Die Alone

were outside my field of vision, but I knew who they were.
Being dressed in black was always going to make me conspicuous on a night like this, so I crouched down behind the waist-high wall that separated my terrace from the one next door and pulled on a black balaclava, counting down the seconds until it was time to move. I knew to give Sheridan five minutes from arrival to get into the room, but I’d already decided to give him ten. I wanted him vulnerable, and hopefully in flagrante, when I made my move.
I stared at my watch, emptying my head of all wasteful thoughts, concentrating on what I was about to do, slowing my breathing even as the adrenalin pumped through my system, remembering my long-ago army training.
And then, just like that, it was time.
I’d memorized the map of the building and knew that I had to cross five separate roof terraces to get to the entrance to the brothel’s penthouse area. The distance was thirty-five metres, and I made it in less than thirty seconds, keeping low so I couldn’t be seen by anyone down on the street.
A flight of steps led down to the heavy fire door and I descended slowly, placed my ear to the wood, and listened. Silence – but I was aware the area could be soundproofed. The nightmare for me was running into one of the girls before I located my target. It would be hard enough putting a bullet in Alastair Sheridan. There was no way I was going to put one in an innocent bystander.
I placed the key Lane had given me in the door and, as I did so, wondered how on earth she’d managed to get a key to this place. Still listening hard, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it carefully behind me.
I was in an empty hallway, decorated in a rich burgundy. My footfalls were muffled by the thick, expensive-looking carpet as I moved through it, remembering the plans Lane had given me. To my left was the jacuzzi room. The door was half open, and I poked my head inside. The raised, round jacuzzi took up most of the available floor space, and was full of foam-topped water bubbling silently. The interior was lit by strategically placed candles and smelled like the perfume section of an airport duty-free, and I guessed it had all been got ready for Alastair Sheridan to enjoy with the lady of his choice, if indeed she was still in a position to enjoy any of it. I wasn’t sure how it worked in this place. The way Lane had explained it, it sounded like it was the kind of establishment where the clients could be rough with the girls without them making a complaint. But I knew Sheridan would have to work very hard to keep his self-control and not get too carried away. I’d heard from an impeccable source that he’d killed a prostitute by mistake once while doing whatever it was he liked to do with them.
At the end of the hallway was a flight of stairs leading down to the next floor. Just before it, there were two doors, one on the left, one on the right. The left-hand one was the main bedroom where Sheridan would be. As I stopped outside, it struck me that the insider had almost pinpoint-perfect information of Sheridan’s movements, as well as his use of the prostitutes. It therefore had to be someone he’d trust absolutely, and with someone so careful of his reputation there could only be a handful of these, and they almost certainly wouldn’t include members of his security detail.
So who was it?
I was just about to put my ear to the door when I heard the sound of a door opening downstairs followed by footsteps, and people talking as they came up the stairs.
I opened the bathroom door opposite and took a quick glance in. Ambient chill music was playing from an unseen speaker, but the room was empty and I darted inside, closing the door behind me, and stood there in the darkness, the gun in my hand, hoping like hell no one decided to come in here and take a leak.
The voices grew louder, and their owners were now directly outside. I could hear a female and a male talking. The female had the louder voice, and there was a confidence to it, but I couldn’t make out what either of them were saying above the music.
The door across the hallway closed, and I heard more footfalls going back down the stairs, then nothing.
I waited in the darkness for a good five minutes until I was sure everyone was settled in, then opened the bathroom door and stepped back out into the hallway. There was no one out there but I could hear male voices talking quietly somewhere out of sight at the foot of the stairs. These would be Alastair Sheridan’s security. For all I knew they could be serving police officers, and I really didn’t want to shoot a cop. I was going to have to be very silent and very quick.
I put my ear to the bedroom door. I could hear the faint sound of a woman crying out in pain, and a man’s voice calling her a bitch and ordering her to shut up. She cried out again, a scream this time, and I immediately pushed the door.
It was locked.
I was going to have to forget the silent part.
I took a step backwards, ready to launch a kick, but stopped when I heard a commotion at the foot of the stairs and a woman’s voice saying to someone angrily ‘Let me up there, I need to sort this out’, followed immediately by hurried footsteps coming up the stairs.
I darted back inside the bathroom but this time I kept the door ajar a couple of inches, watching as a tall, Amazonian-looking woman with multiple intricate tattoos in a black