Chapters (67)
- Cover
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
It was cold standing in the street, his jeans might have been made of tissue paper, the wind cut through them to his skin, and his anorak had no lining. He wished he hadn’t come at all. He wished everything and he knew it was all useless, because whatever he had to do for Fats, he had to. Whatever.
‘You know Mars Lane?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Do you or don’t you?’
‘Yes. I know where it is.’
‘Go there, walk all the way to the end, there’s a track, go up the track, not far, you’ll see a couple of mobile homes.’
‘That’ll take me ages, I’ve got to be back for five.’
‘You listen. You go to the second one, you shout “TAKEAWAY”. Then you drop your packet on the caravan step and scarper. Don’t wait for anyone, don’t hang about at all, just leave it.’
‘You could drive there in your van.’
‘I could, but I ent. You’re going, on foot, or a bike. Yeah, a bike’d be OK.’
‘I haven’t got a bike.’
‘Then bloody nick one. Plenty of bikes in passageways.’
‘I can’t do that –’
‘Then you walk, don’t you? Tell you what though, if you get this one right, I might give you another job, and if you get that right, and the next –’
‘Is this a job? A job you, like, pay me for doing?’
Fats laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh with any fun inside it, it was a laugh that shot out like spit, then stopped.
‘You’re a funny one, you. Now get off. When you’ve done it, like I said, exactly like I said, you text me.’
‘On what?’
‘The phone that belongs to me that you’re looking after.’
Brooklyn wondered if he could turn and run, and whether Fats would grab him if he did, grab him and take him somewhere and kill him.
‘You have still got it?’
‘No. Not on me. I could lose it.’
The gobbet of a laugh spat out again.
‘This is wasting time, my time, your time doesn’t matter. You leave that packet and you get home, running all the way, and you find the phone and you text me, right?’
‘What do I text?’
‘Assuming it’s all gone smoothly, you press two little keys,’ Fats said. ‘O and K, and then you send it. Now, can you manage that?’
There was no chance for him to agree, or not, because somehow, Fats had disappeared, slipped into the shadows of the street and gone. Brooklyn touched the packet, wondering what was inside it, then zipped his anorak right to the top. If all he had to do was deliver one thing, it might not be so bad.
Twenty-One
BEVHAM GAZETTE
4 February