‘He says he’ll come and find us in a minute.’

‘He can take all the time he wants—miserable bastard.’

Becky looked up and saw Reese staring at her.

‘Think that’s him,’ she whispered, whilst pretending to whisper something nice in Mann’s ear. ‘At one o’clock, he’s at a bar table with another man. He’s seen me.’

‘He hasn’t seen

me

,’ Mann said under his breath, and grinned. ‘He can’t take his eyes off you.’

‘Let’s mill around, take our time to work the street. Let him get a good look at you. Let’s look in doorways, pretend to shop.’

He steered Becky towards the T-shirt souvenir shop. She thumbed through the racks of innuendoes and slogans, mainly referring to a diver’s prowess in the sack, and looked over to see Reese grinning at her.

‘It’s definitely him,’ she said to Mann, who was looking through a rack of leather-thonged shark’s-tooth necklaces.

Mann looked over at Reese and Terry. They were sitting at a bar on the right side of the beach bar, outside a small hotel. He could see that Reese was still watching Becky’s every move.

‘Let’s head for the bar opposite them—and be nice, let him down gently—he obviously likes you.’ Mann held up a T-shirt in front of his face as he grinned at Becky. They made their way across and perched on stools at the end of the small bar just ten foot away.

Terry looked up and followed Reese’s gaze across the lane to Mann and Becky.

‘Stop leching after every piece of ass, especially some white woman’s who’s with her big boyfriend. The last thing we want is trouble.’ Terry tapped away on his keyboard.

‘No trouble.’ Reese picked up his drink and sauntered over. Terry stayed where he was.

‘Evening, folks. Just off the boat?’

Becky giggled.

‘How can you tell? We were just about to order. Can I get you a drink?’ asked Mann.

Reese kept his eyes on Becky as Mann was speaking. Becky smiled coyly back.

‘Sure can.’

‘What about your mate over there? Would he like to join us?’

‘Terry!’ Reese called over to him. Terry looked up and Reese beckoned him over. He shut his laptop and sauntered across.

‘Hope my friend’s not bothering you.’ Terry rolled his eyes Reese’s way. ‘What brings you two here?’

‘We are on honeymoon, actually. This is my wife, Lucy, and I’m John.’

Reese let out a whoop, did a panting-dog imitation and then wet his lips as he winked at Mann. ‘Lucky bloke. Honeymoon, huh? I could do with one of those. Tell me, young lady—is he everything he promised he would be?’

Becky giggled. ‘I am a very satisfied customer, thanks for asking.’

Reese burst out laughing.

‘Good answer,’ Terry said, grinning as he sat down on the stool next to Mann.

‘And what about you gents? What brings you here?’ asked Mann.

‘A bit of property acquisition,’ answered Reese before Terry could respond. ‘Show them the pictures, Terry. Terry has lots of places to look at. He’s downloaded photos of houses, I’m sure John here would love to see them, wouldn’t you?’

‘Love to.’

Terry wasn’t best pleased with Reese’s ruse to chat up Becky unhindered, but he guessed it wouldn’t do any harm. He turned his laptop towards Mann and showed him some of the beach-front properties available. There were several on the screen.

‘How do you scroll down?’ asked Mann as the waiter arrived with their drinks.

Before they had time to drink them, Terry got a text. He read it, knocked back his whisky and got off the stool.

‘Drink up, Reese, we’re gone.’ He took his laptop back from Mann, closed it and tucked it under his arm. ‘Let’s leave these nice folks to enjoy the evening. Reese…let’s go.’

‘Huh?’ Reese was extremely disgruntled at having his flirting interrupted, just when he was about to try his hand on Becky’s leg, although he would only have done it the once. Becky was fast losing the smile cemented to her face.

Reese took her hand and kissed it. ‘Till we meet again…’ He drank up and followed Terry, who was already several feet away. When they were out of earshot he hissed:

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘I just got a text. It’s the Teach. We have to go. He wants out

now.

He’s not looking for excuses, move your ass.’

‘Why? Thought he was on the way here?’

‘Not now he isn’t.’

‘What the fuck is the matter with him? He was supposed to be on the way to come and find us for a beer.’

‘He was, apparently; he turned back for some reason. Fuck knows! He’s shitting himself about something. He says we have to leave

now’

55

Becky gave Mann a kiss on the cheek. ‘Better make it look convincing.’ She reached up on her tiptoes and pretended to whisper in his ear. ‘Text me when you’re done.’

‘Will do, babe. Take care of yourself.’ He winked at her and was about to step away when she caught his arm and pulled him down to her level to whisper in his ear. She started to say ‘Don’t call me…’, but she didn’t get through it all because Mann kissed her in the middle of it. He hadn’t meant to. It had been an instinctive reaction; the second her cheek touched his, his mouth had turned and sought hers. It wasn’t a long kiss but it was the first time they had kissed one another on the lips.

Shit

, thought Mann.

That’s all I need. She’s married

,

she’s a work colleague, and if she is the mole, she could

be about to get me killed.

He looked back at her as he walked away. She was smiling in that special sweet, shy way she had.

Yep…I’m in trouble…

He left her and made his way back along the beach. The small strip of sand was now crowded with

barcas

pulled up on the shoreline for the night. There was the sound of dance music banging out from the crammed strip of bars, and the coloured lights from their signs flickered on the water. Mann ignored several catcalls and continued walking until he saw what he was looking for, a bar called Pump It.

Once he got in range, the girls in their red hot-pants and silver boob tubes linked arms with him and led him inside the bar to find a table. It wasn’t a bad place, thought Mann. It would look filthy in the light of day but it did well on this litter-strewn end of paradise. Mann looked around. The clientele were younger than Angeles. This place wasn’t so much for the middle-aged lonely businessman but for the rowdy lads here to dive, sunbathe and have sex. The casual sex tourist—the man who just finds himself paying for it at the end of the night, without realising that it was always going to end like that.

Mann was looking for the owner. He didn’t think he would be difficult to spot and he was right. Fat Harry was holding court at one of the circular tables, papers in front of him, drinking a beer. He had a constant stream of girls coming to pay their respects to their ‘daddy’.

Dance music played whilst a girl in a cage, dressed in a bikini and fur boots, wound her athletic thighs around a pole. Mann found himself a space at the bar that ran around the elevated dance floor and watched the girl. She noticed him; he knew she would. He was dressed a lot smarter than everyone else in the place, who looked like they had come straight off the beach. He smiled at her and she made her way over to him. From the corner of his eye he saw Fat Harry watching as she performed the next three minutes for Mann’s entertainment. When she had finished her number he tucked a large tip inside the rim of her boot. He ordered another drink and sat back on his stool. On his third drink a mamasan came over to him with a tray and a vodka on ice on it. She pointed to Fat Harry and said:

‘Fat Harry say would like you to join him.’