Informant

by Susan Wilkins

  Heart thumping in her chest, she was attracting curious glances. She felt scrutinized, judged. Who were these fucking people anyway? The world seemed to be full of them. Her moronic probation officer and the scummy cops. What right did they have to manage her life, tell her what she could and couldn’t do? And Helen? Why had Helen done this to her? She had opened her heart, she had trusted this woman. But Helen didn’t want her, she wanted fucking Julia, whoever she was.

  Kaz stopped to catch her breath. She leant against a wall, pulled off the baseball cap and hurled it over some railings. Her sides were heaving, her lungs stinging from exhaust fumes. She found herself in a small square facing the heavy wooden door of what looked like a church. Desperate to get off the street, find a quiet corner, get her head straight, she tried the door handle.

  The church was St Mary-le-Bow and inside two blokes in overalls were setting out chairs. On the raised dais in front of the altar a young man was playing a grand piano. He stopped abruptly, a look of frustration on his face, flexed his fingers and repeated the piece. The blokes were ignoring him, clattering the chairs as they heaved them from their stacks and into rows on the black-and-white tiled floor.

  Kaz sat down at the back and took in her surroundings; she found observing detail, sketching things in her mind’s eye, helped calm her. The walls were white with the capitals on the Corinthian columns and the cornices picked out in gold. It was a bit gaudy for her taste, but she could read the message: money and religion. You can’t buy a place in heaven, still there were plenty out there willing to give it a try.

  The blokes in overalls finished the job and wandered off. The pianist got up, shut the piano lid with a snap and opened a bottle of Coke. Kaz found their lack of reverence for the place irritating. Yet as the pianist disappeared through a side door a sense of calm descended like a soft blanket. The traffic noise was muted. Kaz could hear her own breathing, it had slowed to its normal rate.

  Killing Julia was a mad fantasy. She knew that. It wouldn’t make Helen love her. Okay, unlike most people, she had the possible means to make it happen. But where would that get her? She wondered about uncontrollable rage – was it a trait you inherited? Had she got it from the old man? Was it in her genes? Behaving like him, being remotely like him, that was the last thing she wanted.

  She thought about scoring some gear and getting wasted. The temptation had been niggling at the edge of her consciousness ever since Helen had delivered her bombshell. But then what? Back to jail? Give in, give up, let the fuckers know they’d finally got you. She thought of Fat Pat, her toxic hatred. Pat and Terry Phelps had a lot in common.

  The phone in Kaz’s pocket buzzed with an incoming text. She pulled it out, clicked it on. The sender was Helen.

  hope U R ok. I feel like a total shit. I never meant to hurt U. Sorry. xx.

  Kaz stared at the screen, tears started to well. She brushed them away. She wasn’t going to fool herself. This wasn’t a change of heart, it was just Helen being Helen. Feeling guilty. Helen didn’t know how to shut her feelings down, but Kaz was an expert. It suddenly occurred to her that she could do it, flick the switch in her head. She didn’t actually need the drugs and booze to achieve it.

  She took out a tissue and blew her nose. Joey was right about one thing: everyone’s at it. He was talking about making money, but as far as Kaz could see it applied on every level. Doing your own thing, call it what you like. Most people were plain selfish.

  Kaz was done with playing by other people’s rules. They could all go fuck themselves. She’d learnt her lesson; she wasn’t going to give a shit for anyone ever again.

  32

  Joey pressed the button on the battered metal intercom, at the same time glancing up at the small camera mounted on the wall above and angled down at him. The door clicked open.

  They’d driven up Seven Sisters Road and turned into a side street shortly before the tube station. The building itself was grimy, faced with crumbling yellow London brick. It gave the appearance of being deserted and vacant. But as Kaz passed through the rotting wooden door she saw that the back was reinforced with heavy steel. She followed Joey up the narrow dingy stairway, Ashley brought up the rear. At the top of the stairs there was a short corridor. The walls had recently been treated to a lick of white paint. They stepped through a doorway protected by several layers of black plastic sheeting and into a large industrial space.

  Joey turned to Kaz. ‘I lease the place off a couple of Lebanese brothers. Old geezers, were in the rag trade thirty years. Made jeans. Not rubbish either – posh jeans for designer labels. They had fifty machinists in this room ’til they went bust. Now of course it’s all made in China.’

  Kaz gazed down the long rectangular room and her jaw slackened. The clatter of sewing machines was long gone; the only noise now was from the large oscillating fans, which kept the air circulating over a sea of cannabis plants. Hundreds of them.

  Joey watched her reaction with pleasure. ‘Neat, innit? We grow it all hydroponically. You control the nutrients more accurately, get a better crop.’

  He led her down the main aisle between the rows of plants, each one with its roots wrapped in a kind of fibre, sitting in a tray, fed with water from a plastic pipe. Long fluorescent tubes were slung low over the lush forest of bushes. Joey beamed at her like a schoolkid showing off his science project.

  ‘We started off using rockwool as a growing medium, but that gave us some problems on the absorption front, so we switched to coconut fibre.’

  Kaz stopped in her tracks, turned to him. This was a new side to Joey, one she’d missed out on in the years she’d been away.

  ‘How d’you learn about all this?’

  ‘Did like any businessman, hired a consultant. Come on, I’ll introduce you.’

  ‘What about the old bill?’

  ‘Too busy chasing kids who’re trying to knife each other.’

  ‘Yeah but haven’t they got all this high-tech kit nowadays?’

  Joey grinned. ‘Oh yeah, they got helicopters, heat cameras – all kinds of stuff. End of the day, it’s still people running it. And what with the cutbacks, there’s more pissed-off coppers than ever who’ll take a bung. We get plenty of warning if they’re headed our way.’

  At the end of the room was more black plastic sheeting, Ashley held it aside for Kaz and Joey to pass through. In the corridor beyond were several glass-panelled offices. In the first one a gym-fit black kid in a baseball cap and vest sat watching a bank of security monitors while sucking a frappuccino through a straw. He paused in his slurping to give Joey a respectful nod. Kaz noticed an assault rifle propped in the corner behind him.

  In the next office a small, bespectacled Vietnamese man sat working at a laptop. His face was lean yet smooth and deceptively unlined. He could’ve been in his sixties, but possibly older. At the sight of Joey he looked up and smiled.

  ‘Quan, want you to meet my sister Karen.’

  Quan got to his feet, inclined his head and held out his hand formally. His English delivery was staccato and hard to understand. ‘Good to meet you.’

  Kaz shook his hand, both she and Joey towered over him. Quan nodded again. His smile seemed fixed, polite rather than warm.

  Kaz inclined her head towards the old machinists workroom. ‘Quite an operation.’

  Quan acknowledged the compliment with a terse nod.

  Joey beamed, he was bursting with pride. ‘Me and Quan, we set up four more just like it in the last six months. Quan and his family all got green fingers when it comes to growing this stuff. We’re building up a brand, we got ourselves a little logo goes on the packet. That way people know they’re buying the best weed in London.’

  Quan’s narrow face broke into an unexpected grin and he nodded vigorously. ‘Best weed in London.’

  Joey turned to his sister, but the smile had faded, suddenly his look was deadly serious. ‘Which is one reason why that fucker Sean can go and take a long run and jump.’

  Kaz nod
ded thoughtfully. ‘Well, we need to talk about that. I got an idea.’

  Joey gave her a sceptical glance.

  She shrugged. ‘We’re partners, then I have some input, right?’

  He beamed, patted her arm. ‘’Course you do mate.’

  33

  It wasn’t until late in the evening, when Ashley took himself off to his room to watch the latest gross-out comedy he’d downloaded, that Kaz had a chance to talk privately to her brother. She and Joey sat on opposite sofas taking in the vast panorama of the night-time city that filled the wall-to-ceiling windows of Joey’s flat.

  They’d spent the afternoon on the road. After the cannabis factory Joey was determined to show her the rest of the firm’s assets. He called it ‘bringing her up to speed’, but there was a definite element of showing off. Joey wanted his sister to see for herself that he wasn’t all talk.

  Ashley had driven them out of town on the A12 to a village on the fringes of Chelmsford. It was prime commuter territory, rural enough to be quiet, but still with the urban mindset: people got on with their lives and ignored one another, which was exactly what Joey needed. He’d bought a barn conversion that had been developed to include plenty of workshop space. The bank had foreclosed on the previous owners, a ceramics artist and a reflexologist, and Joey had bought the place at auction.

  As the Range Rover drove through the electronic gates and crunched to a halt on the gravel drive, Kaz noticed the state-of-the-art surveillance cameras dotted at intervals under the overhanging eaves.

  They got out and she turned to Joey. ‘All this security, don’t people get suspicious?’

  He laughed.

  Ash smirked and filled her in. ‘Round here, no. Most of them got as much themselves, case someone tries to nick the tumble dryer or the plasma telly.’

  The heavy oak front door swung open and the perfect couple emerged. He was tall, very lean, ruffled blond hair and a rugby shirt. She was smaller, pretty, her dark hair drawn back into a tight bun. Joey made the introductions.

  ‘Marko, Leysa, my sister Karen.’

  Leysa beamed and enveloped Kaz in a hug. ‘So plezzed. Joey speak of you all time. Can’t wait for you to come home.’

  She sounded vaguely Russian, but Kaz couldn’t be sure. Marko held out his hand to shake, he was nervous, gave Kaz a small smile. Leysa ushered them all inside.

  The open-plan living area was modern but homely. The exposed brick walls of the barn were covered with several large woven tapestries in striking abstract designs.

  Kaz gazed up at them. ‘Wow. I like that.’

  Leysa grinned, exposing her small, perfect teeth. ‘I make them myself. A skill I learn in my family. I have a loom.’ She glanced at Marko coyly. ‘It’s useful complement to Marko’s business.’

  Kaz continued to scrutinize each of the tapestries in turn. ‘So is this like a Russian thing?’

  Leysa laughed politely, but Kaz sensed immediately she’d hit a nerve.

  ‘Oh no no, we from the Ukraine.’

  Joey laughed. ‘Touchy subject babes.’

  Marko managed to open his mouth for the first time. ‘Your sister not to know. My father was a professor in Lviv. The Soviets did not treat him well.’

  Joey caught Kaz’s eye. ‘Not well as in dead.’

  Kaz raised her eyebrows. ‘Sorry, I’m not very good with accents.’

  Leysa grinned. ‘We do not take offence. I make some coffee while Marko show you the lab.’

  Marko led them down a short corridor to a plain door. It looked as if it might lead to a study or laundry room, except for the keypad on the wall beside it. Marko tapped in four digits, which unlocked the door. Kaz stepped into a large, full-functioning laboratory. It had originally been built on to the back of the barn as a workshop. The windows were covered with heavy venetian blinds, but diffuse sunshine flooded the room from a row of skylights.

  A young man in T-shirt, jeans and latex gloves looked up, he was working at one of the benches.

  ‘My assistant Danya. He was student of mine back in Ukraine.’

  Danya gave them a deferential nod.

  Joey glanced around speculatively. ‘How’s the new project coming on?’

  Marko inclined his head and smiled. Kaz looked him up and down. He was handsome but round-shouldered from the habit of standing with both hands scrunched in his pockets. It gave him an awkward, bashful air. She could see why Leysa did most of the talking. However this was his domain, his eyes sparkled as he pointed to a cardboard box in the corner.

  ‘We have the first batch for you. I think it’s good.’

  Joey clapped him on the back and laughed. ‘He don’t big himself up enough Kaz, but this bloke is a fucking brilliant chemist. He’s made us three variations on Mephedrone, all of which sold like hot cakes. But the new stuff, that is gonna be top product. Explain it to her Marko.’

  Marko couldn’t quite meet Kaz’s eye, he smiled shyly. ‘Well, club scene is always changing. Cocaine and alcohol, that’s been it for a long time. But Joey say to me, all this smuggling, so expensive.’

  Joey chipped in. ‘Yeah and like we said before you’re dealing with some pretty difficult types and they all want their cut. If you can make the gear yourself, it gets round all that.’

  ‘We do well with Mephedrone, but I think to myself, what if we make MDMA only more like cocaine?’ Marko was clearly warming to his theme.

  Kaz watched the two of them dipping in and out, both eager to explain, two mates talking about their shared passion. She cocked her head. ‘MDMA, that’s like Ecstasy?’

  Joey nodded. ‘Yeah, basically. But people’ve gone off it ’cause most tabs got piss-all in them.’

  Marko grinned. ‘Not the stuff we make. High potency. And now . . . we make it powder, like cocaine.’

  They both looked at Kaz expectantly. She realized this was the big idea, the new project.

  ‘So you mean people got to snort it?’

  Joey nodded excitedly. ‘Yeah. And that’s what they want. Chopping out a line with the old credit card, sharing it with their mates. It’s like a social thing. I’m talking upmarket stuff here, for people who got money. I ain’t interested in selling to junkies no more.’

  Marko took her on a mini tour of the lab, explained the manufacturing process in highly technical terms she couldn’t really understand. Then they went back into the house. Leysa served them coffee and home-baked chocolate brownies.

  Kaz watched her and Marko together and she felt envious. She’d never had a proper relationship, much less been part of a couple. She wondered what it would be like, waking up every morning with that person, having friends round, cooking, watching telly together, making chocolate brownies. But that train of thought took her straight back to Helen, so she pushed it firmly away.

  She’d survived her family, jail, she’d survive Helen Fucking Warner. She was getting her life sorted. Only now she was doing it on her terms. Joey wasn’t a petty gangster like her father, he had a good business brain, Kaz had seen the evidence of that. As a result she had a clip of fifty-pound notes in her pocket and she was beginning to enjoy the notion that she could have whatever she wanted. Without Helen breathing down her neck, why not?

  She’d had two more meetings with her probation officer and she’d taken along some sketches to show him. The drawing of Leo that had amused Helen sent Jalil Sahir into a bit of a spin. But Kaz had got him figured. She talked about college, eventually taking a degree; it really wasn’t that difficult to keep ticking the boxes. Jalil had even started to relax with her a bit. He didn’t know much about art himself, but he regarded cultural pursuits generally as a good thing. The hostel were sending in excellent reports, she’d passed all her random drug tests. From their point of view her rehabilitation was being successfully managed. But Kaz knew in reality she was the one in the driving seat.

  Avoiding recall, getting the things you wanted, it was all a balancing act. The tricky part of the equation was, and always had been, Joey. Keep
ing him to his word, moving him away from the criminal life. He insisted he was keeping the dangerous side of the business at arm’s length. But he was going to have to do more than that and Kaz was going to have to persuade him.

  Lounging on one of Joey’s vast, squidgy sofas she watched the red twinkling lights on the cranes across the river. They’d picked up a chinky on the way home and eaten it in front of the telly. Joey and Ash had downed a few beers, but one thing she’d gradually realized about her brother, he wasn’t much of a drinker. Nor had she seen him indulging in any of the drugs that made him such a handsome living. He liked girls well enough, and he and Ash went out on the pull, but he never seemed that bothered about any of them. Clearly to him they were all interchangeable. He went clubbing, would chat to anyone, liked a laugh and a joke. But there was something oddly detached about this large, good-looking man that her little brother had grown into. They’d spent a lot of time together since she got out and she still didn’t have the least clue about what really rocked his boat. He was enthusiastic enough about business and all his plans, but as she glanced across the room at him now, his features were entirely passive, his eyes fixed and blank.

  ‘Joe?’

  He blinked at her a couple of times, as if returning from a faraway place. Then smiled and jumped up. ‘Want a cup of tea or something?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine. I been thinking about all the stuff you showed me today.’

  ‘Good. That was the idea.’

  ‘It’s impressive.’ She folded her legs up under her on the sofa. ‘But you’re still growing weed and making drugs. How’s that ever going to be legit?’

  ‘They’re just products Kaz. We take the profits, reinvest it in property, in whatever.’