million?’
‘Yeah, that’s what he said. An’ then this Donovan must’ve laughed or somethin’, ’cos then Jamal said how much then, an’ then he said five thousand. So that’s what Donovan must’ve said.’
‘Five thousand? Did he agree?’
‘Yeah. But said it was a matter of life an’ death. Kept sayin’ that. Matter of life an’ death.’
A razor smile split Father Jack’s piggy face open.
‘Sounds like we’ve got a little blackmailer on our hands. Life and death. Five grand … I’m sure it could be worth more than that. I think we’d better have a word with our little friend.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So what’s he doing next? Don’t tell me you didn’t get that bit.’
‘No, no, I got it. They made plans to meet tomorrow night. That’s tonight. Down on the quayside. An’ then they’re goin’ back to Donovan’s hotel to do the changeover. Money for the disc.’
Father Jack smiled again. It was no less unpleasant.
‘Treating this Donovan like a punter in case anyone’s listening. Clever boy.’
Si nodded. He hadn’t thought about that but it sounded right.
‘An’ then he gave him his mobile number. To contact him if there was any change.’
‘Regular chums.’
Si laughed. ‘Yeah.’
Si looked at Father Jack expectantly. Jack was frowning, seemingly thinking hard.
‘So what d’you want me to do?’
‘Keep an eye on him,’ said Jack thoughtfully. ‘And before he goes out, we’ll have words.’
The tone of Father Jack’s voice made Si glad he wasn’t the one to be receiving those words.
‘Right.’
Father Jack nodded. ‘You did good, Si. Very good. You’re a grand lad.’
A flush of pride ran through Si.
‘Thank you, Father Jack.’
‘Good lad.’ Jack’s tone changed. ‘But if you disturb meagain when I’m sleeping, I’ll cut your cock off and eat it while you watch.’ He rolled back on to the bed. ‘Now, fuck off an’ leave me alone.’
Si flinched. He didn’t doubt it. He got straight up, crossed to the door, out, and closed it behind him. The sub-continental movement of Jack getting comfortable came through the wood.
Si stood on the landing against the wall and sighed. Hard. His legs were trembling, threatening to give way.
Well, he thought, that went quite well.
He shivered.
It could have been a lot worse.
Night fell heavy around King’s Cross. Became dark in a way no streetlight could illuminate.
Two worlds side by side, occupying the same physical but not psychic space, the station as interface. Feeding off and into each other. As day fell away, so, too, did its citizens. As night ascended, so, too, did its denizens. Remaining day-dwellers confined their journeys to below ground or the mainline station, only venturing above and beyond if they had to.
Or wanted to.
For this was the land of the hustle where everything was for sale. Sex. Drugs. Bodies. Minds. Hope. Futures.
Razor capitalism. Animalistic consumerism.
Sex and death. However they were packaged.
Attempts at fashionable gentrification had been made, but their success was only short term. Long term, the status quo would reassert, erode the newcomers or consume them, like waves turning stone to sand.
Dean stood in his usual spot. Against the blackened, brick side wall of King’s Cross Station on York Way, half in, half out of the streetlight, letting those interested know he was available.
And there was always interest.
He saw the same black Saab, third time now, turn the corner at the lights. Come towards him, slow down, then take off again before Dean could approach. Building up courage, Dean knew. He’d be back. And if he wasn’t? Didn’t matter. There’d be others.
He felt the side pockets of his jeans. Bulging with notes. He moved his jaw, side to side, up and down. Beginning to ache. No problem. He was used to it.
The buzz from his last rock was tailing off. Didn’t last long, anyway. He wanted a spliff, something to fuck with his head in a mellow way, keep the
‘Yeah, that’s what he said. An’ then this Donovan must’ve laughed or somethin’, ’cos then Jamal said how much then, an’ then he said five thousand. So that’s what Donovan must’ve said.’
‘Five thousand? Did he agree?’
‘Yeah. But said it was a matter of life an’ death. Kept sayin’ that. Matter of life an’ death.’
A razor smile split Father Jack’s piggy face open.
‘Sounds like we’ve got a little blackmailer on our hands. Life and death. Five grand … I’m sure it could be worth more than that. I think we’d better have a word with our little friend.’
‘Yeah.’
‘So what’s he doing next? Don’t tell me you didn’t get that bit.’
‘No, no, I got it. They made plans to meet tomorrow night. That’s tonight. Down on the quayside. An’ then they’re goin’ back to Donovan’s hotel to do the changeover. Money for the disc.’
Father Jack smiled again. It was no less unpleasant.
‘Treating this Donovan like a punter in case anyone’s listening. Clever boy.’
Si nodded. He hadn’t thought about that but it sounded right.
‘An’ then he gave him his mobile number. To contact him if there was any change.’
‘Regular chums.’
Si laughed. ‘Yeah.’
Si looked at Father Jack expectantly. Jack was frowning, seemingly thinking hard.
‘So what d’you want me to do?’
‘Keep an eye on him,’ said Jack thoughtfully. ‘And before he goes out, we’ll have words.’
The tone of Father Jack’s voice made Si glad he wasn’t the one to be receiving those words.
‘Right.’
Father Jack nodded. ‘You did good, Si. Very good. You’re a grand lad.’
A flush of pride ran through Si.
‘Thank you, Father Jack.’
‘Good lad.’ Jack’s tone changed. ‘But if you disturb meagain when I’m sleeping, I’ll cut your cock off and eat it while you watch.’ He rolled back on to the bed. ‘Now, fuck off an’ leave me alone.’
Si flinched. He didn’t doubt it. He got straight up, crossed to the door, out, and closed it behind him. The sub-continental movement of Jack getting comfortable came through the wood.
Si stood on the landing against the wall and sighed. Hard. His legs were trembling, threatening to give way.
Well, he thought, that went quite well.
He shivered.
It could have been a lot worse.
Night fell heavy around King’s Cross. Became dark in a way no streetlight could illuminate.
Two worlds side by side, occupying the same physical but not psychic space, the station as interface. Feeding off and into each other. As day fell away, so, too, did its citizens. As night ascended, so, too, did its denizens. Remaining day-dwellers confined their journeys to below ground or the mainline station, only venturing above and beyond if they had to.
Or wanted to.
For this was the land of the hustle where everything was for sale. Sex. Drugs. Bodies. Minds. Hope. Futures.
Razor capitalism. Animalistic consumerism.
Sex and death. However they were packaged.
Attempts at fashionable gentrification had been made, but their success was only short term. Long term, the status quo would reassert, erode the newcomers or consume them, like waves turning stone to sand.
Dean stood in his usual spot. Against the blackened, brick side wall of King’s Cross Station on York Way, half in, half out of the streetlight, letting those interested know he was available.
And there was always interest.
He saw the same black Saab, third time now, turn the corner at the lights. Come towards him, slow down, then take off again before Dean could approach. Building up courage, Dean knew. He’d be back. And if he wasn’t? Didn’t matter. There’d be others.
He felt the side pockets of his jeans. Bulging with notes. He moved his jaw, side to side, up and down. Beginning to ache. No problem. He was used to it.
The buzz from his last rock was tailing off. Didn’t last long, anyway. He wanted a spliff, something to fuck with his head in a mellow way, keep the
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