‘And you can’t show me down there?’ Ron asks.
‘We’d need a client with us,’ says Bill. ‘The only way you could get down there is to persuade a client to bring you along, and persuade me to let you accompany them.’
The two men go quiet for a moment.
‘What have they got in their box?’ Bill asks. ‘Holly and Nick?’
‘Something worth stealing,’ says Ron. ‘Is there any way you can change their code? Something like that?’
Bill shakes his head. ‘Only Holly and Nick could change it.’
‘So it’s just sitting there?’ says Ron.
‘I mean, behind about fifty doors, and retinal identifiers and fingerprint scans,’ says Bill. ‘But, apart from that, yeah, it’s just sitting there.’
‘Thanks for trusting me,’ says Ron.
Bill nods. ‘Thanks for trusting me. Jesus, I can’t believe she’s dead. Who did it?’
Isn’t that the question? Ron is thinking.
The two men are alone with their thoughts for a minute.
‘We need to get that box open,’ says Ron. ‘Before someone else does.’
‘Well, best of luck, Ronnie,’ laughs Bill. ‘You need four things. Me, Holly’s half of the code, Nick’s half of the code and a client. And so far all you’ve got is me.’
‘Bill,’ says Ron, putting his hand on the big man’s shoulder, ‘remember the strike in 1974? Everyone against us. The government, the coppers, the courts? Powerful people. Bullies. They threw everything at us, and we never buckled, we never raised the white flag, and we never gave in.’
Bill nods, heartened, then has another thought. ‘I mean, we did lose though.’
‘Course we lost,’ says Ron. ‘We always lost. But we gave it a bloody good go, eh?’
33
Connie Johnson sits cross-legged on a coconut mat, eyes closed. One way or another it has been a stressful week, and she is enjoying the ‘Sounds of the Rainforest’ playlist on Spotify. She has had to take out a premium subscription now, because you can’t meditate when the sounds of the rainforest are interrupted every fifteen minutes by adverts for Burger King Whopper Meal Deals.
She breathes in slowly through her mouth and counts to three, then breathes out slowly through her nose for a count of six. A lot of people are resentful that she is back on the street. She’d been able to control her empire fairly well from her prison cell. The Wi-Fi could be patchy at times, due to the thickness of prison walls, but, all in all, deliveries arrived when they were supposed to, suppliers were paid on time and cash continued to be laundered in an orderly fashion. But the odd two or three dealers had got ideas above their station during her unfortunate absence, and she is having to deal with them one by one, which has been time-consuming, and stressful. More stressful for them, Connie admits that, but she has still earned a bit of down time in her yoga annexe. Though she doesn’t often have two guests with her.
‘And find your centre,’ Connie says. ‘Find your centre, and let a flower bloom. Let the petals unfurl and catch the sun. Feel the warmth and feel the beauty. Let your mind drift on the breeze. Let your thoughts fade into nothing.’
She hears Tia hum in contentment.
‘I understand the principle,’ says Ibrahim, also cross-legged. ‘But I can’t let my thoughts fade into nothing without thinking about my thoughts fading into nothing, so I now have a new thought in my head, the thought of thoughts fading to nothing, and what am I to do with that thought? It’s cyclical.’
Connie opens her eyes. ‘You don’t love being “in the moment”, do you, Ibrahim?’
‘I don’t,’ says Ibrahim. ‘The trouble with the moment is that there’s always another moment on its way, and I find constantly being in them exhausting.’
‘Truth,’ says Tia.
‘But you tell me all the time to relax,’ says Connie. ‘To find a new way of thinking and being.’
‘Yes, I think it’s all well and good for other people,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I just can’t manage it myself.’
Connie is not entirely sure what Ibrahim is doing here today. Has she ever seen him on a Sunday before? She doesn’t think so. But he asked to pop round, and she’d told him he’d be very welcome if he didn’t mind joining her and Tia for a spot of yoga as they talked.
Connie pushes herself up. ‘How about a whisky?’
‘I think that might be rather better at making my petals bloom, thank you, Connie.’
Connie leads them out of the yoga annexe, past the pool and solarium, skirts the snooker room, and takes a shortcut through the cinema and into the whisky bar.
‘You have a lot of rooms,’ says Ibrahim.
‘I’ve sold a lot of drugs,’ says Connie, stepping behind a bar and pouring them both a measure. ‘Tia?’
‘Gotta go,’ says Tia. ‘Bit more prep for the job.’
‘That’s very industrious,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Preparing for your job on a day off.’
Tia shrugs.
‘Fail to prepare,’ says Connie, ‘prepare to fail.’
‘I hope the job is going well so far?’ says Ibrahim.
‘It’s coming on,’ says Tia.
Ibrahim smiles. ‘I’m sure you will be a great success.’
Ibrahim is so excited about Tia’s new job. He would be less excited if he knew the job was a warehouse heist, but what we don’t know can’t harm us.
Tia gives Connie a goodbye hug. ‘I’ll see you on Tuesday.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ says Connie.
‘See you, Mr Arif,’ says Tia.
‘Don’t be afraid to ask if you don’t know something,’ says Ibrahim.
‘Thank you,’ says Tia. ‘I will.’
They watch Tia leave, and the moment she is out of earshot Ibrahim says, ‘She’ll make you proud, I know it.’
She’ll make me a couple of hundred grand is what she’ll make me, thinks Connie.
‘When she calls me Mr Arif, I always mean to say, “Call me Ibrahim,” but I’ve decided I quite like “Mr Arif”. Usually only doctors call me Mr Arif. The last sentence in which somebody called me Mr Arif was “One has to expect some weakening of bladder control in one’s eighties, Mr Arif.”’
‘What can I do for you today?’ says Connie. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you on a Sunday, so I’m guessing it’s a favour?’
‘Well, life is about push and pull,’ says Ibrahim. ‘There might indeed be the smallest favour you could do for me.’
‘Shoot,’ says Connie. ‘Shoot’ is a phrase she often has to be careful with. If you’re ever in a room full of men with guns and someone wants to give you their number, it’s better to say ‘Go ahead’ than ‘Shoot’.
Ibrahim looks over his shoulder. ‘Have you heard of a man named Davey Noakes?’
‘Ravey Davey?’ says Connie. ‘Of course I’ve heard of him, I don’t live on the moon.’
‘Ah,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I hadn’t.’
Connie shakes her head. ‘Forty years in the business, Ravey had, and you’ve never heard of him?’
‘I think you might be the only drug dealer I’ve ever heard of,’ admits Ibrahim. ‘We live such siloed lives, don’t we? It’s social media in my view, it atomizes our shared gr–’
Connie interrupts: ‘What about him?’
‘You know him?’
‘Met him a few times,’ says Connie. ‘Not your type, I’d say, but I can put in a word for you. Some guys like an older man.’
‘You are obsessed with romance,’ says Ibrahim. ‘He dealt Ecstasy, I understand?’
Connie Johnson shakes her head in amazement. ‘Dealt Ecstasy? Saying Davey Noakes dealt Ecstasy is like saying that Taylor Swift sells records.’
‘I see,’ says Ibrahim. ‘And does she?’
‘He was a pioneer,’ says Connie. ‘Built the whole industry from scratch. Made his millions, never got nicked, got out before everybody started killing each other. Textbook drug dealer, textbook. You won’t see another like him.’