Reggie grabbed his hand suddenly and said happily, ‘Stop questioning it, Lenny. Just enjoy it.’

Lenny smiled that crooked smile he had. ‘You a fucking mind reader?’

Reggie fluttered his eyelashes girlishly and said in a high voice, ‘I am where you’re concerned.’

Lenny laughed and they finished their breakfast, happy in each other’s company.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Christopher Steel was dark-haired and dark-eyed. He was a tall man, without an ounce of spare fat on him because he worked out a lot and he was vain. He also liked the best of everything, and that included his women. He had a lovely wife – a Colombian associate’s sister, so marriage it had had to be. No kids as yet, though he had a string of mistresses of every nationality. That is what he liked about Marbella: it was cosmopolitan. You could get a fuck with anything from a Russian bint with cement tits, to an Irish girl with red curls and green eyes. It was a wonderful life all right, and he was enjoying every second. Not that his wife, Maria, thought that, of course, and she was very vocal about it as well. She was a spoiled cunt, that is what she was. But her brothers were not men even he would chance making an enemy out of. They were important in their country and they loved their pretty little sister. Christopher wished he could say the same – her voice went through his head these days. He should knock her up really, give her a couple of kids. If ever a woman needed a hobby, she did.

He pulled on his linen jacket and adjusted the cuffs, admiring himself in the mirrored wardrobes. This villa was built on a grand scale like the ones in Colombia. He had learned a lot about how the rich should live. That was the great thing about dealing in such huge quantities: the money was phenomenal and also endless. It was all about supply and demand – and cocaine was very much in demand these days. It was the drug of choice for anyone who needed to give their night out a little lift. He wasn’t averse to a snort occasionally himself.

The great thing about Spain was the Filth were more corrupt than Idi Amin, and there was no extradition with the UK. He was just a few hours away and the fucking Old Bill couldn’t touch him. He was a lucky boy.

He walked through his spacious home and, as he descended the sweeping staircase, he saw Maria getting ready for a shouting match. Her big brown eyes were flashing hatred and, as she walked quickly towards him, he slipped around her and out of the front door. He was laughing his head off as he strolled casually towards his Mercedes.