Bad Music 7
I don't want to know 'bout evil
Angus stopped at a yellow light and driver in the car behind, thinking he should have gone through, bipped his horn. Angus ignored him like he wasn’t there, watched a mother and child cross the road, then stared up into the grey sullen sky.
‘The lights have changed,’ Wull said.
The car behind bipped the horn again. Wull looked in the vanity mirror. ‘He seems peeved.’
Angus put the car into neutral, opened the door and got out. He walked towards the car behind just as the driver opened the door to do the same. He body slammed the door, jamming the driver’s leg and then he stepped back and did it again. He heard the groan of pain, a short burst of swearing, ignored it, paused and stepped back, waiting for the driver to get out, and when he did, struggling to stand, Angus leapt forward, hitting him with a gazelle hook that made his eyes roll, and his body slid between the door and the car, unconscious. Not a word had been spoken between them. Beyond the moan and a couple of swear words, not a murmur had come from either man. An old man standing on the pavement nearby said, ‘You alright son?’
‘Aye.’
‘He should have been more patient,’ the old man said, looking at the fallen man, checking out his huge shoulders and thick, veiny neck. ‘Looks like a proper body-builder.’
‘He does.’
‘You can’t lift weights with your jaw,’ the old man said, then he walked off.
Angus shook out his shoulders, looked at the man lying in the road, turned and walked back to his car, got in, strapped on his seatbelt, put the engine into drive and went to pull away.
‘Red light,’ Wull said, and Angus jerked on the brake as the old man crossed, giving him a wave. He waved back.
‘We need to switch house again,’ Wull said as they drove though town. He lifted the envelope. ‘Thirty thousand in cash. And twenty in this’ he added, holding up the bitcoin hard drive. For one kilo of marching powder.’
‘Multiply by twenty,’ Angus said. ‘One million. Five hundred grand each.’ He glanced at Wull, ‘Why move?’
‘We’ve given Chuck a taste, he’ll want the rest without paying.’
‘He is a scary man,’ Angus said.
‘If he scares you, we should definitely switch house.’
‘That was one of Chuck’s boys in the car behind,’ Angus said, ‘Following us.’
‘He wasn’t very stealthy. Who was it?’
‘Stubbsy.’
‘Don’t know him.’
‘He’s a roid head. Strong as a bull.’
Wull turned to look behind, though they were way beyond the incident at the traffic lights. ‘You just sent Chuck a message.’
Angus nodded. He said, ‘Where should we go?’
‘I know a girl on Downhill estate. She’s got a flat.’
‘She won’t spill?’
‘Naah, man. She’s my cousin, Jess.’
‘You’re shagging your cousin?’
‘I was shagging her friend Gemma, for a while,’ Wull said.
‘Maybe get her to call Gemma.’
‘I might.’ He said, ‘After you sent your message back there, we’re going to need a new licence plate. There was CCTV on the lights.’
‘Let’s swap the plates, get some brekky, then go visit your cousin.’
‘I’ll call her now.’
‘And Gemma.’
‘Aye.’ Wull grinned.
‘If Chuck wants more we’ll have to collect the stash.’
‘All of it?’
Angus shook his head. ‘We’ll take four kilos, he thinks we only have five. If he knows how much we really got, he’ll want a discount. I think I’ll shift the rest somewhere though. Chance it might get discovered where it is now.’
‘K.’
They drove in silence for a while. Wull said, ‘Put on some of that OG music.’
Angus took the nano from his pocket. ‘Plug that in.’
‘There’s no screen.’
‘Don’t need one, I know the playlist by heart.’ He waited til Wull had plugged it in and then said, ‘Press play.’ Wull did so and then he sat back, closed his eyes as the music began to play. His smile widened and he said, ‘I like this. Proper old-school.’
Angus looked at his left hand as he drove. The knuckles were a little pink but otherwise unmarked. When you hit someone properly, he thought, it was like punching butter. The ones that broke your hand were the ones that connected with something they shouldn’t. But a man’s jaw? He smiled to himself. You might be a roid head and as strong as a bull, but the jaw was an off switch, like the old man said, you couldn’t lift weights with your jaw, no matter how much junk you injected. He looked at the big knuckles, imagined they had a laser that locked onto to the target, never failed.
He smiled to himself, glanced at Wull, who was grooving, eyes closed, his head and shoulders moving to the music.
Dominic was sitting on an ancient three-legged cracket in the street alongside the truck door, installing a new deadlock to replace then that had been bust. It was the sort of job that was not too difficult, just required some concentration. He’d read somewhere that performing a task like this made a person feel content. It made him feel content. The inside panel lay at his feet. Chess was sitting on the driver’s seat, watching him.
His phone vibrated. A text.
I’m free from tonight ‘til Sunday. Are you around? Z
Zlata.
He smiled and something inside him warmed. He texted back, gave her the details of where he’d be that evening, then he went back to the job in hand. He’d have to get someone to fix the metal skin of the door. That fat kid had done a piece of work on it. His mind drifted, content, as he worked, until he heard a voice.
‘That’s him!’
He turned, looked up. ‘Speak of the devil,’ he said, seeing Cam. He looked at a man standing beside him, beer-faced and angry.
‘You slapped my son?’ the man said.
Dominic kept his voice calm. ‘He was breaking into my truck. Which is why I’m fixing it.’ He stood, stepped back and gestured for the man to look at the lock he was fixing. ‘Look for yourself.’
‘He’s lying, dad.’
‘You’re his dad?’
The dad turned to look at Cam. ‘This true?’
‘He’s fucking lying, dad.’
Dominic said, ‘I’m not. Ask his friend. James.’
‘He’s a fucking lying paedo!’ Cam’s voice was raised.
Dominic reached into the flat bed of thetruck, withdrawing the long-handled screwdriver. ‘He was using this to try and crack the lock.’
‘That’s mine!’ the man said, immediately recognising it. He turned to Cam, then back to Dominic who flipped it and offered it, handle first. Dominic was very aware that he’d handed over a possible weapon, but the man was no longer angry at him. Instead he turned to Cam and slapped him across the head. ‘You break into a man’s car, then you give me a complete cock and bull story so I’ll fight him?’ He slapped Cam again, who looked ready to cry, whether in frustration or fury, Dominic couldn’t tell.
But the man had fast hands, and he was choleric. Not someone to mess with if you really didn’t have to. He turned back to Dominic. ‘I’m sorry about this, mate. The way he told it, you jumped him in the street.’
‘No worries, Dominic said. ‘He’s just a growing lad, trying out different things to see what fits.’
‘He’ll pay you for the damage, I promise. What did it cost?’
‘The lock was only a couple of quid, but the door needs some work, it’s all twisted, see?’
The man stared at the lock. Dominic could tell he was still struggling to adapt to this new script. ‘I’ll come back later,’ he said, ‘we’ll sort out a price. I’ll pay you. Then he’ll pay me. Every. Fucking. Penny.’ He grabbed Cam by the collar and frogmarched him away, saying, ‘Sorry again, mate.’
‘No probs,’ Dominic said.
Cam twisted as he was walked off, giving Dominic a furious, teary, red-faced scowl.
Dominic watched them go, pondering. Cam didn’t look like a boy who forgot a hurt; he’d have to be a bit wary over the next few weeks. Then he thought of seeing Zlata again and it made him happy.
He went back to working on the door, but the happiness that Zlata’s message brought, and the contentment he got from focusing on a small, doable job like fixing the lock on his truck evaporated when he heard another voice. ‘Are you the occupier of this house?’
He looked up to see a man in some sort of uniform holding a bulky electronic tablet. Dominic had run out of smiles. He sighed. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m from TV licence Enforcement.’
‘What’s that then?’
‘We ensure that TV licences are up to date.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s the law.’
Dominic looked at him. Didn’t speak.
‘We apply the law and enforce the requirements…’ the man began.
‘You’re an enforcer?’
‘Failure to produce a licence can result in a thousand pound fine.’
‘You want to fine me a thousand pounds?’
‘Are you the householder?’
Dominic stood up, brushed himself off. He slotted the inside panel back on the door. ‘I’ve had a rough week,’ he said, ‘so I’ll cut you some slack, it’s not your fault that you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Finished, he turned and picked up the heavy wooden stool by one of its three legs.
‘Ae you threatening me?’
Dominic ignored him, clicked his tongue and Chess leapt out, landing on the pavement by his feet with a light thud. He shut the door of the van, which locked with a smart snick. He looked at the door, then at the man. ‘A fat kid tried to break into my truck the other night,’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘I hit him once. He fell over.’ He looked past the man’s shoulder, ‘You just missed him. He came back for more. He’s gone now.’ He picked up his toolbag, but before he walked back up the garden path he said, ‘I never saw the point of threats, to be honest. Do it or don’t.’ He looked him in the eye. ‘In a while, I’m going to do something I love, then I’m meeting a beautiful woman. You’re not on my list of priorities. So it’s a don’t.’ He got close up to the TV Licence man, his expression mild, his eyes stony hard. The TV Licence Enforcer blanched, stepped aside and watched as Dominic walked past him and back up the garden path, into the house, his dog following.
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