His five hundred is shrinking fast. He should have borrowed less. He realizes that, now that it’s too late. No matter how much he borrowed, she would have spent the lot. She’s enjoying showing people that she has money to spend. He could have gotten away with a couple of hundred. Cursing himself for that. It’s spoiling his evening, watching the money disappear. Knowing that he’ll have to find it all over again.
Ah, fuck it. Just forget about the money. Concentrate on Ella. Concentrate on the good time she’s having. See how happy she is. She’s having that great time with Glass. Being happy with him. Nobody else there. Nobody else impressing her with their largesse, just Glass. They feel like a couple. A proper couple, you know. Not just two young people who spend a lot of time together. Not friends with benefits. It feels like they’re together. Like they’re the sort of couple that will stay together. These are the first blocks in building a life together. That’s a good feeling. One worth paying for.
After midnight, memories start to get a little hazy. He’d been drinking. They’d done a line or two. They were dancing. There have been a lot of nights like that in the last couple of months. Drink, drugs, dancing and little detail. But this one was different. This was his night out as much as hers. This was something he was able to pay for. On this night, his night, he realized how humiliating it was to tag along when she was working. Never noticed it before. Never felt it. There were embarrassing moments, sure. But this was different. This was the night that made him understand that he wants Ella to stop what she does for a living. Made him understand that to be his, she couldn’t be anyone else’s.
He stayed way past the point that he was enjoying himself. He paid for this night. He was damned if she wasn’t going home with him. This wasn’t a work night. He can’t remember going home. It was late. Later than it should have been. Club stayed open past time. He remembers walking along the street with Ella. The pair of them needed every inch of that pavement. They were both long gone, weaving all over the place. But everything was funny. They had their arms round each other, laughing at things that usually seemed so boring. It was nice.
They got home. Not sure how, but they got back to Glass’s flat. He remembers what a great mood she was in. She wasn’t tired. She wasn’t moody. She does a good line in both of those when it’s late at night and she’s just gotten home. Nope, she was happy. He was happy. They had a happy half hour before they fell asleep.
It’s morning. Well, technically it isn’t. Technically it’s five past twelve in the afternoon, but Glass has just woken up so let’s call it morning. Anyway, Ella is still asleep. She always sleeps late. That’s her habit, whether she’s working or not. So he’s in the shower. Then into the kitchen. Making a cup of coffee. While he’s waiting for the kettle, he’s walking through to the bedroom. Silently sliding his wallet out of the pocket of the trousers he wore last night. Tiptoeing back into the kitchen.
There’s one hundred and ninety quid left. Where did the other three hundred and ten go? No fucking clue. Might as well have thrown it into the air, for all he remembers. Yeah, he had a great time with it. But three hundred and ten quid of great time? Shit. That was more expensive than it should have been. Probably got ripped off by someone. Too late to care now. Last night is gone, and now he’s looking down the barrel of the future. Now he has to worry about getting some money together. Get that debt paid.
Calling Marty. Can’t think of any other source of money, so it’s back to Marty. Aware that this phone call counts as haranguing. Turning himself into a boring nuisance, because he can feel the desperation creeping up behind him. Doesn’t matter how long he has to pay the debt. He has to start collecting the money. As in, right now. It’s ringing, taking a while to answer. Glass is filling his cup with boiling water, hearing the phone being answered. Hearing an annoyed voice on the other end.
‘Yes?’
‘Marty, this is Alex Glass. Listen, any chance of some work? Anything you need done, I’m there. Doesn’t matter the work, I’m up for it.’ Couldn’t sound a great deal more desperate than that. Knowing it, and accepting it. Desperation might persuade Marty to fob him off with some garbage job he has lying around. Anything for money. Anything.
There’s a grumble on the other end of the phone. Marty pretending that he’s fed up of people calling him for favours. He gets plenty calls from people looking for work, but that’s always been part of the job. Used to it, not concerned about it. Be more worried if people weren’t calling. It’s a measure of how well he’s doing. Reassuring, and important. Important to know that when you need people, they’ll be ready and willing. Sometimes desperate.
Nobody else is as desperate as this boy. That usually means it’s time to stop employing them. The desperate ones are the worst. They take risks. They get pushy. They screw things up for other people. You want someone who wants to do the job but doesn’t really need to. Marty had no intention of hiring this kid anyway. He was always a little too enthusiastic. It was the other one he wanted. Glass’s mate Peterkinney. He’s worked out well. Did another fine job yesterday on that junkie. Stuck-up kid, but smart and tough. Little too smart and assertive for his own good, but profitable. Not this one. No profit from desperation.
‘I don’t really have any work for you right now, kid,’ Marty’s saying. That’s not true. Once this call is done, he’s going to call up one of his other boys. Got a couple of collections need doing. Needs three guys to work as drivers for a party on Friday, another two or three to work security. None of them will be Glass. This loser at a big party? Nah, wouldn’t know how to handle it.
‘I’ll do anything that needs doing, Marty?’
Oh God, he’s pleading. ‘Listen, I don’t have time for this,’ Marty’s saying. Putting an edge on his voice. Make him understand. ‘I got things to do. I already told you, I have no work for you. Look around. Find someone else that needs some work done. You don’t just have to work for me. This was never exclusive. I don’t mind if you find work somewhere else, long as you don’t step on my toes. Okay?’
Could not have made it any clearer. He doesn’t care if Glass goes and works for someone else. He doesn’t care if Glass never works for him again. He wants rid of Glass. This is a sacking. Glass knows it. Shit. Shouldn’t have called him. That only pissed him off. Glass is hanging up about half a second after Marty’s already done so. Drinking that cup of coffee.
Fine, so Marty doesn’t want him. There are plenty of other people he can go work for. Plenty of other ways to make money. He’s resourceful. He’s willing. He’ll go and do whatever needs to be done. Hell, there’s plenty jobs for a guy who’s willing to work. He hasn’t managed to find one before, sure. There aren’t a lot of people hiring, the way things are. But there are jobs if you know how to do them. Look at Peterkinney. He’s got two of the bloody things. One for Marty. Another one he doesn’t talk about. Secrets and money, got plenty of both. Got enough money to go buy a car. Looking to get out of his grandfather’s flat. Moving on to bigger things. Yeah, and leaving the rest of them behind.
Glass has his phone out, about to call Peterkinney, when Ella plods into the kitchen. Wearing a T-shirt and nothing else. Her hair tied back and messy. Looking tired. Looking for a coffee.
‘Morning,’ Glass is saying with a smile.
‘Morning, you. Last night was excellent,’ she’s saying, drawing out the word ‘excellent’ for no apparent reason. A happy little sigh and an impish smile. Last night was a great treat to her. Not something she expects or even wants every night. Just nice to have once in a while. Not a treat if you have it every day, is it?
‘Yeah. It was. Listen, Ella. I was thinking, we should have more nights like last night.’
She’s smiling, and shaking her head. ‘It was good, Alex, but those places are expensive. We need to be careful. We got things to save up for. I want to decorate the bathroom. And we should get a new carpet for the living room, that one’s full of holes and snags.’
‘Yeah, sure. But I mean
nights where it’s just you and me. Having fun and all that, but just you and me.’
‘It’s always just you and me,’ she’s saying. Trying to keep her tone playful, but she can see where this is going. She’s had this conversation before. Doesn’t want this to become an argument. Doesn’t want this flat to fill with memories of battles between her and Alex. Keep it happy. Keep it a home.
‘No, I mean, nights where . . . Nights where it’s you and me and no work, you know. We should have a lot more of those. Lot less of, uh, other nights.’
She’s stopped and she’s looking down at the worktop in front of her. She isn’t frowning exactly. She’s gone from happy to no expression, which feels like a frown. ‘So you want me to stop working?’
He’s opened his mouth, but he’s closed it again. It’s a harder question to answer than it should be. The ice didn’t look this thin when he thought about this. Seemed so simple. Not with the tone she’s taken. He doesn’t want arguments in here either. He fears that one argument could be enough for him to lose his grip on this relationship. Just doesn’t realize how firm that grip is. Doesn’t realize how simple it is to keep hold. Don’t be a layabout and don’t mention work. That’s it. Everything else is happy.
‘I think it would be nice if you worked less. I think we could be together more. I think, you know, we should both be looking for other work. You know, like work that’ll last long term. That sort of thing. That’s all I meant. Build for the future.’
She’s shaking her head. ‘I knew it would start eventually. You can’t handle what I do. I make money. You’re not bringing any in. I make money. We need that. We can’t build for the future without it. Listen, Alex, we have to be realistic. I want us to get other things. I want us to have all the things you want us to have. The long-term jobs, all that. But . . . we don’t have that. I don’t know how to get that. I know how to do what I do. If you can find other jobs, then great. Until you do, I have to keep working.’ Made every effort to stay calm throughout that. Kept her voice down, kept it away from argumentative. But there’s an argument in there. Feels like there needs to be. Something to drag Alex towards reality. ‘Unless you’ve come up with some way of making money . . .’ she’s saying. Trailing off and making it a question.
‘No.’ A little bit sheepish. Looking down at the floor. This has gotten away from him. He just wants it to end.
‘No. So I have to keep working. Keep earning money. We don’t have a choice, for now. You get that, don’t you, Alex?’ Stepping towards him, and putting her hands on his sides.
‘Yeah. For now. But I’ll look for something else. Look for better opportunities.’
‘Yeah,’ she’s saying with a smile, ‘better opportunities. They’ll come, but we have to be patient. They’ll come.’
She’s gone back to making her coffee. He’s gone back to finishing his. Wishing he hadn’t started that particular conversation. He can try again, but not yet. He can only try again when he’s in a position of strength. When he’s making some money. Then he can pull her round to his way of thinking. He needs to find work. Finishing off the last of the coffee.
‘I’m heading out, I shouldn’t be too long.’ He’s reaching across and kissing her on the side of the head.
He doesn’t see the look. The concern on her face. He’s always running off somewhere or phoning someone these days. Trying to find something. A job. A way of making money. Running round all over the place and making nothing of himself. He’s capable of better, if he would get real. You don’t get rich quick, and there’s no easy money.
Glass is out the door and walking. Go see Peterkinney. They’ve been best friends since they were in school. Since they were fourteen years old. Peterkinney has work. Has money coming in. Good money, probably. If anyone’s going to help him out, it’s going to be Peterkinney. Has to be.
9
Peterkinney’s driven round the area a couple of times. That’s standard, but Bowles’s warning is still ringing in his ears. Something was making Howie Lawson nervous. It made Bowles nervous. Nervous enough to mention it, anyway. That’s made Peterkinney nervous. So Peterkinney’s driving a little more slowly, looking a little more closely.
It’s an industrial area. Or was. Not much industry now. All warehouses and old buildings. Large buildings with nothing in there. Big wide doors on rusty hinges and broken windows. Most of the buildings have front yards for delivery, so they’re not up against the wall. Makes it harder to see anyone peeking out a window or door at him as he drives past. Plenty hiding places. Doesn’t like that. Better to do a handover of a single piece somewhere less isolated. Hiding in plain sight.
This is the sort of place you just know will be redeveloped soon. It’ll be on the list. Especially this close to the river. Old grimy square buildings replaced by shiny angular ones. A place with potential, the redevelopers will say. The sort of place Peterkinney won’t be frequenting any more.
Nobody out of place. Not that he can see. That’s the first thing. Nobody lurking around on the street, looking like they’re waiting for him. Nobody around at all. Unless of course they’re doing a very good job of it. Can’t see into the buildings, obviously. Have to guess what is or isn’t in there. Some of them are still in use, but none have activity around them. Big doors shut, nobody loading up or dropping off stock. So he’s finding a place to park. Lawson wants to meet round the back of the large warehouse on the left. The dark-grey building with a row of broken windows close to the roof. No vehicles in front of it. Grass growing out of the concrete around the fence at the front. Looks like it hasn’t been used in years.
This would be better if he didn’t have to get out of the car. If he could drive it round the back of the building. No opening for a car. Even if there was, he doesn’t want to be seen driving round there. Raises eyebrows, if anyone’s watching. The only car in years to go round the back of that building. Do nothing that draws attention. So he’s parking on the street and getting out. The street curves in the middle, so he can’t actually see the end of it from here. Can see enough to reassure him. Nothing moving. Nothing grabbing his attention.
He has the money in his pocket. Tapping the pocket again, just to make sure. Feeling the shape of the envelope. Bowles has to be careful. He has to make sure that every penny finds its way to the seller. If he doesn’t pay, he loses a seller. Worse, word might get round that he doesn’t pay the agreed price. Then nobody sells to him. The seller has to trust the buyer as well, you know.
Peterkinney’s found a gate that leads round to the back of the building. Seems to be on the property next door. Might have to find a way over the fence between the two. Along the fence and, yes, he is in the wrong place. Bloody hell. Fence is high, but it’s easy to climb. Over it and dropping down into the yard behind the warehouse. Little jarring on the ankles, but not bad. Huh, weird layout. Big yard for lorries to collect stuff, but no way for them to get in or out. Obviously the land the fence is on used to be a part of this yard. People next door must have bought the strip of land from the warehouse owners. Or just taken it. Who really gives a shit?
He can see Lawson. There’s a short wall running along the other side of the yard and Lawson’s sitting on it. Wearing a dark hoodie, hood pulled up. That’s a great way to look conspicuous, genius. A dry day and you’re wrapped up like there’s a snowstorm. When you’re doing the pick-up on a gun, you need the seller to take the same precautions you do. You need them to have the same sense you do. To have some fucking sense, at least. Meeting outdoors at an unused location is not sensible. Sitting on the wall with your hood up in good weather is not sensible. At least he’s alone.
Peterkinney’s walking across to Lawson. Still keeping his eyes open. Don’t get complacent. Not until the gun has been in Bowles’s possession for at least eight hours. Then you can stop worrying about it. Then there’s no chance of someone in a uniform knocking on your door. Well, not no chance. Less chance. There’s never no chance. Not in this business.
�
�Howie?’ Peterkinney’s asking. He knows the answer already. Stopping four feet in front of Lawson. Far enough away to make sure Lawson doesn’t do anything stupid. Because you never know that either. It was one of the first things Bowles taught him. With any new seller, you keep well back until you see the gun. They might be luring you there to take the money. Even after you see the gun, take nothing for granted. They might be planning to use it to take the money. Now Peterkinney’s starting to understand why Bowles was so nervous about this.
‘Yeah. You got the money?’
‘You got the gun?’
Lawson’s reaching under his top. Taking out a blue plastic bag. The bag is wrapped so tightly round the gun you can pretty much make out the outline of it. Not subtle. Lawson still has a lot to learn. Nervous, and making mistakes. He’ll get better. He has connections so he can get the weapons. If he keeps delivering, Bowles will make sure he gets plenty of practice. Practice makes perfect.
‘The money,’ Lawson’s saying.
Peterkinney’s taking the envelope from his pocket. That nervous moment when you have to swap. Money for gun. Who lets go first? Lawson at least has the sense to see that the seller lets go first. He’s handing the bag over. Peterkinney taking it in his left hand, now passing the envelope with his right. Pulling open the top of the bag and looking inside. He could tell from the weight already, but you check. A handgun, as advertised.
Now things are happening fast. Peterkinney’s about to look up and tell Lawson he’s done well, when he hears scuffing. Boots on the ground. Lawson is looking behind him. Suddenly he’s spinning over the wall and running. Off in the other direction. The direction of the single uniformed cop running towards them. Idiot. Trying to get out the way he came in, no matter the obstacles. Peterkinney’s thinking about the car. His escape. Turning and sprinting for the high fence.
The Night the Rich Men Burned Page 12
