This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

“Hello, I’m Sebastian. Who are you?”

“Who wants to know?” said a deep, gruff voice.

Seb turned his attention to a squat, muscle-bound man who stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing a grubby T-shirt with “Marciano’s” printed on it, and a pair of Levi’s that looked as if they hadn’t been taken off for a month. A snake tattoo slithered down each well-exercised arm.

“My name’s Sebastian Clifton. I wondered if Kelly Mellor lives here.”

“You from the IRS?”

“No,” said Seb, suppressing a desire to laugh.

“Or that fuckin’ Child Protective Services?”

“No.” Seb no longer wanted to laugh, as he had noticed a fading bruise on the little girl’s arm. “I’ve flown over from England to let Kelly know her father has died and left her some money in his will.”

“How much?”

“I’m only authorized to disclose the details to Mr. Mellor’s next of kin.”

“If this is some kind of scam,” the man said, clenching his fist, “this will end up in the middle of your pretty face.” Seb didn’t budge. Without another word the man turned and said, “Follow me.”

It was the smell that first hit Seb as he entered the house: half-empty fast-food trays, cigarette ends, and empty beer cans littered a small room furnished with two unrelated chairs, a sofa, and the latest VCR player. He didn’t sit down, but smiled at the young girl who was now standing in a corner staring up at him.

“Kelly!” the man bellowed at the top of his voice without looking around. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Seb.

A few moments later a woman appeared in a dressing gown embroidered with the words The Majestic Hotel. She looked worn out, although Seb knew she was only in her early twenties. But she was unquestionably the young girl’s mother, and she had something else in common with the child—several bruises and, in her case, a black eye that heavy makeup couldn’t disguise.

“This guy says your old man’s died and left you some money, but he won’t tell me how much.”

Seb noticed the man’s right fist was still clenched. He could see that Kelly was too frightened to speak. She kept glancing toward the door, as if trying to let him know that he ought to leave as quickly as possible.

“How much?” the man repeated.

“Fifty thousand dollars,” said Seb, having decided that the suggestion of £1.5 million would have been greeted with incredulity and would mean he’d never be rid of the man.

“Fifty grand? Hand it over.”

“It’s not quite that easy.”

“If this is a con,” said the man, “you’ll wish you’d never got off the plane.”

Seb was surprised that he felt no fear. As long as this thug thought there was a chance of picking up some easy money, Seb was confident he had the upper hand.

“It’s not a con,” said Seb quietly. “But because it’s such a large sum of money, Kelly will have to accompany me to England and sign some legal documents before we can hand over her inheritance.”

In truth, Seb had all the necessary paperwork in his overnight bag should Kelly be unwilling to return to England, Plan B. He only needed a signature and a witness, and then he could have handed over a banker’s draft for the full amount in exchange for 51 percent of Mellor Travel. But now he’d met her partner, that was never going to happen. He had moved way beyond Plan

A, B, or C, and his mind was now working overtime.

“She ain’t goin’ nowhere without me,” the man said.

“Fine by me,” said Seb. “But you’ll have to pay your own plane fare to London.”

“I don’t believe a fuckin’ word you’re saying,” the man said, picking up a steak knife and advancing toward Seb. For the first time Seb felt frightened, but he stood his ground, and even decided to take a risk.

“Makes no difference to me,” he said, looking directly at Kelly. “If she doesn’t want the money, it will automatically go to her younger sister.” He hesitated for a moment. “Maureen.” Seb’s eyes never left hers.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” said the man, swinging around to glare at Kelly.