Mortal Taste by J. M. Gregson Page A

of them. The place smelt dank and foetid, with that strange combination of stale urine and the strong disinfectant the authorities used to try to cleanse the place.
    He found the man he wanted when the invisible figure lit a cigarette, the match rasping into brief illumination, then leaving the tip of the cigarette glowing red in the gloom by the wall. The tiny red tip was all Price could see until he was very close to the man. He did not stand opposite him, but went and stood beside him, so that both of them were in the deepest shadow against the wall, observant of any other entry into this daunting place.
    They stood thus for ten seconds before Price said, ‘You’d better tell me what you want quickly. There’s no point in hanging about here longer than we have to.’
    â€˜The usual horse and coke. More ecstasy. They’re always after that. And Rohypnol. The demand for that keeps going up.’
    The date-rape drug. The demand was going up everywhere, not just here. The man with the cigarette chuckled in the near-darkness, eliciting an answering snigger from Price. It was a mirthless, chilling exchange. But there was no one in this depressing place to hear them. Daniel said, ‘I’ll get you whatever I can. Rohypnol’s difficult. The rest you’ll have.’
    A grunt of approval. Then the man waited, knowing there would be more. Price could have taken his order without risking a meeting. There must be more to be said. This man was below Price in the industry’s obscure chain of command, was waiting to hear what his supplier would have to say. He couldn’t see how it could be anything good for him.
    Daniel let him have another nervous pull on the cigarette before he spoke, watching the end glow more brightly for a couple of seconds in the gloom. Then he said, ‘You need to increase your turnover. If you sell more, I can get it cheaper. I can pass the saving on to you.’
    Try the positive approach first: appeal to greed. You should only threaten if you needed to. But Daniel Price was beginning to realize that he rather enjoyed offering threats.
    â€˜It’s – it’s not easy.’ The red spot burned bright again from another nervous pull.
    â€˜The demand’s there, if you look for it. That’s the advantage of what we sell, the market can always be extended.’ Another chuckle, this time at the vulnerability of human nature. Only Daniel tittered this time.
    The man in front of him said, ‘You have to be careful. Watch who you’re talking to.’
    He was feebly stating the obvious, not offering a reason for his failure to sell more, and both of them knew it. He threw his cigarette half-smoked on to the concrete beneath their feet, then stamped on it.
    Daniel could catch the panic on the narrow features, now that his eyes had adjusted to the half-light. He thought he could also smell fear on the man, though it was difficult to be certain in this foetid place. He exulted in his power to instil fear. This is how official torturers must have felt; this must have been what made men join the Gestapo. He had read a lot about war crimes, and Stalin’s secret police. He said abruptly, ‘How’s trade going at the school?’
    â€˜We need to be careful there. Now that the Head’s been killed, the place is swarming with police.’ It was perfectly true. So why did it fall from his lips sounding like a feeble excuse?
    â€˜Of course we have to be careful. Always. Not just now. But you haven’t answered my question.’
    â€˜Well, the trade’s going all right. I’m having to replace two people who’ve left at eighteen and gone on to other places.’
    â€˜But you’ll have done that, by now. You’ll have been thinking ahead, someone with your efficiency.’ Price let his contempt roll over the last phrase.
    â€˜Yes. I’ve got one new pusher already in place.’ He thought for a moment of