How To Kill Friends And Implicate People by Jay Stringer

the tank first, to take the edge off the meeting with that prick of a hit man. The guy had called him on it. He’d figured out Alex’s plan, and now he’d feel like he could hold it over him.
    Alex knew that meant he should find someone else, but he didn’t know how. He’d only found Fergus by accident, following a trail of numbers on a few of his clients’ accounts. He could ask Joe Pepper. Joe was working with him on a big project for Asma Khan. MHW was buying out the old guard across the city, everything from gang leaders and drug dealers to law firms and money launderers. The cartel behind MHW wanted to own the city, and they were close to getting it.
    Which was precisely why he couldn’t talk to Joe about it. He was one of the very people he needed to keep out of this.
    He’d need to figure out a way to convince Fergus to reconsider. And a way to keep him from talking about it.
    Bollocks. Well, first things first. He crossed the living room, a large white space decorated to Kara’s tastes with sparse furniture and a few weird pieces of art on the wall. Conversation starters , that’s what Kara called them. Well, anytime Alex had invited people around, they’d consciously avoided talking about the art, so how did that work?
    Between the living room and the large open-plan kitchen was a wooden bar, the kind that millionaires had in movies. It was stocked with whisky, gin, vodka and a few bottles of flavoured stuff that Alex had never been desperate enough to try. The bar had been part of the deal he’d made with Kara about the decorations. She could have everything else just the way she wanted, as long as he could have this.
    Alex downed a generous finger of Talisker, and prepared a second, this time with ice. He liked a fast first hit to take the edge off the day, but afterwards he’d slow it down, take his time and sip at the drink. Maintain a gentle buzz.
    He read through Keith’s note a second time. Something about needing a special kind of hosepipe to install the water feature. Bollocks to that. Alex picked up the phone and dialled Keith’s number, just about legible in the note.
    ‘Howya,’ Keith said, in a slightly drunken Irish lilt. Apparently adding a second accent to his collection. ‘Thanks for calling, neebor.’
    ‘How are we getting on?’ Alex took a look out through the French doors at the back, which opened out onto where the decking was supposed to be. ‘I don’t see decking. Or a water feature.’
    ‘Aye, well, here’s the ’hing.’ Keith’s voice dropped, making this sound like he was letting Alex in on some secret. ‘It’s gonnae need a different kind of hosepipe.’
    Alex knew for a fact there were five different hoses in the garage. Each of them thick enough, and long enough, for what Keith needed. Alex had looked the specifications up on the internet before they hired the guy.
    ‘We have hoses,’ Alex said. ‘You said they’d be fine.’
    ‘Aye. I know. Well, I wis wrang. See, it needs to be a special kind of rubber, aye? One that’ll hold out through the winters without cracking, like. Ye ken? And one that moles can’t chew through.’
    Alex looked out again at the back garden. The lawn was perfect. The only marks were patches of mud trailed across by Keith himself. ‘We don’t have any moles.’
    ‘Well no’ the noo, no. But if they find out you’ve got a hosepipe in there . . . ’
    Was Alex hearing this right? Was Keith trying on some kind of protection racket, with moles as his mafia backup? Jesus cocking Christ. Half of Alex really wanted to lay into this guy, tear him apart, verbally. The other half wanted to go and get Kara, ask her to do it. Alex preferred to leave confrontation to her, because she handled people so well. Kara could speak to an idiot in such a calm and controlled way that she would get things done without a fuss.
    But Kara wasn’t here, so it was going to have to be option A.
    ‘Fine.’ Alex said. ‘You go and search for this