The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Where do we get the money from to buy the heroin?’ asked Sam.

  ‘We use the cash we’ve got. I’ll get some from Kay, from the clubs. And Asher and Patterson can chip in.’

  Terry tossed his towels on to the back of a chair and slipped under the quilt.

  ‘You’ve got it all planned, haven’t you?’ said Sam.

  ‘I’ve been giving it some thought, yeah.’ Terry put his arm around her and drew her closer to him. He kissed her on the neck.

  ‘Then what?’ she said. ‘We get the stuff into the UK, what do we do then? You’re going to be on street corners selling it, are you?’

  ‘I’ll sell the lot to one guy. I’ve a few names, but I’ll put out feelers first. See who’s interested. We’ll be wholesalers, Sam, that’s all. Bring it in and sell it on.’

  ‘I don’t know, Terry.’

  Terry rolled on top of her and kissed her. ‘It’ll be fine, Sam. Trust me.’

  Sam looked up at him. Can I, Terry? she thought. Can I trust you?

  ‘Now what’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ve got that look.’

  ‘What look?’

  ‘That suspicious look.’ Terry grinned, then kissed her again.

  Sam twisted her head to the side. ‘And that’ll be it,’ she said. ‘One deal and it’s over?’

  ‘I promise. Straight and narrow. We’ll set up a business, a pub maybe.’

  ‘Terry Greene, pulling pints?’

  ‘We’ll see, yeah. One step at a time.’ He tried to kiss her again but Sam pushed him away.

  ‘I’ve got a headache, Terry. I’m sorry.’

  Terry slid off her and lay with his arm around her.

  She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ she said. She turned her back on him and lay with her eyes open, listening to his breathing. No, she decided, she couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t ever trust him. There were just too many lies between them. Too many lies, and a baby in Bristol.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Richard Asher paced up and down in front of his desk. ‘Have you lost the plot or what?’ he asked.

  Terry smiled up at him from the sofa. He crossed his legs and adjusted the crease of his trousers. ‘It’s a good offer, Richard,’ said Terry. ‘Chance of a lifetime.’

  ‘We’re professionals,’ said Laurence Patterson, who was standing by the door, looking equally as indignant as Asher.

  ‘Whereas I’m just an enthusiastic amateur?’ asked Terry.

  Patterson went over to stand next to Asher’s desk. ‘I meant professional as in members of a profession, Terry,’ he said patiently. ‘I’m a solicitor, Richard’s a chartered accountant. We offer advice, we don’t get involved.’

  Terry smiled easily. ‘Look, this is a one-off, Laurence. It’s a straightforward investment. You get your money back three-fold within the week.’

  Asher stopped pacing. ‘But Terry, it’s a drug deal. Heroin, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Richard, how much money have you earned from me over the last ten years?’ said Terry. He stood up. ‘Where do you think that money comes from?’ Terry pointed a finger at Patterson. ‘And you know damn well what pays your fees.’ Terry walked behind Asher’s desk, sat down in the brown leather executive chair, and swung his feet on to the desk. ‘Let’s get this straight. This is my last deal. After this, it’s over. No more padded fees, no more retainers, no more commissions. The fat lady will have sung. I’m offering you a chance for one last hurrah.’

  Patterson and Asher exchanged a look and Terry could see that they were almost convinced.

  ‘How much?’ asked Asher.

  ‘How much have you got?’ said Terry.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Frank Welch picked up his camera as soon as he saw Terry leave the building. He focused the long lens and clicked away as Terry walked towards the BMW parked in the road, Kim Fletcher gunning the engine.

  Welch saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Steve Ryser and Roger Pike standing by the window of his Rover. Pike made a wanking gesture, and grinned. They both laughed at Welch, then ran over to the BMW.

  Pike climbed in the front and Ryser got in the back with Terry. The BMW drove off and Welch pulled away from the curb in pursuit. There was a bump from his offside rear tyre and Welch slammed on the brake. He got out of the car. A piece of wood studded with nails had been pushed under the tyre.

  Welch cursed and glared after the departing BMW. Terry waved from the back seat.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Terry walked through Lapland, flanked by Pike and Fletcher. The club was in near darkness, the only light coming from the open door to George Kay’s office.

  Kay was sitting at his desk, stacks of banknotes in front of him. He looked up when he heard Terry at the door.

  ‘You got it, then?’ said Terry, nodding at the money.

  ‘I’m not happy at being threatened, I can tell you,’ said Kay.

  Terry dropped down into the chair opposite Kay and swung his feet up on to the desk. Pike closed the door and stood with his back to it. ‘What say we play poker for it, hey, George?’ Terry laughed.

  Pike made a gun with his hand and mimed shooting Kay. ‘Bang, bang!’ he said, joining in the laughter.

  ‘It’s not funny, Terry,’ complained Kay. ‘There’s three hundred grand here, I think I should know what you’re planning to do with it.’

  ‘I told you, George. It’s the deal of a lifetime.’

  ‘I’d like specifics. I think I deserve it.’

  Terry nodded at Fletcher. ‘Check it, Kim.’

  Fletcher started counting the notes.

  Kay fumbled in his desk drawer and took out his inhaler. He took a long pull at it.

  ‘Not allergic to money, are you?’ asked Terry.

  Kay put the inhaler on the desk but kept his hand on it. ‘What do you want it for, Terry?’

  Terry looked coldly at Kay, his face hard. ‘What’s it to you?’

  Kay looked confused. ‘It’s my money. Three hundred thousand pounds of it.’

  Terry took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. ‘It’s the business’s money,’ he said, ‘and I own half the business. Plus, there’s the money you’ve been skimming over the years.’

  Kay sat back in his chair and threw up his hands. ‘Terry, Terry, Terry, that’s not fair.’

  Terry stood up and leaned over the desk. ‘George, George, George, I don’t give a flying fuck what’s fair and what’s not fair.’

  Kay picked up his inhaler with a trembling hand and sucked on it like a baby feeding.

  ‘They say it’s caused by stress, asthma,’ said Terry.

  Kay nodded. ‘Had it since I was a kid.’

  Terry straightened up and looked at him scornfully. ‘Fat, asthmatic and ugly. It can’t have been an easy childhood.’

  Kay looked wounded, as if he couldn’t understand why Terry was being so hostile.

  Fletcher finished counting the stacks of money. ‘It’s all here, Terry,’ he said.

  Terry nodded and Fletcher put the money into a nylon holdall.

  ‘Good to see you didn’t try to short-change me, George,’ said Terry.

  Kay looked pained. ‘Terry . . .’

  Terry cut him off with an impatient wave. ‘I know you’ve been Raquel’s grass for donkey’s, George,’ he said.

  Kay looked shocked. The inhaler fell from his hands.

  Terry lunged forward and grabbed Kay’s wrists, forcing them down on to the table.

  ‘I know you gave up the cannabis deal,’ Terry continued, his voice a dull monotone. ‘I know you had me attacked in the prison showers. I know everything.’

  Kay’s mouth moved soundlessly, like a badly operated ventriloquist’s dummy.

  ‘Now it’s time to pay the piper . . .’ said Terry.

  Kay fought to pull his hands back but Terry was too strong for him. Fletcher stepped forward and grabbed Kay’s hair. To his amazement, it came
away in his hands. He stared at the hairpiece, his mouth open in astonishment. Terry’s face broke into a grin and he let go of Kay’s hands. Pike roared with laughter at Kay’s embarrassment, and Kay put his hand up to cover his bald spot. Fletcher waved the wig back and forth over Kay’s head. Kay began to giggle nervously, and soon all four men were laughing.

  Terry shook his head. ‘Nice syrup, George,’ he said. He nodded at Pike, who moved away from the door, pulling a plastic bag out of his jacket pocket. He thrust it down over Kay’s head. Fletcher grabbed hold of Kay’s arms and grunted at him to hold still.

  Pike twisted the bag around Kay’s neck. Kay’s eyes began to bulge and the bag pulsed in and out in time with his breathing.

  Terry stood up and stared down at Kay. ‘Goodbye, George,’ he said. He picked up the holdall full of money and walked out of the office. Kay’s feet started to thrash around under the desk but Terry didn’t look back.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Sam poured milk into her coffee and popped in a sweetener. She handed a coffee to Laura who was sitting at the kitchen table in her bathrobe. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Laura.

  Trisha walked into the kitchen in her school uniform and helped herself to orange juice from the fridge. She sneered at the mug of coffee in Sam’s hands. ‘You’re digging yourself an early grave, Mum,’ she said. ‘Coffee knocks years off your life.’

  Trisha!’ said Laura. ‘Be nice.’

  Sam grinned at Trisha. ‘Frankly, love, I’m looking forward to the rest.’ She sat down at the table with Laura and sighed despondently.

  Trisha looked suddenly concerned. ‘What’s wrong, Mum?’

  Sam ran a hand through her hair. ‘Oh, nothing,’ she sighed. ‘I’m a bit tired, that’s all.’

  Trisha put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘Is it Dad?’

  Sam frowned and looked up at her. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, for a start he didn’t come home last night.’

  ‘It’s business.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Trisha sat down and held Sam’s hand. ‘Mum, he’s up to his old tricks again, can’t you see that?’

  ‘You don’t know what he’s doing, Trish,’ said Sam.

  ‘I can guess.’

  ‘Where is he, Mum?’

  ‘He didn’t say. But it’s business.’

  Laura and Trisha exchanged looks.

  ‘Stop that, you two,’ said Sam.

  ‘He’s using you, Mum,’ said Trisha. ‘You cook for him, you clean for him, you let him into your bed, but he’s using you.’

  ‘Trisha!’

  ‘She’s got a point, Mum,’ said Laura. ‘He shouldn’t be staying out all night.’

  ‘He’s not a kid,’ said Sam.

  ‘Then he shouldn’t act like one,’ said Trisha.

  The door opened and they all looked up. It was Terry. He stood in the doorway, smiling easily. ‘Hen party, huh?’ he said.

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ said Trisha. She drained her glass of orange juice, picked up her backpack and pushed past Terry.

  ‘Hiya, Trish.’

  Trisha snorted but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Bye, Trish.’ Terry sat down at the kitchen table. ‘She still mad at me, then?’

  Laura sighed and stood up. ‘I’m going to have a bath,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not mad at me as well, are you?’ asked Terry.

  ‘Jury’s still out on that,’ she said, wrapping her bathrobe around her.

  ‘Did Jonathon call again?’

  Laura shook her head.

  ‘Have you thought about what he said? The divorce?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dad. I just want to talk to him.’

  ‘You should talk to Laurence Patterson,’ said Terry. ‘Find out where you stand. Divorces can be messy if you don’t get the right legal advice.’

  ‘Dad . . .’ protested Laura.

  ‘I’m just saying, if he’s done a runner, you’ve got to protect your position.’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe.’ Laura shook her head. ‘I’m just confused, you know.’

  ‘Talk to Laurence,’ repeated Terry. He tried to pick up Sam’s coffee but she batted his hand away.

  ‘You know where the kettle is,’ she said.

  Terry got up to make a cup of coffee as Laura went upstairs to the bathroom.

  ‘How did it go?’ said Sam.

  ‘Asher and Patterson are in for a million. They’re dipping into their clients’ accounts, which is a bit naughty of them, but they know it’s going to be a quick deal. And I got three hundred from Kay.’

  Sam raised her eyebrows. ‘You got three hundred grand from George Kay? That must have been like getting blood out of a stone.’

  ‘Sort of.’

  Sam sipped her coffee. ‘Who are you going to sell it to once you’ve got it into the country?’ she asked.

  Terry took his coffee over to the kitchen table and sat down. ‘There’s some North London guys that Micky and I did some deals with a few years back. The governor’s Geoff Donovan. He’s up for it. It’s going to be C.O.D. all round. He’s putting together a syndicate to come up with the readies. It’s going to work, Sam.’

  Sam put down her mug and wiped her face with her hands. ‘Are you sure about this, Terry?’

  ‘It’s the only way, love. It’s either this or we sell up and move into a one-bedroom flat in Clapham. And I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t face that.’

  ‘But heroin . . .’

  ‘Don’t think of it as heroin. Think of it as a commodity. We buy it on the Continent, we sell it for five times the price here. Just like we do with the cheap booze.’

  ‘It’s not the same, Terry. You know it’s not.’

  ‘Because it’s illegal? Because the government has decided that alcohol is a legal drug and heroin isn’t?’

  ‘It’s heroin, Terry.’

  ‘You keep saying that, love, but we’re not forcing anyone to be a junkie. We’re supplying a need, that’s all. People choose to use heroin, no one forces them. Same as you and your cigarettes. No one forces people to smoke, but millions do.’

  Sam reached out for the pack in front of her, then stopped. Suddenly she’d lost the need for a cigarette.

  Terry reached over and tapped the pack. ‘How many people do these kill every year, Sam? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? You know how the kids are always moaning at you to stop. But does the government make them illegal? No. Why not? Because it makes millions from the tax on them.’ Terry sat back in his chair and stretched. ‘I tell you, as soon as the government works out how it can tax drugs like cannabis and heroin, they’ll be legal.’

  ‘But what if we get caught, Terry?’

  Terry smiled. ‘We won’t, love. Trust me.’

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  McKinley brought the Saab to a halt outside the brick-built warehouse. ‘Better if I went in with you, Mrs Greene,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t want to spook him, Andy,’ said Sam. She grinned. ‘Just don’t crash my Saab while I’m inside, yeah?’

  McKinley groaned. ‘It was an accident with the Lexus, Mrs Greene. I told you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, Terry tells it different.’

  McKinley grimaced. ‘Terry told you what happened?’

  ‘No secrets between a husband and wife, Andy,’ said Sam. She took a deep breath and smiled at McKinley. ‘That’s what they say, isn’t it?’ She stared out of the window, psyching herself up.

  ‘You’re sure about this, Mrs Greene?’ asked McKinley.

  Sam sighed. ‘No, not really, but I don’t see that I’ve a got a choice.’ She got out of the Saab and winked at him. ‘If I’m not out in ten minutes, send in a search party, yeah?’ She walked towards the entrance, feeling McKinley’s eyes on her all the way.

  The door leading into the warehouse was open, and as she approached, two men appeared, both well over six feet tall with rough skin and badly cut hair. She recognised one of them from the last time she’d spoken to Poskovic, and she nodded
at him. He turned and shouted something in Kosovan into the warehouse. Sam heard Poskovic shout back, and the two men stepped to the side to allow Sam in.

  There was a dank, musty odour in the warehouse, overlaid with the smell of stale fried onions. There were up to twenty hot dog trolleys being prepared, and heads swivelled as Sam walked by.

  Poskovic stood at the far end of the warehouse, supervising two men stacking cases of lager. He was wearing a battered leather jerkin over a tatty multi-coloured pullover. His face hardened as Sam walked up to him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he snarled.

  ‘I came for a chat,’ said Sam.

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ said Poskovic. ‘You should go, before I forget that you are a lady.’

  ‘Why, Zoran, that’s almost a compliment,’ said Sam. She nodded at a table and a couple of chairs. ‘How about we sit down?’ she said.

  ‘Better you go,’ he said. ‘My men are still angry at what your husband did.’

  ‘The way my husband tells it, you went after him with shotguns,’ said Sam.

  ‘Have you any idea how much your husband cost me? He burnt out my last place. Burnt it to the ground.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Zoran,’ said Sam. ‘It wasn’t my doing, I can promise you that.’

  Poskovic shrugged. ‘Two of my men were badly beaten. One of them is still in hospital. He is an animal, your husband.’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying, Zoran. Honestly I do. But you gave as good as you got, didn’t you? Guns blazing, Terry said.’

  ‘He beat them up. And smashed our van.’

  ‘And his Lexus was almost written off. Zoran, it’s tit for tat.’

  Poskovic frowned. ‘Tit for tat?’

  ‘It means, what he does to you, you do back to him.’

  Poskovic nodded. ‘Next time, we will hit him harder.’

  ‘And he’ll hit you harder. Tit for tat.’