Dry Cleaning E-Book

Trevor Mark Thomas

• Herausgeber: Salt
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Salt Modern Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 305

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

'A hot summer. The countryside around Manchester is ablaze. Ethan Mallam is fresh out of prison and finds his old gang locked in a brutal civil war. Against his wishes, he is quickly drawn into a hellish world of fire, blood, greed, and Billy Bear Ham. Trevor Mark Thomas's follow up to the sensational, and sensationally gripping, The Bothy.'

Leseprobe

To Kirstie McCrum, the greatest of them all

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGEDEDICATIONCHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENCHAPTER FOURTEENCHAPTER FIFTEENCHAPTER SIXTEENCHAPTER SEVENTEENCHAPTER EIGHTEENCHAPTER NINETEENCHAPTER TWENTYCHAPTER TWENTY-ONECHAPTER TWENTY-TWOACKNOWLEDGEMENTSABOUT THIS BOOKCOPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

Ethan Mallam wound down his car windows. Along with the smell of manure and flowers, there was a whiff of decay. The land was parched. The streams, the rivers, had dried up. He was already sweating in his wool suit. It was a black number. Trousers and a jacket. White shirt, blue tie. Something he’d first worn for his mother’s funeral years back. It still fit, more or less.

The last time he’d worn the suit was five years ago when he was sent down for assault. He hadn’t committed the crime – that’d been his boss’s adult son, Tony. In return for saving Tony the indignities of prison Ethan was to be paid half a million quid. He’d done the difficult part. Now it was time to collect the first instalment of his payment.

Ethan drove up to his boss’s mansion. He stopped outside the enormous gates and waited. A small guard house stood to one side. No bigger than a shed. The wood painted green. Outside the shed, a young man sat on a plastic chair. He wore a peaked cap and a grey suit. His face was flushed, his shirt damp.

Ethan gestured to the sky. “They keeping you stocked with suncream?”

The young man checked the list on his clipboard. “Name?”

“Mallam.”

“And who are you here to see?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Spence. Les. Not … Not his son. Not Tony.”

The lad flicked through a few pages and marked something down.

“How long have you been working here?” asked Ethan.

“Couple of years.”

“What happened to the other guard they had?”

“Dunno. Mate of yours?”

“Yeah. I suppose he was.”

The young man returned to the guard house and opened the gates.

Ethan drove down the long gravel driveway. The mansion’s steep slate roof was covered with brown moss. The two projecting towers at the front made it resemble a castle built on a Hollywood backlot. Grey smoke rose from one of the chimneys.

He saw three men in black suits patrolling the perimeter. Sticking to the shade provided by the hedges and fences. He didn’t recognise any of them – no-one from the gang – and figured they were private contractors.

Ethan noticed a group of gardeners tending to the flower beds. The lawn was cut and a lot of the shrubs were neatly trimmed. One of the gardeners was in her early twenties. She was spraying some poppies with water. Her legs and arms were tanned. A wide-brimmed hat covered her blonde hair. She moved slowly, carefully.

To Ethan’s left was a large garage built with red brick. It was architecturally at odds with the Georgian mansion. Les kept his classic cars there. All beautifully polished. The petrol tanks empty. To celebrate the purchase of his first casino, Les had bought a silver Ghost and a Nazi-era VW Beetle at the same auction. The casino money made the revenue from his older business concerns – the vice trade, loan sharking, extortion – seem like chicken feed.

Ethan parked in the shade of an old oak tree. The trunk was scarred with heart-shaped inscriptions. The boughs were heavy with motionless leaves. Birds pecked at the grass for food. A sparrow had caught a worm. Stretching it out like it was a length of worn knicker elastic.

Ethan got out of the car and wandered up the granite steps to the black door. He knocked. Les’s butler Philips answered. He was tall and blandly handsome. Thinning hair and frog-like eyes. His blue suit pristine and sensitively cut.

They shook hands. Regarded one another. Trying to work out what to say after such a long absence.

“Les said you got out a couple of weeks ago,” said Philips.

“Yeah. Not long,” said Ethan.

“You back in the swing of things?” Light Scouse accent alive and well beneath the brittle tones of RP.

“Getting there.”

A prickly silence. “So how was it inside?”

“Kept out of trouble. Slept a lot. Read a lot,” said Ethan. Trying to hold back the memories of the brawls, the time in solitary, the sleepless nights.

“Make any friends?”

“I wouldn’t call them friends,” replied Ethan.

“Guardians?”

“I wouldn’t call them that either. Tried to think of the money.”

Philips loosened his tie. “You know how sorry we all are about no-one coming to see you. The lawyers said it’d raise questions if we all rocked up to say hello. And police were sniffing around a bit. You know. Thinking a deal had been done …”

Ethan lowered his voice. “What about the kid? Stu? He okay?”

“Had a stroke about a month ago.”

“Shit. Is that … Related? You know. From what Tony did to him?”

“Nah. I don’t think so. He doesn’t talk much anymore. Suffering a bout of gangland aphasia, you know?” He gave him a wink.

There was another silence. Philips grinned and said, “Well. If nothing else you’re thinner.”

“You’re about the same,” said Ethan. “Maybe a bit more timber on you.”

Philips patted his stomach. “My tailor knows how to hide it. That your car?”

“Four hundred quid cash. It seemed okay. Bit of superficial damage. Enough to be going on with.”

Philips cleared his throat and checked his watch. “You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

It was chilly inside the mansion. The green walls were trimmed with gold leaf and moissanite. Reproductions of oil paintings were illuminated by brass picture lights. A free stairway – also marble – swept upwards to the second floor. A stained-glass window at the top of the stairs featured the image of two lions and a red rose.

Ethan followed Philips through the lounge. It had the dingy quality of an old-fashioned museum. A set of French windows led to a patio. An antique bookcase was filled with old editions from Reader’s Digest. He could smell burnt sweet tobacco.

“Has anyone said anything to you about my … payment?” asked Ethan.

“Haven’t heard much.”

“I was hoping Les was going to mention it today.”

“Yeah. He might. I know … Well. There are things tied up with Tony.”

Ethan laughed nervously.

“And there’s been a little bit of disquiet about you,” said Philips. “Murmurs, you know. Doubting your motives and so on.”

“That doesn’t sound too promising.”

“People don’t like silence much, you know? They’ll fill it with their own noise if they have to,” said Philips.

They stepped onto the patio. Thousands of midges danced in the early afternoon light. Ethan marvelled at the lush green of the grass. The brightness of the flowers, the richness of the shrubs.

There was another gardener. Also young, also female. She was pruning the rose bushes. Arms scratched from the thorns. Philips paused to watch her. Rocking on his heels before leading the way down some stone steps.

They came to a swimming pool. The water level was low. An automatic pool cleaner floated in the shallow end. It was covered in greenish slime.

At the far end, a bamboo bar stood in the shade of a tall bay tree. A cast iron garden table was set with white plates, serviettes, and cutlery. Dried up blossom had gathered around some of the flowerbeds. Bees hovered near lavender bushes.

Les and his wife Miranda were sitting on wooden deckchairs. Les wore blue trunks and a loose green shirt. His skin was the colour of weak coffee. He wore a crystal pendant. Malachite.

Miranda was asleep. She wore black bikini bottoms. Her face was marked with bruises. The skin on her bare breasts was stretched and slightly rippled. Her stomach scarred from a Caesarian. That particular child had died not long before its second birthday.

Behind them, a barbecue was smoking away. The last of its flames dwindling. The coals grey. Sitting on a white trolley were two spatchcocked chickens still in their packaging.

Ethan gave Les a wave.

“There he is. There’s the lad,” said Les, clapping his hands together. Getting slowly to his feet.

Ethan embraced him.

Philips looked on with a degree of awkwardness.

“Miranda, love,” said Les. “It’s our Ethan.”

“Hiya, love,” murmured Miranda.

“Hello, Miranda,” said Ethan. “Catching what’s left of the summer?”

“Not much else to do on a day like this.”

“So good to see you again, Ethan,” said Les. “Some bloody sanity, at last.”

Philips stopped smiling. He took a step back. “You want me to put the chicken on?”

“Yes,” said Les. “Of course I fucking do.”

Philips carefully placed the two spatchcocked chickens on the barbecue. There was hissing and smoke. Flames flared and died.

“Shall I get some water for you two?” asked Philips.

“The fizzy stuff. Fizzy okay with you, Ethan?”

Too hot to quibble, Ethan said, “Fine.”

“And get some ice,” said Les. “Plenty of ice.”

Philips said nothing and strolled back towards the house.

Les hugged Ethan and said, “So glad you’re here.”

“You’re looking well,” said Ethan.

“Bullshit. I look like crap.”

“Better than I do.”

They sat down at the garden table. Les gave Ethan a weak smile. His false teeth made him look slightly goofy.

“You know I got updates about you – when you were inside,” he said. “Wanted to know you were okay. Make sure no-one was hassling you. We had a word, you know. With some of the other gangs in there. Told them you weren’t to be hurt.”

This was news to Ethan, but he said, “Appreciate it.”

“Important thing is you’re out now,” he said. A tone of relief in his voice. “Mrs. Spence over there sings your praises. The sun shines out of your arsehole.”

“It does, love. It positively shines,” shouted Miranda.

“Tony would have been eaten alive in prison. But … Well.” He trailed off.

“Glad I could help,” said Ethan, peering into the swimming pool. The tiles were covered in slime and moss.

Les touched Ethan’s shirt and glanced down at his shoes. “Do you have money okay?”

This was it. Down to brass tacks. The payment. A gentle hint was all it required. “Money’s getting a bit tight. Manageable though.”

Les wasn’t listening and was, instead, worrying the crystal around his neck. “And how’s that parole officer treating you?”

Ethan hesitated. Wondering if Les was messing him around. Avoiding the subject of the money. “Um … Yvette?”

“Yeah. Her. Good tits, saggy arse. Finest one we have on our books,” he replied with a wink. “She sort everything out with the electronic tag?”

“No Romford Rolex for me,” replied Ethan.

“Good. And how’s the flat Philips found you?”

“Better than a jail cell. Could do with a few more things to make it more like home. But, you know … That’s not money I have at the moment …”

Les was inspecting the cutlery. Shining each piece on his napkin. The steel catching the sun and reflecting it in vivid flashes of white light.

Ethan glanced at the swimming pool. The barbecue. The blue skies. A droplet of sweat rolled off the tip of his nose. He watched Miranda for a moment. She sat up and lit a cigarette. Ash fell on her chest and she brushed it away quickly. She flashed Ethan a smile which he tried his best to ignore.

“The weather’s something else,” said Ethan.

Les lowered his head and closed his eyes.

“We need some heavy rain, I think.”

“Rain never bloody helps,” said Les. He wiped his nose with a napkin. He coughed and spat into the swimming pool. “You hear from your old man while you were in prison?”

“A couple of times. He wrote when he could.”

“That was decent of him.”

“Told me the news. How he was still at home. His social worker. A carer or two. Bit worried about him. Was hoping to spend—”

Les butted in. “That … All that carer stuff costs a fair bit, doesn’t it?”

“Not cheap.”

Les rested his hand on the table. A glance towards the pool, a glance towards the house. He pulled a face like he had read a distasteful article in a newspaper. “Have you actually seen your old man yet? Since you got out?”

“He wasn’t very well. A lot of problems with his breathing.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll go back,” he said. “When he’s better. When he’s ready.” Ethan saw a flash of flame from the barbecue. He wondered where Philips was with the water. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Minds elsewhere. The past.

“The guy at the gate seemed good. And those guards. Very efficient,” said Ethan.

“Bloody right they’re efficient. They better be for the money I fork out,” said Les.

Ethan tried not to seem too enthusiastic at the mention of money. Pride outstripped desperation, at least for the moment. Les didn’t think much of people who grabbed at chances. A longer game was preferred.

“I was expecting to see some of the guys here,” said Ethan, trying to play it cool.

“Guys?”

“The old lot. Marwood and so on.”

Another face. “Don’t trust them. Bunch of sneaks. Tony’s men now. The whole shitting firm is made up of Tony’s people these days. A lot has changed in five years. Now he has all those kids running around for him. Thinking that selling bags of smack makes their dicks hang a few inches lower.”

“I dunno. Not sure I was any different when I started out,” said Ethan.

“You knew how to be careful. These lot? Reckless. Get themselves killed or caught. Worst thing is that Tony doesn’t give a fuck.”

Philips returned and went over to the barbecue to tend to the chicken.

“Here. Philips. Where’s the water?” asked Les.

“There’s no ice. I didn’t think you’d want tepid water.”

“It’s thirty degrees, man. We’re spitting feathers here.”

“I can get beers,” said Philips. “They’re cold.”

“I wouldn’t mind a beer,” said Ethan.

“Beer? Now? Too fucking early for beer,” said Les. “We want bloody water. And what’s going on with that food? I’m getting hungry.”

Philips put a metal skewer in the flesh and placed the tip on his lip. He pulled a face. “Few minutes yet.”

Les stood up. “Sod it. Ethan. You want to go for a walk?”

“Okay.”

“Take your shoes off. Feel the grass between your toes,” said Les. “And Philips. Make sure that chicken’s ready when we come back.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“No, mate. Don’t do your best. Get it fucking ready for our man here. Least we can do for him. Right, Ethan?”

Ethan wondered if Les was alluding to the money. Or the lack thereof. He wasn’t sure, so gave an inane smile which could have meant anything.

Both barefoot, Ethan and Les walked away from the swimming pool and onto the lawn. Seven starlings perched on top of an iron gazebo. Twitching and chirping. Their movements rapid and faintly robotic. Black eyes shining in the sun.

“Has Tony spoken to you yet?” asked Les.

Was this the time to mention the money? Ethan opened his mouth but was interrupted.

“—The little bastard’s vanished up his own arse these days,” continued Les. “Swanning around. Thinking he’s the bloody king or something. Dunno. Sometimes I think a spell inside might have done some good.”

“Prison doesn’t do anyone much good.”

“Toughens you up a bit though. Teaches you a bit of resilience.”

“Maybe.”

Les rubbed his eyes. “A year ago me and him would talk every day. He’d ask for advice. Whether or not he should go ahead with this or that scheme. Now? I only hear about what he’s up to from other people. And I’ve heard things about him.”

“Like what?”

“The little fucker’s up to something.”

“You’ve not tried having a … uh … gentle word with him?”

“Of course I fucking have. Does the prick listen? Does he bollocks. Gives me all this big talk. Big promises. Horseshit. The lot of it.” Les walked towards a tall willow and parted the drooping branches. Ethan joined him in the shade. Glad of the coolness the foliage provided.

Sorrow briefly clouded the old man’s face. He turned and touched his eyes, combing back his hair with a trembling hand. “Tony was always quick with the answer, you know. Slick, but no … no depth. You know what I mean?”

Ethan walked around the trunk. Touching the bark with his right hand. At his feet, he saw a thin column of black ants crawling over the exposed roots. His mind wandered and he was back in his parents’ garden. A strong aroma of flowers and cut grass pulled him back to simpler times. It took him a few seconds to realise Les was talking at him.

“—I ever tell you about a parent’s evening I went to once? A teacher was telling me about how young Tony used similes in a poem. And this teacher said Tony was bright. We should encourage him blah blah blah. Thing was I recognised the poem. Slade lyrics. Fucking Slade. He could have at least robbed off someone good. Anyroad. I went home and sat the little tosser down and showed him what I knew. How he cheated. How he couldn’t hide that from me. You cheat your enemies. Not your friends. Certainly not your fucking family.”

“That was when he was a kid though.”

“He hasn’t changed. He’s still a cheat, Ethan. He’s cheating me.  He’s cheating us.”

“I suppose kicking him up the arse won’t work?”

“My hips and knees aren’t what they were, Ethan,” said Les. He picked at his ear. The wax on the tip of his finger was the colour of amber. “He needs a lesson though. If I’m not bloody careful he’ll end up getting us all in a lot of trouble.”

“Like what?”

“I know why you came here,” said Les. “I know we owe you money …”

“I don’t like the sound of that, Les …”

Les flicked at an insect on his shoulder. “Three months ago – while you were still inside – I heard Tony was skimming money from a few of the firm’s offshore accounts. That’s where your money was being held. He was hoping I wouldn’t notice. Stupid twat.”

“How much money?”

“Turns out he took most of it.”

Ethan turned away. He didn’t want to believe it. His head began to swim and he had a brief but overpowering desire to vomit.

“I know, I know.  It’s bad …” said Les.

“It’s gone?”

“Unavailable.”

“So … gone. Fucking hell, Les …”

“I thought I could confront the cunt about it, but these days he’s got claws, you know? All those kids. Psychos, the lot of them. If Tony gives the word they’ll kill me in a heartbeat. I mean, why do you think I have the bloody security guards?”

Rage scrambled Ethan’s mind. Wondering why Les couldn’t sell one or two of his poxy classic cars. Bits of his land, a business or two. He thought about the five years he had lost. Frittered away with no reward. “I’ve been stupid, haven’t I? Trusting you.”

Les looked like he’d been slapped. “No. Mate. Honestly. This is … I’m telling you what’s happened. It’s not like I can write you a big cheque.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Okay. This is about … this is about finances, okay? It’s complicated. We have to do things – clever things …”

“Oh, get fucked. You’re loaded.”

Les bowed his head and took a deep breath. Trying to keep a lid on his temper. “The funds that were meant to come your way have been laundered so it doesn’t look like I’ve paid you off. Understand? This is how we do it, okay? Not giving you a fucking wheelbarrow full of money as soon as you walk out of prison. You get that, don’t you?”

After a long pause, Ethan replied, “I thought you’d have got the money ready for when I got out.”

“So did I, mate! So did I. And I’m crushed …”

Ethan resisted the urge to call him a fraud, a hypocrite. He kicked a small stone into the undergrowth. There was a rustle of leaves and then nothing.

“Tony’s stolen from you,” said Les. “He’s stolen from me. He’s screwing us both, okay?”

“Tell him to give it back, then. And if he doesn’t …”

“Tony holds the purse strings. I can’t get at them unless he hands control of the firm back to me. Understand? It’s a legal thing we sorted out.” Les stared sadly in the direction of the house. He pulled out a snot-stiffened handkerchief.

“So we’re fucked? I’m fucked,” said Ethan.

Les wagged his finger and said, “Don’t give up. There’s hope. In the last few weeks I got some new information. Difficult to hear as a father, but Tony has been up to some very unsavoury things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Terrible things. Things you and I wouldn’t even think of doing … And I have evidence detailing his activities.”

“Wait a minute. You’re blackmailing your son?”

“Blackmail is an ugly word, Ethan. This is more of a negotiation. Persuasion. But to do it, I need your help. I can trust you, lad.”

“What kind of help? Because right now, I want an easy life. I want to get back to normal, help my dad …”

“Put it like this. If I’m out of the picture, then there’s zero chance you get paid. Zero. Okay?”

Ethan stared at Les.

“I’m not asking for much,” continued Les. “I just want you to keep your ear to the ground. Tell me what’s happening. What the guys are up to. You know. Marwood, Bran …”

“Oh Jesus … Spy on them?”

“I wouldn’t quite describe it like that.”

“How would you bloody describe it?”

Les took a step closer to Ethan and held him by the shoulders. “Listen. We’ve watched one another’s backs, right? Neither of us would be here otherwise. I’ll do everything I can to protect you if things begin to get heavy. And I’ll do what I can to protect your dad too.” He paused. “Make sure he gets the care he needs. If I’m still running the show, you’ll get your money, okay? Once we’ve sorted out the Tony problem, I can make a few calls to the fund we have for you over in Belize and we can work out a way forward.”

“Way forward? For fuck’s sake.”

“We’ll maybe add on some interest for the inconvenience this has caused you.”

Ethan glanced through the branches at Miranda. He could see her moving around. Bare breasts glossy from sun cream. Pulling at her bikini bottoms and then taking a swig from a bottle of vodka.

“So this is what we’re going to do,” continued Les. Animated now. “You carry on as normal. You keep quiet about seeing me, okay? Don’t want them thinking we’re in cahoots.”

“I don’t even know what you’re up to,” complained Ethan.

“That’s the spirit. Plausible deniability,” said Les. “If you see any of the boys – Marwood, Bran, whoever – stay out of it if you can. But don’t give them reasons to be suspicious. Go for a beer with them. Go to a club. Like old mates.”

“Last thing I want to do …”

“Are you able to go abroad?”

“I have no sodding money, Les.”

“If I got you a ticket though? Could you go?”

“I don’t have a passport. And because that lad Stu is still sick …”

“Ah, don’t worry. He had a turn. That’s all.”

Ethan took a deep breath and said, calmly, “The terms of my parole mean I can’t leave the country. And if that poor bastard Stu dies, I go to prison for murder.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Hard not to, Les.”

“I realise that, but … put it out of your mind for now. All you do is carry on. Go shopping, go drinking, whatever. The others will be nosey – you know what they’re like – but keep your nerve, okay? I’ve kept things nicely under wraps so it’ll be fine.” Les patted him affectionately on the cheek. “It’ll be like old times, mate. You and me. Good team. Big bollocks the pair of us. Cullions the size of Everest.”

“What if they figure things out? Get suspicious?”

“Improvise.”

Ethan listened to the willow stir in the breeze. Even the sky had lost its lustre, like a blue sheet whose colours had run in the wash. He thought again of the money he was promised. The hope slowly draining away.

CHAPTER TWO

After a lunch of burnt chicken Ethan said his goodbyes and drove back home. He found a radio station that wasn’t shit, and took in the wide-open spaces. It was when he reached the ring road that he realised someone was following him. They were in a green car. Tinted windows. The driver holding back.

Ethan doubted it was someone sent by Les. If it was the police, he had nothing to hide. He was sober. He wasn’t speeding. His driving licence was up to date. No weapons. No drugs.

Ethan pulled into a petrol station. Hoping the car would pass by. He filled up the tank. The forecourt was stained with patches of glistening oil. He replaced the petrol cap and walked towards the shop. The automatic doors hissed open and he strolled past a basket of discounted chocolate oranges.

He took a moment to cool himself by the refrigerated cabinets. Picking up a bottle of water, he approached the girl at the till. She was drawing on a newspaper. Doodles of cartoon characters and strange shapes. She had thick brown hair and a few scabs on her knuckles.

The green car pulled up outside and revved its engine.

The girl watched. Scratching her arms.

Ethan put down the water and said, “One moment.”

He left the shop and approached the green car. He smacked his hand down on the roof.

“Open up. What the fuck do you want?”

The car did not move. Engine idling.

Ethan knocked on the driver’s window. The driver revved the engine.

“Hey. What’s the problem?”

Ethan was about to kick the door but the car accelerated away. Tyres squealing. The stink of burnt rubber hanging in the thick summer air.

Ethan went back into the shop.

“What was that about?” asked the girl.

“Fuck knows,” said Ethan.

“You get a lot of weirdos coming through here.”

“Bet you do.”

After paying for his petrol, he returned to his car and decided to stick to the main roads. Still on the lookout for the green car. Mind still muddled from Les’s plans. He needed to talk to someone. The best person he could think of was a guy called Eggy.

Ethan had worked with Eggy in the early years. Back then, their jobs had revolved around keeping Les safe when things got hairy. It had been good work but Ethan had moved on to greater things. Eggy had stuck with what he knew best – beating the shit out of people Les didn’t like. It had all come to an end after Eggy had been stabbed in the shoulder by a girlfriend who’d had her fill of his nonsense. He retired and Les had paid him an adequate stipend for his long and distinguished service. These days Eggy was more or less a shut-in. Smoking Herculean quantities of spliff, getting horribly paranoid, and calming himself down by purchasing women’s used trainers off eBay.

Ethan had a quick text exchange with Eggy to ask if he could pay him a visit. He was told to come over with orange juice and cigarettes. After picking up the requested supplies, he reached Eggy’s neighbourhood shortly before three. He left his car outside a boarded-up pet shop. He glanced back at a group of men standing in the middle of the road. They were sweltered and tired. All silently staring into a large hole with looks of profound confusion.

Ethan took a stroll through a nearby park. It had a football pitch in the centre. What grass remained was yellow. Twisted tin cans glinted in the sunlight. Beneath a row of trees, some homeless people had pitched a couple of tents.

An old woman hobbled past him. She dragged a tartan shopping bag behind her. She called to her small, fat dog, and told it to stay close. After sniffing Ethan’s leg, the dog ran over to the football pitch and took a runny shit on the penalty spot.

Ethan came to the tower block where Eggy lived. A few kids played football on a strip of tarmac. The quivering air warped their legs and bodies so it looked like they were running around on polished glass. Traffic cones were set as goal posts. The echoes of their cries and shouts, the sound of the ball hitting the walls, provoked unpleasant memories.

One kid wore a County shirt and, despite the warmth, a pair of black gloves. He was the best of the bunch. Quick. Good control. Two-footed. The boy trapped the ball and watched Ethan. His mates did the same. Ethan gave them a half-hearted wave and entered the lobby.

He strolled past five pot plants. The leaves were brown, the stems broken. Cigarette butts were squashed into the soil. The stairs were murder on his knees. A strong smell of disinfectant was unpleasant and conjured bad memories of school. He reached the fifth floor and could hear TVs turned up too loud. The sound of the breeze howled down the corridor.

He approached Eggy’s flat. The door opened to the flat opposite. A woman with a walking stick hobbled out. She was thin and her grey hair was thinning. She wore a wine-coloured muumuu dress and held a can of cider in one hand. “Who the fuck are you?” she asked.

Ethan ignored her and knocked on Eggy’s door.

“You smell like prison.” She sniffed the air. “You smell of piss too.”

“That’ll be you, love.”

“I heard a gunshot from that flat once,” she said.

“You sure he wasn’t watching telly?”

“You think this is fucking funny, do you?”

He was about to knock one more time when Eggy’s door wheezed open.

“Hello, chief,” said Eggy. He held a towel in one hand and a sawn-off shotgun in the other. He wore grey jogging bottoms and an old Hulk T-shirt. A faded picture of Lou Ferrigno.

“There you are, you fucking piece of shit,” she said.

“Why don’t you take your meds, you mad bitch?” shouted Eggy.

“Fuck you. Pervert! Pederast!”

“Better come in, Ethan,” he said.

The woman continued to shout. Ethan stepped into the flat and Eggy closed the door quickly. He leant down and laid the towel out at the foot of the door.

They hugged and laughed.

“So you got out last month?” asked Eggy.

“More or less.”

“Anyone come to meet you?”

“I think they wanted to steer clear. Didn’t want the police asking any awkward questions.”

“Harsh of them.”

“Done now.”

“Come on through,” said Eggy.

The living room was cramped and untidy. The curtains were closed. Fine beams of sunlight caught whorls of smoke. There were strong aromas of scented candles, joss sticks and cannabis.

Books were stacked in cardboard boxes. Brown stains covered the walls. A giant TV sat in the corner. Eggy sat down heavily on a threadbare sofa. Springs and tufts of foam poked out from the cushions. He put the sawn-off next to the sofa and straightened out his T-shirt to cover up his gut.

“Want me to open the curtains?” asked Ethan.

“Won’t be able to see the telly if they’re open.”

“The telly’s off.”

“Don’t want anyone peeking in.”

“We’re five floors up.”

“Heard of drones? They might be checking up on you.”

“Who?”

“Parole. They probably had you followed here.”

Ethan paused but decided not to mention the green car. There was nothing to gain by fuelling Eggy’s paranoia. “I think Les sorted out that side of things.”

“Who’s your officer?”

“Yvette. Know her?”

“I do. I buy her shoes sometimes. Size 4. Trainers. Often yellow or green. Lovely arches. Lovely toes.”

Ethan looked over at the wall. It was covered in a collage Eggy had made. There were newspaper cuttings. Quotes from comedians and politicians. Shoe adverts. Pictures of large-breasted women. Headlines about cannibalism in North Korea. Somali Pirates. All held in place with Blu Tack and sticky tape.

“How’s it going with you?” asked Ethan.

“Not bad. Not bad at all. Made a bit of money renting the flat I bought. Remember the one?”

Ethan recalled going to see a small flat near Droylsden. The property was a little damp, a little drab and smelled vaguely of cat piss. “You still have that?”

“Yeah. I had a couple in there for a few years. £400 a month in rent.”

“That much?”

“Decent place. Vacant, if you’re interested. Or did Uncle Les sort out lodgings for you too?”

“He did.”

Eggy took the carton of orange juice from the shopping bag. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Some of the juice dribbled down his cheek. He wiped it away and snapped his tongue with satisfaction. He smiled. His teeth were yellow.

“What do I owe you?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Eggy frowned and set the carton of juice down near a TV remote. The numbers on the buttons had all worn away. “Must be better now you’re out. I hated it inside. Hated it.”

“That’s a bit bloody rich coming from a man who spends most of his days indoors.”

“My choice though, isn’t it? I know you got some money for taking the fall for young Tony …”

“Yeah. Well.”

Eggy snapped his fingers and laughed. “I knew it. They’ve moved the fucking goalposts, haven’t they? How much have they said they’ll pay you now? Half? Third?”

“I’ve currently got the thick end of fuck all from them so far,” said Ethan. “And that lad Stu is still on life support or something.”

“He speaking?”

“No.”

“Will he speak? If he wakes up or whatever?”

“He might. But I don’t think Les or Tony will let that happen.”

“So if he dies …”

“Yeah. I get sent down for murder. So five hundred grand suddenly seems a lot less attractive.”

“Shit.”

Ethan rubbed his neck. “It’s a moot point anyway. Les seems to think Tony is looking not to pay.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a little twat? Because I’m a fucking idiot for agreeing to it? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Tell them you’ll go and grass them up, then,” said Eggy. “Tell the police you took a fall.”

“Come on, Eggy. You know how these things work. Police won’t be able to protect me if I do that.”

“Okay, then. Walk away. Forget the money,” said Eggy.

“It isn’t that easy,” said Ethan. “I had plans for that money.”

“Change them, then.”

“And get nothing for losing five years of my life? Fuck that. Must be another way.”

Eggy picked at a hole in his sock. He pulled out his big toe and scratched dirt from under the nail. “Why can’t fucking Les just pay you? He could reach up his arse and pull out four, five hundred grand.”

Ethan sighed. “I dunno. There’s a lot of stuff going on. None of it good.”

Eggy reached over the table for a shard of cannabis resin. It was faint pink in colour and had the consistency of chalk. He rolled a joint quickly. It was a thing of beauty. He lit it, had two long drags, and offered it to Ethan. After a brief hesitation, Ethan took it.

“Something else is bothering you,” said Eggy. “You haven’t come all the way out here to see me for the good of your health.”

“I need advice.”

“You know I’m not going to say anything,” said Eggy. “So. Come on. Out with it.”

Ethan handed the joint back and rubbed his eyes. “I think Les wants to move against Tony. Doesn’t like what he’s doing. Doesn’t think he’s up to it.”

“That you reading between the lines?”

Ethan shook his head. “Les is going to blackmail him.”