PM reached into a drawer and pulled out a massive handgun, a black metal block with an inch-long barrel and an extra-long clip. Donovan recognised the weapon. It was a Mac-io machine gun. Lethal at short range, but unpredictable. It was a spray-and-pray weapon. Spray the bullets around and pray you hit something.
"PM, you pull the trigger on that and there's gonna be bullets flying all around the room."
"Yeah, but first one's gonna be in your gut."
"You know they pull to the right, yeah? To the right and up."
"So I'll aim left and low."
The man with the dreadlocks took a step forward. He fixed Donovan with a cold stare.
"You got any suggestion as to how we can get our money back?" he asked. The fact that he was the only one other than PM to open his mouth meant he was probably the one called Bunny, PM's adviser.
"You have to write it off. You can put that thing against my head and threaten to blow my brains out all you want, but I don't have your money. We're all in the same boat: you, me, Packy, Charlie, the Colombians who supplied the stuff."
"When things go wrong, there's always someone at fault."
"Agreed, but I didn't fuck up. Neither did Charlie and Pvicky. The Colombians are experts. It was either bad luck or someone new to the equation."
"You pointing the finger at us?" asked Bunny.
"There's no point in trying to apportion blame," said Donovan.
"We have to move on."
"And how do we do that?" asked Bunny.
PM seemed to relax a little. He put the gun back in the drawer, then leaned back and swung his feet up on the desk. He clicked his fingers at one of his men and the man fetched him a bottle of beer.
"I can cut you in on another deal. Heroin."
"Price?"
"Ten thousand a key."
PM drank his beer as Bunny rattled off quick fire questions.
"Source?"
"Afghan. Pure."
"Delivered where?"
"UK. South of England."
"Specifically."
"An airfield."
"You're flying it in?"
"That's the idea."
Bunny leaned forward and whispered into PM's ear. PM nodded as he listened but kept his eyes fixed stonily on Donovan's face.
"How much?" asked PM, when Bunny had finished whispering.
"Up to you."
"We'll go eight a key. And we'll take two hundred."
"Eight? I said ten."
"Yeah, but you owe us for the coke deal. And I figure if you're letting us in at ten, you're getting it for three or four, right?"
Donovan didn't say anything. He was paying the Russians three thousand dollars a kilo, about two thousand pounds. Even letting the Yardies in at eight grand he was still making a profit of three hundred per cent.
"I'd be cutting my throat at eight, PM. Nine."
"Eight five."
Donovan hesitated, then nodded.
"Eight five it is. You're sure you can move two hundred?"
PM's eyes hardened.
"You think we're smalltime, huh?"
"Two hundred is a lot, that's all."
"We can move it."
"That's great. I'll get Charlie to arrange the money with you." Donovan stood up.
"One thing," said PM coldly.
"This gets fucked up, so do you. Bad luck twice in a row ain't no bad luck. I'll be pointing more than my finger. Clear?"
"Clear, PM."
The man with wraparound sunglasses opened the door and the pounding music billowed into the room.
"You drive here?" asked Bunny.
"Cab," said Donovan.
"Was worried about losing the CD player."
Bunny laughed throatily.
"I'll walk you down, fix you up with a ride."
Donovan nodded his thanks, and Bunny followed him down the stairs and out on to the street.
"Thanks for taking the heat off me," Donovan said to Bunny.
"The safety was on," said Bunny.
"Yeah, I saw that."
"Figured you did."
They walked slowly down the road, talking in quiet voices.
"Couldn't ask everything I wanted to know without cutting across the man, but this Afghan gear, where's it coming from?" asked Bunny.
"The easy answer to that is Afghanistan, but that's not what you mean, right?"
"Ain't no way you're flying it out of Afghanistan. There's opium there, but the processing is done outside. Pakistan. Or Turkey maybe."
"My contacts are in Turkey."
"And you're flying it direct?"
Donovan nodded.
"That's a long flight," said Bunny.
"I've got a big plane."
"Two thousand miles and some."
"Like I said, I've got a big plane. Let me ask you something. Has PM got the weight to move two hundred keys?"
"We wholesale some already. He's got dealers all over north London and contacts south that'll buy up any surplus. He can move it."
Donovan nodded. Then this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."
Bunny smiled thinly.
"We'll see about that. It's a bit premature to start emunerating any KFC ready meals. When do you tell us where we collect?"
"Day of delivery."
"Which will be when?" asked Bunny.
"Assuming all the money is in play, within the next twenty-four hours, probably three days."
"That quick?"
"The Turkish end is all ready to go. Charlie'll get the details to you."
Bunny shook his head.
"No, we deal with you on this one. No discussion."
Donovan wanted to argue, but it was clear from Bunny's tone that there was nothing he could say that would get him to change his mind.
"Okay," said Donovan.
"You call me direct when you've got the money. It's going to be electronic transfer through SWIFT. No used notes in suitcases."
"Not a problem. We have money in the system."
Donovan gave him the number of one of his mobiles.
"Call this from a landline. Don't identify yourself, just give me the number but transpose the last two digits. I'll call you back from a call box."
There was a squeal of brakes from a car in the street. Donovan whirled around. A large Mercedes had pulled up opposite them. The front passenger window was open and something was thrust through the opening. Donovan cursed. It was a gun. A big gun. He'd been so involved in the conversation with Bunny that he hadn't been aware of the car driving down the street. The gun jerked and there was a loud series of muffled bangs. Bullets thwacked into the wall of the house behind Donovan. He felt an arm across the back of his neck, pulling him down. It was Bunny.
"Down, man, get down!" Bunny yelled.
Bullets were hitting the concrete pavement all around Donovan. Now there were two guns spewing out bullets. Bunny grabbed Donovan's jacket collar and hauled him behind a black Wrangler Jeep just as its windows shattered into a thousand glass cubes.
Donovan looked up at Bunny. The West Indian was crouched over him.
"Stay down, man!" Bunny yelled.
The Jeep crashed to one side as its tyres were ripped apart by the gunfire. Puffs of dust exploded on the brick walls of the terraced houses, and glass was shattering everywhere. Bullets whizzed all around them.
Donovan looked back at the house they'd just left. Two West Indians had pulled handguns from inside their coats and were blasting away at the Mercedes. The Mercedes leaped forward and then braked again. Now the gunmen had a clear shot at Bunny and Donovan around the side of the Jeep.
"Bunny, watch out!" Donovan yelled.
Bunny whirled around just as one of the machine guns burst into life. Bullets thwacked into the front of the Jeep, shattering its headlights. Two bullets slammed into Bunny's chest and he fell back on to Donovan.
More West Indians ran out of the house brandishing guns. One of the men had a Mac-io like PM's and he fired a bu
rst at the Mercedes, thudding holes into its boot. The Mercedes sped off.
Donovan crawled out from under Bunny, expecting to see his chest a bloody pulp. Instead Bunny was rubbing his chest and scowling.
"Bastards," he said.
He sat up.
"You okay?" he asked Donovan.
"Am I okay? What the fuck do you mean, am I okay?"
Donovan got to his feet and helped Bunny up. Haifa dozen of Bunny's crew came running up.
Why aren't you .. ." asked Donovan, his whole body shaking.
"Dead?" asked Bunny. He lifted up his shirt and showed Donovan a white Kevlar bullet-proof vest.
"Pretty much compulsory in Harlesden these days," he said.
"You should get one."
"I don't think you'll catch me around here again," said Donovan. He clapped Bunny on the shoulder.
"I owe you, mate. I'm like a fucking elephant, I won't forget this."
"We're not home free yet," said Bunny, looking around. In the distance they could hear sirens and there were shouts from the house. Doors were opening all along the street.
"The Operation Trident boys'll be on their way. They move fast on black-on-black shootings before any witnesses disappear into the woodwork. We've got to move. Come on."
Bunny headed down the street, away from the house. Donovan followed him. Donovan knew that Bunny was wrong about it being a black-on-black attack. As the car had been driven away, Donovan had seen a face he recognised in the back seat. Jesus Rodriguez.
Louise shuffled the playing cards and laid them out on the coffee table. She'd been playing patience for more than two hours, half concentrating on the cards, half watching the television with the sound muted.
The door to the spare bedroom opened and Robbie appeared, rubbing his eyes.
"I can't sleep," he said.
"Do you want a drink? Cocoa or something?"
Robbie nodded and sat down on the sofa. Louise went through to the kitchenette and put a pan of milk on to boil.
"That's patience," said Robbie, pointing at the cards.
That's right."
"You know you can play it on computer. It comes with Windows."
"I know. But I haven't got a computer here."
"Everyone's got a home computer these days," said Robbie.
"Not me. Besides, I like the feel of the cards. It's relaxing. That's why people play patience."
"It's boring."
"Yeah, you're right. But it gives you something to do with your hands."
Louise stirred cocoa powder into the hot milk, then poured the cocoa into a mug.
She gave the mug to Robbie and sat down next to him.
"Thanks," he said. He took a sip.
"How do you know my dad?" he asked.
Louise shrugged.
"He helped me when I needed help."
"You didn't know him when my mum was around, did you?"
Louise shook her head.
"I only met him a few days ago. When he came back from the Caribbean." She reached over and stroked his hair.
"Why, are you worried that I might have taken him away from your mum?"
"No way!" said Robbie vehemently.
"She was the one having the affair."
"Because I didn't meet your dad until after your mum left. Cross my heart."
"She didn't leave," said Robbie.
"She ran away."
"I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter." He took another sip of cocoa.
"You know your dad loves you, don't you? That's why he brought you here. So that you'd be safe."
"He said some people were after him. Do you know who they are?"
"No. He didn't tell me. He just said he needed somewhere for you to stay."
"He never says anything about what he does. It's like it's all some big secret."
Louise gathered up the cards and shuffled them slowly.
"You're lucky to have a dad," she said.
"It's not luck. It's biology."
"I mean to have a father who's around. My dad died when I was a kid. Younger than you."
Robbie put his mug on to the coffee table and wiped his mouth.
"So your mum took care of you, did she?"
"Sort of. For a while. Then she married again." Louise shuddered at the memory of her stepfather.
"That's why I left home."
"Your stepfather didn't like you?"
"Oh, he liked me all right. He liked me too much. Couldn't keep his bloody hands off me."
Robbie looked away, embarrassed.
Louise reached over and put a hand on his leg.
"I'm sorry, Robbie. Bad memories." She forced a smile.
"Do you want to play cards? Until you feel sleepy?"
"Okay. What do you want to play?"
"Guest's choice."
"Blackjack."
Louise frowned.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah," said Robbie eagerly.
"Can we play for money?"
Louise looked at him through narrowed eyes.
"Am I being hustled here?"
"Do you want a beer?" asked Bunny, opening the door to a small fridge.
"Yeah, cheers," said Donovan.
The two men were in a room five minutes walk away from the shooting, above a minicab office. They'd hurried through the office with Bunny nodding a greeting to two big jamaicans who'd been sitting on a plastic sofa and a West Indian in a Rasta hat who was talking nineteen-to-the-dozen into a microphone. Bunny had taken Donovan up a flight of stairs and through a door on which had been tacked a sign saying "Management Only."
Bunny tossed Donovan a can of lager and sat down behind a cheap teak veneer desk.
"We'll hang out here for a while, till things quieten down. Just in case someone gives your description to Five-O."
"I thought we all looked the same."
Bunny flashed Donovan a tight smile and popped the tab on his can of beer.
Donovan looked around the room. There was worn lino on the floor and a bare minimum of furniture. The desk, two chairs, and a filing cabinet. Sheets of hardboard had been nailed over the window and the only light came from a single naked bulb in the centre of the ceiling.
"Nice place you've got here," he said.
"It serves its purpose."
"The taxi firm is yours?"
"None of it's mine, PM's the top man."
"Yeah, right," said Donovan. He took a long gulp of beer.
"You use the taxi business to clean your cash?"
"Some. But it makes money, too. Try getting a black cab in London anytime after nine. Especially if you want to come out this way. We can pretty much charge what we want. We even pay tax."
Bunny leaned back in his chair and unbuttoned his shirt. He examined his Kevlar vest.
"You were lucky," said Donovan.
"The way they were spraying bullets, you could have got hit in the head."
"Firing from a car, they'd be lucky to hit anything. They've been watching too many movies."
Donovan took another drink from his can.
"How long have you been with PM?" he asked.
"Three years, thereabouts."
"Not thought about setting up on your own? Or joining a bigger operation?"
"Why? You recruiting?"
"You've got your head screwed on, seems you'd make more working for yourself than helping PM up the slippery pole."
Bunny shrugged.
"I do okay."
"You're holding his hand," said Donovan.
"Don't let him hear you say that, he's young but he's hard."
Donovan raised his can in salute.
"No offence, Bunny," he said.
"I was just making an observation."
"I'm happy with the way things are, Den. But if you were to make me an offer .. ." Bunny left the sentence hanging.
"You'd be an asset, that's for sure. I've not met many who throw themselves in front of a bullet for me."
"Th
at's not the way it went down, and you know it," laughed Bunny.
"I practically fell on top of you."
"Whatever," said Donovan.
"The simple fact is that if it wasn't for you and that vest, I'd be lying on the street in a pool of blood. Seriously, Bunny, if I was going to be in this for the long haul I'd make you an offer, but after this Turkish deal, I'm out of the game."
"For good?"
Donovan grinned.
"For as long as the money holds out. And that'll be for a long, long time. I've got a boy needs looking after. Robbie. Nine years old."
"Your son?"
Donovan nodded.
"His mum's done a runner so I'm going to be a single parent. For a while at least. You got kids, Bunny?"
Bunny shook his head.
"Married?"
Another shake of the head. Donovan kicked himself mentally. Underwood had said that Bunny was gay. He'd clean forgotten but Bunny was a big man, well-muscled and hard-faced, and there wasn't the slightest thing about him that was in the least bit effeminate.
"Yeah, well considering how unlucky I've been in the marital stakes, you're probably well out of it," said Donovan, He sipped his beer.
"What about the drugs game, Bunny? You see a future in it for you?"
"Long term, the only future's prison, right? You've got to quit while you're ahead. Make your stash, get it in legit businesses, then leave the dirty stuff behind. It's always been that way. Half the land in this country is owned by the descendants of robber barons of the Middle Ages. In a hundred years time, drugs money will have become old money and no one will remember where it came from. Take your son. Nine, you said? You'll put him in a good school, a top university, then you'll have enough money to set him up in whatever he wants to do. His children will be another step removed, and eventually it'll all be clean and no one will care."
"So long as we don't get caught."
Bunny grinned and raised his can of beer.
"Here's to not getting caught!"
Donovan grinned. He leaned over and clinked his can against Bunny's.
Donovan stayed in the office with Bunny for the best part of an hour, then Bunny arranged for a minicab to run Donovan home. Donovan decided to go to his house in Kensington rather than disturbing Louise. He had the cab drop him half a mile from the house and he went in through the communal gardens and the back door.
He showered and had a whisky, and then put his mobiles on charge on the bedside table before diving under the quilt. He was asleep within minutes.
When Donovan woke up it was light and a pop song was playing. He rolled over and groped for whichever mobile was ringing, cursing his son. He'd told Robbie several times not to mess with the phones. They were too important to be played with.
Tango One Page 36
