The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

leant forward and kissed his clasped hands that were still around her, those naughty hands that wreaked so much havoc across the assembly floor whenever Brinton lost his temper. They’d even hit her on occasion, though she could understand that. Jimmy was under so much pressure from Mr Pryce, he was the truly evil one, and besides, some of the lazier girls deserved a gentle backhander every now and again. It sure made Monica’s job easier; that was a fact.

They lay and dozed for half an hour and then she whispered, ‘Do you want me again, Jimmy?’

‘Yeah,’ he grunted.

‘Good! Come on!’

TWO HOURS LATER BRINTON was letting himself out of the assembly plant after returning a sleepy Monica to the shop floor.

Glanced at the pep talk room.

Why not?

Took out his key, approached the door, opened up and flipped on the light. All was as it should be, tape back over the mouth well and truly, after that slight mishap when she’d somehow managed to remove it.

He went behind her and removed the tape.

‘About time,’ she said. ‘One of these days I’m going to suffocate.’

‘Don’t get lippy with me, or you’ll get this,’ and he balled his fist and showed it to her face. She knew what violent and threatening men could be like. Truth was, the Barton brothers would eat Brinton and his ilk for breakfast, and maybe literally, and that idea made her smirk, though right there she didn’t fancy sharing her thoughts.

He undid the ties, took some biscuits and water from the drawer and set them before her.

‘Any news?’ she asked.

‘What about?’

‘My future.’

‘Not a thing, maybe you’re going to stay here indefinitely... with me.’

That thought wanted to make her vomit, but she didn’t say.

‘I’ll leave you by yourself for ten minutes. Make a sound and I’ll cut your nose off and feed it to next door’s dog.’

She didn’t say a word, just wanted him out of the place, and then she heard him locking the door from the outside.

He was back after fifteen minutes. She was standing in the corner, propped up against the wall, nibbling a biscuit and swigging from the bottle of water.

‘Sit in the chair, you know the fucking drill!’

Jessica sat down and waited to be bound and gagged and groped.

He didn’t disappoint her, went behind her.

‘Time for our nightly cuddle,’ and his hands and arms came around her, and on her blouse, and in her blouse.

Jessica sat bolt still, didn’t bat an eyelid, didn’t flinch, didn’t moan, didn’t move a muscle. There was definitely something inadequate about the guy. Thought about other things.

Inside Brinton’s head he was getting ideas above his station. If Johnny Chinaman didn’t want her, maybe he could have her, take her home, even, Monica had taught him a lot, but Monica was nothing, expendable. Jessica Stone was something else, Jessica Stone was a star, famous, and there she was in his arms, at his mercy. Maybe he should take his chance while it was there in front of him.

A weird thought entered his mind. What if she turned up in China, the expensive plaything of a weird billionaire, what if she arrived there with child, expecting Brinton’s baby. It was an interesting idea, though maybe that wouldn’t go down so well, maybe that might fuck up the big bonus he was expecting come Christmas. Tempting though, and when would he ever get another chance quite like it?

He blew on her hair and kissed her parting and sighed, and thought it was time to make tracks for home, but many more days like this, and he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

Sixty-Six

First thing Monday morning, and a maroon Rolls Royce pulled into the car park at Minstrel Electronics. The appointment had been in the diary for a couple of weeks. Kit was driving. He enjoyed driving on occasion, particularly the Rolls, and especially when he was out on private business. There were some trips that paid chauffeurs were not invited to.

It was dark and drizzling as he pulled himself out of the car and headed for the main entrance. Inside, a young guy on reception.

‘You’re expected, Mr Napoleon,’ he said, and he’d never met a Mr Napoleon before, and he thought it a real cool name. ‘Mr Pryce is waiting for you, please follow me,’ and the guy led him down the corridor, eased open the door to the fifth room on the right, and ushered him inside.

Mr Pryce stood and crossed the office and shook his visitor firmly by the hand.

‘Nice to see you again, Mr Napoleon.’

‘Call me Kit, please.’

‘Would you like coffee, Kit?’

Kit declined and sat in the visitor’s chair. Pryce nodded the young bloke away, and told him to close the door.

‘So,’ Kit said, ‘how’s business?’

‘Booming.’

‘Glad to hear it. And that means an early return on my considerable investment, I believe?’

‘It does,’ confirmed Pryce.

KIT NAPOLEON HAD PUT up half a million pounds in untraceable cash to establish Minstrel Electronics a few years before, and by all accounts the business had flourished, and now he was back to collect the first of four scheduled repayments.

‘£250,000, isn’t it?’ said Kit.

‘It is,’ said Pryce, standing and collecting a modern suitcase that Kit had noticed was waiting by the left side office wall. Pryce set the case on the desk before Kit, and flicked open the locks.

Kit glanced down, smiled and bobbed his head. Staring at hard cash always brought an expectant smile to anyone’s face, and he was no different, and no matter how many times it happened, the magic never faded.

‘Excellent, and the next payment is due?’

‘Three months today, in time for Christmas.’

‘Ah yes, so it is.’

‘It’ll be ready, on the nail,’ said Pryce.

‘I am sure it will be,’ said Kit, and he added, ‘tell me exactly what it is you do here again?’

‘Circuit boards... for phones and computers and tablets, all that kind of stuff.’

‘Ah yes, of course, and business is hot, you say?’

‘It is.’

‘Must be very labour intensive.’

Pryce paused and wondered where