‘Fuck me,’ Brown declared. ‘You need an NBC suit before coming in here. How can you fucking live like this?’
‘A what?’ O’Neil asked, confused.
‘A nuclear, biological, chemical protection suit, you fucking moron,’ Brown explained. O’Neil just shrugged, but his eyes grew ever wider as Brown went straight to the cooker that hid under a thick layer of ancient grease and kicked open the door. ‘Well, well,’ he called into the oven loud enough for the others to hear. ‘And what do we have here?’ He reached inside and pulled out a good-quality Blu-ray player before heading back into the sitting room and placing it on the coffee table in front of O’Neil. ‘Why do you slags never think we’ll look in the oven, eh?’ he asked, smiling menacingly. ‘First place we look, Dougie. Always the first place we look.’
‘I didn’t know that was there,’ O’Neil tried in vain.
‘Save your bollocks for the interview,’ King told him, hoisting him off the sofa and pointing him towards the front door while Brown continued to open every cupboard and drawer he found – looking under everything and anything, anywhere illicit goods could be hidden, listening intently to every word being said as he did so.
‘Oh come on, guv’nor,’ O’Neil pleaded. ‘Don’t nick me.’
‘We haven’t really got a lot of choice, have we?’ King told him. ‘Possession of crack cocaine and a stolen Blu-ray. Serious offences, Dougie. Serious offences.’
‘Come on,’ O’Neil kept trying. ‘I only got out a few months ago. I can’t go back inside yet.’
‘Might clean you up,’ Brown offered as he tossed the foul cushions off the sofa to reveal even more foul things hiding under them – although nothing illegal. ‘Do you a bit of good.’
‘Listen,’ O’Neil offered conspiratorially. ‘Let me go and I can give you Astill. I can set him up for you. You can get him for supply – a proper result for you. Better than a fifteen-quid rock and a knocked-off Blu-ray.’
‘So you admit it’s nicked then?’ Brown told him.
‘Come on,’ O’Neil looked from King to Brown and back, desperate to see some enthusiasm for his offer. ‘I can help you make a name for yourselves.’
‘We don’t need your help for that,’ Brown told him.
‘What you thinking, Dougie?’ King stepped in.
‘You’re joking, right?’ Brown interrupted.
‘Give him a minute,’ King rebuked him. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I could guarantee you take him out with, what, an eighth of an ounce of crack on him,’ O’Neil talked fast. ‘That’s too much for personal. You’d have him for possession with intent, easy.’
‘And how would you do that?’ King asked calmly.
‘I could call him,’ O’Neil explained. ‘Tell him I want to score large. That I want an eighth.’
‘Where would you get the money for an eighth from?’ King pressed.
‘I’ll tell him I’ve had a top result,’ O’Neil talked even faster. ‘I’ll tell him I screwed an office and found a petty cash tin stuffed with tenners and twenties. He’ll believe me, I promise.’
‘All a waste of time,’ Brown intervened. ‘Astill never comes out from behind his fortifications. Not while he’s holding, anyway.’
‘That’s what you think,’ O’Neil smiled.
‘Fucking bullshit,’ Brown insisted.
‘To sell an eighth he’ll come out,’ O’Neil persisted. ‘Astill won’t be able to resist getting that much cash in his hands in one sale.’
‘Won’t he be afraid you could try and set yourself up as a dealer with that much crack?’ King asked. ‘Why would he risk having competition?’
‘No,’ O’Neil shook his head. ‘I couldn’t deal it because I couldn’t buy from him and match or undercut his price. He’d be selling it to me at a punter’s price – not as a dealer. I might get a bit of discount for buying in bulk, but not enough so I could sell it on and make money. And besides, he knows me, knows what sort of user I am. If I had an eighth I’d do it all myself. It wouldn’t be around long enough for me to sell. It’ll work,’ he tried to convince them. ‘Astill’s dumb and greedy. It’ll work.’
‘But he’s going to want to see the cash before he even shows you any drugs, right?’ King asked. ‘He’s not that stupid?’
‘Of course,’ O’Neil shrugged, as if it was obvious.
‘So where you going to get the cash from?’ King questioned.
‘You’ll have to give it to me,’ O’Neil answered casually, as if it was nothing.
King and Brown looked at each other, before Brown spoke. ‘You fucking serious? Forget it, Dougie.’
‘No,’ King intervened. ‘Let’s hear him out.’
‘Bad idea,’ Brown insisted. ‘Remember? You said it yourself – bending is one thing, but something like this …’
‘Whatever happened to “you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs”? Your words, I seem to recall.’
‘Saying it’s one thing,’ Brown argued. ‘Giving cash to a fucking druggie to set up a dealer is another world altogether. Not somewhere we want to go. Trust me.’
‘I just want to hear Dougie here out,’ King smiled. ‘That’s all.’
They looked hard at each other for a few seconds before Brown relented. ‘Fine,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘We hear him out. That’s it.’
‘So?’ King turned back to O’Neil. ‘How much cash would you need for an eighth of an ounce?’ he asked.
‘Two hundred and thirty-one or thirty-two pounds,’ O’Neil told them.
‘That’s a very precise number,’ Brown pointed out. ‘What’s with the pound difference?’
‘Profit margins are tight on the street,’ O’Neil explained. ‘Nobody’s getting rich selling this shit – except the big players.’
‘Big players like who?’ King pressed.
‘The sort of people who supply people like Astill,’ O’Neil answered vaguely.
‘A name?’ King tried.
‘No names,’ O’Neil told them. ‘Even if I knew I wouldn’t say. You don’t fuck around with people like that. They’re dangerous people. Very dangerous people.’
‘But you still want us to hand over two hundred and thirty-odd notes for you to go play with?’ Brown brought them back.
‘If you want Astill, yes,’ O’Neil insisted.
‘You must be fucking joking,’ Brown told him.
‘But I thought we were making a deal,’ O’Neil complained.
‘I don’t think so,’ King explained. ‘Nice try, Dougie. And by the way – you’re under arrest for possession of a class A drug and suspected theft of a Blu-ray player. You know the caution.’
‘Come on, guv’nor,’ O’Neil pleaded. ‘I’m more use to you out here than banged up. Let me go and I’ll work for you, I swear on me mother’s life.’
‘Your mother’s already dead,’ Brown reminded him.
‘Yeah well,’ he replied weakly.
‘Nice