Page 37 of London’s Calling, Part 1 (London’s Calling)
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mickey
“Dad?” I call as I enter the house. I march toward his office via the kitchen, which is empty. Reaching the hall, I call out again, “Dad, you here?”
“In here,” he calls back, slightly muffled from behind his office door.
I push inside to find him pacing behind his desk. “What’s going on?”
He stops and slowly turns to face me. “Let’s talk.” He pulls out his chair and sits.
I do the same, imagining any number of things he might want to discuss. “About?” I ask, raising a brow.
Dragging his chair forward tight to the desk, he leans forward, resting his elbows and steepling his fingers in front of his face. The penetrative glare he gives me clues me in that it’s not going to be a pleasant conversation.
“First up, tell me about Ike. I assume it has something to do with your idea of getting the Tower Hotels?”
“It did.” He lowers his head and looks up at me expectantly.
Sighing, I explain. “He wasn’t interested in what I was offering, well, planned to offer if he hadn’t beaten me to the punchline.
He knew why I was there and shut me down without hearing me out.
Seems he might be holding a grudge over his restaurant. ”
“Figures.” He frowns. “Find out what will help change his mind, but…and this is a big but, Mickey, I want assurances that he’s cut ties with the cartel. Otherwise, forget it.”
I nod. “Okay. What else?”
He smirks, pleased I know he wasn’t finished. “A little birdie whispered in my ear that Simmonds Snr’s accident was less an accident and more a one-man coup.”
I mirror my father’s pose. “Seriously?” My father nods.
“I knew Clayton was a cunt but to take out his own father. That’s sick, literally and metaphorically.
” I’m silent a moment as I contemplate what this means for us.
“We sure he’s working alone, you know, that the order didn’t come from Franklin? ”
My father shakes his head. “I thought the same, so I reached out to a guy I know, it’s where the info came from about Clayton offing his dad, but the guy assured me it was all Clayton. Hart wasn’t even on board when Clayton started toying with the idea.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“No one you know or need to worry about. Something you do need to worry about though is Hart’s daughter.”
My head snaps up at the mention of Roni, and I realise too late it was exactly the reaction my dad was hoping for…or not, depending on your view.
“Mickey, what did I fucking tell you about getting involved with her. Whatever the fuck you’ve got going on with her, quit it. It’s too risky.”
“It’s nothing but a bit of fun. And I told you, I know what I’m doing.”
“God dammit, Mickey,” he curses, dropping his clasped hands to the table with a thud.
“Find somewhere else to get your rocks off.” He sighs.
“Look, son, I get the pull of forbidden pussy, but no matter how much you think it’s a game, some women just have the ability to hook you.
One minute they’re sucking your cock and cupping your balls, the next”—he raises a hand, closing it into a fist, tight enough his knuckles turn white—“your balls are in a vice and they own you. Leading you around by your dick, literally.”
“Thanks for the unnecessary visual. I get the picture.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Anything else?” I ask, keen to get the fuck out of here and figure out how to convince Ike to meet with me again, and not just an orchestrated coincidence.
“Just one more thing. I want you to go down to the Whitechapel site once you leave here. Donald called about some issue with the neighbouring property.”
“Grand,” I mutter, pushing to my feet. Something pops in my head as I turn to leave. “What were you doing on the other side of town last week?”
My father frowns, only for a second, then he masks any further emotion. “Meeting a new business associate.” I go to interrupt him, but he continues before I can speak. “When the time is right, I’ll explain. Now go, I have a call to make.”
I’m pissed. Pissed that I have to go to site, especially if it means putting up with Don.
And I’m pissed my father’s words about Roni bothered me.
I know getting involved with any Hart is risky, but Roni is different.
Fuck, maybe that’s what she wants me to think, but either way, I can’t stop thinking about her.
By the time I arrive at the Whitechapel site, my mood hasn’t changed much, so when I get out and find Don arguing with some lanky suited prick, patience is not on my side.
Striding confidently toward them, I stop beside Don, listening to this guy mouthing off about putting a stop to this build.
“Is there a problem here?” I ask, putting my hands in my pockets.
“Mr—”
“Who the hell are you? You in charge of this site?” the guy demands, cutting off Don in the process.
“I am, and who are you?” I look him up and down dismissively.
“I’m the guy who is going to stop this build and sue the arse off you.” He prepares to rant more, but I hold up my hand, stopping him.
“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but this building and the land it’s on belong to me. We have all the relevant paperwork, and I believe you had your chance to oppose this construction. If you failed, tough shit. Now, leave my workers alone and get off my property.”
He huffs in frustration but turns and walks away, tugging his phone free from his pocket and begins shouting at whatever poor fool is on the other end.
“Who is that guy?” I ask, turning to Doug.
“He owns a small hotel a couple of doors down and isn’t happy at the prospect of us taking business away from him.”
I roll my eyes. “Aside from that prick, how’s everything else going?
” I turn and watch the guy continuing down the street as Doug talks.
My eyes catch on an old building with a wooden front facade and high arch windows.
The upper part of the building sports sash windows, and there’s something appealing about it.
“What is that place?” I interrupt Doug, pointing down the street to the building.
“Er, I believe it’s the old bell foundry. It’s still in operation.”
“Huh.” Turning back to Doug, I say, “Sounds like you have everything under control. I have somewhere else I need to be.”
I leave Doug staring after me as I walk down the street to the bell foundry. I’m about to go inside when my mobile rings.
I step away from the door and answer. “Hello.”
“I think it’s time you and I had a chat, Mickey Rawlins,” a male voice greets me on the other end.
I was so distracted I didn’t bother to look at the caller ID. I’m regretting that decision—lack of foresight my father would call it.
“Who is this?” I ask, cautiously.
“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in everything Rawlins and Hart. Tower Bridge, ten o’clock, and don’t be late. Tardiness pisses me off.”
The line goes dead, and I’m left staring at my phone like it’s a grenade about to explode.
Of course, there’s no caller ID even if I had bothered to check it, but then I wouldn’t have answered. I have a couple of ideas about who the caller was, and neither option means anything good.
While I’m fired up, I decide to call Ike’s restaurant and ask for him to call me, leaving my number when I’m told he’s not available, then I head home via the office to pick up some paperwork I requested on Kerr’s Bankside hotels and the shareholders.
I need a backup if I can’t convince Ike to part with his shares.