Read The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) for Free Online Page A

Warwick. I guess I’m just not hungry.’ She sipped her white wine. The restaurant had been Locke’s idea, an expensive seafood restaurant in Kensington, not far away from his office. It was full of television executives and wannabe celebrities and the waiting staff all had Australian or South African accents and introduced themselves by name before reeling off the specials. Sam had sole and it was overcooked. The vegetables were almost raw and the wine wasn’t as well chilled as it should have been.
    Locke ordered oysters followed by lobster, and he ate everything with his fingers, occasionally licking them with relish. His big red napkin was tucked into his shirt, his jacket on the back of his chair. He kept turning to look at a blonde waitress with large breasts every time she came close to their table.
    ‘So what do you think, Warwick?’ asked Sam, lighting a cigarette.
    Locke raised a greasy lobster claw. ‘Delicious. Want some?’
    Sam narrowed her eyes. She was sure Locke knew what she meant, and if he was trying to be funny he was failing miserably. ‘About Terry’s stake in the business?’
    ‘His fifty per cent is worth about five grand. Top whack.’ He sucked noisily at the broken end of the claw.
    ‘Five grand?’ said Sam incredulously. ‘How many girls have you got on the books?
    Locke waved the lobster claw in the air like a conductor warming up an orchestra. ‘Just because they’re on the books doesn’t mean that they’re working, Samantha. And fifteen per cent of a catalogue shoot doesn’t amount to much.’
    The big-breasted blonde waitress came over to their table and leaned towards Sam. ‘I’m sorry, madam, but this is a no-smoking restaurant.’
    Sam smiled thinly, took a last drag on the cigarette, and then stubbed it out on her barely touched fish. The waitress leaned over to take the plate away, giving Locke an opportunity to look down the front of her chest. She caught him looking and he grinned at her, unabashed, wiping grease off his chin with the back of his hand.
    Sam looked at Locke with contempt. ‘You know, Warwick, I’d hate to think that the agency’s only function was to provide a supply of nineteen-year-old blondes for you and Terry.’
    Locke’s eyes hardened. ‘That’s unkind, Sam. Unkind and uncalled for.’
    Sam didn’t say anything. She drained her glass of wine and stood up. ‘Thanks for dinner, Warwick. If five grand’s the best you can do, I’ll have to take it. Send me a cheque, yeah?’
    Locke pretended to look hurt, but he was a bad actor. ‘Sam, come on. Have a dessert. A coffee. Something.’ He waved his claw over the table.
    ‘I’ve lost my appetite,’ she said, and lit another cigarette as she walked towards the exit.
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    Sam drove to a filling station, still fuming at Locke’s patronising attitude. It was only the second time that she’d met the man, and she realised that Terry had probably wanted to keep him away from her. She regretted telling him to send her the cheque for the five grand – it would have made more sense to have Richard Asher go over the books first.
    She filled the Saab with four star then gave the Indian cashier her Visa card. He ran it through the card reader, then frowned. He tried again, then handed it back to her. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s not accepting it.’
    Sam groaned as she remembered that one of the bills she’d opened that morning had been from Visa, pointing out that she had already exceeded her credit limit on the card. She handed him her gold American Express card and said a silent prayer as he ran it through the reader. It spewed out a receipt and Sam signed it. The Amex card was paid for by direct debit from one of Terry’s accounts, but she had no way of knowing how long that state of affairs would last. Most of the accounts she’d seen in Asher’s office had been in the red or heading that way.
    She was half a mile from home when she heard the blip of a