First Drop by Zoe Sharp Page A

worked for and dialled.
     
    As I waited for the phone to be picked up I checked my watch. It was well before five, but for a while I feared they’d already left for the afternoon.
     
    Eventually the phone was answered by a girl who spoke so fast I could hardly tell what she said. I gave her my name anyway and asked to be put through to Gerri’s office.
     
    She put me on hold and for what seemed like a long time I listened to the quick-fire presentation of the local commercial radio station. Then the lady herself came on the line.
     
    “Charlie!” she yelled, her voice strident enough to make me jerk the mobile away from my ear. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
     
    Well that answered the question of whether she’d been informed about the bloody battle at the park, I suppose. Not quite the face of concern I’d been hoping for, though.
     
    “Well thanks a bundle, Gerri,” I bit back, hackles rising defensively. “That kind of attitude’s going to get us a long way, isn’t it?”
     
    For a moment there was silence and I had visions of her building up to a real explosion. But when she spoke again her voice had that reined-in quality which told me she’d been using the time to get a grip on her temper. “OK, OK, I’m sorry,” she ground out, surprising me with the apology. “Just let me talk to Trey.”
     
    I glanced at the bathroom door, still firmly shut. “He’s not available to come to the phone right now,” I said dryly.
     
    I heard Gerri’s breath hiss out in annoyance. “Godammit, Charlie, he’s just a kid. I need to know he’s all right, you understand me? I can’t help you unless I know he’s OK.”
     
    Oh great, so you don’t give a shit if I get killed in the process? The thought was fully formed before it dawned on me that was exactly what I was being paid for. I suppose it was the realisation of my own expendability that allowed more sarcasm to creep into my voice than it should have done.
     
    “You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that he’s unharmed,” I replied. “And I am doing my best to keep him that way.”
     
    “OK, OK.” Another long pause, then the words came out in a rush. “Look I’m here to help. I really appreciate that you’ve contacted me, but I need for you to tell me what it is you want me to do.”
     
    “Want?” Her question was so banal I had to wrestle a sudden splurge of temper. Jesus, and I thought these people were supposed to be professionals . “What I want you to do,” I snapped, “is help me find a way out of this mess.”
     
    “OK, that’s good,” she said, sounding distracted now, as though she was also trying to carry on a second conversation at her end of the line and was only managing to give me half her attention. Either she wasn’t taking this seriously or she was so far out of her depth she needed a wetsuit. “That’s good,” she repeated. “We can help you. Are you under threat at this time?”
     
    “Hang on.” I moved over to the curtain and peered down onto the parking area. Two cars that had been there when we’d arrived had now gone, but no new vehicles had taken their place. In particular, there were no beige Buicks. “No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
     
    “OK Charlie, that’s good. Now, just tell us where you are and we can sort this whole thing out.”
     
    There was something about that slightly agitated tone that was setting all my instincts on edge like the fur down a dog’s spine. “What about Sean?”
     
    That got an immediate reaction. “Jesus Charlie, there’s nothing I can do—” She stopped abruptly, obviously realising what I was asking and that she hadn’t picked the most diplomatic manner of breaking the bad news.
     
    “Look, I’m real sorry about Sean, Charlie, but you’re gonna have to let him go,” she said, making a fresh start and hiding the fact she didn’t give a damn behind the quick apology, her voice oozing with insincere concern. “Let’s just