Edge

by Nick Oldham

  She closed and bolted the door and led them upstairs, both brothers mesmerized by her Lycra-clad legs and shapely bottom that swayed provocatively in front of their eyes. They could see the line of the thong looped through her buttocks and Charlie’s mouth twitched. She showed them into a plushly furnished waiting area: two sofas, a coffee table and several potted plants that could have been plastic. The window blinds were drawn, the lighting subdued.

  ‘I got another guy coming before anything else,’ Charlie told the woman. She nodded – she knew this – and disappeared behind a door marked private.

  Charlie and Luke sat on one of the sofas and the woman emerged a short time later with a wireless credit card machine; after entering a figure, she held out the machine. Luke took it, swiped a credit card and entered a PIN number after a slight hesitation on seeing the amount: £600. Not that he was too concerned. The card wasn’t his and by lunchtime it would be destroyed.

  ‘What are we getting for that?’ he asked, handing the machine back.

  The woman tore off the printed receipt and gave it to Luke together with the stolen card. ‘I’ll show you,’ she said.

  She went back into the private office, came back out, then went through another door beyond which the brothers managed to see a long corridor, with doors either side.

  ‘What did this place used to be?’ Luke asked.

  ‘A club of some sort, I think.’ Charlie stuck out his right leg and again showed Luke the electronic tag around his ankle. ‘This comes off before anything else.’

  ‘I know – all arranged.’

  As if on cue the doorbell chimed and the woman reappeared – alone – and went down to answer it. She came back up followed by a man in his forties, his grey hair cropped in a military way. He was carrying a small tool box. Luke stood up and shook his hand and turned to Charlie who was watching through hooded eyes.

  ‘This is the guy who’s gonna take that off.’ He pointed to Charlie’s ankle.

  ‘They told me you can’t get ’em off without detection.’

  The man, whose name was Dibney, said confidently, ‘I can,’ then wrinkled his nose. ‘Let’s have a gander.’

  Charlie sat back and laid his ankle on the coffee table, tugged up his jeans leg. The man smiled knowledgeably as he recognized the make and model of the tag. He put his tool kit on the table and squatted next to Charlie’s leg, inspecting the device carefully, smirking.

  ‘OM247PID electronic tag,’ he said. ‘Know it well.’

  ‘You know it?’ Charlie asked incredulously.

  ‘Used to fit ’em for a living; used to take ’em off, too. Piece of piss if you know what you’re doing,’ he sniffed. ‘Bit like bypassing a burglar alarm system, if you know what I mean? If you keep the connection, you fool it.’

  ‘You used to be a screw?’

  ‘In the private sector.’ He opened his tool kit and took out a slim device that resembled an iPhone. He switched it on.

  ‘What’s that do?’ Luke asked, watching the process.

  ‘Two things. Finds the frequency the tag is emitting …’ He dragged and tapped icons on the touch screen, opened various apps.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then – and this is the really clever part – once it’s locked on to the frequency I then press another button and this little thing—’ he waggled the device – ‘pretends to be the tag. I can then remove it, reset it, and then voila! It starts to send out its signals again and the tracking centre still thinks it’s round your ankle.’

  ‘Fuckin’ ’ell,’ Charlie beamed. ‘And they’re none the wiser?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘How much was it, that?’ Luke asked about the device.

  ‘A lot.’

  ‘And why don’t you work for them any more?’

  The man gave him a withering glance. ‘Guess,’ he said, but rubbed his thumb and forefinger together: cash. ‘I got four more lined up today.’ The device buzzed. ‘Got the frequency,’ he said.

  A minute later he had removed the tag, reconnected it, reset it and then handed it back to Charlie. ‘When you want it refitted, gimme a bell. He has my number.’ He nodded at Luke.

  ‘Two hundred as agreed?’ Luke said and handed the man a bundle of notes.

  Then he was gone.

  The brothers eyed each other with amusement, then turned to look as the woman who had let them in appeared from the corridor. This time she was not alone. Behind her were two slim, dark-skinned girls, late teens, dressed in skimpy clothes. Both were doe-eyed, had an air of vagueness about them.

  ‘These are your ladies,’ she said.

  Charlie rubbed his hands together gleefully, smiled wickedly. ‘Gonna be a good, good day,’ he half-sang. ‘Feel it in my bones.’

  ‘First day of rest of us lives,’ Charlie enthused as he and Luke tumbled out of the brothel and made back to Fishergate about thirty minutes later. He was buzzing, but sanguine after his encounter with the prostitute who, it had transpired, spoke not a word of English and was from Brazil. ‘Today is revenge and set-up day.’

  The brothers shared a knowing glance.

  ‘Going to make a killing today, amass some cash with the guys, get one big adrenalin rush, then we all move forward into an easy, new line of business.’ He continued to chatter enthusiastically, his head still spinning from the sex, his blood syrupy in his veins.

  ‘How are we going to do that?’ Luke asked. Nothing had really been shared with him. He had been tasked to do things, fix things up, but without ever really knowing or understanding the reason why he was doing these things. He was just following Charlie’s orders, like he had done all his life.

  ‘Let me introduce you to a guy first.’

  ‘You not want to get home, chill, see the bird?’

  Charlie glanced sidelong, his eyes narrowing. ‘Yuh, later, business first, then party.’

  ‘KK.’

  They walked up Fishergate, then across to the Guild Hall and went into a bar behind the Harris Museum which at night became a club but during the day offered a trendy spot to stop for coffees and light lunches. It was just beginning to fill with mid-morning trade.

  They sat at a window table, ordered coffee.

  ‘Who is this guy?’ Luke asked. ‘You’ve told me nowt so far, just do this, do that—’

  He was stopped abruptly in mid-sentence as Charlie’s right hand shot out and grabbed his face, squeezing tight, twisting it out of shape. Luke jerked back and Charlie let go.

  ‘I been in prison two years, boyo,’ he hissed, leaning over his latte. ‘A lot of time to consider, a lot of time to meet people, to listen … so all you need to do for the moment is keep doing just that, OK? Do what I say and I’ll look after you and the boys like I always do.’

  Luke rubbed his face back into shape.

  ‘I’m the boss, yeah?’ Charlie said quietly. ‘Nowt’s changed. I’m in charge and we’re going to move into the modern world after today – one last day in the past – and all I ask you to do is stick with me.’

  Luke nodded. ‘Course, didn’t mean anything.’

  Two years had dulled Luke’s memory somewhat. He had half-forgotten what a volatile temper Charlie possessed, one which could be ignited by almost anything – a wrong look, complete innocence … anything.

  Charlie, like Luke, wasn’t a huge young man, but what he lacked in physical presence he made up for in his ability to attack without remorse, to beat people down. Luke had once seen him stomp a man’s face into a bloody unrecognizable pulp just because the man had brushed past him in a pub and not apologized. It had been nothing, instantly forgettable to most people, but Charlie had seethed all night, then lain in wait for him and half-slaughtered him.

  Charlie nodded. ‘So how are the guys?’ he asked.

  ‘Good, good, yeah,’ Luke said vaguely.

  ‘Looking forward to me coming home?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Luke said with just a hint of hesitation. He sensed that Charlie picked up on this, so h
e quickly said, ‘What are we doing here, then? Who is this guy?’

  ‘Just wait and see, OK? We meet him, we bang out a deal … I do what I have to do around here,’ he said, looking past Luke’s shoulder, imagining something, then continued, ‘then we go on the rob – if you’ve sorted everything, that is?’

  ‘I have,’ Luke said defensively.

  ‘That’s all right, then.’

  ‘So, come on … who is he? Why the mystery?’

  ‘Just wait, OK?’ Seeing his brother’s expression, Charlie relented slightly. ‘We meet him, we bang out a deal—’

  ‘What sort of deal?’ Luke interrupted irritably, but clammed up when Charlie shot him a death stare.

  ‘We bang out a deal,’ he continued, ‘we do what I have to do around here, then we get on home, go on the rob big style, then we celebrate at the farm. Then tomorrow we check out those properties I asked you to look at—’

  ‘That’s something else I don’t get—’

  Charlie stared at him to be quiet. ‘Then we eff off to Spain for a week and leave my tag at home, yeah? How does that sound?’ he purred.

  ‘Good, sounds good.’

  ‘Like I said, today’s gonna be a good day. I’m out of clink, we lay the foundations of a new business, we celebrate until we’re shit-faced, then tomorrow – big silver bird to Malaga. It’s all started good, hasn’t it? Haircut, clothes, fucky-ducky, new business.’ He gave Luke one of his best winning smiles. ‘Brilliant.’

  TWO

  A small, very nondescript Asian man in his mid-thirties arrived ten minutes later and sat with the two brothers.

  ‘Mr Hassan, please meet Luke, my brother,’ Charlie said. They shook hands and Luke felt Hassan’s palm, which was dry and smooth.

  Hassan asked Luke, ‘How do you like my girls?’

  Luke frowned at him, then the penny clanged. ‘That was your place? That knocking shop?’

  Hassan nodded. ‘One of many, but I call them houses of pleasure, not knocking shops.’

  ‘I met Hassan in clink,’ Charlie explained. ‘We got talking … he opened my eyes.’

  ‘To what?’ asked Luke.

  ‘Big possibilities.’

  Hassan eyed the two brothers, a sly grin on his face.

  ‘We thought we could do some business,’ Charlie said. Luke waited. Charlie went on, ‘What we did before to make a living … fraught with danger, old style. What Hassan has on offer is an easier way ahead.’

  Luke hesitated, narrowed his eyes, then said doubtfully, ‘Start talking.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Charlie said, ‘but I promise you, this will set us up for life. We’ve been farting around, dealing drugs, pulling armed jobs, but it’s been all over the show, bit here, bit there … not good business, no focus and far too friggin’ easy to get caught.’

  ‘What I suggest is a life with a lot less hassle,’ Hassan picked up quickly. ‘It’s not easy, you cannot make that mistake, no business is. It requires commitment and time and energy … but it is safe and no one gets hurt.’

  ‘It’s like we’ll be offerin’ a commodity,’ Charlie said, using words that were not really part of his vocabulary, something that Luke noticed. ‘And it’s something that every guy wants.’ His eyes glistened with possibility. He turned to Hassan and urged, ‘Go on, tell him.’

  Hassan leaned towards Luke. ‘Let me tell you this – and I’m only telling you because I’ve checked you both out – that place you’ve just been to? I own ten more like it. Ten,’ he stressed.

  Luke blinked and said, ‘Right,’ drawing out the syllable uncertainly.

  ‘Each place has an average of ten girls. Each girl does fifteen tricks per day – as an average,’ Hassan shrugged. ‘Usually more. I even have to book them all appointments because demand is so high and it’s the only way to keep control. I also have another ten girls set up in exclusive apartments near MediaCity in Manchester and they deal with just five regular clients each day, from the TV. These are high-class girls.’ He arched his thick, black eyebrows at Luke. ‘I want to expand. I have expertise, I have the commodities, but I need help to franchise the brand, shall we say?’

  ‘Commodities?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Girls are queuing up to come to this country.’

  ‘Talk money,’ Charlie urged him impatiently.

  Hassan eyed him, then Luke. ‘How much did you pay for Katrina this morning?’

  ‘Was that her name?’

  Hassan nodded.

  ‘Three hundred,’ he said. Even though it wasn’t his credit card.

  ‘So you have lived the example,’ Hassan said. ‘Now work it out. One girl, fifteen clients per day. That equals four thousand five hundred pounds per day. Ten girls, therefore, is forty-five thousand. Each day,’ he stressed. ‘Six days a week. Two hundred and seventy thousand pounds each week. Gross figure, admittedly, but in ten weeks the figure is around two and a half million.’

  ‘Get to fuck!’ Luke snorted.

  ‘The high-class girls get a thousand pounds per visit … five each day, thirty grand a week.’

  Luke looked disbelievingly at Charlie. ‘Is this right, or bollocks?’

  ‘It’s right,’ Charlie assured him.

  ‘So where do the girls come from? What do they get? Who looks after them?’ Luke demanded.

  ‘All businesses have overheads. The girls get twenty per cent, another ten goes in costs – but most costs are minimal – and I will provide the girls for you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I have a line from Brazil, via Portugal to Blackpool, Manchester, Liverpool and Leeds Bradford airports. I have ten girls arriving each day.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Obviously they all think they’re going to end up as nannies or waitresses, and hope to send money back to their families – but confiscate their passports, lock them in a room, and they start to comply with my requirements easily enough.’ He could have been discussing the importation of coffee beans or corned beef, and his perspective on them was soon confirmed. ‘They’re just commodities, as we have already mentioned,’ he said heartlessly.

  ‘And what do you get from us?’ Luke asked.

  ‘I need money up front first, say fifteen thousand, and then I’ll take ten per cent once you’re up and running. Like I said, a franchise. You’ll have my expertise, my know-how, my girls, and I’ll even put clients your way. You need to provide suitable premises, security, staff … but I’ll talk you through that. It’s just like running a Spar shop.’

  ‘No-brainer,’ declared Charlie, sitting back, clasping his hands behind his head.

  Luke crunched it all over, then said, ‘So that’s why I’ve been looking at property in Rochdale.’

  ‘Duh – yeah,’ Charlie said.

  ‘And fixed up the job for this afternoon.’

  ‘Duh – yeah,’ Charlie said again.

  A smile crept on to Luke’s face. ‘I like it.’

  Hassan grinned and slowly rubbed his hands together so they looked like two snakes doing a dance of death.

  ‘It’s the same every Friday that he’s on an early shift.’

  Charlie and Luke were sitting in a Toyota Land Cruiser fitted with bull bars and false registration plates.

  ‘He takes his break at eleven thirty a.m.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed he disappeared at that time,’ Charlie said.

  ‘I’ve watched him for the last four months.’

  Charlie glanced at Luke and half-smiled. He knew Luke wasn’t dumb, even if he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, and when he was given a job to do, he sorted it.

  Such as this one.

  The Toyota – which had been swapped for the Chevette which had been taken away together with Charlie’s electronic tag – was parked at the end of a narrow cobbled street in the Deepdale area of Preston, one of many similar streets in that location, dating back to Victorian times. The brothers were looking at a terraced house about halfway along, the front door of which opened directly on to the pavement.

  ‘Is it
a prostitute or just some bint he’s shagging?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Don’t know … haven’t actually knocked on the door,’ Luke said, ‘but he walks here, goes in, gets his rocks off and he’s out, walking back maybe half an hour later. Takes him five minutes to get here, five to get back. Time enough for a brew when he gets back.’

  Charlie nodded.

  The Toyota was ticking over nicely, its engine sounding nice, purring.

  ‘And you reckon he’s in there now?’ Charlie said.

  Luke checked his watch. ‘Yep.’

  ‘And my tag’s halfway home now,’ Charlie grinned, ‘so everybody thinks I’m on the other side of Lancashire.’ He was at the wheel, his hands in latex gloves and a white surgical face mask hanging around his neck, ready to be fitted. His baseball cap was twisted around so the peak faced backwards. The same applied to Luke, who checked his watch again.

  ‘Vinegar strokes done, cock wiped off, underpants and uniform back on,’ Luke predicted. ‘If he’s on schedule, that is. Time to mask up.’

  They fitted their masks which covered the lower halves of their faces, just below the eyes.

  Charlie slipped the automatic gearbox into drive, keeping his foot on the brake as the transmission connected and the vehicle tried to move forward slightly as all the power linked up. His fingers tightened on the wheel, his gaze concentrated on the front door that Luke had identified.

  It opened.

  The man stepped out directly on to the pavement.

  Charlie’s heart surged. That bitter taste of adrenalin that he loved so much slushed on to the sides of his tongue.

  The man turned back to the door and hugged the woman, gave her one last kiss. She was in a dressing gown, pulled tightly around her body.