“Effective? We’re fucking con men Mickey. We’re liars. Anyone can do this shit.”
“Maybe so…but we haven’t been caught. That takes a different class.”
“Good point,” Phillips said, his eyes had wondered to the large window at the far side of the room. The world outside was still and black, the moon had covered the foliage bundled close to the window with a deathly glow. “But maybe that’s been our problem.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean, if we aimed higher, took a bigger risk. If we tried for the big score, if we--”
Richards slumped back in the recliner, “We’d be in jail” he said, finishing his friend’s sentence.
Phillips merely shook his head.
“We have it good,” Richards slurred. “I mean look at this house,” he paused and glanced around the living room of the detached three-bedroom house. The walls had been decorated with a greyish tint and adorned with many paintings, photographs and ornaments. A small marble fireplace rested against the wall furthest away from the sofa. On the other wall, close to the large bay window, was a fifty inch LCD screen, decorated with a sub-woofer, four tall standing speakers, a SKY box, three game consoles and a DVD player.
The only furniture in the room was the two black leather pieces which were almost immaculate.
“People work their arses off to get places like this, and then they spend the next twenty-five years paying off the fucking mortgage.” Richards smiled warmly. “It certainly beats my parents place.”
“Mine too.” Phillips said.
“That’s different, yours are in prison.”
“Yep, best fucking place for them as well.” He took another sip of whiskey, “You know,” he began slowly, “a lot of the neighbours think we’re gay.”
Richards burst out laughing, spilling whiskey and
Coke
down his chin.
“I’m serious, I was in the garden the other day, cleaning up dog shite from that fucking hound down the road, and that old git next door popped her head over the fence. She started on about how we never speak, ex-cetera, ex-cetera, blah blah fucking blah, then she said, ‘
you and your partner should come around for dinner and drinks on Saturday
’” Phillips paused as Richards continued to laugh in his drunken stupor.
“I thought she might have seen me with that chick from the newsagents, you know, Rita…Rachel, whatever her name was, bit short, big tits, you know?”
Richards nodded.
“So I tried to tell her, I said that was just a friend, she wasn’t my partner. Then she smiles at me… ‘
I know’
she fucking says,
‘I mean that young, slim handsome boyfriend of yours’
the fucking cow,” he finished with a wide grin.
“She’s just old and confused,” Richards said after his laughter receded.
“She must be, she called
you
handsome.”
“How did you get out of the dinner invitation then?” Richards enquired.
“I told her we couldn’t make it on the weekend. I said we were celebrating our anniversary.”
10
“Tonight was fantastic darling,” Elizabeth Price slurred her words into the chilled night air.
Howard Price merely nodded, holding his wife’s arm as she rested her weight against his shoulder.
“Ten years. This is just the start,” she assured him. “We have many more years together.”
Howard smiled and kissed her flushed cheek, sucking the warmth onto his cold lips. “Be quiet darling,” he said softly. “We don’t want to wake Lisa up.”
“She’ll be awake; she won’t sleep unless you tuck her in. Anyway, we said we’d be back at eleven and its only ten,” she said reassuringly as they both reached the door.
“It’s ten past eleven darling,” he said, fumbling in his pocket for the house keys.
She glanced at her sleek gold watch, squinted, winked and rubbed her eyes before commenting: “Oh. So it is.”
Howard unlocked the front door and carefully ushered his stumbling spouse into the house.
“I really like this,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the watch.
“So you keep telling me.”
“I keep telling you because I
do
really like it.”
“You keep telling me because you’re drunk,” Price corrected her.
“That too,” she agreed with a gleeful laugh. “You should have had a drink with me tonight,” she said with a playful pity on her words.
“Someone had to drive,” Howard reminded her.
“You always drive, why couldn’t we get a taxi?” she wondered. “Or a limo,” she thought excitedly.
He smiled into her glazed eyes, “You know I don’t like being driven around, and the restaurant is only three miles away, I don’t think a limo is appropriate.”
She shrugged. Her eyes still glared into his, but she was losing touch with reality with every passing second; night and the sedating touch of alcohol was settling in her mind and shutting it down.
He caressed her cheek, kissing her softly on the lips. She stayed motionless, her eyes still closed from the kiss as he pulled his lips away from hers. She swayed slightly.
Howard steadied her balance and helped her take her coat off. “Why don’t you go on up to bed darling,” he said softly. “I’ll be with you soon.”
She nodded and staggered to the stairs, which she climbed with great difficulty.
Howard watched her stumble and stagger her ascent, before turning his attention to the doorway and the grouchy figure standing there.
“Did you have a good night?” Joanna Light asked, her posture slumped and tired.
“Very nice,” Howard said meekly.
“How much did it take to get her
that
wasted?” the teenager asked, pushing her reading glasses up from her nose.
Howard smiled at the eighteen year old, “Not long” he looked her up and down -- he always thought there was something odd about her. She dressed like an angry, poor woman with PMS, yet lived with a very wealthy family and still went to college. She always had her head buried in books and looked very pale, almost ill. She didn’t drink, smoke or even eat meat, and seemed to despise anyone who did.
Her mother was a friend of Elizabeth, so her babysitting services were easy to come by and, though Howard felt uneasy around her, he reasoned that her lack of taboos or even a social life, would prevent any mishaps when her services were acquired.
“How was Lisa?” Howard wondered, following the teenager into the living room as she collected an assortment of books and papers; he noticed that television wasn’t on and the house looked tidier then when he had left.
“A sweetheart as always,” Joanna said in her nasal tone.
“What time did she go to sleep?”
“Well, she went to bed about two hours ago,” Joanna stood in front of Howard, all of her books grasped tightly to her flat chest. “But she insisted that she’d stay awake. She wanted to see you. To read her a story she said.” She smiled and brushed past him. “I’ll be heading off now.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, turning to face her. “How much do I owe you?”
“Elizabeth gave me the cash this morning,” Joanna said with her back to Howard.
“Do you want a lift? It’s cold out.”
“It’s okay, the fresh air will do me good, it’s only around the corner after all, I’ll just walk.”
“Okay,” Howard said, relieved he didn’t have to drive her home and suffer her awkward company.
Howard heard muffled grumbles of annoyance as he passed his bedroom door. The door was slightly ajar, he paused to peak through. He saw his wife trying to undress herself by the side of their bed, struggling to unhook her dress before eventually conceding defeat and moving onto her socks. She lost her balance and fell flat on the bed, her face buried into the plush duvet. Within seconds he heard the sound of her snoring.
The door at the end of the corridor was also slightly ajar, a green light beamed through the opening. He pushed the door open, being careful not to make a noise, but his efforts were futile.
“Hello daddy.”
He smiled as he heard the sweet toned voice of his daughter. She lay on her back, watching the door with a tired smile; an assortment of shadowed shapes, thrown by the nightlight, danced on her soft face.
“What are you doing awake at this time?” he asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I was waiting for you,” she replied with a giggle. “Where’s mummy?”
Howard paused and looked into his daughters eyes.
“She’s...
Asleep
.”
“She’s drunk you mean.”
Howard smiled and nodded. “You heard her?”
“She was singing when she went to her bedroom.”
She lifted her head from her pillow and sat up on the mattress, her small face inches from his. He stared at her through the soft green glow, his heart filled with warmth.
“Why do you always ask Joanna to babysit?” she enquired, a fraction short of a whisper.
“Do you not like her?”
“She’s weird,” his daughter explained. “She just sits and reads…she wouldn’t read any of it to
me
though”
“I don’t think you would like it anyway darling.”
“Maybe.” She straightened up, beamed a smile and flopped comfortably onto the plump pillows. “Will you tell me a story now?”
“Sure. Which one do you want?
Cinderella
?
Snow
White
?” his eyes scanned the bookshelf near her bed which was barely visible in the dull light. “What about
James and the Giant Peach
?”
“Okay,” she said instantly, a twinkle of contentment in her eyes which suggested that no matter what he read it would always be the sound of his voice that offered her the most enjoyment.
11
Peter Sanderson sat back on his leather armchair, a cigar held loosely between two fingers on his right hand. He lifted his small feet, dressed in polished loafers, onto the expansive desk in front of him, digging the heels into the varnished oak.
“You boys have done me proud again,” he said, pillows of thick grey smoke escaping from his lungs as he spoke.
James Roach stood with his head held high and his eyes fixed on a blank space in between him and his boss. His arms were folded over his chest, a look of dominance and pride in his strong stature. Darren Morris wasn’t standing to attention, he leant against one of the far walls in the smoky office, his hands dug deep into his pockets, his eyes strained so he could hold the hollow, dark eyes of the man twenty years his senior.
“Now what?” he questioned.
Sanders could sit for days in his office and, due to his weight and health habits, his suits were easily softened with sweat patches or cigar ash, but Morris noted something else on his boss’s jacket: a congealed orange stain had formed on the shoulder, surrounded by a smeared smudge of crimson.
“Now…” the older man said with a strained pause, sinking his old and broad shoulders further back on the leather chair. “I just ask someone else.”
“Someone else to deal across the coast?” Roach asked sternly.
Sanderson’s blackened eyes turned to the strong figure of James Roach, holding him in their deadly trance. The older man simply nodded then turned his attention back to Morris.
“Apparently there was someone working alongside young Dean,” he said. “When you two were ‘
disposing
’ of him, a little birdie told me a story.”
“Was that the same ‘
birdie
’ that shit on your shoulder?” Morris questioned.
The older man paused, his eyes instinctively trying to look at the patch of congealed vomit on his shoulder.
“Just a little mishap,” he said with a grin. “You remember Leon? The boy Harris and his cronies turned over?”
“Sure, he was in a hell of a state last time I saw him,” Morris said.
“Yes, well now he’s in a worse state. The little bastard had the nerve to ask me for a loan of five kilos. He fucks up, loses my money and my fucking gear then he has the nerve to ask me for a fucking loan.” A tide of anger rose and then dissipated behind his eyes.
He paused, flicked more ash into the sliver ashtray. “I had a few of the boys dispose of him last night,” he brushed at the dried stain on his jacket. “The little bastard was so scared he threw up on me.”
Morris nodded. He felt a tinge of anger welling up inside him.
“As I was saying,” Sanderson said in a lighter tone. “Harris wasn’t alone, and I wasn’t the only one supplying him with gear. He was involved with a smuggling operation, a fucking big one at that. Word is they’re bringing in huge shipments of ecstasy, about a quarter mill each month. Not the usual shite either, this stuff is pure rocket fuel.”
“Bollocks,” Morris spat, bringing a look of distaste to the menacing brow of his boss. “Harris was small time; the majority of what he made was from coke and smack, with the profits going back on buying more of the shit from you.”
“Harris was only a pawn in this, nothing more than a runner. The pills brought him to the city, not much call for that down his way. It just so happened that when he was here he decided to sell his other
supplies.
”
“Where is this leading?” Morris wanted to know.
“I need information,” Sanders said with a grin that displeased Morris.
“What sort of information?”
“I need to know who’s bringing the pills into the country; I want to know everything about this operation. Someone is selling drugs on my turf, right under my fucking nose. I need you boys to sort them out,” he regarded them both, like an officer would after giving orders to his soldiers.
“An operation that big will take more than just us two,” Morris said bluntly. “We aint fucking super sleuths, we’re just hitters.”
“I know, I know,” Sanders said with a reassuring smile. “I have a few others on the case; they’re providing me with all the information about the wankers peddling this shit. All you two need to do is follow it, find the fuckers and get me a link to the source.”
He dug the cigar between his yellowed teeth and rolled his chair backwards. Opening a drawer behind his desk he rummaged through a pile of papers, dropping one onto the surface of the desk.
“All the details I have are there,” he gestured to the folder with the tip of his cigar. “A couple of my boys tracked down a few small time dealers selling at the local clubs. I need you to finish off the work.”