Endgame. Wilna Adriaanse
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“Unfortunately, yes. And I have to go.”
“You must be joking.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’m sure whatever it is can wait.”
Nick put his hand on her hip. Her skin was warm to his touch and he smelled her perfume. A little too floral for his taste, but subtle, at least.
She stepped closer and undid the last button of his shirt. He kissed her bare shoulder and decided it would indeed be rude to leave. He pulled her towards him.
Nick unlocked the door of his flat and looked at his watch. He wondered if Allegretti had heard the news yet. There was a good chance that by this time he was in no condition to register anything. Clara was the only person who could ever manage to talk sense into him and stop him when he lost control completely.
Nick stripped off his clothes, had a quick shower, gathered up the keys to his bakkie and hurried down the stairs. He sincerely hoped the news had not yet reached Allegretti. He was quite capable of driving over to Williams’s home.
On his way to Bantry Bay another thought struck him – what if Allegretti had kidnapped Clara himself? For all their sakes he hoped that wasn’t the case. The outcome would be bloody.
The house looked quiet and dark when Nick parked his car. The house was often quiet these days. Allegretti still occasionally invited people over but after an hour or so he often asked them to leave. He didn’t feel like company any more.
The security guards assured Nick that Allegretti had been home all day. He couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad news.
He unlocked the front door and took the stairs two at a time. The spacious living room was dark, but a light was burning on the staircase leading to the top floor. Voices came from the living room. He stopped. The guards would probably have told him if there were guests. When he reached the top of the stairs he realised that the voices he had heard had come from the TV. On the coffee table was half a bottle of tequila and an empty bottle of Bollinger. He saw traces of white powder.
Nick called Allegretti’s name. When he got no reply, he looked in the main bedroom. The bed had been slept in, but there was no sign of Allegretti. Nor was there any sign of him in the bathroom or dressing room. Nick hurried down the stairs and went to the gym at the back of the house. Not that it was likely that Allegretti had had a sudden urge to exercise. When he didn’t find him there either, he checked the rest of the rooms and the flat on the lower level.
Next he went to Patrice’s quarters and knocked. The door was slightly ajar, so Nick pushed it open. The room was in a shambles. Furniture had been knocked over. A dark stain was visible at the entrance to the bedroom. A reddish brown trail led through the bedroom to the bathroom.
Patrice was lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. His eyes were open and his breathing was shallow.
Nick bent over Patrice and took out his cellphone.
“I need an ambulance urgently,” he said into the phone and gave the address. “Someone has been shot.”
He touched Patrice. “I’m here. The ambulance is on its way. Don’t move.” He removed the towel Patrice seemed to have been pressing against the wound and saw that his hunch had been correct. Patrice had a gunshot wound to the stomach. Nick took a clean towel from the rail and pressed it against the wound. He would have liked to look for an exit wound, but it was too risky to move Patrice.
“What happened, Patrice?” At the moment he didn’t care much about the details but he didn’t want Patrice to lose consciousness. “What happened? Where’s Enzio?”
Patrice tried to shake his head. “Sorry.”
“Who shot you?” When he got no reply, he sat down and called the guard at the gate.
“I’m expecting an ambulance. Open the gate and bring them to Patrice’s quarters as quickly as possible.”
Nick didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he focused on Patrice. “Open your eyes and talk to me. Who shot you?”
But Patrice’s eyes were closed and he was no longer responding to questions.
Nick was prepared to suffer the consequences for his choices and decisions, but it was hard when someone else had to pay the price. He had recruited Patrice, and though he’d made sure the man understood the implications of the job, he still felt responsible. And helpless. He hated the feeling.
After what seemed like an eternity, Nick heard voices and two paramedics entered the bathroom.
“He’s been shot. He’s lost a lot of blood,” he told the man kneeling next to Patrice. Then he got to his feet and left them to do their job.
Ten minutes later Patrice was in the back of the ambulance. There was a needle in his arm, connected to an intravenous drip. Nick said he would follow in his bakkie.
“No one is to enter the house,” he gave orders at the gate. “Not even you. And call me the moment anyone arrives.”
It was almost one o’clock when they stopped at the Christiaan Barnard Memorial Hospital in the city. The emergency unit was a hive of activity, but Patrice was rushed through a door marked Triage. A sister closed the door.
“Can you wait in the waiting room, please?” she said through a chink.
Nick walked back to where he had seen the waiting room. It was crowded. He had never been good at waiting, and he hated hospitals, especially waiting rooms. His father had died when he was very young, but he could still recall the smell. And the hard chairs. At times he and his brother had been so tired that they’d slept on the carpet, while his mom had spent hour after hour waiting on a hard chair. Hopeful that someone would bring her some good news.
Years later he and his brother had waited on similar chairs for news about their mother. The news had always been brought to them in a waiting room. He preferred to wait in the corridor.
Monica picked up at the third ring. He told her that Patrice had been shot and Allegretti was missing.
“Where are you?”
“At the hospital.”
“Have you notified the police?”
“No, I didn’t have time.”
“You don’t plan to notify them, do you?”
“No.”
“Do you think it’s smart to try to hide something like that?”
“I’m not going to hide it. I just want to be able to choose who and what I allow near the case. If I throw the doors open now, the case will be fucked before sunrise.”
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
“I’m still thinking.”
“Nick, I’m sorry about Patrice. I know you recruited him yourself and you feel responsible for him, but you didn’t shoot him.”
“I have to go. Talk to you later.”
“I know that tone of voice. It doesn’t bode well.”
“What tone?”
“The one that says you won’t listen to advice.”
“Depends whose advice.” He ended the call before she could reply.
Nick pushed himself away from the wall and looked at the people walking past. The staff looked tired. Some managed a hint of a smile. A feeble attempt to look encouraging. Others didn’t take the trouble.
From where he was standing, the waiting room across the passage was like a tidal pool. People came and went. At times there were a few vacant chairs, but every new wave brought different people. Children sat on their parents’ laps, most of them in pyjamas. Couples were holding on to each other. Old people looked scared and bewildered. Here and there