Beezer snorted. Vera brought the drinks, smiled, departed. Beezer took a long pull of his beer, gave a belch and then said: ‘Customs is crap. You go over to France or Spain or Holland or wherever, send your granny with a couple of kids so no one will ever suspect she’s a mule. She carts it back in, you sell it on the streets.’

Everyone was silent, digesting this.

Beezer stared around at Charlie’s crew. ‘Now you tell me,’ he said. ‘Which is easier? Robbing bloody banks or buying a tonne of coke off the Colombians.’

Charlie was looking thoughtful. ‘That would cost though,’ he said. ‘A tonne? That would cost a lot.’

‘But you’ve done the banks, aintcha. You’ve done all that. So you’ve got your start-up cash. You buy the stuff for three grand a kilo, and sell it on in the UK for thirty to forty thousand. Once it’s bought, that’s clear profit.’

They were all silent.

‘Minimal risk,’ said Beezer, looking around at them. ‘And a fucking great payout at the end of it.’

None of them said a word. It was true that bank security – hell, security everywhere – was getting tighter all the time; Beezer’s jail term had given them all a chilly feeling. Maybe it really was time to let the hard game go.

‘What do you reckon on that?’ said Beezer. He put his hand over his heart. ‘On my dead brother’s grave, I swear to you, Charlie – this is a fucking revolution.’

21

‘You know what? I’m getting involved in a new line of business. It’s exciting,’ said Charlie.

They were lingering over coffee and brandy after the best slap-up meal Nula had ever eaten. This was not food like her mum cooked – plum duff, plain roasts, shepherd’s pie on a Monday, heavy fare that stuck you to the floor.

This food was light, exquisite. Lobster bisque that tasted of the sea, lemon soufflés, steak so tender it melted in the mouth. She was getting used to all this now, she loved it. The brandy was making her head swim pleasantly. A whole new world had opened up before her, a world of luxury, of being treated with respect, because she was Charlie Stone’s girl.

‘Oh?’ she said.

His business didn’t interest her much, but she loved his lifestyle. Her only concern now was that he hadn’t tried to sleep with her yet. She was wondering what it would feel like if Charlie went all the way with her. He was so self-confident that you couldn’t help but be impressed by him. Everything was excess with Charlie. He ate hugely. He was loud, he was tough. He’d grab your arm or nudge you to make a point, and you’d have a bruise there for a week. When he was in a room, he filled it; he seemed to suck out all the available air.