The Front (19 page)

       
She slammed the phone down angrily. Why wasn’t she feeding the baby herself, indeed! Why the hell should she? That was what the nurses were for, wasn’t it?

       
Getting up, she was about to walk out of the room when a picture of Pasha’s supermarket flashed up on the TV. Turning the sound up quickly, she sat back down to watch.

       
‘. . .
sometime in the early hours, according to our sources. No details have been released as yet, other than the name of the victim
:
Mr Pashratar Singh, the forty-six-year-old owner of the supermarket
.

       
‘
It is believed that Mr Singh was attacked shortly after leaving the premises but, as yet, the police are uncertain of the motive. More details will be given on tonight’s six o’clock news, when we will show Liz Jardine’s interview with Detective Chief Inspector Jackson of Greater Manchester Police.
’

       
Wendy watched avidly as the camera panned around the crowd. Off to the rear, she could clearly see Liz Jardine in conversation with a man. She scanned the locals, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone she recognized. Then she saw Suzie. What the hell was she doing there? Picking the phone up quickly, she dialled the flat again.

       
‘You’re on telly, girl!’ she laughed when Suzie answered. ‘No, I’m not joking. Channel three. Can you see it? Way to go, kiddo!’

Max sat on his usual chair, grinning broadly.

       
‘Well, what have you got for me?’ The Man asked.

       
Reaching into his inside pocket, Max pulled out a thick wad of notes and passed them across the table.

       
‘What’s this?’ The Man asked with a frown.

       
‘Have a look,’ Max said, leaning forward.

       
The Man turned the wad over in his hand. It looked perfectly normal. He looked at Max questioningly.

       
‘The eyes,’ Max told him, excited by his discovery. He hadn’t noticed at first, not until he’d counted it for the third time. Then, turning the notes so they all faced the same way when he stacked them, he’d suddenly noticed the smudges in the Queen’s eyes. At first he’d thought it was the trade-mark defect of a batch of forgeries, but when he’d looked real close he’d seen it clearly.

       
The Man scrutinized the notes carefully, and suddenly it was crystal clear. ‘What the fuck?’ he growled, sitting further forward and peering hard at the note in his hand. ‘Is that what I think it is? Jake, pass me my glasses.’

       
Max leaned back with a grin. ‘I wasn’t sure at first, but it sure looks suss to me.’

       
Jake passed The Man’s glasses to him and leaned over the back of the couch for a look. ‘What is it?’

       
The Man handed him a note. And there it was. One in either eye. The tiny identification marks that Pasha had used to mark out The Man’s money, separating it from whatever other money might make its way under his counter – for the back-of-the-lorry stereos, videos and suchlike that were Pasha’s business alone. ‘S’ in the right eye, ‘M’ in the left. A routine Pasha had adopted after his first and only mix-up. Barely visible, and something The Man had forgotten about because it had been so long since he’d felt the need to check on Pasha’s handling of their business.

       
‘Where did you get this?’ The Man shot at Max, agitatedly flapping the note he was holding.

       
He knew without a doubt it was part of his missing money. And it had to be part of the latest batch, because none of the money ever stayed in Manchester for more than a few hours once he had it. It went directly to his contact in London, and from there straight over the waves to Ireland, from where his dealer’s dealer operated his empire.

       
‘One of my dealers had it,’ Max explained, beginning to feel a little wary of the turn in The Man’s tone. ‘I went round there this morning to pick up a little debt he owed me, and this is what he had.’

       
‘Who?’ The Man snapped. ‘And how much did he give you?’ He folded the note back into the wad and stuck the lot in his shirt pocket.

       
Max opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it as The Man’s face darkened. He was just glad he’d only brought part of the money with him, or it would all be going the same way.

       
‘It’s just some little shit-head who teks an ounce or so of coke off me every week,’ he said at last. ‘No one big. He owed me some money and, truth to tell, when I went there this morning I expected to be kicking his arse for any of it. But as you can see—’ he waved towards The Man’s pocket ‘—he paid up.’

       
The Man jumped up to pace the floor, slapping a huge fist into his palm as he contemplated the fate of the man who’d been foolish enough to rip off his money.

       
‘Tek me to ’im!’ he demanded after a minute, turning to Max and glaring furiously. ‘The dude’s got some explaining to do! I’m gonna fucking kill ’im!’

       
Max saw his weekly turnover diminishing before his eyes. The Man would wipe Stevo out in one fell swoop, leaving Max to find another mug to offload his cut coke onto, and that wouldn’t do at all. He had a nice regular income from his dealings with Stevo, helping him to live a fairly legal life. That income would soon disappear if The Man whacked Stevo.

       
Apart from which, that money was Max’s. Stevo had owed him that. Now it looked like his big mouth was about to lose him the whole lot.

       
‘Hold up . . . hold up,’ Max said, squirming under The Man’s brutal glare. ‘Let’s not be too hasty. There’s probably a good explanation—’

       
‘Yeah!’ The Man thundered. ‘Like your boy stuck his nose in my bizzness! Claat!’ He leaned over Max, prodding himself viciously in the chest to punctuate his words. ‘And like he ripped off one of my best men and smoked ’im, tekkin’ my money, star! He can’t have no explanation to justify fucking with me!’

       
Cursing loudly, he turned and sat heavily on the couch, drumming his fingers and breathing fire. He needed to calm down and clear his head. Work out what to do with this information.

       
‘Why don’t you let me speak to him?’ suggested Max. ‘Find out what he knows? You said yourself there could have been thousands. If you go round, he’ll know you’re onto him and disappear. Let me check him, yeah? At least then you might be able to get most of it back. What do you think?’

       
Jake laughed nastily. ‘He’ll disappear anyway. Soon as he knows who he’s dealing with!’

       
Max shook his head, desperate to buy time. He’d as good as lost the two hundred The Man had just pocketed, but if he could get to Stevo before they did, he might stand a chance of recovering the ounce he’d laid on him that morning. He shouldn’t have got rid of too much of it yet.

       
‘Look, just think about it,’ he almost pleaded. ‘The police were all over the shops this morning. Stevo would know that. Let me sound him out like I don’t know nothing. If I get his confidence he might let it slip where he’s stashed the rest.’

       
‘And then again, he might just up and do a runner!’ said Jake.

       
The Man mulled it over quietly. They both had a point, but on balance, Jake’s made more sense. Turning to Jake, he said, ‘Call Rico and the boys and tell them to come over straight away.’

Stevo tipped the last of the coke from the ounce into the biggest bag, and carefully sealed it so none of the powder could escape. Mal should be well satisfied with it – even bulked out as it was with just a bit less than the usual cut of glucose, and a dash of unscented baby powder and bicarb. It wouldn’t do him any harm and, as long as he wasn’t shooting it, he’d never even know.

       
Sitting back, Stevo rolled his head on his shoulders and looked at the pile of bags on the table with satisfaction. It had taken a couple of hours to get it all done, but it had been time well spent. He’d bumped up the weight so that the ounce had become an ounce and a half – not including the generous amount he’d skimmed off for himself before cutting it. Obviously Max would have cut it before bringing it – and probably his dealer before him – but it was still good-grade stuff. Probably better – and certainly no worse – than the other shit doing the rounds at the moment.

       
Gathering the bags together, he stashed them in his jacket pocket and set about clearing his stuff up. Wetting his finger, he carefully wiped it around the dishes of his Chinese weighing scales, picking up whatever powder was still there and licking it from his finger. He got a good buzz just from that. It was good stuff, all right. When the dishes were clean, he gently laid the set in its box, put it back under the hinged floorboard and smoothed the dog-eared flap of carpet back into place. Then he placed the equally dog-eared yucca back in its spot on top of that.

       
Getting busted with coke already bagged was bad enough – Stevo might just manage to convince a judge that it was for his own personal use. But getting caught with the elaborate weighing machine . . . No chance! Intent to supply was worse than anything.

       
Standing, he patted his back pocket, smiling at the bulky wad of money he still had over from the grand Mal had given him.

       
‘Good one, Mal, y’ scummy shite!’ he said aloud. ‘Saved me a right good kicking, so ye did!’

       
Pulling his jacket on, he headed for the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone to call round until later in the evening, so he’d decided to get round to Mal’s place pronto and drop the stuff off. He didn’t know why, but he had the feeling he should get it and himself out of there ASAP.
Must be getting paranoid
, he thought. A bit of the old fresh air would soon clear that up.

       
Locking the door behind him, Stevo set off down the stairs at a trot. Halfway down, he stopped, wondering if he’d left the cooker on when he did the freebase earlier. He contemplated going to check, then decided against it. It was just the paranoia talking.

       
He had his head down as he rounded the corner and ducked under the garages. He heard a car pull up sharply in the car park, but thought nothing of it.

Suzie was up to her elbows in suds at the kitchen sink when she heard the doorbell. She was about to go and answer it but stayed put when she heard Mal grumbling his way down the hall. He was still in a mood with her for getting her face on TV, but at least he hadn’t got nasty about it. He just hadn’t spoken to her for a couple of hours. She’d been busying herself with the cleaning ever since, staying out of his way. Hopefully, he’d be back to normal after they’d been to the hospital to see Wendy and the baby.

       
‘Oi, Suzie,’ he shouted suddenly. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’

       
She frowned. A visitor? No one visited her. It was only ever Mal’s mates who came round. Drying her hands, she went to see who it was. Her heart sank when she saw Elaine standing in the doorway with a big stupid grin on her face. What was she doing here? She’d said a few days – not a few hours!

       
‘And who’s this lovely lady, then?’ said Lee, pulling himself up on the couch to get a better look at the girl. She wasn’t exactly a babe, but she wasn’t barking either. She had a fair old pair of tits on her, and the black roots showing through the dyed blonde hair would look dead sexy in the right light! Definitely worth a legover. ‘So you’re Suzie’s friend, are you?’ he asked.

       
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Elaine said, looking around her with a mixture of surprise and envy. Suzie had really landed on her feet. It was a great flat, with a carpet, and curtains – not blankets tacked up at the window like at her dump – and a proper three-piece suite. There was even a wall unit with neatly stacked books and nice ornaments on its shelves. She smiled broadly when she saw Suzie – her new best friend.

       
‘Hiya, Sooze,’ she said. ‘Hope you don’t mind me coming early, like, but I had to find out if you saw us on telly earlier?’

       
‘Mmmm . . .’ Suzie murmured, casting a worried glance at Mal. But Mal was too busy playing lord and master to remember he was in a bad mood.

       
‘Sit down, luv,’ he said, waving Elaine onto his chair by the fire and offering her a cigarette. ‘Smoke?’

       
‘Ooh – ta!’ Elaine chirped, taking one and leaning forward to get a light.

       
Her eyes sparkled as she got a good close look at Suzie’s older man. Quite a looker, she decided, real smooth and sexy. Not very big, but with his black hair slicked back and his dark blue, black-lashed eyes, he looked a bit Tony Hadley-ish.

       
‘So, it’s Elaine, is it?’ Mal said as he kneeled on the rug beside her, rolling a spliff, his chest puffed out like a mating bird’s. ‘How come I haven’t seen you before?’

       
‘I haven’t seen Suzie since school,’ Elaine said. Turning to Suzie, she raised her eyebrows in mock admonition. ‘Eh, you! You never said he was this gorgeous!’

       
‘So what exactly did she say?’ asked Mal, smiling slyly at Suzie who was still hovering nervously in the doorway. ‘Give me a good report, did she?’

       
‘Nah! Said you were a right ugly old tosser!’ Elaine said. Then she laughed, leaning forward to squeeze Mal’s arm. ‘Only joking! She said you were great. And I said she was a lucky cow – didn’t I, Sooze?’

       
‘Mmmm . . .’ said Suzie, folding her arms around herself defensively. This was going to be bad, she could feel it. Elaine thought she was being funny, but Mal would remember every word she said and use it as evidence later, judging and convicting Suzie on the strength of it – however many times she said she was only joking!