The Collector Book One: Mana Leak

by Daniel I. Russell

  Adam steered to the right, returning the bike to the centre of the road.

  Behind them and rapidly falling into the distance, the woman lay on the pavement, surrounded by a troupe of Samaritans that must have come running out of Sefton’s. A man and woman carefully tried to get the old dear back on her feet with looks of sincere concern on their faces. Another man, obviously the have-a-go hero of the group, sprinted up the street to recover the stolen handbag.

  Jake laughed. He failed to hear his own glee ring out over the noise of the engine, but the vibrations rattled in his head. He lifted a hand from Adam’s shoulder and waved the bag in the air over his head in triumph.

  The bike slowed as Adam drifted to the right hand side of the street, widening the angle before he swerved down a road to the left. The scene of the old woman and her rescuers fell behind a row of closed shops.

  They would be at Smithy’s soon. The wind had grown harsh and its icy bite had finally found its way inside the folds of his coat and through his T-shirt and jeans. His limbs shook from the cold and the adrenaline of the successful bag snatch.

  Be glad when we’re there, need to get warm.

  He smiled when the handbag bumped into his chest.

  …and we get to see what goodies we have in here…

  He hung onto Adam, keeping his head low, riding out the rest of the short journey to Smithy’s house.

  4.

  Adam pulled the bike over in front of the home of Eric “Smithy” Smith and killed the engine. The house, although small, put the Dean twins’ home to shame. The windows were immaculately clean; white lace curtains hung inside, with frames freshly painted a deep brown that matched the front door. Slate tiles lined the roof, not a single one missing. All this suburban perfection sat behind a well-tended garden, with a short-trimmed lawn, rosebushes and various other flowers. Not the typical abode of an opportunist drug dealer.

  Groaning, Jake dismounted the bike and stretched his legs. He loved the bike, but the vibrations fucking hurt after a while. He rubbed his sore areas, the backs of his thighs and his rear, the handbag swinging around as he tried to get his circulation going again. An onlooker might have mistaken him for a cross-dressing Goth with cramp. He felt like he’d crossed the west on the back of a mule, not across a small town on a motorbike.

  “Hey,” said Adam, climbing from the bike and leaning it on the kick stand. “If you’re not too busy fondling yourself, toss me the bag.”

  “You’re so fucking funny, you know that?” Jake replied, squeezing the tops of his legs. “You should be a comedian with that cutting wit of yours.”

  “Nah, don’t wanna entertain’ faggots like you. Give me the bag.”

  Jake threw it, and Adam easily made the catch with a two hand grab. He opened the zip that ran across the top of the black leather and rummaged inside.

  “Crap!” he said, lifting out a tube of lipstick and throwing it onto the pavement. Its transparent casing shattered, and the plastic cylinder rolled off the curb and into the road. A small mirror, a laminated bus pass and a hairbrush quickly followed in a rain of belongings. “Crap…crap…crap…crap…”

  Jake straightened from his self-massage and searched his coat for his cigarettes. “Don’t tell me that all she got is a bag of junk. I’ll fall off the fucking bike doing that stunt one of these days.”

  “Bingo!” said Adam, his hand pausing inside the bag as he grabbed something. “Look what we have here.”

  He pulled out a small red purse with a buttoned clasp holding it closed.

  “Looks like the old dear was worth it after all.” Jake lit a cigarette. “How much?”

  Adam popped the clasp open and spread the purse wide. He riffled through the contents.

  “Cards, three of ‘em. Two banks, one credit. Might be useful. Steve deals with cards, doesn’t he?”

  Jake nodded. “Might get twenty for each.”

  “Bit of change…ah, what’s this?” He pulled out a small piece of paper, looked at it and sniggered.

  “Let me see.”

  Adam turned it around. It was a photograph of a naked newborn baby lying on a blanket.

  “Cute. Anything else?”

  Adam let the photograph fall from his hand to join the rest of the bag’s contents on the ground. “There’s another zip in here…”

  Jake peered up and down the street as he smoked. They weren’t that close to the centre of town but it was always better to be careful, being on a caution and all. He liked the police; so dependable. Someone gets attacked or mugged or killed, it takes them all day to get there, but controlling the hordes of tipsy women staggering out of the bars on a weekend, well, that was a different matter. Jake imagined himself as a copper: driving through red lights with the sirens wailing, taking hefty bribes to turn a blind eye, escorting drunken girls back to their homes in the back of his patrol car, in pairs of course…

  Jake was torn from his fantasy as Adam hissed a quiet “Yes!” and pulled out a thick wad of rolled twenty pound notes, bound together by an elastic band, from the inner compartment of the purse. “Looks like we hit the jackpot here, bro!”

  “How much?”

  “A ton, at least.”

  “Old ladies shouldn’t be carrying that kind of money around. What if they get robbed?”

  Adam smiled at his brother and stuffed the bundle of notes back inside the purse. He closed the clasp and put the whole bundle in the pocket of his tracksuit top.

  “That should take care of business,” he said, picking at an angry patch of acne at the side of his nose. “You wanna go see if the sweaty bastard’s home?” He nodded towards the house.

  Jake threw the cigarette stub onto the pavement among the old woman’s belongings. The growing wind rolled it away.

  “Yeah. Hope he has the heating on. It’s freezing out here.”

  “The thought of Smithy sat next to a hot radiator makes me feel sick.”

  “Come on.”

  Jake headed up the neat garden path towards the front door, pulling leaves from the surrounding bushes. Adam followed, hand over the new bulge in his tracksuit. The brothers arrived at the door, and Jake knocked a cheerful tune on the wood.

  “Queer,” said Adam.

  Jake half turned. “What?”

  “That was a queer’s knock.”

  “So what is a straight knock then?”

  Adam leaned over and hit the door hard three times.

  Thud thud thud

  “All right. I’m coming,” said a muffled, grumpy voice from within.

  “See,” exclaimed Adam with a smug grin.

  The door swung inwards.

  Eric “Smithy” Smith swept his long black hair, which hung down to his shoulders, back behind his ears as he peered at his visitors from behind thick lenses. He sniffed.

  “Oh. It’s you two.”

  Jake tried his warmest, most convincing smile of greeting, but it proved hard work. The sharp waves of body odour emanating from the man had already been registered. They threatened to steal his breath.

  “Smithy! Long time.”

  Smithy retained his solemn look, the corners of his lips turned downward under a light, fluffy moustache. His gaze darted back and forth between the twins’ faces. “What do you want?”

  “Business. We hear you’re carrying,” said Adam over his brother’s shoulder.

  Smithy glanced at both of them and across the empty street. He sniffed again. “You’d better come in.”

  He stepped back to allow them inside.

  Something black dashed past. In seconds it ran between Adam and Jake and into a rose bush. The twins jumped back.

  “Damn cats.” Smithy looked at the brothers who gazed around the floor. “Are you two coming in or not?”

  “Erm…yeah,” said Jake. “Sorry.”

  Jake stepped into the house, quickly followed by Adam, who still scanned the area behind him. They waited in the hall, and Smithy closed the front door.

  “Fleabags, the l
ot of them,” he said, his voice low and grumbling. “Don’t know why she has to have so many.”

  “She?” asked Adam.

  “My grandmother. Eight she has. Eight!”

  As if to confirm their presence, a black and white feline trotted from a doorway on the left, cast them an unimpressed stare and vanished into a room on the right.

  “That was Princess. Hairy little shit.”

  The house reeked of wet hair, fresh urine and cat food that combined to form a dank, fishy smell.

  “So you live with your grandmother?” said Jake. “She ain’t here, is she?”

  “No, she’ll be a while yet. Besides, we won’t be long. I was in the middle of something when you knocked.”

  Smithy led them down the hall and into a chintzy lounge. Jake stifled a laugh at the flowery wallpaper and embroidered pillow cushions. Adam, on the other hand, proved not so polite.

  “Oh man,” he cried. “Look at this shit!”

  “Tell me about it,” muttered Smithy, not stopping. He carried on through the lounge into a small dining room. The cat smell thickened due to a couple of litter trays sitting on the carpet along the far wall. Smithy strode through a door on the right. The brothers obediently followed.

  Smithy’s bedroom was a complete contrast to the rest of the house. The walls were sombre, dark tones of blue and covered in posters, showing various bands with long hair and tattoos. A double bed, with a silver frame and twisted black sheets, occupied most of the space in the small room. In the corner sat a computer on a desk with a high-backed leather chair before it. Smithy walked straight to it and sat down.

  Jake wrinkled his nose. Considering the size of the room, and the amount of time that Smithy must spend in here, his smell must have saturated the very walls.

  “That Cold Steel: Alien Raiders?” he asked, looking over at the computer screen.

  Smithy grunted and continued his game. The room filled with the noise of explosions and gunfire.

  “That’s brand new, ain’t it?” said Adam.

  “A-ha,” Smithy replied, eyes never leaving the screen.

  Adam perched himself on the edge of the bed.

  “It a copy?” pressed Jake.

  “No. Bought it from a shop.”

  A couple of cyborg alien warriors fell foul of Smithy’s plasma cannon. The reflections lit up the lenses of his glasses.

  “You bought it? How the hell could you afford that?”

  “I’ve had quite few people here on business this week. Word gets around quick, especially over something of this quality.”

  Jake ran his tongue over his dry lips. He’d picked up the unmistakable smell of weed lingering in the room, underneath the dank eau de Smithy.

  “Done that well, huh?”

  Smithy nodded, his attention still fixed on the screen.

  “Well, come on!” said Adam. “Where is it? We didn’t come all the way over here to watch you play on that.”

  Smithy frowned. “It’s in a shoebox under the bed, right underneath you.”

  Adam immediately bent over, reaching between his legs below the bed.

  Smithy turned from the screen for a couple of seconds. “You’re going to have to go in deeper than that.”

  Adam shot his twin a grimace.

  “You heard the man.” Jake smiled. “Get searching.”

  Adam huffed, stood from the bed and crawled on the floor on his hands and knees. He lifted a corner of duvet draped over the bed, folded it over and looking underneath.

  “I can’t see it.”

  “It’s under there,” replied Smithy, staring at the computer screen.

  Adam outstretched his arm and reached underneath the bed, in up to his shoulder.

  Jake checked his watch. The time approached nine o’clock.

  This is cutting into my smoking time!

  “Get a move on, Adam.”

  “I’m looking, fuckface. Give me a minute.”

  “Nice to see you two are getting on as well as ever,” Smithy commented, a sarcastic smile spreading on his face.

  “Screw you,” said Adam from the floor. “I’ve almost got it…There’s some books, a few T-shirts… Damn it! You don’t have a torch, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Damn it,” he repeated under his breath.

  Jake guessed that all sorts lay under the freak’s bed: rotten food, used tissues, body parts…

  “Smithy?” said Adam.

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t have anything…you know…weird under here, do you?”

  Smithy paused the game and swivelled the leather chair around to face Adam. He tucked his long, greasy hair back behind his ears and pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “Do I look like I have something weird under my bed?” he asked, scratching his armpit.

  “There’s something strange under here. Whatever it is, it’s warm and-ow!” Adam jerked his hand out from underneath the bed and clamped his other around it. “Fuckin’ ‘ell!”

  Another cat, a fat ginger, shot out from the narrow strip of darkness beneath the bed and out through the open bedroom door.

  Jake laughed while Smithy just smiled.

  “That was Empress. I think she likes you.”

  “Gobshite!”

  “No need for such profanities, she barely touched you,” Smithy said and revolved back to the computer. Seconds later, the small bedroom sounded like a war zone again.

  “Well?” asked Jake.

  “Well what?” Adam replied.

  “The box?”

  Adam pushed himself up off the carpet and stood in front of his brother.

  “Oh no, I’m not going under there again, there could be more cats.”

  “You soft bastard. Fine. I’ll do it.”

  Jake crouched on one knee and reached under the bed. After a few seconds he pulled out a white shoebox.

  “Wasn’t that hard, was it?” he said.

  To Jake’s relief, Adam didn’t rise to this challenge; he would have delayed what they’d come here for, and that lay within the box. The smell of the room seemed as strong as when he’d walked in. The sooner that they were out of there, the better.

  He pulled the lid from the box and laid it on the bed.

  On top lay a glossy magazine. He lifted it out, unfolded it and examined the cover. A girl wearing only a g-string sat with her legs open, her stomach bulging out.

  Ah, the latest issue of Pregnant Pussy. Classy, Mr Smith, very classy indeed.

  He glanced up and noticed Adam was eying up the magazine.

  “Enjoy,” he said, tossing it to his brother who promptly began to flick through it.

  Moving the magazine revealed several small polythene bags; the contents, either chocolate brown blocks or what looked like mixed herbs, were easily seen through the thin plastic.

  “Oi, Smithy. This it?”

  He glanced briefly from the screen. “Yeah, that’s the one, but you two won’t want to bother with the resins, being pros and all.”

  Jake fished out a bag containing the green herb for a closer examination. He held it up towards Adam, but only got a passing grunt. Adam seemed too busy with the third trimester centrefold.

  “This as good as I hear it is? It don’t look like much.”

  “Trust me, Jay,” said Smithy, “the beauty is that it is uber concentrated. That small amount will last the both of you all week. It don’t take much.”

  “What you sellin’ at?”

  “Forty a bag.”

  “Forty? Forty quid?”

  “Well I’m not selling in fucking rupees, am I? Yes, forty quid.”

  “We ain’t paying that,” muttered Adam from behind the magazine.

  “Come on, Smithy! We’re old mates. Surely you can go lower?”

  “Hang on there. Old mates? You only come round when you want something. Like when you two idiots got caught robbing your neighbour’s house. You came knocking for an alibi! So no, Jay. The ‘old mates’ argument doesn’t wor
k on me. It’s forty or nothing.”

  “Oh well,” sighed Jake. “Guess that’s that then. By the way Smithy, I noticed that all the time we’ve been here, you haven’t saved that game.”

  Smithy carried on playing. “So?”

  “Well, Adam would also like to see you sell at around, say, twenty quid and he just so happens to be stood next to the socket your computer is plugged into. Get my drift?”

  Smithy paused the game and spun his chair around, his gaze already darting between Jake, his brother and the socket, probably weighing up his options and how much losing his game meant.

  “Twenty it is then. That is, cash up front.”

  Jake grinned.

  “You heard the man, bro. Put the jazz mag down and pay him.”

  Adam closed the magazine, tucked it under his arm and delved into his tracksuit pocket. He pulled out the red purse and plucked a twenty pound note from within.

  “Nice purse, girly man,” said Smithy, deadpan.

  “Erm…it’s not a purse,” Adam replied. “It’s a wallet.”

  “Bollocks it’s a wallet. It’s a fucking purse. My grandmother has one exactly the same.”

  Adam froze and looked over at Jake.

  “In fact,” Smithy continued, looking at his watch, “she should be back from the bingo by now.”

  Adam swallowed. “Jake? I think we might have-”

  “Shut up, Adam.” Jake snatched the note and passed it to Smithy. “There you are. Pleasure doing business with you. Right, we’re off now…”

  “You seem a little eager to go all of a sudden,” said Smithy. “What’s the hurry, guys?”

  5.

  “I can’t believe you told him that, Jake.”

  “Look, we had to get out of there. Imagine if the police came walkin’ in with old Granny Smith!”

  “What? An apple?”

  Jake sighed.

  “Not the apple, you dumb fuck! Smithy’s grandmother! You know, the one that we kinda mugged? They’d have turned up eventually, so we needed to get out there quick. Smithy asked what the hurry was…”

  “But you could have said something different! You could have said…I dunno…maybe that we had to go home for Mum.”

  “Look, Ad, I panicked. I was put on the spot. You were stood there with that porno mag and it was the only thing I could think of!”