She grimaced. ‘Makes no difference whose it is. I can still blow the hell out of you. And I will. So keep your distance, and your hands where I can see them.’

‘He should have taught you how to use it before he sent you out here as his guard dog,’ Ben said. ‘It’s not cocked. It won’t fire.’

She glanced down at the gun, keeping a mistrustful eye on him.

‘Try pulling the trigger,’ Ben said. ‘Nothing will happen. See the hammer there? You need to wrap your thumb around that, and ease it back.’

She did as he said.

‘All the way back, till it clicks,’ he told her.

The action made a smooth metallic clunk-clunk in the silence of the room. The big five-shot cylinder rotated and locked.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Now you can rest easy. You can shoot me if you need to. But before you do, let me prove to you that I’m not one of Cleaver’s boys. Whoever Cleaver is. Now, I’m going to move my hand to my jacket and peel it back. Don’t worry, I’m not armed. I’m going to show you my passport.’ He slid it out and tossed it on the desk. ‘Freshly stamped by US Immigration, just today. My name’s Ben Hope. Benedict on the passport.’

She reached out, picked it up and studied it. The gun wavered and he could easily have taken it from her. He just smiled. She glanced up at him, then back at the passport.

‘Now do you believe me?’

She let the gun down to her side. Her face softened, a look of relief in her eyes. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I believe you.’

‘Then maybe you should decock that revolver now.’

‘Oh. Right.’ She wrapped her left thumb around the hammer, squeezed the trigger and let the hammer down slowly.

‘You haven’t told me your name,’ he said.

‘Molly.’

‘It’s good to meet you, Molly.’

‘So what are you doing in Georgia, Mr Hope?’

‘You can call me Ben. I came from Europe to find Zoë Bradbury.’

‘You don’t look the kind who would hang around that little tramp.’

‘She’s in trouble.’

Molly snorted. ‘She is trouble.’

‘And Skid’s in trouble too,’ Ben said. ‘Or I wouldn’t have been looking down the barrel of that hand cannon

just now.’

‘I’m sorry. I had to be careful.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Hiding from Cleaver.’

‘Will you take me to him?’ Ben said.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Molly drove him through the night, southwards along the coastal highway towards Jacksonville. Gentle specks of rain on the windscreen became a drumming thunder and the road ahead was slick and glossy. They sat in silence for the first few miles, the wipers beating time.

‘Boy, I could use a drink,’ she said suddenly. ‘My hands are still shaking.’ She glanced at him sideways and smiled for the first time. ‘I’ve never pointed a gun at anyone before.’

‘You did fine.’ He reached into his jacket and offered her his flask. ‘It’ll calm your nerves.’

She sipped. ‘That’s good. What is it?’

‘Laphroaig single malt Scotch, ten years old.’

‘Nice.’ She took another sip, smacked her lips and then handed the flask back to him. ‘See that glove compartment? Can you get me a smoke?’

He opened it. ‘Havanas?’ he said, surprised.

‘My daddy used to smoke them. I got the taste. Have one yourself.’

The little Coronation Punch cigars were sealed in silver aluminium tubes. Ben opened two of them, lit them up with his Zippo and passed one to her.

She took a long draw on hers and let out a cloud of smoke. ‘So, Mr Hope. I mean Ben. Just who are you?’

‘Just someone who wants to help.’

‘You seem to know an awful lot about guns. For an English guy. I thought they were banned over there.’

‘I’m not really English,’ he said. ‘I’m half Irish.’

‘Which half?’

‘The good half.’

She laughed. ‘That figures. Every English guy I ever met was an uptight sonofabitch.’

‘Tell me about Skid,’ he said.

‘We met at law school.’

‘So you’re a lawyer too?’

She shook her head. ‘Couldn’t get past the bar exam. I get nervous. So I’m a paralegal. I worked with Skid for a while, but now I work uptown for a firm.’

‘Why did he send you to meet me?’

‘Because he can’t go anywhere. You’ll see for yourself, soon enough.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘Cleaver’s people. They got to him. Almost killed him. Would have, too, if I hadn’t turned up and called the cops.’

‘Who is this Cleaver?’

‘Skid’ll tell you all about him.’

‘Where does Zoë Bradbury come into this?’

‘Skid and I were serious for almost two years,’ she said. ‘Zoë Bradbury broke us up.’

‘I know she was here a couple of times,’ he said. ‘Staying with a Miss Vale.’

Molly nodded and took another drag on her cigar. ‘It happened the last time she was here, six months ago. Skid was in a bar – he’s always in a bar, somewhere – and he meets this pretty English girl, and I guess he couldn’t resist. And I guess she couldn’t resist him either. Skid never had a cent to his name, but he’s a charmer, that’s for sure.’ She smiled grimly. ‘The one time I met her was in his office. He told me that she and he had a business deal going. What he didn’t tell me was they were screwing the whole time she was here. I only found out weeks later what all those late nights at work were about.’ She wound down the window a crack and flicked ash out. ‘Skid never denied it. That’s when I left him. Told him I’d never see him again. It was over. But then he kept calling and pestering me, saying he couldn’t live without me. He was leaving me phone messages, crying and threatening to shoot himself.’

‘With that big pistol there?’

‘Wouldn’t be much left, I guess.’

‘No, there wouldn’t.’

‘Anyway, I turned up at his office late one night to have it out with him face to face. As I went up the stairs I could hear all this screaming and yelling. There were three guys there with him. Beating the crap out of him. I called the cops, and there happened to be a patrol close by. They went in, but the three guys must have heard them coming. They got out the back way. Left Skid in pretty bad shape.’

‘When was this?’

‘Just over two weeks ago,’ she said. ‘Now Skid’s petrified that Cleaver will get to him again. Won’t even go to the hospital, though Lord knows he needs to.’

‘You’re looking after him.’

‘Guard dog, like you said. And nursemaid, all rolled into one.’

‘So was there a business deal between Zoë and Skid, or was that just a cover?’

‘There was a deal,’ she said gravely. ‘And that’s the reason Skid’s in trouble.’

‘What was it?’

‘Skid’ll tell you that too. We’ll be there soon.’ She pulled off the highway and within a few more minutes they hit roads that were dark and narrow and twisty. Molly drove fast, her face tight with concentration. A dirt track came up on the left and she took it. The car lurched past a dilapidated motel sign. The dirt track was all churned up into mud by the rain. At the end of it, they swung into a rough earth yard. The headlights picked out clumps of overgrown grass, discarded garbage sacks, broken furniture, flattened beer cans. The motel buildings were low slung and badly in need of repair. A fly-specked neon light threw a yellowish glow over the raised porches and parking spaces out front. Molly pulled up next to a pickup truck and killed the engine.

They stepped out. The rain had stopped and the air was heavy and humid. Two Dobermans in a mesh cage barked furiously and hurled themselves against the wire, standing upright on sinewy hind legs.

‘Welcome to Skid’s new home,’ Molly said.

Only a couple of windows were lit up. The muffled sound of a TV was coming from somewhere inside. The dogs were still barking. A man’s drunken voice in the distance yelled at them to shut up.

Molly led Ben to room number ten. The old door was warped and peeling. She beat on it, three loud knocks. ‘It’s Molly,’ she called. She dug in her bag and took out the door key, unlocked it and they went in.