Royal Heist Read Online Free Page B

betting shop. Cancer was diagnosed. Shortly before his death he told his son, “Eddy, you run those shops for me. Take care of your mother. I know it’s not what you wanted, but you can earn a good living, an’ there’s a good kid that works for me. You know Tony Driscoll.” Tony was the illegitimate son of the woman who cleaned the shops. He had been just a toddler when Ronnie took them under his wing, and they owed everything to him. De Jersey had trouble remembering Mrs. Driscoll’s first name. What he did remember was how they both wept at his father’s funeral. Ronnie had been a surrogate dad to Tony and had even left him a few hundred pounds. The boys had not been that close as youngsters, but years later, when de Jersey needed him, Tony Driscoll, like James Wilcox, was one of the few men he trusted.
    “I was hopin’ I’d see you.”
    It was Smedley. By the tilt of him he’d had more than a few beers.
    “What a win, eh? Clean as a whistle! I nearly had heart failure—I’d put those two fifties you give me on him!”
    “Really?” De Jersey moved away, wanting to avoid another conversation.
    “All the lads was on him, I tipped them off.” Smedley bumped against the fence, then ducked beneath it. There was no getting away from him. “You got anythin’ running tomorrow?”
    “No.”
    “Ah, well, maybe not push your luck too far, eh? You goin’ down the track? I’ll walk wiv you. I need to sober up. Been in the stewards’ lounge.”
    De Jersey made no reply but strode off, leaving Smedley, swaying slightly, a hurt expression on his red face. “I’m sorry if I bothered you,” he said loudly.
    De Jersey stopped. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I have to get a move on—don’t like flying at night.”
    “Oh, understandable,” Smedley said, trotting after him. When he approached the helipad, de Jersey could hear Smedley wheezing behind him. As de Jersey opened the cockpit door, Smedley gasped. “You’d never get me up in one of them.” De Jersey climbed aboard, and Smedley held up his square rough hand. “I’d like to shake your hand, sir.”
    De Jersey bent down to grasp it. He was beginning to find the man unbearably irritating. “I’ll tell my grandson about it, me and you being at the same school. You got any?”
    De Jersey looked down into the gnomelike face. “Just two daughters.”
    “Ah, well, we can’t all be blessed. I got four lads, three grandsons and . . .”
    The engine started up, and de Jersey slid the door shut. He waited for Smedley to scuttle away to a safe distance; the blades began to turn. As the helicopter lifted into the air, de Jersey saw the man grow smaller, and he felt an odd mixture of emotions. Most of his life had been spent escaping his past, but despite his massive wealth, the Smedleys of the world proved that he could never let his guard down. He had far too much to lose, having acquired, by various means, everything he ever wanted in life. However, Smedley did have something he coveted, a son . . . in fact, four of them. De Jersey’s good humor returned. He had Royal Flush. Today had been just the beginning. He would fulfill his dream to win the Derby, and if he did, he would kiss the track, like his dad had done the day he’d made the twenty-five-to-one bet on the Derby outsider.
    The light was fading as the helicopter flew over his vast estate. He couldn’t help smiling at what lay below, which included a racing stable, just twenty-five miles from Newmarket and its famous racetrack, and close to the famous Tattersalls bloodstock auctions; a stud farm at a separate holding, ten miles from the stables; vast tracts of land for training; and separate yards and paddocks for the brood mares.
    The electronically controlled gates gave access to a three-mile drive leading to his mansion overlooking a lake. The drive branched off from the house toward the stables. There were garages set back from the house with living quarters above for the chauffeur. De