It Wasn't The Bullet (13) “Oh, and what do they think I’m here for?” Charlie was beginning to get annoyed with this jumped up prick. He was so obliviously lying that it made Charlie’s stomach turn a little queasy with the thought of what would happen if this guy ever got busted. “I told them that you were,” his voice trailed off, and Charlie arched his eyebrows in encouragement, “I said you were the plumber coming to look at our sink.” Phil started to look very nervous now realising that he had just demeaned Charlie to the status of ‘help’ and clearly thinking that Charlie could inflict severe damage on his person at any given moment, Charlie decided tonight he was going to have a little fun for his own amusement. He stretched out his arms like he was trying to dislodge a kink in his shoulders aware that for a brief second, as his beaten up aviator jacket parted, Phil would see the black butt of the Browning nestling in the worn brown leather shoulder holster. Charlie reached into his pocket and dangled the plastic baggie over the grey slate kitchen worktop. Phil was plainly very unhappy, it was all right to boast to your friends that you were pals with a heavy criminal but it was different when in an instant he grasped the fact that there was now a man with a gun in his kitchen and he didn’t really know Charlie at all. Charlie took another swig of his beer and flicked the ash of his cigarette onto the black and white tiled floor. “I think I’d like to meet your friends Phil. And by way of a goodwill gesture I’ll give the coke for half price. How does that sound?” Phil’s mouth began to move but no sounds came out for a second, “Well I don’t know, it’s a bit inconvenient tonight but maybe we can do dinner next week, I can get Mary to make one of her specials.” “Is she here?” “Yes, well I mean she is here, but we are kind of having a birthday party.” “Oh Phil, one more partygoer isn’t going to make that much difference, or do you want me to take my present home with me?” Phil was now very uncomfortable; his anticipation of more cocaine was manipulating his wiser options. Charlie was enjoying being mean. He really was not interested in sitting down with a bunch ‘fucking loser coke heads’ as Terry would opine, but for some distant reason Phil had annoyed him and now he was giving out some payback. Charlie continued to play with the plastic bag of cocaine and Phil’s eyes did not leave the precious substance. Charlie noticed that Phil was beginning to sweat, his underarms were becoming damp, and the light blue of his dress shirt was turning dark. Phil was undoubtedly high and caught in the never-ending spiral of chasing the first rush of the narcotic. Charlie knew what Phil’s decision was going to be before Phil did, he just had to justify it to himself in some completely surreal way. “Erm, ok Charlie. I’ll introduce you to my friends. Can I have the stuff? Only it’s a present for everybody, you know just to make the party go.” He tried to laugh but it ended up a strangled cough. Charlie threw the baggie up in the air and Phil snatched it out of the air. He undid the loose knot in the plastic as if he was diffusing a bomb and, with shaking hands, tipped out a small amount of the shiny white powder onto the work surface. He opened another drawer that slid out making an expensive, silent noise. Grabbing hold of some sort of ceramic pestle he crushed out the small crystals, and using the credit card from the pocket of his pin striped trousers, he spread out the drug into four equal lines. Quickly, to the point of being almost panic stricken, he fished out a cut off MacDonald’s straw and hoovered up two of the lines, switching nostrils mid way. He proffered the straw to Charlie who shrugged his shoulders and finished off the remaining cocaine. “Oh wow, this is fucking huge. My nose has gone numb!” Phil’s eyes were starting to glaze already and Charlie had to concur silently that this was indeed heady stuff. He wondered idly how much the buzz was muted after the cut because he honestly couldn’t remember. Maybe he should have brought the cut gear before somebody expected all the stuff to be that good. “Money, Phil.” said Charlie matter of factly. Phil asked him how much and Charlie pulled a random amount from his rapidly expanding mind, “Ah give me two- fifty.” Phil hauled out a roll of pound notes from his jeans and counted out fifty-pound denominations until he reached the required figure. Charlie scooped the paper up and jammed the money in the inside pocket of his jacket. Phil held the cocaine in his hand like it was fragile cargo and asked Charlie to follow him into the living room. Mark Knopflers was still whining about a brother and his arms when they entered the room. There were six people sitting about in various poses of relaxation. He immediately smelt the sweet aroma of Thai grass, and saw the crumbs of the previous cocaine smeared across the antique mirror that was laid on top of a coffee table in the middle of the spacious room. He also was getting high, and the first rush was relaxing him in a strange sort of way, he felt like he was entering an alien domain, a scout from another civilisation. A young blond stared up at him through heavy lidded eyes and altered her posture on the floor so she could get a better view at the stranger from another planet. “Mmmh,” she murmured, softly but loud enough for all to hear, “You look yummy. Why don’t you share my pillow?” She moved herself over a bit so half the cushion she was sitting on was exposed. Another voice drifted across the room causing Charlie to turn his head and see who belonged to the irritatingly condescending voice. “Susan put him down, you don’t know where’s he’s been.” Several snickers entered the fray and Charlie took a long look at the man. He was wearing what people had started calling a ‘power’ suit. Red braces over a striped shirt, collar undone and the tie carefully positioned so it appeared like it had been loosened it a moment of high stress and left it to fend for itself. The mans’ face was pitted with acne scars and his dyed black hair slicked back hard over his oval looking skull. Charlie lifted up his beer and took a measured swallow of the liquid. In Charlie’s brain the opiate had seized his mind, for a supremely confident man like Charlie it accented his character. He knew, beyond any doubt, that in this room he was the alpha male, he was el presidente, the king of the hill and he knew it had to be made clear. Phil suddenly burst into life to quell the uneasy silence, “Everybody, this is my friend Charlie. I’m sure that you can all introduce yourselves after we’ve all done some of this.” With a theatrical flourish he produced the plastic bag of cocaine and poured a fair quantity of it onto the mirror. Susan and one of the other girls gawped at the powder, the other four pairs of eyes remained on Charlie, and he was still staring at oval head. “So you’re Phil’s personal plumber are you?” oval head said snidely, and glanced round the room for support. There was another round of suppressed laughter and Susan, told Nigel to relax and be nice. Charlie said nothing, took the three steps to the sofa and sat uncomfortably close to Nigel. He noticed a cereal bowl full of grass on the table that he had not observed in his initial browse round the room. Next to the bowl were some rolling papers and in the ashtray lay the remains of several badly rolled joints. He kept his gaze off of Nigel and reached out for the papers, taking just one and scooping a small handful of the potent Thai weed he would show them how to be cool. He lit a cigarette and proceeded to construct the perfect cylindrical joint, in the background he heard the tap, tap, tap of Phil cutting up the shit but was keenly aware that he was the focus of attention. He lit the joint off his Marlboro and pulled in a lungful of smoke, as he was exhaling he said in a soft but audible voice, “So Nigel, you get your kicks from trying to belittle people that you think you are superior to?” He felt Nigel adjust his body into another stance, and still continued to stare at the floor, “Well you do seem to be a bit of an oink, don’t you? It’s not like you fit in with our lifestyle.” “Oh for god’s sake Nigel, can’t you just be pleasant to people that haven’t got your advantages.” Phil spoke up and for a millisecond forgot about what he was doing. Nigel just chortled and said, “Well are you going to pass that around Charles or just smoke it all yourself? It’s not like you paid for it, or even asked if you could have some.” Charlie took another hit on the grass and turned toward Nigel. He captured Nigel’s eyes and then blew the sweet smoke directly into his face; Nigel tensed as if to strike out but Charlie leant in close and said, with a sense of deep malevolence “If you speak to me without some respect again this evening, I will throw you out of this fucking window. Am I making myself clear? Am I coming across?” Nigel had gone pale, Charlie was unsure if anyone else in the room had made out anything he had said but they all saw Nigel’s expression and the room took on an ugly tone. Charlie reached out with his hand and patted Nigel’s cheek, “Well me old mate, are you going to introduce me to everyone.” Charlie was enjoying himself, he was definitely high now, syrup of the grass and the jet fuel of the coke were battling in his system and that was the kind of high Charlie liked best. Conquering his jumbled reasoning and feeling like he was king. An invincible king. The evening progressed in a state of uneasy merriment, everyone in the room was high on coke and alcohol, and Charlie alone smoked the grass. Then a guy called Malcolm cornered Charlie on the sofa, he opened the conversation with the statement he was a financial solicitor, he carried on in a nervous but friendly way, “ Do you have to be careful with the money you make from your plumbing?” Malcolm seemed to be more astute of the three other men in the room. “Sometimes, why do you ask?” Charlie, although in the grips of the nefarious substances he had consumed, was intrigued. “Well I often wonder what you high priced plumbers would do if you were, say, to be on a sudden holiday and unable to withdraw your savings personally?” Charlie studied the man opposite him. He was dressed in causal clothes that gave no hint to his personality. They were functional; perfect for the event his was attending. However he gave the impression of wealth and his eyes had the fire of a zealot. Charlie couldn’t see where this man was going with his line of questions, Malcolm did not wait long before answering his own question, “I work for a private banking house, we specialise in funds of a..” he paused and ran his tongue across his lips in a nervous fashion, “a volatile nature. May I explain further?” Malcolm brushed an imaginary piece of lint of the cuff of his white shirt and studied the floor as if looking for where it landed. “Hey Phil,” Charlie barked, “You got any more beer in the fridge?” Phil unwrapped himself from the girl called Mary and started to get up, “Nah, its ok I’ll get it. I just wanted to be sure I didn’t have a wasted journey. Come on Malcolm come and share a beer and a cigarette with me. This fucking music is pissing me off.” He threw the last line in for Nigel’s benefit who had just proclaimed Chris Rea’s latest album as the greatest thing since Rumours. Malcolm staggered a little as he got up and Charlie caught his hand and stopped him from falling back into the couch. Malcolm smiled sheepishly and nodded his thanks. They reached the kitchen and Charlie raided the stainless steel fridge, he gave one of the cold beers to Malcolm and they both sat at the little serving island in the middle of the room. Charlie suddenly remembered the twist of heroin he had concealed in his packet of smokes. He also found that a little of the nasty straightened him up a little when he was flying high. Terry would be annoyed with him for talking business while he was ‘off duty’ but this might be a sound opportunity. “Hey do you want to do a bump of this? It’s just some shitty smack; bring you into focus a bit.” Charlie opened the paper and emptied most of the contents out onto the tabletop. Malcolm became curious, and asked what effect it would have on him, and then worriedly if he would have to inject it. Charlie told him not to worry, he divided the mound into to half inch long lines and snorted one himself and handed the rolled up pound note to Malcolm who followed suit. Charlie loved the push pull feeling of the cocaine and heroin but very rarely let anyone else know he dabbled with the dragon; curiously though he wanted Malcolm to like him and thought he might enjoy a change of tune. “Wow that stings a bit. It tastes nice though. I have to say this, please don’t be offended.” Charlie smiled and shook his head, he dug the fact that people were wary of him and as Terry often pointed out, that alone could save his life one day. “I have to have your assurance that you are a plumber and no way involved in any criminal activity.” Malcolm’s eyes began to pin and both men began to feel the soft caress of the poppies velvet hands. “Oh wow, I feel incredible, this is wonderful.” His mind zoned out and he fumbled to extract a cigarette from the box in the middle of the table. Charlie, used to the heavy curtain wrapping around them, pulled out two and lit both of them. “Well I’m not really a plumber; I have a small music business. We make a fair amount of money. Are you saying I should be placing my profits in a safer place?” Malcolm fought his way back to reality and made Charlie an offer, “I can set up a money transfer system for you that would eliminate, shall I say, the close scrutiny of certain financial institutions. You would be able to close and open accounts using passwords, and if you wish someone other than yourself to act on your behalf. It would mean that if you were.. erm …otherwise engaged, it would not be necessary for you to withdraw funds personally. Of course total discretion is assured and my partners and I have no obligation to report any business transactions you make to any other organization, legal or otherwise.” Malcolm swallowed hard and took a deep swig of beer, his eyelids began to droop, but he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “How much would this service cost me, and what stops you from ripping me off?” Malcolm forced his eyes to reopen and stared at Charlie for a moment, “Quite frankly, you scare me Charlie. But I see an opportunity for both of us to profit from this type of arrangement. We have certain clients which are, shall I say, similar in nature to your position and I think that if word got out that we were not aboveboard and straight…” his sentence hung in space as Malcolm tried to reclaim it, “we would be incurring the wrath of our, erm, err.. more impulsive clients.” Charlie sensed that this was the “in” that he and Terry had been seeking. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the countertop, and stared across the kitchen, noticing again how it was all designer perfect. Phil must have a maid or housekeeper who cursed his or her luck to have to work for such a prick. He pulled his mind back to Malcolm and the offer that sat between them. He was aware of the greed that was seeping out of the bankers’ pores. Greed was a useful weapon, he suddenly noticed the ash on his cigarette had lengthened and was in danger of falling onto the gleaming stainless-steel surface. He flicked the ash gently into an errant saucer that had escaped from the custom cupboards. “So what you’re proposing is I give my extraneous money to you and somehow you turn it into a legitimate entity.” Malcolm took a breath but Charlie stopped him before he could speak, “My music company makes a lot of money, more than you would think for a small business. I also have a partner who would likely be interested in this type of arrangement. However he is not as, how shall I put this, as level-headed as myself. If he sensed any untoward activity, there would be severe consequences. You would also have to explain to him what you explain to me.” Charlie inclined his head and opened his eyes wide motioned Malcom to speak. After hearing the proposal Charlie set up a meeting with Terry and the deal was struck. Two accounts were set up in fictious names and password protected. To get at the capital all either of them had to do was go to the merchant bank and ask for a particular banker and supply the account number and password and the money would be placed wherever Charlie or Terry wished. The old fashioned telephone pealed into life making bringing Charlie rudely back into the present. He grabbed the heavy black Bakelite handset and said hello. “Yeah hi, this is Roge from Sounds A Lot Like. Someone paged me to this number.” “What’s going on Roge?” “Fucking hell! Charlie what the fuck have you been up to? I saw your picture in the fucking paper. I don’t believe a fucking word of it. Is someone framing you or fuckin’ what?” Charlie smiled, surprised that Roger had never put two and two together. “Well me old mate, I guess you can never tell who’s out to get you. I have a question for you.” “Fire away.” The trusting voice came back. “How would like to own the whole show? You could make Tulip a partner or just keep the whole thing yourself?” There was a small pause and the static hummed like a bad earth in a guitar lead. “I don’t have the money to buy you out Charlie.” “I didn’t ask that, I asked you if you would like to become the owner of Sounds A Lot Like.” “Well fuck me, yes of course. What are you getting at?” “All you have to do is this. Go to the Fenshaw and Bennet Merchant bank on City road and ask for Mr Jenkins. He will ask you a couple of questions. You got a pen Roger?” Charlie listened to the muffled “ ‘ang on.” and waited for him to return. Thirty seconds later Roge broke through the metallic noise and said he was ready. “Give him this account number, 02074021212, and he will then ask you for a password and that is ‘portcullis’. You got that?” Roger said he had. “Ok, then ask him for the balance of the account. This is what I want you to do. Whatever is in there, get him to transfer 85% of it to an offshore bank with branches in France. The other 15% I want you to transfer to your bank account and you do what you want with it. He is going to tell you there will be some administive charges, tell him to take them out of my cut. Then I want you to meet me somewhere with the paperwork. You alright with that?” “I don’t know what to say Charlie. You’re giving me the whole kit and caboodle. I know you’re having problems right now but they’ll all be sorted soon. Why are you doing this?” “Just look at it as a late birthday present. Please don’t think too much about it. Roger I will page you again in two hours, that’s how long you have to get there and do the thing. You ok with that?” “Two hours, I’m on it.” The connection ended and Charlie hoped that everything Malcom had said was true.
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