‘There are no competitors in the market. Many of the junkies moved to Capitol when the dope dried up here. The town council and the chief commissioner have finally begun to lower their guard. Downsizing. The timing’s perfect. The potential for new, young customers is unlimited, and I’ve also found the sister who survived when Hecate’s drug factory exploded. And she still has the recipe. Customers won’t have alternatives to what we can offer them, sir.’
‘And why do you need me?’
‘I don’t have the capital, the dynamism or your leadership qualities, sir. But I have...’
‘Eyes and ears. And a suckermouth.’ The old man threw down a half-smoked Davidoff Long Panatella as the raindrop on the branch above him lengthened. ‘I’ll think about it. Not because of what you’ve said, Mr Bonus. All towns are potentially good markets if you’ve got a good product.’
‘I see. So why here?’
‘Because this town took my brother from me, my club house — everything. So I owe it something.’
The raindrop let go. Landed on an animal’s horn. Ran down it to the shiny surface of a biker’s helmet.
‘I owe it hell on earth.’