by Jennie Finch
‘So?’ he said, unimpressed.
Max leaned over and retrieved the package. ‘This,’ he said, waving it in front of him, ‘this is worth over fifty quid.’
There was stunned silence before Tom gave a harsh laugh.
‘You’m dreaming boy. Fifty quid for a tatty bit of paper like that? What’s it supposed to be anyway – is all smudged.’
Max grinned, a feral grin that showed his broken front tooth. ‘Called “key wings”, they is. There’s twenty-five of ’um on this little bit of blotting paper and kids’ll pay two, three quid for each.’
Jimmy Earl reached out and took the bag, turning it over and twisting it round as he peered at the contents.
‘I see them now,’ he said finally. ‘Look, they’s keys with feathery bits behind. Key wings, like you say. Still, how come they’s worth so much?’
Max grabbed for the bag and laid it on the table in front of him. ‘They’s printed up with the name first,’ he said. ‘Then you puts a drop of LSD on each one. Kids buy a tab, eat it and – there you go, instant high. Key wings is the best ’cos is powerful, almost neat. Not like some as gets cut with all sorts of stuff. This’s got a good kick to it but don’t poison them nor nothing.’
‘’Cept what it does to they heads,’ said Walter. ‘I don’t hold with this, you know. Bit of weed, that’s one thing, but this,’ he flapped his hand at the offending bag, ‘can be evil. Makes them think they can fly and all sorts of rubbish. I don’t know as how we should be handling this.’
He folded his arms and looked round the table, trying to establish how much support he had. Tom looked worried, frowning at the bag and its dangerous contents. Mark had moved his chair a way out from the table, distancing himself from Max. Well, that was to be expected really – the older men looking at it one way and the young lads seeing only profit and not broken lives. In Walter’s eyes there was a world of difference between sneaking a bit of tax from the Revenue and selling a life-time of misery and addiction. To his surprise, young Jimmy Earl didn’t seem too eager either. He poked a finger at the bag and slid it away across the table.
‘Don’t know about this,’ he said. ‘Seems you can just drop this in your pocket, carry it in a car, even on a bus. Where’s my lads come in, then?’
‘I was thinking we had this as an extra, like,’ said Max, eager to reassure him. ‘Course, most of what we is handlin’ is more traditional. This is just a bit of a bonus on top.’
Jimmy grunted, unconvinced but willing to be persuaded.
‘I’ll need to ask my lads,’ he said. ‘See how many is willing to carry them things. Is a bit of a step up, a couple of cases of booze or a few fags to stuff like this. Penalties is much steeper so is much more of a risk. They’ll need to agree before we touch it, right?’
Max scowled and pushed the bag back into his pocket.
‘Just tell ’em how much more they is going to get without having to lift no heavy boxes and slog around all them back doors at pubs,’ he said. ‘Just one drop often, that’s all. Rest of the distribution gets done down the line and they’s no way of linking us to it once is out in the hands of the sellers. No marks, no identification, nothin’. You tell ’em, is the easiest money they is ever going to make.’ He pushed his chair back and stood. ‘We done here then?’
The rest of the group looked at Tom, who nodded and waved him out. There was a collective sigh of relief when Max and his dubious merchandise left the room and for the first time they became aware of how the others felt about the way things were going. As Geoff and Mark turned towards him, mouths open to speak, he held up a warning hand.
‘We need him,’ he said flatly. ‘He’s young, he’s ambitious and he’s got his eyes on the Levels. Bristol’s a big patch and it makes him mighty powerful, specially for a lad that new to the business. Better he’s in with us here than outside and plannin’ his moves.’
Mark gave a sigh and rested his elbows on the table, reaching for another bottle of beer. ‘I know, you is right but I don’t like it. Don’t like the cargo, don’t like his ways – hell, don’t like him.’
The men around the table nodded and muttered their agreement as the meeting began to break up.
‘You was very quiet,’ said Jimmy, looking at Geoff.
The man in charge of the ports shrugged. ‘Don’t really affect us,’ he said. ‘Don’t come in from abroad, most of it. Folks cook it up all over – hell, in pots and stuff in kitchens. No need to risk bringing it in from overseas, so my lads don’t need to be touching it. Reckon you could get out of it too if you wanted. Don’t need no lorry, like you said.’
Jimmy frowned and glanced towards the door as if expecting a furious Max to burst back in and confront them all.
‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but is likely to be the most profitable part of the operation. Reckon my lads want a piece of that.’
Tom leaned across the table abruptly, interrupting them with a sharp gesture. ‘No opt-outs,’ he said fiercely. ‘Don’t want to give him the idea he can manage without us. Next thing we know there’ll be more like him swarming over the Levels and there’ll be open war out there. This is our patch and we say what travels and who carries it. Understand?’
The two young men flinched before his anger. It was easy to underestimate old Tom, to write him off as a throw-back, but as they looked at his hard, bold stare they remembered all the whispered rumours about the King of the Levels and his powerful contacts. Like two insolent boys they nodded and were rewarded by Tom’s slow, warm smile.
‘Good lads,’ he said, grasping each by the shoulder before turning away.
Jimmy and Geoff exchanged looks. They knew who they’d rather back if it came to a showdown with Max and it wasn’t the boy from Bristol.
It was a rather shaky Alex who arrived at work the week before Christmas. Bored out of her head with the inactivity and desperate to secure her new post, she had put on a brave show for the doctor and persuaded him to sign her off as fit. Her first Monday back and she was already regretting her actions. The welcome from downstairs was warm and sincere, and even Alison seemed pleased to see her. Lauren clambered on to her stepped stool, leaned over the front desk and gave her a hug before leaning back, staring at her hard for a moment and saying, ‘You sure about this? You is looking a bit pale still.’
Alex forced a smile and laughed rather shakily. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just the effect of being indoors for so long.’
Pauline looked round the door and said, ‘Sorry to break up this reunion but Garry wants a word as soon as you get in.’
Alex sighed and picked up her briefcase. ‘Back in the jug again,’ she called over her shoulder as she set off upstairs.
Garry was standing at his window staring down into the yard when she pushed open the door to his office. For a moment, Alex had to screw up her eyes against the light as he turned and, still silhouetted against the morning sunlight, gestured her towards a chair by his desk. She blinked a couple of times and her eyes adjusted once more to the dimmer light in the room.
‘Is anything wrong?’ Garry asked, watching her keenly.
Alex shook her head and forced a little laugh. ‘No, no, nothing at all. I’m out of practice, getting up in the mornings,’ she said, trying to keep her tone casual.
Garry frowned as he sat down behind his desk, never taking his eyes off her face. ‘As long as you are fully recovered?’ he said, making the statement into a question before continuing. ‘We need someone to take control of the day centre as a matter of urgency and that person needs to be completely capable of fulfilling the role to the highest standards. It is a crucial part of our provision and we cannot afford any more delays.’
She’d been back less than an hour and already Alex was getting a headache. She wondered if he expected her to apologize for her illness – ‘I’m so sorry I got meningitis at such an inconvenient time Garry. I’ll try to be more careful in future.’ Instead, she managed a sickly grin and reached into her case, pulling out th
e final doctor’s note.
‘I’m all signed off as fit to return,’ she said, proffering the evidence.
Garry glanced at it with distaste and waved it away. ‘Good,’ he said, insincerely. ‘Give it to Pauline to go in your file.’
She replaced the certificate wondering if he thought he might still catch something from it.
‘Now, we have a growing list of clients assigned to the day centre – the magistrates have finally caught on to the fact it exists and is a sensible and viable alternative to a custodial sentence.’
Garry was in full flow now, rehashing the speech he gave to the Probation Committee and groups of interested lay people. She sat up, tried to look impressed and hoped someone would give her something useful to work with some time soon – like a budget or some helpers or even a list of these clients who were now, technically, her responsibility.
‘There is, of course, still some discussion on the pattern of primary responsibility,’ Garry continued. ‘Whilst ideally the officer in charge of the day centre will hold the probation orders for all clients this may not prove possible in all cases. It has been decided, therefore, that these will remain with their original officers for the interim and part of your role will be liasing with them on appropriate activities.’
That meant he had decided she wasn’t up to managing all the clients yet, Alex thought, and this dog’s breakfast of a system was in place so something could be salvaged if she messed it all up. Great, that was just great. Welcome back Alex.
‘Well, we are glad to have you back, of course,’ Garry said. There was a pause before Alex realized she was supposed to get up, make some meaningless reply and leave.
‘Ah, I’m glad to be back,’ she managed, struggling out of the chair as she juggled with her briefcase and coat. Garry watched her struggle for a moment and nodded as she disentangled herself and headed for the door.
Outside she stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she sought to regain her composure. On the stairs down to her office she spied Alison heading towards her, arms full of files.
‘Glad I caught you in time,’ said her assistant. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where you are now.’
Alex glanced down the corridor towards her comfortable, familiar room and realized she was no longer based in the main building. With mixed feelings she followed Alison down to the main reception area, left through the day centre doors and past the recreational area to the back of the building.
‘Here you are,’ said Alison, pushing a door open and stepping back to let Alex enter.
Someone had tried to make the place presentable and as she looked around the room she saw her possessions placed on the desk, her plants perched precariously on the narrow windowsill. It was dim in the small amount of light that trickled through the thick meshed glass window, oozing past the security bars before seeming to collapse, defeated, in a yellow swathe across the desk. Alison reached around the door and flicked a switch, illuminating the scene with harsh neon. Alex blinked in the bright light and felt tears form in her eyes. She scrubbed at them angrily, muttering, ‘Sorry – I’m still a bit photophobic. Takes me a while to adjust to the light.’
Alison dumped the pile of files on the desk and turned to look at her anxiously. ‘I know it’s a bit of a step down from your old office,’ she said with her habitual lack of tact, ‘but they needed that for the new officer. Have you met him yet?’
Alex shook her head and sidled past her to get to the desk. Dropping gratefully into her chair she sighed heavily. ‘No, not yet. What’s he called again? I know Sue mentioned him but I can’t remember …’ She cast around and spotted her desk lamp in a box shoved under a spare chair.
‘There’s only one plug,’ said Alison, pointing to a single, outdated socket across the room by the door.
‘Great,’ muttered Alex. ‘So what am I supposed to do until I can get some more fitted?’
‘’Um, well we did the best we could,’ said Alison.
Alex felt fresh tears begin to form in her eyes and this time they were nothing to do with the light. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just—.’ She gestured at the cramped space, not much more than a modified cupboard really, and felt just how much she was worth to the service.
‘Don’t be worrying,’ said a familiar voice, and Lauren’s head popped round the corner. ‘I spoke to Bert and he’s going to come down later when he gets in, sort out what you need and where you want stuff. We just rescued it all and set it out so you’d not come back and have nowhere to sit down and get away from all the lads. Speaking of which, they’s arriving so I told ’em to play quiet on the pool table for a bit. Hope that’s all right?’
Despite her headache, despite the angry lump in her throat, Alex felt herself smiling at her indomitable friend. It was a measure of Lauren’s forceful personality that the peace of the day centre was still undisturbed following the arrival of the clients.
‘The new bloke, he was right eager to get in and take over,’ Lauren continued.
‘So what’s he like?’ Alex asked again.
Alison glanced at Lauren and said, ‘Okay I suppose. Bit young, bit callow – typical first year officer I guess.’
Lauren pulled a face and slid around the doorframe, pushing the door shut behind her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s not like he’s done nothin’ but he makes me a bit uneasy. I’m not sure I want to work for him, even if it is a promotion.’
Alex looked at her, surprised by this bit of news. ‘What? This is new – tell me.’
Lauren opened her mouth, but at that moment there was a muffled crash from the direction of the day centre’s main room, followed by shouts of laughter. Alex was round the desk and had the door open in a second.
‘Later,’ she said to Lauren. ‘I think it’s time I started work.’
She strode down the corridor, flung the main door wide and roared into the sudden silence. ‘Well gentlemen, it seems you have some tidying up to do.’
Alison and Lauren eyed one another warily, before Lauren jerked her head in the direction of the main room. ‘Reckon she’s got it all under control. I’ll be off then,’ and she was gone, leaving Alison to sort the files on the desk in the buzzing, flickering neon light.
For the second time in a month PC Dave Brown found himself too close to an autopsy table for comfort. As he entered the cold, white room with its shining metallic surfaces and almost imperceptible smell of blood and ripe meat, the other officers stepped aside and he was once more standing at the front of the group, a few uncomfortable feet away from the victim from the Avalon Marsh.
‘Ah, Constable Brown, good to see you,’ said Dr Higgins, nodding in his direction. Dave Brown managed a slightly lopsided smile in reply. ‘I believe we have you to thank for the preservation of the subject,’ continued the pathologist as he wriggled into his surgical gloves and turned towards the table.
Dave cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. ‘Well, no, not really,’ he said. ‘There was a whole team involved and everyone does their bit you know …’ His voice trailed off as Higgins lifted a scalpel from the tray next to his elbow and held it up to the light, squinting at the blade critically.
An attendant stepped forward to draw the sheet down, exposing the grey, bloated body to the harsh light. There was a general intake of breath as the pathologist leaned forward as if to make the first incision. Dave felt his head begin to swim and realized he was holding his breath. Forcing himself to watch as the knife hovered over the waxy flesh, he tried to focus on Higgins’ voice reeling off the known details for the benefit of the tape recorder that whirred away softly in the corner.
‘Middle aged man, well built, medium height,’ he said. ‘No visible trauma to the front of the body, extensive discolouration of soft tissue due to prolonged exposure to water.’ He nodded to the attendants, who lifted the corpse and rolled it over. ‘Ah, now here we have signs of lividity along the back, buttocks and shoulder
s. Not, you notice, the usual pattern which is …?’ He glanced around the room, one eyebrow raised whilst the police glanced away or shuffled their feet nervously. Dave glanced towards the body and looked up as he felt all eyes in the room on him.
‘’Um, normally in the head and neck,’ he said.
Higgins beamed at him approvingly. ‘Indeed, yes – and this is because …?’
‘Most bodies float head down, on their front,’ Dave finished miserably.
Higgins nodded briskly and signalled to the attendants to turn the body over again.
‘Right. So here we have a drowned man who shows signs of being left on his back for some time after death. And now,’ he put the scalpel back on the tray and leaned over the head, prising the eyelids open, ‘sadly, I think we have lost our other clear indicator. The eyes will dry out if a victim dies on land leaving a distinct horizontal line.’ He twisted the head around, peering at the exposed eyeball. ‘Alas, the evidence is transient and the signs are now inconclusive. So we must probe a little further.’
He lifted the scalpel and began to cut, making a deep incision from one shoulder to the breast bone. Dave tried to breath through his mouth and as little as possible, as the body on the table was systematically filleted, gutted and hollowed out leaving just a shell. By the time it was over, Dave felt as if he could easily swap places with the remains on the table. His head was aching, his vision was blurred and every tiny muscle in his back and around his chest was screaming with pain from tension. All he wanted was to get out of there with his pride intact, but Dr Higgins had one last test for him.
‘Constable Brown,’ he called, just as Dave reached the safety of the door.
Dave turned back, reluctant but determined, as the remaining policemen gathered outside the room and watched him with malicious eyes. Higgins was rinsing his hands and arms off in a sink and smiled pleasantly at him as he towelled off.