Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) by Matthew Hattersley (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

talking about, this is a total banger,” he said, nodding at the TV screen, some Spanish music channel. “You don’t like dance music?”

He’d also taken his shirt off sometime in the night and Acid’s gaze was drawn to his tanned torso, defined but not too muscular. “No, I do not,” she said, averting her eyes. “It’s dreadful. For idiots.”

He scoffed. “What music do you like? Heavy Metal? Gothic shit?”

She slumped down in the chair facing him, taking in the faded shamrock and the words Fighting Irish tattooed on his upper chest. “I like real music, good music. Like these guys.” She pulled at her shirt. “The Cramps.”

Danny eyed her chest, emblazoned with the Date With Elvis cover art. “Never heard of them.” He nodded at the image. “But yer woman there looks terrifying.”

Acid smiled. “That’s Poison Ivy, the guitarist. She’s amazing.”

Danny laughed as he sat up. “Poison Ivy? I see. What else?”

“All sorts. Bowie, Black Sabbath. Johnny Thunders. Richard Hell and the Voidoids.”

“Ha. Makes sense now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Poison Ivy, Johnny Thunders, Richard fecking Hell. Sounds like Acid Vanilla should be in a band with those guys.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh?” He sat forward. “What is it like?”

She considered him for a moment, breathing heavily down her nose. He seemed different this morning. More combative, sure, but more serious too. “Never mind.” She sighed. “So do you have a plan worked out?”

He pulled his lips back over his teeth and waved his hand in a maybe, not sure, sort of way. “Still the bones of one.”

Acid got to her feet, the need to move consuming her all at once, and walked to the large window opposite the kitchen. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Right, well, we need to get into the house somehow. Clearly I can’t do that, so it’ll have to be you.”

She watched out the window as an old man shuffled along the street directly below her. It looked like every step pained him. He was also far too overdressed considering the heat. “Yes. I’d assumed the same. How do you see me getting in?”

“How d’ya feel about befriending Delgado?” She turned around to look at him and he held his palms up. “I’m not asking ya to do anything ya don’t want to. I don’t mean ya have to get fresh with him, but he has got an eye for the ladies. I reckon with a little guidance from yours truly we can present ya as a believable art dealer.”

“And you expect him to – what – simply invite me to his home, to see his paintings?”

“Aye. Something like that. Then it’s a simple matter of getting to his office. Easy.”

Acid scoffed. “Easy? I see. And what are you going to be doing while I’m alone in this dangerous man’s house, surrounded by all his goons?”

“I’ll be outside, ready to burst in if needed. We can hire a car as well, to make a quick getaway. But it shouldn’t come to that. This isn’t the hard part, as far as I’m concerned.”

“What is?”

He got up and joined her by the window. He stank faintly of sweat and beer, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “Killing that mad fecking nun. I’m afraid in that respect my plan comes up short.”

Leaving him at the window, Acid moved to the sink, taking a glass from the draining board and filling it with water from the tap.

“You shouldn’t drink that, ya know,” he called over her shoulder.

With the glass half-way to her mouth she paused. “Bollocks,” she muttered, tipping the water back in the basin and turning around. “Don’t worry about Magpie. She’s my problem. I just need to find her.”

She was about to tell him she was waiting for a call back when, right on cue, her phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. Holding it up to show Danny, she side-stepped away, answering the call on her way to the bedroom.

“Sonny?” she asked. “You got my text, then?”

“I did. So what can I do for you?”

“It’s Magpie. I need to know where she is.” The line went silent. She dropped down to the edge of the mattress and lowered her voice. “Please, Sonny. It’s a lot to ask, I know. But I really need to find her.”

Another pause, followed by a sigh. “All right,” he grunted. “But you didn’t hear this from me. You understand?”

“Absolutely. You know where she is?”

“Sort of.” The line crackled as the wily gun-runner’s stubble brushed against the speaker. “You sparked my curiosity before, so I’d already been putting the feelers out. I heard she’s staying in an old convent up on the headland. Still in use, mind, so I don’t know how true that is.”

“No, that fits.”

“I mean it, Acid, you did not hear this from me. The client I heard it from isn’t the nicest or most reliable person you’ve ever met, so it could be bullshit. It could also be a trap.”

“Right now it’s all I’ve got.” She glanced to the window. The sun was still low in the sky. “I need you to get something for me. Obviously I’ll pay.”

She gave him the details and agreed a price, more than she’d wanted to pay but he had her over a barrel now. They arranged to meet at noon, same spot as before, and she hung up.

“What was that all about?” Danny asked, as she returned to the kitchen.

“Do you have cash on you?”

“Erm, yeah, about half a monkey. Two hundred and fifty.”

She held out her hand. “I need two hundred. Actually, give me the lot.”

Watching her the entire time, he got to his feet and walked over to his holdall. “What’s going on?” he asked, unzipping the inner compartment and taking out a roll of euros. “Who was that on the phone?”

“A contact, that’s all you need to know.” She took the money, before grabbing up her gun and phone and taking them through to the bedroom. Once there, she packed them with a spare magazine into the canvas shoulder bag she’d had the good foresight to