing the conversation. Once they sat down Max launched back in trying to explain himself.

"No matter what you think Rachel it's not 'dirty money'. What else would happen with it? We don't know who Bill really was, his ex-girlfriend or dominatrix whatever she was told me that he didn't want to be found and went under many different names in the time she knew him. What else was I supposed to do?" He threw his hands in the air in a pleading gesture. "We agree that giving it to Jack would be a bad idea, I thought, although I could be wrong, that if we gave them to the Spanish police that they would disappear." Max took another glug of wine and pushed his hair back. "What I did is wrong Rachel but at the time I couldn't see what would be right. If I had to take the same decision I would but this time I'd talk to you about it... That's all that I would do differently Rachel. We can clear the mortgage. We can change the car and we'll have enough left over to develop things in Brazil."

Rachel was taken aback. "How much are we talking about Max?"

"I really don't know, Dominic is dealing with the stones setting them into pieces, it should be a lot more than a quarter of a million if everything goes well. Realistically we can probably plan on three hundred thousand... Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth Rachel. It was meant to be."

Rachel sat back quietly in her seat sipping at her wine while mulling through what Max had said before finally speaking.

"You've changed Max. I thought that you were having an affair... you were secretive... and let's be honest in the last few four months you didn't come anywhere near me and it can't all have been down to depression. What else aren't you telling me Max?"

The pasta arrived giving Max some time to think. He played with it moving it around the plate feigning interest. Eventually he decided that honesty was the best approach, Rachel must have slept with Nick in the last few weeks, it was a gamble but he was trying to save his one true love. "I'm not proud about what I've done Rachel. I never meant to be unfaithful."

Tears started to fall down Rachel's face. She had suspected Max of an affair but to hear him start to confess was more painful than she ever thought it would be. It was a slap but why was it so painful? She'd moved on hadn't she? Maybe not.

"Rachel, you know I love you and I've always loved you. The reason that I didn't come near you for months is that I had unprotected sex with a dancer in Morocco. It was stupid... it didn't mean anything and I was scared that I might have caught something... It wasn't like I picked her up in the streets Rachel. We were staying at a really fancy villa, one of Paddy's contacts and the dancers performed and then we were told that they would give us a massage to help us relax. I should have said 'no' Rachel. One thing lead to another and then I spent the next four months regretting it, just cuddling you because I didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry. I was wrong... and it was stupid of me. I really have regretted it Rachel... I'm sorry that I've hurt you." Max reached over and wiped the tears from her face with his linen napkin. "I'll never forgive myself Rachel... I just hope that you might find it in your heart to forgive me. I love you Rachel." Max welled up, the emotion of the moment catching in his throat. "Try to forgive me Rachel... please."

"I need the bathroom Max, give me a minute."

Rachel tried to pull herself together in the rest room. They had only been here for an hour or so and already two bombshells had been dropped. As much as she wanted to hate him for what he'd done she couldn't, she still loved him and she wasn't exactly blameless. She dried her eyes and headed back to the table.

"So what else do I need to know Max? Why didn't you phone me when the club was being burnt down, were you hiding away with some lady friend upstairs or following in Paolo's footsteps and sleeping with the staff?" Rachel sounded bitter and stopped herself continuing. "Sorry, below the belt."

"No, you deserve to know. I was on my own and I did phone you and leave a message on the answerphone literally a few hours after the fire. Then my mobile battery failed and every time I phoned you were either engaged or out of range. I tried phoning you Rachel... I tried many times."

"Thinking about it Max I didn't receive any calls on my mobile for a few weeks, it was very hit and miss so maybe it was something that I'd done to my phone... I was worried about you, and if I'm honest, I thought that you had decided to clear me out of your life."

The conversation went on well into the night and slowly some of the pain receded. Max decided to bring up the subject of Nick.

"Look Rachel, I know that I can't give you the things in life that Nick can, the flash cars, servants, swish houses but I can give you my love and everything that I own." Max got down on one knee and pulled two boxes out from his Jacket. "Marry me Rachel. I should have asked you ages ago. Let's put the last few months behind us and start again. Marry me." Rachel didn't know what to say. Max stood and put a beautiful diamond necklace around her neck and held the ring in its box for her to admire.

"Well Max let's just say your timing could have been better."

"Don't say 'no' yet Rachel, think about it, even if you do end up saying 'no' I want you to keep the ring and necklace to remember our good times by." He sat back down.

"And Rachel, don't think that I'm taking cheap shots but let's just say that Nick is not the nice lonely gentleman that he pretends to be. He is totally ruthless and isn't averse to hiring heavies if he thinks it'll help his cause. Just be careful, he'll want to control every aspect of your life... I'm not saying any more, just ask around."

Rachel went up to her room more confused than ever but rather than picking up the phone to talk to Jenny she decided to sit and work things out for herself. She had twelve missed calls from Nick and half a dozen texts. _What was she missing?_
Chapter 40 - Party planning

The club was looking spanking, the invitations had gone out, the bar and freezers were stocked and the girls and staff were in for a briefing. They sat in a big circle in the leather bucket chairs, another excellent deal from the bankrupt restaurant up the road, as they awaited their new manager's speech. Tony hadn't lead team talks since his time in the army as a Sergeant but it didn't seem to faze him; he just thought of the guys as his platoon.

"Okay guys, I know that I've talked to a lot of you individually, but I wanted to get everyone together to talk about some of the changes and to let you get used to your new working environment before the punters come through the door. We also need to talk about the opening party where we are going to be expecting different things from you."

"Introductions first, you all know Lynette." Tony waved his hand towards her. If I'm not here even though she is not a full-time employee, like most of you she's freelance, what she says goes, no ifs, no buts, cross Lynette and you'll cross me and we all know what will happen then. Are we clear?"

There were general nods and a few mummers of 'Yes, boss'.

"Lynette, would you like to do the introductions for the new girls?"

Some of the Pussycat girls had wanted to come back from dancing at Vinnie's but Lynette had been selective and had brought in one or two new faces from personal recommendations. She made the introductions where they were required before turning back to Tony.

"Thanks Lynette, Okay let's talk about the business model. You've all had a good look around the place and hopefully you like it." Freddie the part-time barman butted in, "It's lovely Tony but we still need more glitter, shall I wear my diamante?" He pouted and playfully put his hand behind his ear as everyone else had a chuckle. Freddie was an airline steward most of the time and as camp as they came.

Tony waited for the laughter to die down before starting again. "Freddie you can wear your sparkly diva dress if you want more sparkle - no one will complain. Now back to business, we're changing the business model a bit. Punters will still pay a fiver on the door for entry but the girls will no longer be charged a table fee each night." The girls gave each other a thumbs up. "But in return you will be expected to turn up on time and dance on the public poles rather than just hanging around for private dances. If you don't work the main bar poles we will be saying good bye to you, understood?" Everybody nodded. "Good the house commission rate on private dances remains at thirty percent."

"You've all agreed your payment structure with me but I'm also introducing a commission scheme on some of the drinks. We're not going to sell spirits cheaply by the bottle anymore, even to regulars. We lose too much profit doing it that way. Each litre bottle has thirty shots which at a fiver a shot works out at a hundred and sixty odd quid so it's a mug's game selling a bottle for fifty quid. To keep the regulars happy, just give them a free shot every now and then. The only exception to the bottle rule is champagne and if you manage to get a punter to buy one and share it around you'll get fifteen percent of the sales price. Champagne starts at ninety quid a bottle for the cheap stuff. Are we all clear about that?" Again nods all round but Freddie interrupted again.

"What about beer and alcopops?"

"Good point Freddie. We're doing away with draft beer and stocking premium brand bottled stuff only. Prices will start at a fiver a bottle and all bottles are on the smaller side. Alcopops are individually priced. Again this should help our overall yield and make the most of our late night licence."

"The other change is that we are now also offering a much bigger food choice and late night snacks. Selling up is key to the success of the place so recommend the more expensive snacks and see if people want a coffee or tea before going home. We'll make good margin on it so don't knock it."

"On band nights or comedy nights we're looking at a different crowd so we'll be offering promotions on certain drinks, I'll fill you in as needed on those."

Tony sat forward in his seat to emphasise his next point "I know that you've all worked other places rather than just here so I want to be very clear on the next point. This bar is... and will remain... a drug-free zone. Anyone consuming or worse selling drugs will be removed with extreme prejudice. When it comes to punters, the same rules apply and we are going to put signs up reinforcing the point. If anyone thinks they can't hack it, or has a habit then it's best to walk out now."

Tony continued with the team talk and questions and answers for another half an hour before getting the cook to bring down a selection of sample dishes from the menu for everyone to taste, his logic being you can't sell it if you haven't tried it.

"So what do you all think?" He looked around expectantly not knowing what the reaction would be.

One of the new girls piped up "It's good Tony, definitely better than going for a greasy kebab at two in the morning, should do well." There was a general mummer of agreement, which was a huge relief, because if he was honest he didn't have much of a palette and had no idea if his choices were good or bad.

"Great, see you all back here for the Thursday opening party."

The crew headed out leaving Tony, Lynette and Freddie behind. Freddie piped up, "You two look like you could do with a drink, good team talk Tony... What can I get you?"

Lynette looked up and answered for both of them. "The usual please Freddie."

Once they were sat down with drinks in hand Freddie turned to Tony. "Were you serious Tony? Can I really wear my sparkly frock?"

Lynette lent back in her chair. "You're such a girl Freddie! You'll outshine us."

Tony winced. "Sparkly is fine Freddie but how about a sparkly tux or something similar? Just this once mind you. The rest of the time I want you in your black uniform... but if you really want to, then yes, you can wear the dress."

Freddie skipped back to behind the bar clapping his hands together with his fingers bent back while singing, "Exciting, exciting!" Tony groaned, too late now he thought. As they were kicking back and relaxing, Max strolled in to go over the invitation list and to see who had confirmed. "Well Tony? How's it looking for Thursday?"

"Pretty good thanks mate. Most of your guests have confirmed as have mine and Lynette's. As usual there's the odd straggler that has commitment phobia... oh and I've got a confession to make and you're not going to like it." Tony was visibly cringing.

"Spill it Tony."

"Well... I may have... umm... accidently mind you... it just sort of happened, if you know what I mean... Umm."

Max was spinning his finger round making a speed up signal trying to get Tony to wind up his speed.

"And Tony?"

"Okay... here we go... don't fire me before I start... I may have accidently invited Irish Jack but I'm sure he won't come all the way from Spain. I mean... it's a long way isn't it? Oh, and by the way Max I forgot to say that he phoned your mobile and I answered it while you were sleeping. Umm, sorry... really sorry." Tony was cringing really badly and expecting the worst.

Max sat back. "Shit. Oh well, why not, we've got the cops coming, my shitty brother coming... a bunch of people I don't know... ah, the more the merrier... What did he want anyway?"

"Yeah, sorry... Forgot to tell you. He wanted to know when you might be back in Spain, something about a BBQ with the lads... Sorry Max, it completely slipped my mind."

"You're excused Tony, you've had a bit on your mind of late. Freddie! What's a man got to do to get a drink around here?"
Chapter 41 - Opening night

Tony was like a cat on a hot tin roof waiting for the first guests to arrive for the opening event. Rather than the usual hours of nine in the evening to four in the morning they had opted for an early start and an early-ish finish given that it was a weekday and that some people would have real jobs to go to the next day. The clock had now ticked round to seven-thirty and the only people in the club were the staff, the band and a few close friends. The canapes were ready to go, and the girls were dressed up (that's if you could call high leg panties, high heels and nipple tassels dressed), to serve champagne. As Tony was starting to panic the doors opened and there was a rush of people arriving with Max at the head of them. Tony guessed that it was a mixture of local press, the local coppers (he recognised the Sarge), Paolo and a few hangers-on. Max had met the press earlier at a local hostelry to make sure that they were adequately lubricated before arriving at the club. Tony breathed a sigh of relief and went into host mode pouring champagne for the girls to distribute and turning the background music up slightly to help the atmosphere before the band hit the stage.

With glasses handed round to those who wanted bubbly, Tony led everyone else to the bar insisting that Freddie lined up shots before they were allowed to order a beer or a spirit. As part of the party planning, Tony had decided to introduce a new house rule which involved everyone knocking back a shot of either Jagermeister or Skittles vodka. The latter was made by buying packets of Skittles sweets, splitting them into their various colours and then fermenting them with vodka for a few weeks. The result was vibrant green, red, yellow and blue shots with a very pleasant aftertaste that made you think you were sucking sweets in the playground. It tasted innocuous but had a hell of an alcoholic kick. Freddie was already filling the glasses with another colour ramping up the competition.

"What's the matter big boy? Can't cope with a little bit of candy vodka? Oh... and I had such high hopes for you." Freddie smiled flicking his hair (or more precisely his long-haired wig) back over his shoulder while thrusting out his rather flat cotton-wool ball padded chest and fluttering his false eyelashes. The guys loved it. He really was in Danny La Rue mode and nobody was going to argue as they knocked their shots back. Tony smiled. Tonight was going to be a great night. He could feel it in his bones.

The club was filling nicely as the girls worked the poles and the crowd before taking a break for the band to take the stage and get everyone up and dancing. Rachel walked in with Jenny as the band played 'Don't Stop the Music' which was a Rihanna hit a few years earlier. She spotted Max and Paolo and could see that they were already well oiled. She really hadn't wanted to come after last night's discussions with Max. She was deeply confused. One thing was for sure - she still felt huge animosity towards Paolo and wasn't sure if she could hold her temper in check.

Tony handed the girls a glass of champagne as Max and Paolo headed towards them. Max kissed both of them on the cheek and protectively placed his arm across Rachel's shoulder. She looked seriously pissed off.

"Hi Paolo, come to ruin someone else's life or just here to see if you can scam some more money out of your brother?" Rachel lent back dramatically and put her arm to her forehead mocking Paolo before he could reply. "But it wasn't my fault... I didn't mean to use the money... I didn't do it... It was someone else. I don't want to hear your crap excuses. Grow up Paolo and more importantly pay up! If you can't pay up then stop drinking my free booze and crawl back in to a hole somewhere."

Max got between the two of them before Rachel went for the jugular. "Come on Rachel, that's not fair, he is my brother after all."

"Max!! You still don't get it do you! How many hours did you spend talking to me last night trying to persuade me to give our relationship another go? How many Max?"

"It's not important Rachel. You know I want you back. Please let's not do this in public."

Paolo moved towards the door. "No she's right Max. I've got no right to be here." He looked at Rachel. "I might not be able to pay you back Rachel but it won't happen again. I won't be knocking on your door for money; it's my fault that the two of you split up and Max has been as miserable as sin during every minute you've been apart. Goodbye Rachel, he's not all bad, look after him for me." With that he spun on his heel and walked out of the door. Rachel for once was speechless.

Rachel's anger had been completely deflated, and she shrugged off Max while heading to the bar trying to process Paolo's little speech. "Hi Freddie, nice sparkles! What's the pretty green drink? I think we'll have two of those and two red ones please."

"Great to see you Rachel, mwoe, mwoe." Freddie sent exaggerated air kisses across the bar. "Looking good girls and a great choice of sharpeners may I say, so much more interesting than the boring G&T's that our constabulary seem to be on or the beer monsters of the press. Don't you just love Tony's rules? No shot then no beer or spirits. Give it an hour or two and the guests will be dancing on the poles. Hey, I don't wish to pry but things don't look good between you and Max. Problems?"

Jenny chipped in. "No problems with Max just his money grabbing family but it looks like that might just have resolved itself, watch this space... Hey Freddie can we have two large Bacardi and Cokes as well please? Ready Rach? One, two three!" The girls gulped the green vodka back and followed with the red.

"Wow, they're really scrummy Freddie, you could be carrying us out of here tonight."

There seemed to be a regular stream of people entering the club and the atmosphere was building nicely, the band had people up on the floor and you could guarantee that there would be a few dancing injuries in the morning. Rachel was having fun with Jenny when she noticed a really handsome, tall, dark haired guy with a neatly trimmed beard come through the door along with a big Irish looking guy with soft curls. Lynette ran over and gave the bearded man a huge hug before taking them both to the bar. Rachel tugged at Jenny, they needed another drink anyway.

"Come on Jenny... girl bait!"

They arrived at the bar in time to see the look of shock on Max's face when the tall handsome guy held out his hand.

"Hello, Max... What do I have to do to get a drink around here?"

"Bish... umm sorry, I mean Bashar... How are you? Umm what are you doing here? Sorry that sounds rude, great to see you, what can I get you to drink?"

"Some champagne if you have it Max, and a JD and Coke for the big yin otherwise he'll be stealing my drink." Baz smiled at Jack who was trying to fake mock shock. "Ah come on now Bish, you know that I can get a bit thirsty now and then, I need a proper drink though Max, none of this fancy stuff with bubbles in it."

Bashar lent over towards Max, "Sorry to surprise you Max, I've come as Lindy's personal guest." Bashar turned to Lynette and fondly placed his arm around her shoulder. "I never get to see enough of her so it's an honour to be here." He kissed her on the cheek.

"How do you know Lynette? Shit sorry, I'm being really rude, here keep the bottles and I'll get a couple of bottles of Coke to go with it for Jack. Don't you live in Morocco, Bish? Sorry... what do I call you, is it Bashar, Baz or Bish?"

"Bish is fine Max, only Lindy gets to call me Baz, it's a small world huh? I take it that Lindy arranged our little transaction without you knowing who I was." Max was like a goldfish with an open mouth.

Rachel had been watching the exchange with interest. He really did look like a fish out of water.

"Well Jenny, Mr. Handsome seems to be taken so we'll have to look elsewhere for you." As she turned to head for the dance floor with a new Bacardi and Coke she almost bumped in to Sergeant Greaves.

"Hello, its Rachel isn't it? Sorry if I startled you, my name's Sergeant Greaves, I dealt with the case resulting from the fire so I have the advantage of knowing who you are. The arsonist was sentenced yesterday to four years." He flicked his eyes towards the two at the bar. "Friends of yours?"

"No just friends of Lynette's and apparently Max, I've never met them before. Umm, thanks for all of your hard work on the case. I'm really pleased that you got the man."

"So am I, so am I, if only we could get to who was really behind it, but he's not talking." With that the Sarge turned with his G&T in hand and wandered off.

"What do you think of that then, Jen? Weird huh? Come on let's hit the floor."

The party raged on for a few more hours until people started to head home. The band played their last few numbers before bidding everyone good night. Tony switched on some mellow head candy relaxed music. Max, Jack, Lynette, Bish, Rachel and Tony were sitting on the sofas chatting and winding down.

"Bloody good craic Max, nice re-fit as well. Did you find out who paid for it, apart from your insurer that is? You need to make sure that they don't do it again if you know what I mean."

"No, no idea Jack, the nutter that did it went down for four years yesterday, serves him bloody right. You wouldn't believe the hassle it caused. Sergeant Greaves has a theory that he was paid to do it but it looks to me as if he was just some religious idiot trying to make a name for himself." Baz looked at Lindy and raised his eyebrows. She nodded prompting him to go ahead.

He coughed to get people's attention. "Max... I know that some people of my religious persuasion take things way too far, but in this case, it's not quite true that we don't know who paid for the club to be torched." Bashar paused for effect and everyone stopped what they were doing staring at him open mouthed. "Lindy asked for a bit of help to track down whoever did it and given the Moroccan connection I was able to apply a little pressure. Ishmail is very, very close to finding out who did it. Do you remember Ishmail? He can be very persuasive. He applied a little pressure to the family of the Akbar guy and found out that he torched the place so that he could pay off a blood debt." He looked directly at Max. "You understand the importance of a blood debt Max?" Max nodded and sat forward. This was a revelation to him. He had been so sure that it was just a religious matter, who else would want to do it? He hadn't upset anyone had he?

"The money trail leads directly to North London, Mill Hill to be precise. Ishmail doesn't have a surname but the payment was made by a Greek with the name of Nick or Nico..."

"So Max, do you know anyone from Mill Hill? And more importantly how many Greeks from Mill Hill have you upset?"

Max and Rachel stared at each other... Surely not? Why would Nick burn down the club?
Notes from the author

**Thank you**

Thank you for reading _Dirty Money Book 1 - Who did you upset?_ If you enjoyed this book please leave a review on the site that you purchased it from, a few minutes of your time spent giving a rating and explaining why you enjoyed it will help the author tremendously.

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_Dirty Money Book 2_ - _Retribution_ will be ready for release early in 2015. I hope you enjoy it and thank you for reading my books.

**About Neil Andrews**

Neil Andrews was diagnosed with M.E., Myalgic Encephalomyelitis sometimes known as CFIDS or CFS, over ten years ago bringing an end to a successful career in business. He has struggled adapting to the restrictions placed on his life by the illness and has recently turned to writing to provide an escape. He has learned not to take life too seriously and to live for today as one never knows what tomorrow might bring. He is lucky enough to live between the UK and Spain, is married with grown up children and needs another Weimaraner dog to keep him on his toes........unfortunately his wife has yet to agree!

For more information on the devastating effects of CFS or ME please go to www.measussex.org.uk or www.actionforme.org.uk

Copyright (C) Neil Andrews and Roadblock Publishing Limited  
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