With his fingers turning and tapping the metal bar, the Governor’s anger reached a pitch. ‘You’re a fucking idiot. Those drop-off points are timed, you mug. When I say a place and a time, then you get your skinny fucking arse there on the dot. Do I make myself clear?’

Leon nodded furiously. ‘No worries, Governor. It’ll be there, no question.’

‘It’d better be. Oh, and one more thing. The Daylight Inn is getting a bit hot. You make sure that drippy bog attendant has a lookout, even if it means it’s you. That’s a good earner, and I don’t want it fucked up, or . . . well, I don’t need to tell you, do I?’

With that, the Governor snatched the bag and left.

As soon as he was out of sight, Leon let out a large lungful of air; small beads of sweat gathered on his brow, and he felt his heart beating wildly. He thought for a moment about jacking it all in, but the money was too good; besides, fixing cars at ten pounds an hour was a distant memory.

Jackie stirred, and his annoyance caused him to kick her leg harder than was necessary to wake her up. ‘Get up!’

Her eyes flicked open, and a huge smile spread across her face, showing the chipped and blackened back teeth.

‘Come on! Get up and get out!’

Jackie’s euphoria was slowly descending. For a moment, she wanted to be back in that place of comfort where nothing else mattered. Getting to her feet, her eyes were heavy, and her muscles felt relaxed. ‘Wow, that’s good shit.’ She laughed, totally unaware of the scowl on Leon’s face.

‘Yeah, and ya fat gob nearly got me killed!’

Jackie, still detached from the real world, waved her hand. ‘Aw, don’t be like that, babe. I’ll tell ya what. You sort me out with that stuff and I’ll make you a fortune.’ She giggled like a child. ‘And, of course, meself.’

Leon nodded, not in the least interested. Ensuring he could come up with the fifty grand and in time for the drop-off tomorrow weighed heavily on his mind. He robotically walked back to his desk and retrieved ten packets of the powder. ‘’Ere, take this lot, and by Friday, I want five hundred quid on my desk. If ya fuck up, I know where ya live, and trust me, woman, you won’t have a caravan left. Got it?’

Jackie looked down at the carefully wrapped parcels. ‘That’s cheap for cocaine, ain’t it?’

With a caustic tone, Leon snapped, ‘You thick prat, it ain’t cocaine.’

Oblivious to his evident annoyance, Jackie looked up with her silly grin. ‘What is it, then?’

‘Flakka.’

‘What’s that? Some kinda heroin?’