Book 'Em: An Eamonn Shute Mystery

By Tony McFadden

Mayhem, murder, and a $4,000,000 book.

In Miami.

Eamonn Shute is smart, capable and larger than life. There is nothing he can't handle.

Until Nicky, the love of his life, is framed by her ex-husband.

Eamonn leaves no stone unturned in his quest to clear Nicky's name, but the evidence is piling up, and Nicky's troubles seem insurmountable.

Eamonn needs to hark back to his rough and tumble youth in Donegal, taking on some of the most dangerous people in Miami to clear Nicky's name.

"Compelling characters and a well paced plot make this story a joy to read." - Lisa Hall Deckert

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beach Nut Press
• Release date: Feb 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458073556

Tony McFadden

Since Tony McFadden left Canada almost three decades ago he and his wife and two children have lived in the US Virgin Islands, various American cities (LA, Ft. Lauderdale, Atlanta, Fairfax), Singapore, Malaysia, Taiwan and now, finally (and for good), Australia.

Book preview

Book ‘Em

An Eamonn Shute Mystery

Tony McFadden

Copyright Tony McFadden 2011

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Miami. Friday Night

Brad peered through the slats of the blind at the yellow Camaro parked across the street. ‘Assholes. Flunkies.’ He sat back at the small desk in his small, dank apartment, the glow from his laptop the only light.

He fished a crumpled Post-It note from his pocket and spread it on the desk. Opened a browser on his laptop.

Logging in was straightforward. There was a maximum transfer limit, which frustrated him a little. But it didn’t take long. He confirmed the final transaction, smiled to himself and closed the browser. Almost half a million richer. And in a week, ten times that. The satisfaction of financial gain barely edged out the satisfaction of ruining her.

He was in the clear. This was untraceable. As long as she didn’t find out. Or more importantly, as long as she couldn’t prove it was him when she did.

And as long as he could convince the Russian to play ball and wait for a couple more days. The assholes outside would make that difficult, but he reasoned that between the two of them there wasn’t enough gray matter to seriously test him.

He crumpled the Post-It note and tossed it in the trashcan. The beer bottle on his desk was empty. He opened the fridge and was met with a half quart of sour milk and a wrinkled apple.

‘Ah, screw it.’ He grabbed his car keys and slipped out the fire escape. ‘I need something to eat.’

1

‘You almost finished Nicks? I need grub.’ Eamonn stretched and stood from the reading chair in Nicky’s bookstore. ‘My treat. Anything you want.’

Nicky smiled. He laid the Irish accent on thick when he wanted her attention. ‘Couple of minutes. Patience, big guy.’

Eamonn stood behind her while she scrolled through images on her computer screen. ‘Now that’s pretty. You planning on buying it?’

Nicky shifted in her seat and smiled up at him, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling. ‘I can’t afford this. I wish. And pretty? Really?’ She looked back to the screen and caressed the image with her fingertips. ‘Ever hear of Ptolemy?’

‘Yeah. The Greek chap. What about him?’

‘These maps are based on a collection of coordinates he pulled together in the second century. A Benedictine Monk named Nicholas Germanus hand-drew the originals in 1472. Only a few copies were produced, mostly in the late 1400’s. The scuttlebutt is that one of the prints is on the market. Or will be. Or was. Hard to pin it down.’

‘Who wants to sell it?’

‘Whispers in the shadows. Nothing concrete.’ Nicky tapped the chair beside hers. ‘Sit. Look at this.’ She zoomed on a high-definition photo of one of the maps. The gold-edged, exquisitely drawn, although highly inaccurate map was of the Middle East, Asia and Europe.

Eamonn settled into the chair. ‘I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never actually seen good quality images. That is beautiful.’ He rested his hand on her arm. ‘I take it by your giddy, child-like enthusiasm that this is something you desire?’

She nodded, her ponytail bobbing. ‘There are only two or three prints in private hands. If someone really is selling one, it would be huge.’

‘Kinda like if Leonardo’s Codex was for sale?’

‘The Codex Leicester? Yeah. Though I doubt Bill Gates is going to put that on the market any time soon. And Geographia pales in comparison, price-wise. But yeah, same-ish idea.’

‘It would look good on display in here. Put the place on the map.’

My shop is already on the map. Ten years of hard work has already made this one of the better rare and collectible bookshops on the east coast, and the best in Miami. But this book would certainly draw a crowd. Four mill is a bit out of my range though.’ She took a breath. ‘So, dinner?’ She shut down her computer and stretched in her chair.

Eamonn checked his watch. ‘You feel like Chinese?’

‘Korean barbecue, actually. I know a place in midtown.’

‘Then Korean it is. Close this place up and let’s get out of here.’

oOo

Eamonn used his chopsticks to slide the last of the thin beef, peppers and garlic off of the small grill on their table and on to a leaf of lettuce. He added sweet barbecue sauce and folded the lettuce around the meat. Nicky watched with amusement as he managed to stuff most of it in his mouth.

‘Good choice, then?’

Eamonn grunted as he chewed, then washed it down with some Korean beer. ‘Brilliant choice, Nicks. You should have mentioned this place before.’ He rested his elbows on the table, looking Nicky in the eyes. ‘Let me help you.’

Nicky cocked her head to one side. ‘I’ve finished eating.’

He smiled. ‘You know what I mean. Money doesn’t need to be a problem.’ She started to protest and he held up his hands. ‘No, I understand you need to be the controller of your destiny. I really do understand that. I just want to help you get there. Why don’t we do it this way? I can invest in your bookshop. Give you seed capital. Become a business partner and share in the profits, but make it easier for you. Allow you to hire more staff and get away once in a while. It’s purely selfish motive, Nicky. I want more of you for myself.’ He sat back in his chair. The server brought the coffee. He waited for Nicky to say something.

She took a sip of her latte and looked at him, shaking her head slightly. ‘I’ve got a business partner already. Hasn’t worked out that well. As much as I like you, I’m not that interested in having another.’ She read the look on Eamonn’s face. ‘You’ve never met the guy. You may have heard me talk about him in an off-hand, kill-the-asshole way.’ She reached for her wallet. ‘We should probably go.’

Eamonn pulled out his wallet and dropped two fifties on the table. ‘I’m old fashioned. The guy pays for the date.’ He nodded at the owners as they walked out. ‘So, this business partner you never talk about and I’ve never met, how does that work?’

‘My ex.’

‘Brad? But he’s just your ex. Dissolve the partnership.’

Nicky walked along the sidewalk, her arm in his, a good foot shorter than the large Irishman. ‘We set up the business ten years ago. Newlyweds. All for one, and one for all. The attorney, bless his little pea brain, suggested we put a time limit on the business contract, just in case. I was head over heels with Brad and thought it - the time limit - was a crazy idea; we’d be in love forever.’

‘In an off-handed, kill-the-asshole kind of way, I suspect forever didn’t last that long.’

‘Five years. If my eyes were a bit more open, it would have been three years. He screwed around on me for a couple of years before I caught him with a ‘waitress’ from a Russian club in Opa-locka. The Odessa, I think it’s called. I kicked him out immediately and divorced him. I kept the condo, he got the boat.’ She sighed. ‘He sold the boat a couple of years later to pay off some gambling debts’

Eamonn shook his head. ‘Why didn’t you dissolve the business contract then?’

‘I would have had to sell the business and give him half the proceeds. We were just getting a name in the field. No, actually, I was just getting a name. He was very much a silent partner the last few years, contributing nothing and taking half the profits. He’s even more silent now. I never hear from him. Which is good, I guess.’

They stopped in front of Eamonn’s car, about a block from the restaurant. ‘Come back to my place for a drink?’

She slid into the front seat. ‘A drink would be very good.’

‘Excellent. I’ve got a great sherry I want you to try. Spanish stuff. Thirty-five year old Amontillado Solera Aos.’

‘Same age as me. Coincidence?’

Eamonn smiled. ‘Back to this business deal. You have to buy him out to get out of it?’

‘There are two ways out. First, he cheats me somehow. Not cheats on me because he’s already done that. Cheats me in the business side of the relationship. That voids his share. He loses any interest in the business. It works in reverse, too. If I cheat him, rip him off somehow, he gets complete ownership.’ She blew out a puff of air. ‘The other way out is to wait until the end of the contract period, at which time we re-negotiate. I’ve documented how little he has contributed to the business, and how much he’s taken out. I’ve also got records of the amount of equity, sweat and otherwise, that I’ve put in. The end of this contract is the end of his involvement unless he wants to pony up every cent to get back in.’ She chuckled. ‘No, he’s out.’

‘So how much longer do you have to wait?’

She turned in her seat and smiled at him. ‘One week and four days until his last payment. Another couple of weeks for an independent audit to close the books.’

‘So things are looking up. Think about what I offered. No strings. I am not Brad.’

Eamonn pulled into the condo parking lot on North Bayshore Drive. A large West Samoan in a too-tight shirt and tie met them at the door. ‘Good evening Eamonn. How are you this evening?’

‘Good, thanks. Joe, this is Nicky. Nicky, Joe here keeps the place secure. Some night, when we’re up for some excitement, I’ll get him to regale you with tales of his youth. Those parts he’s legally allowed to tell you, that is.’

Nicky held out her hand. ‘It’s Nicky Muniz, Joe. My God, you’re bigger than Eam.’

‘And you’re much more beautiful than him. I’m Joe Taumua. Don’t believe Eamonn, he’s a bullshit artist. Nice meeting you Nicky. We’ll talk later.’

Nicky waved good-bye and followed Eamonn to the elevator. ‘He’s huge. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man that big. That’s intimidating.’

‘You should see him with his shirt off.’ He looked down at his padded stomach and frowned. ‘Well, maybe not. Might be a bit too much competition.’

She smiled. ‘Does he take it off often?’

‘I’ve seen him jogging along the waterfront a couple of times.’

‘Huh. Maybe I’ll come by a bit more often.’

The elevator doors closed behind them. Eamonn passed his security card along the reader and pressed the button for the 72nd floor.

‘Why haven’t you brought me here before?’

‘It’s taken me this long to clean the place up. I’m a bachelor, living in a traditional bachelor’s mess.’

‘Really? You can afford someone to clean.’

‘Mom would shoot me if she found out I did that. So don’t tell her, okay?’

Nicky laughed. ‘Deal, big guy.’

The elevator doors slid open to the foyer of Eamonn’s apartment. The living area sat directly in front of them, stainless steel, glass and white leather. At the far end of the living area stood a pool table, cues racked against the wall beside a large, full bookcase. The balcony on the left stretched the length of the apartment and curved until it reached the end, almost fifty yards away. The glass wall on the left displayed a view over the small islands to Key Biscayne, then Miami Beach and on over the Atlantic. The full moon reflected on the ocean as it rose above the horizon.

‘My God. This is beautiful.’ She wandered to the windows. ‘This is the most exquisite view I have ever seen.’

He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. ‘It’s okay, I guess.’

She turned and mock punched him on the arm. ‘You should have brought me up here as soon as we started dating. Bastard. Can we go out there?’

‘Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the drinks.’

Nicky slid the balcony door open and stepped into the cooling night air. ‘It’s gorgeous out here.’ A four-seat table arrangement sat on the balcony to the left of the sliding doors, and regularly spaced chaise lounges filled the remaining forty yards to the right, curving around to the south side of the building. ‘Do you have the entire top floor?’

He walked out with a glass of sherry in each hand. ‘I do. Have a seat. Relax.’

‘No, I’ve got to take in more of this view. You can almost see Bimini from here. How did you find this place?’

‘Three years ago, when I showed up from Ireland with me lottery winnings, I couldn’t beat the real estate harpies off with a stick. They smelled me coming. I told them all to sod off until they could take me to a place that was worth looking at. I stayed in a beach house for about six months until this place came up. As soon as I saw that view I signed the papers. And that view pales in comparison to the view with you in it.’ He raised his glass. ‘To you, and the beauty you bring.’

‘Give me a break. Joe was right; you are a BS artist. Where’s that drink?’ She sat at the table and took the glass. ‘Besides, I bet you say that to all the girls.’

‘You’re the first that’s seen that view with me.’

Nicky smiled and looked out over the water.

‘You’re awfully quiet miss. A guy with shaky self-esteem to start with isn’t very good with quiet at a time like this.’

She smiled at him. ‘I’m just enjoying the company, the view and the absolutely spectacular sherry. That just happens to be the same age as me.’

‘Well, me pa told me that whenever possible you make sure what you’re drinking is at least as old as you are, and he should know.’

‘He should, should he?’

‘He owns a small distillery in Donegal. Makes enough out of it to live comfortably.’

Nicky smiled and sat forward. ‘And does he let you butt into his business?’

He smiled and cocked an eyebrow. ‘No, he hates it. Look, just think of it as an open line of credit should you ever need it, okay?’

Nicky’s phone chirped. She read the message, frowned and looked over at Eamonn. ‘Can I use your computer? The bank sends me a text message whenever there’s a transaction. There have been two. I need to check.’

‘Now?’

She frowned. ‘There shouldn’t be anything happening with my accounts right now.’

He stood and motioned her in. ‘Let’s go.’

She sat at his desk and logged into her bank account. ‘No. That’s not right. What the hell is going on?’

‘What’s up?’ Eamonn moved from the sofa and looked over her shoulder.

‘There should be almost $400,000 in this account. It’s empty. That son of a bitch Brad. I’ll kill the bastard.’

‘He cleaned you out?’

‘There’s nothing here. He’s the only other person with access. What other options are there?’

‘Phishing, identity theft, clerical error at the bank. Don’t be too quick to judge.’

‘This is my livelihood. I’ve got bills to pay out of that account. The funds in my personal account are for personal bills and expenses. Son of a bitch.’

Eamonn tried to calm her down. ‘Just relax. There has to be transaction records. What do they say?’

She took a deep breath, and a slug of the sherry, and went back to the screen.

‘Nicky, sweetheart, that sherry is $140 a bottle. Drink with a bit more respect, would you?’

‘It’s only money, right? Isn’t that what you would say? There are two transactions of $200,000 and $195,000 this afternoon to an account in the name of BSHolding at a St. Barnaby’s bank in the Cayman Islands. BS Holdings? Like Brad Stilson? That audacious piece of crap. I’m calling the cops.’

‘It’s a civil matter, Nicky. He has legal access to the account. It’s a joint business account. You’ll never get a theft charge against him. You’re going to have to sue. But first you have to prove he did it.’

Nicky sighed. ‘I wish I had never met him.’

‘Do you have a good relationship with your bank manager?’

‘She’s pretty good, yeah.’

‘Same one for the past ten years?’

‘She was in the loans department at first. Made the manager’s spot six years ago. We go back a long time. Why?’

‘You should call her first thing in the morning. She might be able to stop this from clearing. Now let us head back to the balcony and the remnants of the sherry and relax. Or try to.’

2

Brad Stilson sat at the bar in a small club in Opa-locka. Not the Odessa this time, but the Pretty Titty, owned by the same interests, and not that far away from the Odessa both geographically and in theme. A young, eastern-European lady worked the stage, doing her very best to keep the pole from falling over.

Brad tapped on the bar. ‘Another, pal.’ He slid his bottle to the bartender. ‘Dos, and make it cold this time.’ He swiveled on his stool and watched the girls on stage. The quality of the talent had slipped. He’d have to complain to management. Not that they had ever listened to him before. He heard the bartender place the bottle on a coaster on the bar behind him as two gorillas sat on stools on either side of him.

‘Mr. Stilson. You are at least predictable. Mr. Petrovski said that you would be here. We have some outstanding business.’

‘Ah, Carl, you big lout. You found me. How the hell is Vladimir?’ Brad turned to his left. ‘And you, Stanislav, you feeling okay?’ He reached back and took his beer and swallowed a large mouthful. ‘Can I buy you boys a drink?’

‘Don’t change the subject,’ said Stanislav. ‘And stop calling me that. Call me Stan.’

‘Still trying to fit in, are ya? Well, Stan, consider the subject changed. I told your buddy Vlad I would be paying him in seven days, and in seven days I will pay him. Not a day sooner. And you know what?’ He held up his index finger. ‘You can threaten to break my kneecaps, or pull out my fingernails, or even kick me in the nuts, and it will still be seven days because I won’t have it before then.’ He took another pull on his beer. ‘By the way, could you tell your boss that the refrigerator in this joint isn’t cold enough? The beer is warm. It tastes like horse piss.’ He leaned his elbows on the bar behind him, ignored the two thugs and focused on Sasha dancing on stage. She was the best of this sorry lot. ‘And while you’re talking to him, tell Vlad these girls are skanks compared to the crew that were in here a couple of months ago. He needs to kidnap a better class of flesh.’ He looked at Carl, then at Stan. ‘You boys still here? You sure you don’t want me to buy you a drink? Are we done?’

Carl leaned in close to Brad. ‘I’ll make sure I pass your comments back to Mr. Petrovski.’ He swung his fist into Brad’s gut, coming up under the solar plexus. ‘I’m sure he’ll do something about it, just for you.’ He let Brad drop to the floor, nodded at Stan to follow him, and left the club.

Brad lay on the floor, curled in a ball trying to fill his lungs. He rolled to his knees, his head and hands on the floor, his breath ragged gasps as he tried to reactivate his diaphragm. ‘Oh, shit. Unnecessary. Boys, where you going? Why can’t we all just get along?’ He tried to draw a deep breath, winced at the pain and rolled back onto his heels. ‘My mom didn’t tell me there’d be days like this. She shoulda warned me.’ He used a bar stool to pull himself up. The bartender watched him with a half smile. ‘What? You’ve never seen anyone punched in the gut before?’

‘I’ve never seen anyone hit the ground so hard after one punch before. I can cross that off my list. You want another beer? It’s on the house. That was very entertaining.’

‘Piss off. You’re supposed to be the host of this establishment, offering only positive words and a friendly ear.’

‘Yeah, well, sue me. Listen, I feel like we’ve got some kind of connection, what with you being in here almost every day for the past three years. Mind if I ask you a question?’

Brad sat on the stool, wincing. ‘Go ahead. I reserve the right to refuse to answer though.’

‘Fair call.’ Pete absentmindedly arranged the cardboard coasters. ‘What’s your deal? I know you don’t have a square job because you’re in here too much for that, at all hours. You are a consumer, not a provider, of many vices, including pot and the girls. What are you, a pro card shark? Are you hustling pool?’

‘What do you care? I pay my bills.’

"Apparently not all of them, or the Carl and Stan show wouldn’t be pounding on you.’

Brad grimaced. ‘Bet big on a sure thing. Apparently you can’t always trust the octopus. Don’t ask. I don’t bet much. That was a rarity. And that’s why. Lousy decisions.’

‘So what is it then? Rich uncle die?’

Brad leaned in on the bar. ‘Listen Paul. It’s Paul, isn’t it?’

‘Pete.’

‘Whatever, Pete. I’ve got this helluva sweetheart deal with a business I’m loosely associated with. I get 50% of the profits with almost no work. Don’t ask how. It’s historical.’ Brad was starting to feel his drink. ‘Some months are a little lean, but the business is doing good lately, God bless her little hard-working soul, and I’ve been raking in about 25 large a month, straight up. I pop by the office to see her once in a blue moon so she doesn’t forget about me, like she ever would, and the check shows up in my bank account like clockwork.’

‘Hell of a deal. Wish I had something like that. I could quit this gig.’

‘What, and miss out on all the free booze you’re skimming?’ He winked. ‘Don’t try and tell me you aren’t. I know better.’ His face darkened. ‘Hell of a deal, yes, but I’ve only got one more check and that, my friend, is the end. Hey, I rhymed.’

‘Well Brad, I’m going to have to ask you to make sure your tab is settled before you leave tonight.’ Pete smiled. ‘What are you going to do for money now?’

Brad shook his head. ‘Can’t tell you the specifics. I’ve got this deal I’m working on that will set me up for life. Piece of cake, too. Walked right into it.’

‘A big score, eh? Let me in?’

‘Sorry Paul,’

‘Pete.’

‘Whatever. It needs a specialized knowledge that you don’t have. But I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure I tip big when I come in here, okay?’

Pete shook his head and turned back to polishing the already clean glasses. ‘Thanks, pal. You’re a sweetheart.’

Brad tipped back the bottle, emptied it and contemplated getting another when his mobile rang. He looked at the display. ‘Ah, Nicky’s calling. Sweet, hot Nicky.’

‘You going to answer that?’

‘Nah, it’s my ex. My hot as a pistol ex-wife. I answer her and the conversation will devolve, very quickly, into you asshole and skanky bitch and neither of us will have a good night. I’ll let it go to voice mail. She should know better than to call me this late.’

He slid off the bar stool and stood, unsteadily, facing the girls on the stage. ‘Before I go, one more question, okay?’

‘What is it?’

‘These girls look cheaper than the last few batches or am I just getting used to this breed?’

‘Breed?’

‘Eastern European, Czech, Polish, Serbian. I coulda sworn that they were hotter a few months back. He get a new shipment?’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about. Go home and sleep it off.’

His phone started ringing again. ‘Bitch.’ He looked at the display. ‘I know why you’re calling, and I ain’t answering you,’ he yelled at the phone.

‘She can’t hear you if you don’t answer it.’

Brad looked at the bartender and belched. ‘Yeah. You’re probably right. Later, ‘gator!’ He walked a bit unevenly back to his car. ‘Probably shouldn’t be driving.’ He pressed the key-fob and unlocked the doors. ‘But what the hey.’ His phone rang as he pulled himself into the front seat. ‘Jesus H. Christ.’ He looked at the display and quickly answered. ‘Ah, hello Mr. Petrovski. How are you this fine evening?’

‘Mr. Stilson, I received a message from Carl. I trust he hasn’t hurt you too much. In fact, I hope he hurt you just the right amount. I don’t like your insolence, Mr. Stilson. And I don’t like the fact that you owe me a considerable amount of money, and you still haven’t paid me.’

‘Vlad, baby, I told Carl I’ll pay you in seven days.’ He sniffed. It was cooling off. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s after midnight, so in six days. Thursday. Around 2:00 at your place. I’ll be there with bells.’

Vlad exhaled. ‘I do not know why I’m giving you this much rope.’

‘Because I’m in to you for over $300,000. And if you kill me you won’t get your money. I understand Vlad. Truly, I do. Bear with me and not only will you get the $300,000 back, I’ll toss in an additional $50,000 for your inconvenience.’ Brad slid the keys in the ignition and started the car. He left it idling while he talked. ‘You can’t refuse that, can you?’

‘You don’t have six days. If you don’t bring me my money by Monday afternoon I will fillet you like a freshly caught salmon and write off what you owe me as an expense.’ He hung up.

Brad looked at his phone. ‘No. Monday won’t work, Vlad,’ he muttered to the dead phone. ‘It’s going to have to be Thursday.’ He’d figure out how to stay out of the firing line until the deal closed. Presenting the money, with a hefty overage, would put things right. He sat in the front seat of his idling car, contemplating the phone in his hand, and his short term Vlad problem, when it rang again. He jumped and dropped the phone on the floor. ‘Shit.’ He scrambled on the floor and retrieved it and looked at the number. Nicky again. He turned off the ringer, tossed the phone on the passenger seat and pulled away from the curb.

oOo

Nicky slumped in the deck chair on the balcony. ‘The asshole is ignoring me.’ She made like she was going to throw the phone, checked herself and placed it on the table.

Eamonn opened an eye. ‘It’s well after midnight. Calling that oaf is a waste of time anyway. You think he did it, and he might actually have done it, but he’s not going to admit it. I can’t figure out why he’d do it, though.’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? His gravy train is coming to the end and he wants one final big payout.’

‘Is $200,000 a month the usual payout for him?’

She tipped the bottle of sherry and drained the remains into her glass. ‘No. It wasn’t going to be $200,000. No way I have $400,000 a month for profits. I’d be in a better place than I am. The net for the month was around $50,000 so I would have been transferring almost $25,000 in a couple of weeks.’

‘Hard to believe it was him. He’d be the first to be suspected.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s up to something.’ He held up the bottle of sherry and tilted it a bit to one side. ‘You’ve killed it.’

She sipped from her glass. ‘The way I feel tonight, this was wasted. Anything alcoholic would do me.’ She saluted him with her glass. ‘I do appreciate a fine drop though. I’ve never tasted finer hooch.’

Eamonn winced. ‘Spaniards are spinning in their graves as we speak. Hooch, indeed. Finish it up. We need to get some sleep. We visit the bank in the morning. We’ll go and talk to the manager. See what she can do about reversing those transactions.’ He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. ‘You take the bed and I’ll take the sofa.’

Nicky looked at him. ‘If that’s what you want, you take the bed and I’ll take the sofa. I’m much smaller.’

‘No.’ He levered himself up and collected their glasses. ‘You are my guest and I couldn’t possibly let you sleep on the sofa. You take the