The Graft (32 page)

Unlike the Clarkes, of course, who could walk into his bedroom and piss on his sleeping wife without a sound from anyone, least of all him. And that was what galled Leo. As a face in his own right it was difficult for him to kow-tow to anyone any more. He had done his share of boot-licking when he had been a boy, had come down with a severe case of Cherry Blossom-poisoning many times in his quest to better himself. Gradually he had taken out everyone he had ever paid lip service to until now he was at the top of his particular profession. He was the one who gave the orders these days, he was the one everyone listened to in his world, but now he had a far greater force sitting in his smart spacious office and he didn’t like it, he didn’t like it one bit.

’Any chance of a drink, Leo? My throat’s as dry as a buzzard’s crutch.’

He jumped from his chair and said apologetically, ‘ ’Course you can. Beer all right?’

Colin Clarke nodded.

‘They’ll be here in a minute and then we can get down to it. We ain’t keeping you, are we?’

He knew they were but didn’t give a toss, and he knew Leo knew that as well.

‘ ’Course not. I can arrive for me appointment any time I want.’

It was said with bravado. Leo was telling them he was a man to be reckoned with himself.

Billy grinned.

‘Fucking
appointment
? Who has fucking
appointments
these days?’

He shook his head as if severely annoyed and said loudly, as if Leo was hard of hearing, ‘Doctor’s appointment, is it?’

The sarcasm was not lost on anyone in the room and they all laughed.

Leo exploded then. He had talked to Carlos Brent and knew they were eventually going to make their way to his gaff but he was fucked if they were going to mug him off as well.

‘Is this about the iron I sold to Carlos Brent that was used on one of your crew? Only once I sell my gear it ain’t my responsibility any more. I have franchises all over the smoke, surely you can’t hold me responsible for every stray bullet?’

Terry was annoyed. He got up from the black leather DFS sofa and said, ‘Who you fucking shouting at?’

Leo stared up at the big man and wondered why, with a house full of guns, he didn’t just shoot the fucking lot of them once and for all.

Billy saved the day as he always did.

‘Relax, Terry. And you, Leo, get the drinks on the go. The others’ll be here in a minute and then we can get down to business.’

The word business was music to Leo’s ears.

’Are you definitely on the buy then?’

‘Could be. We want a look see, that’s all, before we make up our minds.’

As Billy spoke the buzzer sounded and after checking the CCTV Leo let the others into the house. Anyone else would have been searched by his blokes but none of the men in this room would have swallowed that and he had to let them all in blind.

Louis came into the room with his mate Tyrell. Although not as huge as the Clarkes Tyrell had undeniable presence. He was a big, handsome, angry man. This was the old Tyrell from when they were all growing up. He could always handle himself then. As the years had gone on and he had married Sally and become Mr Respectable he had lost it to some degree. Now, though, it was back with a vengeance.

’All right, Leo? Long time no see.’

He nodded at the two new arrivals, his heart hammering in his chest. He had half expected Tyrell to show. Word was out that he was on the want, and Leo respected that.

But right at this moment it was all he fucking needed.

 
Nick lay on the bed and felt the familiar revulsion sweep over him.

Why did he do it?

The air of squalor was part of the turn on. He knew that and wondered why. The bed was crumpled but then it had been when he had got into it. Frankie catered to a certain clientele and, like Nick, they were not too worried about their surroundings. This place was a world-class dump and the smell was cloying. Already he could taste it in his mouth. He picked up the bottle of vodka and took a long swig, hoping to erase it but knowing it was futile.

On the scratched bedside table beside him there was a piece of mirror, the frame long gone. The white fluffy lines were laid out neatly and tidily - the only neat and tidy thing in the whole place.

He snorted one expertly and then, holding his head back, drew it as far up his nose as it would go. It was not good gear but then he had not supplied it. His nose started to run almost immediately and Nick wiped it with the back of his hand. He looked down at himself and felt the usual revulsion at his own body. It looked puffy and white, and the youth of Frankie made him feel suddenly old and worn out. Yet Frankie was already worn out from overuse, not only of drink and drugs but sexual overuse. It was all just going through the motions for Frankie and that was what attracted Nick most. He pulled the blond head into his lap, and as he felt the cold lips around his member he sighed.

This was what he liked, the image of it all, this was what got him off and Frankie knew how to get him off better than anyone. It was why Nick always came back here even though he swore each time he never would.

Why did the smell of dirt and semen make him aroused? Why did a used and bloodied body give him the erection of a lifetime? Why couldn’t he be like other men, have normal wants and desires? Why did his wife, who most men would happily romp with for hours, turn him off ?

Frankie’s skinny body was a welter of bruises and scratches. As he saw the dirty blond head bobbing up and down Nick felt an overwhelming urge to come. Grabbing the dyed hair tightly, he bucked and shuddered for long moments, forcing himself deeply into Frankie’s mouth until he heard the familiar gagging sounds that drove him over the edge.

Nick came like the proverbial train. Smiling, he dressed quickly and was out of the flat in nano-seconds. Frankie was a lot of things but a good conversationalist was not one of them.

Whistling, Nick pressed for the lift. The cool night air felt good on his skin and his breathing was still laboured as he made his way down to his wheels.

In a few hours he would be filled with the familiar self-loathing, in a few hours he would repress his sexual feelings once more out of self-hatred. But for the moment he enjoyed the sated feeling that enveloped him.

And once the guilt came, as it always did, he would also, in a strange and twisted way, enjoy that too.

 
‘So what you after then?’

Leo’s voice was neutral once more but it was taking all his willpower.

Terry grinned.

‘We want a gun, like the one you sold recently that took out one of my best blokes.’

The sarcasm was lost on no one, least of all Leo. He was glad that he had told his men to leave him alone, and in fairness they had expected him to deal with this crowd of carrion without them.

‘I ain’t explaining meself any more. I franchise to other dealers like Carlos, you all know the score. Once the merchandise leaves my premises it’s no longer my responsibility. ’

Colin and Billy stared at Terry in such a way that he knew to let it go. He knew that losing it was wrong but these days all the businesses seemed to overlap and it was getting harder and harder to pinpoint the bad guys.

‘What do you want, a hand gun?’

Tyrell nodded and Leo saw that he was going to be the purchaser and acted accordingly.

‘What kind?’

‘Semi-automatic, preferably Spanish, with parabellum bullets.’ He’d read all about the gun Sonny had carried in the newspaper coverage.

Leo was impressed. It made a change to have someone who didn’t want to play cowboys for two hours before buying the cheapest model. If he had a pound for every time he had stood there and watched grown men gloving up and pointing guns at invisible targets he would be worth more than Elton John.

He opened a drawer and took out a wad of latex gloves. Anyone who touched his guns had to put them on beforehand; he also cleaned the guns after perusal for extra protection. The last thing they all needed was to leave a print on a gun that was purchased by someone else and then used in a robbery or a murder. It would be a bastard trying to explain
that
one away in a courtroom.

‘You know what you want, Tyrell, and I appreciate that, mate.’

Leo was in selling mode now and they all watched as he fell into the role of the firearms expert he was. Love him or loathe him, there was nothing he did not know about guns and gun culture because he was responsible for nearly every firearm available in the smoke. He opened a cupboard and took out something wrapped in chamois leather. Unwrapping it, he held out a handgun to Tyrell. Placing it reverently in his hands, he said quietly, ‘This is a semi-auto, Spanish make, good deal. Only a grand to you. It has never to my knowledge been used in connection with anything in this country so it has a good pedigree in its own little way. The beauty of it is, you can also fire single bullets.’ He opened the chamber for Tyrell and said happily, ‘But if you throw this catch you can take out a room full of people.’

He grinned at the surrounding company and they all grinned back, getting the joke and admiring Leo for making it.

‘It isn’t heavy, only five and a half pounds loaded, and very comfortable to hold or hide. Terrific little gun. Got a good bang on it, but easy to conceal as well.’

Tyrell weighed the gun in his hand and understood what attracted the younger men to them. It was a powerful feeling, holding something so lethal.

Leo watched his face and smiled, understanding the feeling better than anyone else in the room. He had been a gun fanatic since a boy, and it was only natural he should make it his business.

‘There’s plenty of these about at the moment. They’re brought back from the war zones by British soldiers stationed there. They collect them after any conflict as trophies and obviously they are unaccounted for, ain’t they? No one realises they’re in their possession, see? Assume they have been taken by the enemy. I have a supplier in the forces who buys them on and they end up in here waiting for people like yourself. The filth hate it when they finally trace them but there ain’t a lot they can do. I have even been offered police guns over the years. It’s amazing what a hike in the mortgage rate can do for the black economy.’

He opened another cupboard and placed an Uzi in the hands of Terry Clarke. As he had guessed he would, Terry loved it.

Leo poured another round of drinks and waited for them to come to the crux of their problem because they had a problem and he rather thought he was the only person who could solve it.

Chapter Sixteen

Leo was relaxed now, doing what he did best. He had even gone down to the cellar and brought up his best toys though he knew now that he probably would not get a sale. Although he was a wholesaler of guns to most of the other dealers, he only served personally people he knew well or who, like the Clarke brothers, he couldn’t refuse. He was known mainly as a drug dealer and also served up most of the coke dealers in the surrounding areas, pavement, street and club, not personally but via a network of up and coming young men who wanted a bite of the coke cherry.

In all he was quite a face in his own right, though not on a par for danger with the men now in his home. They were into so many things it would be hard even to know where to begin, and because they dealt with so many different people it was always impossible to know who else you were actually up against if you fell out with one or all of them. Best not to find out, even if it galled him.

But to talk guns was what he lived for, and Leo was a good salesman for his products. He loved guns, adored them. The feel of them, the smoothness of the metal, even the smell of the oil used to clean them, was to him better than a woman.

The Clarkes were all relaxed now as well, suddenly enjoying their evening listening to Leo enthuse about firearms. He was obviously an expert and talked with such passion that even Terry forgot his grudge. They knew they’d deal with Leo the next time they genuinely needed iron, and Leo knew when he had a captive audience, knew just when he had them in his hand, and was enjoying himself accordingly.

He could sell a gun to the Pope, he knew it, it was what he loved most about his job. Drugs you could sell to anyone who wanted them; guns were a different kettle of fish altogether because unlike a line of coke or an E, you kept them and you used them wisely.

Tyrell held a small Victorian ladies’ gun with a pearl handle that Leo had acquired for its curiosity value alone. He saw the beautiful carving crafted on to the handle and visualised it sitting discreetly in a handbag. It was a sweet little novelty that could do a lot of damage.

Unlike Terry he hated the feel of guns while appreciating the psychological power they gave people. Guns were used to intimidate. In a lot of criminal activities fear was the most important factor. Most bank robbers only had guns for show, there was no real intention to wound or kill, they were to frighten people and no more. A gun stopped a have-a-go hero in their tracks. A gun kept everyone still and made them more biddable, all the better for the robbers to go about their business in peace. In drug-dealing guns were used more as enforcing tools, to keep turfs clean of enemies, and because a seven-stone man was Arnold Schwarzenegger with a pump-action shotgun in his hand. It was the law of the street, and the street had never really been Tyrell’s territory.