The Rule

by David Jackson

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘All right. Let’s make it ten o’clock. That do you?’

  ‘Yes. That would be fine.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to come between a man and his wife. Not unless he was planning to cross me.’

  ‘I’m not. I swear.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you at ten. Have a nice day now.’

  The call ended. Scott went back into the garage, his mind still buzzing.

  ‘That tea will be stewed, you know,’ Gavin called.

  ‘Oh yeah. Sorry. I’ll make a fresh one.’

  He prepared tea again, then took the mugs and biscuits across to a worktable where he sat alongside Gavin.

  Gavin slurped his tea and took a huge bite from a chocolate biscuit. ‘Oh, that’s good,’ he said, crumbs spilling from his mouth.

  ‘Gav,’ Scott began. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’

  ‘You’re not going to ask me to check out your prostate again, are you? Because, to be honest, it’s becoming too much of a regular thing.’

  ‘Very funny. No, it’s more serious than that.’

  Gavin dropped his grin. ‘Why? What’s up?’

  ‘I’ve . . . I’ve got myself in a bit of trouble.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘Financial trouble.’

  ‘Financial. You mean you’ve run up some debts?’

  ‘Yes. And I was hoping . . . well, I was wondering if I could ask you for a loan.’

  Gavin lifted his mug. ‘How much are we talking about, mate?’ He took a sip of tea, his eyes inquisitorial over the rim.

  ‘I need . . . I need five thousand, seven hundred pounds.’

  The splutter sent a spray of fluid right across Scott’s overalls. ‘How much?’

  ‘Five thousand, seven hundred.’

  ‘Jesus! I thought you were going to say a couple of hundred or something. How the hell did you end up owing that much?’

  Scott shrugged. ‘Bad decisions, I suppose. Not being disciplined. Putting my head in the sand, hoping it would go away. That kind of thing. It happens.’

  ‘I know it does, but I never thought . . . well, I just didn’t think it would ever happen to you.’

  ‘What can I tell you? You never know what goes on in other people’s lives, right? I mean, I can’t tell you how embarrassing this is for me. But I can’t ignore it any longer. It’s only going to get worse. And that’s why I’m coming to you. As a good friend.’

  Gavin’s pained expression wasn’t encouraging. ‘You know that the banks are a lot more sympathetic than they used to be, don’t you? They’re usually willing to come to some sort of an arrangement with—’

  ‘It’s not my bank that’s the problem.’

  ‘Credit cards, then. Same thing applies. They—’

  ‘Not a credit card company, either. I don’t have a great credit score, Gav. I had to go . . . elsewhere.’

  Gavin stared. ‘You mean a loan shark?’

  ‘Not the description they use, but yeah. I thought it’d be okay, but it’s the interest. It’s crippling me. The debt has just gone up and up. I’ve already paid them all my savings, but . . .’

  Gavin blew out a long stream of air. ‘Shit. I don’t know what to say, mate.’

  ‘I know. It’s my fault. Nobody else to blame. But I can fix it. If I can just pay these guys off, I can get back on track. Look, how long have I worked for you?’

  ‘Well . . . since you left school.’

  ‘Since I left school. Right. That’s a long time, isn’t it? And have I ever let you down?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Haven’t I always done a good job?’

  ‘No question.’

  ‘And I’ll continue to do a good job. You can take the loan out of my wages. Or I can work extra hours to pay it off, whatever you prefer.’

  Gavin sat back and pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t know, mate. That’s a lot of money.’

  Scott raised his arms, indicating the expanse of the garage. ‘You have a good business here. Lots of customers. I don’t know what your books look like, but—’

  ‘Not as good as you might think. You’d be surprised. Parts, rates, taxes, overheads, employee costs – they all take big bites out of a small business like this.’

  Scott didn’t like the way this was going. He particularly didn’t like the way Gavin had put emphasis on employee costs, as though he were more of a liability than an asset. As though he’d been doing Scott a favour by keeping him on all these years.

  But he didn’t know what else to add. He wasn’t going to beg. Wasn’t about to humiliate himself. All he could do was stare pleadingly at his boss.

  Gavin’s chair creaked as he shifted on it. He seemed incredibly uncomfortable. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘There’s no way I can hand over that much money. But you’re a good mate and a great worker and I’ve known you a long time, so here’s what I’ll do. I’ll lend you three grand.’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘Best I can do, mate. Sorry. If I could come up with more, I would. You know that.’

  Scott knew nothing of the kind. He firmly believed that Gavin could easily afford a lot more.

  But then why should he? Why would he take the risk with someone who has already confessed to being crap with money?

  He let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Gav. That will really help. If I pay that off, I should be able to get the debt under control again.’

  Gavin raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t sound very sure.’

  ‘No. I’m sure.’ He put his hand out. ‘Thank you.’

  Gavin shook hands. ‘No problem. I’m going to make you work for it, though, so be prepared.’

  ‘I am. Fully.’ He paused. ‘There’s . . . there’s just one other thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The money. I need it today.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, Gav. I’m supposed to meet these guys tonight. If I can’t give them anything . . .’ He put on his best expression of dread.

  ‘Okay. No time like the present, I suppose. I’ll go to the bank at lunchtime.’

  ‘Thanks. You don’t know how much this means to me. You’ve just saved me.’

  Which wasn’t quite true. Three grand wasn’t enough. It didn’t take him close enough to the ten-grand target, and even that figure was one born from hope.

  He needed more. And that meant he’d have to execute the second part of his plan.

  The more dangerous part.

  36

  Daniel needed to talk.

  He had tried with his mother at breakfast, after his dad had left for work, but she didn’t want to know. She’d almost screamed at him that she didn’t want to hear any more about it, and that he shouldn’t mention it to anyone, not a soul, do you hear me?

  It was sealed tightly inside him, and its pressure was painful. He felt like a bottle of lemonade that had been shaken up, its contents desperate to explode.

  He knew he couldn’t let it out, but he was hopeless at keeping secrets. Now he was terrified to say anything at all.

  It made things difficult at the day centre. When the carers asked him questions, he responded with one-word answers – sometimes not even that, but instead a shrug or a nod or a grunt. Earlier, Mrs Collins had asked him if he wasn’t feeling well, and Laurence had said he was a miserable tosser, which he didn’t think was very nice. When he didn’t join in any of the group activities, they had allowed him to sit in a corner away from the others and do his own thing.

  That thing was drawing.

  He had spent hours on this picture. Or, rather, a sequence of pictures. A complete comic strip – his biggest project yet. He’d had to use the reverse side of a length of wallpaper to fit it all on.

  Mrs Collins came over again, leaving everyone else watching a television programme.

  ‘Hello, Daniel,’ she said.

  He didn’t want to answer, but it felt so rude. I
t might upset her.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Collins.’ There. That’s one, two, three words. Three whole words.

  ‘Do you feel like coming over and joining us?’

  He looked across the room. Saw the transfixed faces bathed in the ghostly glow of the television. All except Laurence, who stared back and flipped up his middle finger.

  Daniel returned his attention to his picture. ‘No, thank you.’

  Three words again. She can’t get unhappy about that many words.

  ‘You’re very quiet today.’

  Oh. She is upset. I don’t want to upset Mrs Collins. She’s too nice.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  He tried to colour in, but he could feel her eyes on him, and it was making his crayon stray over the lines.

  ‘Come on. Come and watch the programme. It’s about animals in the snow. You like animals.’

  He was sorely tempted. He did like animals. He particularly liked watching Arctic foxes pouncing on things beneath the snow.

  ‘Sometimes I do. But sometimes they bite.’

  ‘That’s true, but only when they need to eat. Or when they’re afraid.’

  As she said this, she reached out her hand and placed it on Daniel’s forearm. It was breaking The Rule, but he didn’t mind. It felt so nice. It made him want to cry.

  She said, ‘Has something happened, Daniel?’

  Has something happened? He didn’t know where to begin. Didn’t know where to start with the tale of a man who got killed and chopped into tiny pieces and whose brother got angry and came after his family with a gun and asked for money and—

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said. Which wasn’t a lie, because he really didn’t want to tell that story. Not in words, anyway.

  Pictures were a different matter.

  ‘All right,’ Mrs Collins said. ‘But if you change your mind, I’m always willing to listen. You know that, don’t you?’

  He wanted to cry again.

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Mrs Collins.’

  She laughed. ‘When are you ever going to start calling me Kim, like everyone else?’ She rubbed his arm a little, then stood up. ‘That’s a fantastic drawing, Daniel. Adam-9 again?’

  He nodded, and as she walked away he sat back in his chair and looked down at his artwork.

  Adam-9, briefcase in hand. A long metal arm protruding from the case and holding up a man in its claws, squeezing his neck.

  This was Daniel’s release. His way of getting the truth out so he didn’t blow up. It was the best he could do. The most accurate he could be. Adam-9 had stopped the man in precisely the same way as he had put an end to the Quark Monster.

  One thing bothered Daniel, though. A huge hole in the story.

  He wasn’t carrying his briefcase when the man called Joey had died.

  And if he didn’t have the Adam-9 briefcase, then . . .

  But he didn’t want to think about that.

  37

  Timing was critical.

  After promising Gavin to put in longer hours, he couldn’t rush home early. On the other hand, he needed to allow enough time for his scheme to be carried out.

  If, in fact, it was going to be carried out.

  A voice in his head was telling him that this was a ridiculous idea. That it didn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of success.

  But what choice did he have? It was in for a penny, in for a pound.

  Or lots of pounds in this case.

  He parked at the rear of the flats, facing the building. From here he couldn’t tell if anyone was milling about in the foyer.

  Normally, he dreaded encountering the youths. Today they were on his wish list.

  He locked the car, then checked the door handle to make certain it was secure. His backpack was in the boot, three grand nestling within it. He didn’t like leaving it there, but he had no choice, and it wouldn’t be for long. What pricked his conscience more was the look of concern on Gavin’s face when he’d handed the cash over. It pained Scott that he was about to betray his friend by taking such a huge gamble with it.

  As soon as he entered the building he heard the raised voices, the laughter, and he said a mental thank-you.

  There were five of them today. They were drinking, smoking. As always, the one known as Biggo seemed in charge, the others laughing too hard at his jokes.

  Scott approached them.

  The tallest one spotted him first. ‘Oh, here we go,’ he said. ‘It’s him again.’

  The others turned. They seemed mildly amused rather than aggressive.

  At least for the present.

  ‘All right,’ Biggo said. ‘I hope you’ve brought my brick back. I’m missing that brick. It was my favourite.’

  ‘Can we talk?’ Scott said.

  ‘Sure. Pick a subject.’

  ‘What about business?’

  ‘Business?’ Biggo took a swig of lager. ‘What kind of business? Monkey business? Dog’s business?’

  ‘Financial business. I want to talk to you about money.’

  Biggo looked at his friends. ‘Oh, well, we’re always interested in money, aren’t we, lads? Makes the world go round, doesn’t it? Go ahead, mate. Talk to us about money.’

  ‘I want to talk to you. Just you. In private.’

  ‘Ooh,’ said one of the gang in a high-pitched voice. ‘He fancies you, Biggo. Wants to get you alone.’

  Laughter followed, quelled suddenly by a sharp glance from Biggo.

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am.’

  Biggo drained his can, then crushed it in his hand and tossed it aside.

  ‘Step into my office.’

  He moved away from the others, and Scott followed. His ‘office’ turned out to be a quiet, dark alcove at the far side of the lobby. There was a distinct odour of urine.

  ‘Talk to me,’ Biggo said.

  Scott looked behind him, checking that the rest of the yobs weren’t trying to listen in.

  ‘I know what you get up to here,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yeah? And what might that be?’

  ‘I’m not stupid. I’ve seen what you sell. The little packets.’

  Biggo’s eyes grew cold. ‘Pal, I hope this isn’t the start of some kind of shakedown. You’re playing with the wrong—’

  Scott put up his hands. ‘No. Please. That’s not what I meant. I meant . . . look, I need to make some money.’

  ‘Don’t we all? Have you got a get-rich-quick scheme or something?’

  ‘I was hoping you might have.’

  Biggo snorted. ‘You’ve got to be joking. Have you taken a proper look at those lads? Not exactly dripping with Rolex and Gucci are they?’

  ‘No, but I thought . . . well, if I could invest in something . . .’

  ‘An investment? You mean you’ve already got some money?’

  ‘Yes.’ Scott had to force himself not to tilt his head towards his car outside.

  ‘How much are we talking about?’

  ‘Couple of grand.’

  Biggo stared at him. After what seemed like a full minute, he suddenly grinned. It made him appear even more ugly than usual.

  ‘That makes a difference.’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘Course it does. You know the best way to make a shitload of money?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Start off with a shitload of money. That’s how it works. Haven’t you noticed how the rich always get richer?’

  Scott looked around. He felt awkward, out of his depth. He knew about cars; he didn’t know about drug dealing.

  ‘What kind of profit could I make?’

  ‘With a couple of grand? You could double that easy. Maybe more.’

  Scott did some quick mental calculations. He didn’t want to risk the whole three thousand. But maybe two. Two would be okay. If he could double that – a conservative estimate according to Biggo – then that would be four, plus the thousand he kept back. Adding that to the money he had already paid b
rought it to a grand total of nine thousand, three hundred. That was pretty damn close to his 10K target. And if Biggo was as confident as he sounded, it might be even closer.

  A cloud of suspicion crossed his mind.

  ‘Why don’t you do this?’ he asked. ‘I mean, keep doubling your profits?’

  Biggo looked irritated. ‘I already told you. You need to start big to earn big. Nobody is interested in the loose change I’ve got in my pockets. The chickenfeed I make goes on weed and beer.’

  Scott thought some more. He’d landed in an alien world without the right survival gear. Gut instinct was all he had to go on. That and a dash of desperation.

  ‘All right, let’s do it,’ he said.

  Biggo laughed. ‘Let’s do what?’

  Scott felt even more inept. ‘A deal. I want to make a deal. I can put in two grand.’

  Biggo looked at him long and hard, then shook his head. ‘How do you think this works? You think you can just hand over two grand and then I buy product, sell it on, and give you four back? Name me one business that operates like that.’

  Scott was glad of the dim lighting, because he knew his cheeks were burning.

  ‘All right. So how does it work?’

  ‘This is a market. Supply and demand; everyone in the chain takes a cut.’

  ‘That sounds . . . complicated.’

  ‘It’s the way it is. Factory workers get paid shit, but we end up paying a fortune for the things they make. I hardly ever went to school and even I know that.’

  Scott glanced at his watch. The evening was ticking away. ‘Yeah, I know. What I meant was . . . I was hoping it would be simpler. Quicker.’

  ‘How quick, exactly?’

  ‘Today. Now.’

  A guffaw of laughter this time. Enough to make Biggo’s mates look over, wondering what they might be missing out on.

  ‘Now? Like, right this minute? Jesus, you’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean you. Mr Respectable. Getting all huffy with us because we don’t shut the door of your precious building. Looking down your nose at us. And now you want in? You want to be one of us?’

  No, Scott thought. I don’t want to be one of you. You’re scum. I’m nothing like you. I’m using you, that’s all.

  ‘I need the money.’

  ‘Why? What’s the rush?’