The Elephant Tree by R. D. Ronald

pressing against the thin fabric of his boxer shorts.
    ‘A couple of those for me too,’ she said, squinting against the brightness from the kitchen window as she leant sleepily against the doorframe, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. Scott eased the last two tablets from the pack and handed them to Angela, along with the coffee he’d just made for himself.

Chapter 7
    T he rest of the week dragged endlessly for Scott. He’d worked on design jobs for Zebra from home but any connection he felt to the work was little to non-existent. Angela kept him informed of the lack of change in Stephanie by phone call and text message but there’d been no mention of them getting together in person. Neil had come by late on Tuesday evening to count up the weekend’s takings and divide up the profits. He’d been thrilled at how well they’d done and had talked of making the parties a regular thing. Scott had deflected the exuberance and felt none himself. He knew how ridiculous it would be for a drug dealer to regularly hold open door parties at the location of his stash of cash and narcotics, but knew that explaining this to Neil would only end in an another argument. Besides, depending how things turned out with Twinkle on the job, he might be calling time on the business relationship with Neil anyway.
    The agreement with Twinkle was that there would be no contact until the day of the job. Twinkle assured him he would personally check over all the details to make sure everything would run smoothly. As sure as Scott was that Twinkle wanted to avoid jail as much as he did, he would still rather have been able to check through everything himself. Twinkle’s attention to detail could easily be sidetracked, as he’d seen a number of times in the past, and Scott was more than half convinced that the old man had managed to avoid jail for so long more by good luck than good judgement. However, this was Twinkle’s call, and having already agreed to take part, Scott just had to grit his teeth and go along with it.
    The meet was scheduled for 11:30 on Thursday at a bar Scott knew by reputation but had never been into. The Weather Balloon was on the edge of the run-down housing estate where Twinkle lived. Or the ‘Eat Her’ Balloon as it was sometimes referred to by the younger patrons as the ‘W’ had long since vanished and probably sat now pride of place on someone’s mantelpiece.
    Scott entered a few minutes early and ordered a pint of Coors at the bar. The interior walls were red and edged with what was probably once gold but now looked a sickly yellowish brown. The scuffed wooden floors reminded Scott of draughty school assemblies as a child. A large TV had been bolted to the wall in a corner and had been further secured with a chain. It appeared to keep the few customers at the bar placated with its endless broadcast of sports news. Scott was just about to retreat to a table with his drink to wait for Twinkle to arrive when he saw him emerge from the toilets, wiping his hands dry on his pants.
    ‘Alright Scott?’ Twinkle said and nodded to a table he’d previously been sitting at. An almost empty pint glass sat there which Twinkle drained the remaining contents from and went back to the bar for another. Scott felt edgy; he sat sipping his pint and spinning his Zippo on the table until Twinkle returned. Walking back to the table Twinkle fished in his pocket for something and, sitting down, he passed it under the table to Scott. He looked down and saw his own face looking up at him from a laminated ID card.
    ‘My ID card,’ Scott muttered in confirmation.
    ‘Yeah. Here do this,’ Twinkle said and Scott watched as he scrunched his own card in his palm. ‘Makes it look more authentic, like it’s been in your pocket for ages with keys and shit.’
    Scott did as instructed and noted the look of pride on Twinkle’s face, presumably at how high tech his life had recently become. He probably thought of himself as some kind of