Shadows. Paul Finch
He went back to his laptop, pink-cheeked, but reasonably confident that the unexpected show of no-frills hostility would have done the trick. It couldn’t be very often that tired, bored business guys encountered a straight-talking response like that in Hogarth’s.
‘You a polite guy, then?’ the stranger said. ‘Perhaps they should call you “Joey the Gent” rather than “Ordinary Joe”?’
Lazenby glanced up at him again, this time shocked.
The guy took a sip of his G&T, unfazed by the turn in the conversation. ‘But hang on, I don’t suppose that would work. “Joey the Gent” sounds like “Jimmy the Gent” … and wasn’t he some kind of gangster? That would never do, would it?’
‘Who are you?’ Lazenby asked, instinctively closing his laptop to protect the information it contained.
‘Me? Oh, I’m no one important enough to have a cool nickname.’
‘You a cop?’
The man smiled to himself. ‘I’m guessing they call you Ordinary Joe because you look and act like an everyday Charlie. Perhaps we should call you that, instead: “Everyday Charlie”.’
‘I could ring my solicitor right now,’ Lazenby said, talking tough, though in truth his hair was prickling because he didn’t know if he could; he had no clue how much the law might have on him. ‘This is harassment.’
‘Be my guest,’ the guy said. ‘Ring him.’
‘I’ll see you around, officer.’ Lazenby did his best to look relaxed as he lifted his briefcase, slid his laptop into it, and clicked it closed. ‘Come back when you’ve actually got something.’
He stood up.
‘You know harassment’s hard to prove,’ the man said. ‘I should know … me and my associates have made that call a few times. Never got anywhere with it.’
Lazenby was about to leave the table, when these words sank in.
He turned back, regarding the newcomer with careful deliberation, before sitting down again.
‘You’re the Crew, aren’t you?’ he ventured.
The man looked nonplussed as he sipped more gin. ‘The Crew? Never heard of them.’
One second ago, Lazenby had been stiff and numb; his spine had gone cold – internally he’d been reeling with shock that the law had so unexpectedly caught up with him. He’d tried to brazen it out, praying that whoever this interloper was he was merely on a fishing trip. Now he felt only relief, though there was no guarantee he was on safe ground yet.
‘Look …’ he said warily, ‘we don’t need to have a problem here. I’m more than willing to do a deal.’
The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps it should be “Co-operative Charlie”?’
‘I know what this is about. I’ve got somewhere you can’t. I’m selling all over suburban Manchester. Middle-class districts which you have no access to. I’m also in with the white-collar crowd in the commercial area. And believe it or not, they gobble the stuff like it’s free.’
‘Oh, I believe you.’
‘But it isn’t free.’ Lazenby leaned forward confidentially. ‘And I’m making good money without setting a single foot on the mean streets.’
This was an unashamed boast, and maybe that wasn’t always advisable where the Crew were concerned. They weren’t the Northwest’s premier crime faction for nothing; internally, Lazenby’s nerves were jangling. But it suddenly seemed important to him, if he was going to deal with these guys on an equal basis, to underline the fact that he was a real player who had something valuable to trade.
‘Yeah. Everyday Charlie and his gentlefolk customer base.’ The newcomer’s tone wasn’t quite derisory; he sounded vaguely interested. ‘I’ve seen it actually, and I am impressed. Ice cream vans, pharmaceutical deliveries, driving instructors … touch of genius, all that. Great cover.’
‘Look, I’ll be blunt with you,’ Lazenby said. ‘For two reasons. Firstly, because I’m a straight player. I always believe in saying it how it is. That’s how I’ve got where I am today, and I’ve no regrets about it. Secondly, because I figure you guys are smart enough to know what side your bread’s buttered on.’ He lowered his voice even more, increasingly confident of his position. ‘You can’t get into the leafy parts of town. But I’m already there. So why don’t we hook up? I don’t have to move my own product solely. I can move yours too. I’ll open a completely new market for you. But the terms have got to be favourable.’
The stranger mulled this over. ‘Like you say, straight to the point. Least that’ll make things easier.’
Lazenby made an expansive gesture. ‘That’s how I roll.’
‘What’s your annual turnover, just out of interest?’
‘Well, in the last nine months alone, I’m …’ Lazenby checked himself. It couldn’t be wise revealing too much about his operation. But then again, if he wanted to win their trust and at the same time impress on them that he’d be a serious asset … ‘In the last nine months, I’m two hundred-thousand net.’
‘And you’ll be looking at … what?’ the stranger said. ‘Ten per cent?’
‘Erm, no.’ Lazenby had to chuckle. ‘I like to earn in a way that’s commensurate with the risk I’m taking. I’ll take twenty-five, and that’s being generous. That’s out of respect for your status.’
‘Twenty-five eh?’ The stranger pondered this.
‘And of course, it depends on the quality of the product you’re pushing. I mean, I deal with discerning people. They smell chalk or talcum powder, it’ll be no more dice from them and no more dice from me.’
‘Everyday Charlie and his discerning customer-base, eh? I’ll have to bear that in mind.’
Lazenby glanced over his shoulder before leaning even closer. ‘What do you say? I was hoping to meet you guys anyway, at some point, so we could square this very deal.’
The man eyed him, for the first time closely; it was slightly disconcerting – there was steel in that gaze. ‘You want in, basically?’
‘Sure I do.’
‘Into what, though?’
‘The Crew. What else are we talking about?’
‘There’s no such thing as the Crew. Least, I’ve never heard of them.’
Lazenby sat back exasperated. ‘Listen mate …’ He knew he shouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t really control the snap in his voice. He needed to advise them that he was serious about his business. ‘There’s something you need to know. I’m not Mickey Mouse, all right …’
‘No, you’re Everyday Charlie.’
Frustrated that they were still playing this silly game, Lazenby grabbed his briefcase. ‘When you find out who the Crew are, and more importantly, where they are, let’s talk again.’
‘I’ve got another deal for you,’ the man said.
Lazenby stayed in his seat. ‘I can do twenty per cent, but that’s got to be it. That’s as far down as I’ll go.’
‘Let’s stop talking figures, and focus on responsibilities.’
Lazenby shrugged.
‘Because, I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.’ The man took another sip of G&T – in ludicrously genteel fashion; he even raised his little finger. ‘You see … I don’t have any product for you to sell. That’s not my line at all.’
‘So why are we