THE PENANCE LIST Complete, Steamy Psycho Thriller

THE PENANCE LIST Chapters 8 - 19

THE PENANCE LIST

(Book I of THE DAVID TRILOGY)

Chapters 8 - 19

Chapter Eight

Franco’s black Mercedes sped smoothly away from Seb’s studio, winding through the streets of London. Luckily Michael had the knowledge of a London cab driver; he knew the cheeky little back streets and one-way systems to twist in and out of, especially during rush-hour traffic.

Franco lounged back into the soft leather seats. What the hell was all that about? The last thing he needed right now was a woman messing with his head. He groaned at the memory of the past few hours. He had the urge to turn and look back at her, standing in the street. But refused himself, keeping eyes sternly ahead like a stubborn child.

“Michael, music please,” he quipped.

Franco avoided his driver’s eyes in the mirror. Michael would have sussed something was up, and he didn’t want conversation right now. Michael knew better, and at the press of a button, the elegant strings of Beethoven’s Symphony No.1 filled the car.

Franco took a deep breath and started to relax. The rich smell of leather filled his nostrils. The air-conditioning began to kick in. London sped past his window.

She was something else. How dare she treat him like a fool? It was a cheap setup with that photographer, whispering away to each other. She wasn’t into him, had just been using him to get the job done, and he’d fallen for it, let his guard down... prick teasing putana!

All women are the same. Easy to lay, hard to shake off. All they wanted was your money. Why can’t he find a woman with style? She probably had a boyfriend at home, poor kid. He’s busy earning the money to keep her happy while she drops her panties all over town, giving it away... I did not even know her name… Warr, what kind of name is that anyway?

He flicked the lid of his cell phone, it buzzed into life. Twenty-two messages... shit! With a sigh, he patiently dialled up his voicemail and listened through them; at least they would take his mind off her.

A few messages from his agent, Ned Bromley, Brommers to his friends, filling him in on some contract changes with Brompton FC, who Franco had been signed to for the past three seasons, helping them acquire a few pieces of silverware for the Directors’ Box cup cabinet. Brommers was renewing his player contract, all was going well. He was a good agent, of the old school, when footballers were ‘men’ not ‘overpriced drama queens’ and the Board of Directors were true lovers of the game, not corporate raiders.

Franco was an injury-free hot property at the moment with, allegedly, a few attractive offers on the table from other clubs. Brommers could therefore afford to squeeze the BFC Board on their deal. He had a charming knack of screwing a good deal out of club chairmen without pissing them off. He was one of the few agents that were respected within the industry. Never too greedy, no bungs, and made sure the club came out feeling they had got their money’s worth.

He was in demand. A naturally quiet, private man, he would reluctantly get dragged out to speak at football industry seminars, or advise clubs and governing bodies on a variety of player/manager matters. His direct, no airs and graces approach had earned him the name in the press of Bulldog Brommers.

Disquiet had been growing within the industry with the way less-than-scrupulous agents operated, their carnivorous abuse of power when conducting the financial movements of players. Brommers shared this unease and, with like-minded chairmen and governing bodies, was pushing for new laws and stipulations to be put into force to protect the club, the player, and ultimately the fans. But inevitably, where obscene amounts of money were involved, greed often triumphed.