Page 4 of Kingpin's Baby
Mr Booth huffs. “I’d kill him.”
“Seriously?” I burst out. “Overreaction,much?”
Two taps of his pen on the desk and Mr Booth narrows his green eyes.
“Sounds like he just gets hungry with that food around,” I continue. I’m for the ride. Committed. “The boss needs to buy donuts, so there are enough for everyone, even if they want to eat it at the wrong time.”Because elevenses is at eleven. That’s the rule.
“Not death?” Mr Booth says sceptically.
“No, definitely not death. Donuts.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up.
“Okay.” He nods. “Donuts. What about this?”
He slides a sheet of paper across the desk towards me, and when I hesitate, gives a tiny nod.
It’s a meticulously compiled report on the story, with ages, dates, all the facts of the case clearly laid out. It seems this man was one of Mr Booth’s employees. It doesn’t say what hisrole was, but my mind fills in cleaner. He was married to his childhood sweetheart, and was turning informant for the police. He was also cheating on his wife.
Before Fulham could deal with him, he met an untimely end at the hands of his vengeful wife. The report concludes that after adjustments to their records, the authorities believe the man has moved to Spain with an unnamed mistress. However, the disposing of the person who harmed a Fulham employee is pending Mr Booth’s final decision.
I glance at his desk. It’s littered with more neatly compiled reports.
“What do you think, Miss Smith?”
He makes decisions like this all day? It’s complicated, and no one is innocent. She killed one of his men and even I know that mafias protect their own.
“Death or donuts?” He folds his arms and I’m drawn again to notice how good-looking he is. His shirt is tailored but the lines of his muscles are clearly visible.
“Donuts.”
I hold my breath, praying I made the right decision.
He makes a sound of dissent. “Why?”
Oh god. I got it wrong.
“She did you a favour. He was going to betray you to the police.”
He nods slowly. “Fair point. He wouldn’t have succeeded, since the police around here work for me. But I’ll send her donuts along with my condolences, and best wishes for the future.”
Then he stops attempting to hide the amusement twinkling in his eyes and I can’t help but smile back. I somehow know that whatever I’d said, he would have listened and accepted my opinion as an equal.
“Thank you, Miss Smith.”
I mustn’t forget that he’s a dangerous predator. A mafia boss.
“You’re welcome, Mr Booth.” I pull a cloth from my pocket and continue to dust the shelves, and our conversation is over. I resume my job, and he his. When I pause at the point I would usually use the vacuum cleaner, Mr Booth reads my mind, and says, “Go ahead.”
Do not vacuum clean in the same room as Mr Booth.
The number of rules I’m breaking today isn’t funny.
I do the whole floor and eventually I’m just creeping around close to his desk.
“I’m nearly finished,” I assure him.
He rises gracefully and goes to stand at the window, looking out on the white-pink and yellow London dawn. His hands in his pockets, his face in profile.
