But the answer itself? What is the answer itself? A couple of years back, when I needed this conversation with my own father, I would have answered something along the lines of employment. A job somewhere, a nice stable nine to five. I may even have asked if he had any contacts still in the steel industry, anyone who could give me a chance. But now? I can’t very well tell Felix Davison, of the notorious Berg, that I intend to devote the next fifteen years of my life to knocking people just like him off their perches.
But I can’t deny that part of me feels fulfilled by the question. A question as simple as: what do you want, Ben? A question that was never asked of me, by people who should have done so. The mother of my unborn child didn’t. My army superiors didn’t. My parents didn’t. And because of that, I’ve had to take matters into my own hands time and again, swimming against the current along a river course set by hands not my own, but hands that were nevertheless supposed to have worked with my interests somewhere in their field of vision.
I’m indulging myself here. I’m becoming more and more dragged into those areas of my psyche that bother me the most, and it’s all brought on by the treacherous, delicate situation I find myself in. I remember Nietzsche again, and the looking-glass abyss I’m staring into, forcing my own demons to look back at me. I’m uncomfortable.
I had fooled myself. In so many ways. I felt ready, but there was always a darkness beneath the surface, and all it took was a simple generous question to loosen the clasps to my doubts and fears just slightly, and now they are seeping out. I’m bleeding mentally. I feel foolish, but still surprised.
‘I... don’t know,’ I say, lying through my back teeth, knowing that the real answer would go down like coal at Christmas. ‘Whatever it is, I want to start afresh. Put my skills to use in whatever way I can. I’ve long since forgone thinking that I can serve my country, so a blank page is what I’m after.’
‘Here? Abroad?’ Felix continues. He sips his cranberry through a short thin straw.
‘Doesn’t really matter,’ I reply. ‘As long as it’s different.’
‘Would you consider staying in this city if there was work for you here?’ Felix says, thoughtfully.
Wow, hang on a minute. Where is he going with this?
‘I haven’t thought about it,’ I manage to reply. I didn’t expect this direction. The overtures have been pretty solid and sweet, but I suddenly feel very trapped in this little booth. The ‘rock and a hard place’ analogy has never felt more appropriate.
‘Do I need to spell it out for you?’ he says. He stirs his drink with the straw, as the full realization thunks in my noggin - I have been buttered up and smoked like a kipper. They want me to work for them. I say nothing, so Felix continues.
‘Think about it. You need a fresh start with a new identity. I could do with another man close to me, to add to this inner circle. You are wildly qualified, in a number of ways. You can handle yourself, you are a man of honor, you are a gentleman. In my eyes, you are the ideal candidate.’
I wonder whether Jack heard a variation on this speech. My stomach feels feather-light and drippy. I came out to crush people like this and all I’ve managed to do so far is convince them to try to hire me.
‘We discussed it, today, after you left,’ Felix continues. ‘We are most impressed with the way you handled yourself last night, the way you cared for Jack, and the respectful way you carry yourself, amidst all your obvious attributes. I am on the lookout for one last väktare. That’s the way this business works, and that’s the way I intend it to continue.’
This is the first glimpse I have had of the man behind the myth, of the serpentine, game-player that dwells inside the body of a sweet, old granddad. You don’t get to the top of any trees without having a cutthroat competitive streak. His career must have been built on opportunism, seizing moments, taking chances, and making the most of circumstances. And here he is again, doing just the same thing that has got him so far. It’s hard not to view it as tasteless, his full-speed courting of a replacement for one of his closest allies so soon after his passing, especially after all the talk in the past couple of days of how destroyed everyone is by the loss of Royston.
That loss feels a world away in this happy setting and the offer of Royston’s position. Yet again, a moment has occurred which I am completely unprepared for, and confused by. For the time being, I decide to play along.
‘I’m flattered. Very,’ I reply, exhaling. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘Would you, at least, just take the time to think about it?’
I remember Jeremiah, and what he needs to trust me. Joining Felix Davison is surely not one of those things.
‘Tell me,’ I say shifting my position, ‘for arguments sake, what the position entails. All the details.’
A silence befalls the table, in an anticipatory sense. Felix looks at me, and gives a smile so gentle I barely notice it. I think he enjoys my straightforward, methodical caution. It seems to prove he was right to approach me.
‘I can take this,’ says Michael. ‘We are responsible for the main operations of the business, from the ground all the way up here to the top, strictly in a management sense. Final say on everything belongs to Felix. All areas of the business are already up and running, in a pre-existing infrastructure. It is delegation and problem-solving which is our primary concern.’
‘Can you give me an example?’ I ask. I really want to hear something incriminating.
‘A simple example would be this. You won’t find us on the street pushing the dope, but if we lose a pusher we are responsible for finding a replacement or alternative.’
‘Is that an area of the business I would be expected to operate in?’
‘As väktare we cover all areas of the business, so that would be the arms dealing, the heroin, and of course the crystal meth. Felix likes to handle his fishy side-project on his own. Frankly, I wouldn’t know where to start on that score.’
‘I have my sources,’ Felix says, winking.
‘Where do you distribute and what is it you distribute in those areas?’ I ask. The more information I can ply Jeremiah with, the better, but that doesn’t seem to have gone down so well. The men are looking at each other, while the girls are riveted. It’s like a dirty little secret is about to be revealed to the ladies, and it seems we are having a conversation that they have never been privy to. ‘I mean no disrespect, but in order to make in informed decision, I’d like to know. We can speak on this more privately if you’d like?’
Felix sets his jaw and merely nods, signaling Michael to continue.
‘This business is borne entirely from respect, and thrives on it’s maintenance. In the North West of the United Kingdom, there are a number of big players each with their distinct territories, which operate in conjunction with smaller entities to fulfill demand. Think of the ocean, with an ecosystem of big fish and small fish, all with roles and places they frequent, all of them with prosperity as their main goal.’
Interesting analogy, but still extremely vague.
‘So which territories do the Berg operate in?’ I ask. I want to force that issue, and skin this beast.
‘May I?’ interjects Samson, leaning in enough so that his ample forearms actually dim the brightness of the booth.
‘Go for it,’ replies Michael, relaxing a little. They don’t look completely at ease sharing such intricacies with me, an outsider. They have gone all in here, showing their hand for what it really contains. One with risk but with a reward they can feel - and it’s most strange to know that my tenure is the reward that they seek.
‘Heroin runs from Carlisle down to Stafford, the east side of Liverpool over to Halifax. We can’t get at Leeds. This is obviously a big chunk of the country, and is very much a mainstay of the business, the big earners in there obviously being Manchester itself, Warrington and Stoke-on-Trent. Crystal meth is similar but a bit tougher, so that circle has a smaller radius and leaks west a bit. So we are talking Preston down to th
e crazy housewives of Wilmslow and Alderley Edge, then Chester over to Rochdale. We do have a line into North Wales with that one though, stretching through to Llangolen. Kind of like a circle with a leg.’
I love that now I have in my head a cheery little circle with one leg, on a map, smiling at me, strangely signifying a vast-enough crystal meth empire.
‘Arms, now that’s difficult. We have - more I should say, we had - a good solid reliable network, but that’s changed. We used to have big independents who relied upon us, and kept coming back. And the spread for that area was much bigger. We were active right down to Gloucester, and up far as north as this country goes. That was three quarters of the country. And we were coast to coast. We almost had this country in our pocket, it was over 12,000 square miles at one time.’
There is a misty-eyed quality to his speech - a ghostly remembrance of better times since passed. But I know that now, I have what I need. Consider this one busted wide open.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘We became outdated, and we still don’t know how,’ answers Leonard, sipping a drink I hadn’t noticed he had but, in being tall, strikingly cyan, and festooned with tiny umbrellas, fits his overall persona immediately - the ultimate accessory. ‘But the tide is turning back in our favor’.
I don’t know what that means, but there is a meaning laced into his words that are both impossible to miss but also impossible to interpret. The only response I feel I can offer is an extremely pseudo-business one.
‘Do you expect that upturn to remain? Are forecasts good?’ I don’t know whether this will impress or bemuse. The vernacular feels uncomfortable and forced.
‘I would say that the change is definite. Prosperity will return,’ says Samson.
I get the feeling that they are rounding on me, encircling me, bombarding me with their argument. Do they really feel this strongly about my recruitment? I have a nagging doubt that screams ‘smokescreen’. I think that the more questions I ask, or the more seriously I take this conversation, the more revelatory the answers will be. I press on with playing the role of careful investor.
‘What guarantees do you have in this regard?’ I ask. That seems to impress Felix who almost giggles to himself.
‘Wise sailors never want to join sinking ships,’ laughs Felix, smiling broadly. The other men echo his gesture, chortling with each other, like lapdogs. I’m detecting a smugness that I was unsure existed, a self-confidence that I was waiting to experience for myself. It’s here alright. It just took the right environment for it to present itself. I suppose all parents are proud of their babies, and the baby in question here is a criminal empire.
‘It’s for definite,’ says Leonard, through his grin. ‘Nothing to worry about there’.
‘And on the front of the siamese fighting fish...’ Samson continues, ‘Felix has all of Europe in his pocket.’
‘It’s such a shame that they are so unfashionable - if they weren’t, I’d have retired years ago, and this conversation would be a lot different, that’s for sure,’ Felix says, still grinning. He is clearly enjoying this explanation of the empire he has built, reveling in it’s journey, it’s highs and lows, but primarily it’s reach and strength. It does indeed sound formidable to the ears, and this offer of work would have many lesser men agog at the prospect.
‘You... make a compelling case,’ I say. I need to buy some time. Christ knows how these things work. Either way, my intention to take them down remains. But not yet. I need to squeeze more juice out of this one first, and learn all I can about other people of interest - not least of all the true identity of Royston’s killer. But if I say ‘yes’, they might take me out right now into the field and order me into doing something compromising, and earn my take-home from this very moment forward. I don’t want that. But if I say ‘no’, they might decide I know too much, and find a quiet hillside upon which to silence me for good.
‘It’s an offer that I view with a great deal of flattery,’ I begin, ‘and one I’d like to take very seriously.’
‘But...’ Leonard says, guessing a conjoining word but not much else.
‘No buts. I would like to sleep on it. Is that a possibility?’
No answer there, and it very much seems like I have liberally pissed on their parade. I get the feeling they don’t hear the word ‘no’ very often.
‘Look, I had designs on things I wanted to do, things I promised to do when I came back to Manchester.’ I’m lying through my teeth here, making it up as I go along. ‘I found myself helping Jack as an old friend who was in need of some help, but now, I... I don’t want any loose ends before I start the next thing. When I work out my next move, I want to commit to it.’ What an epic plate of vague bullshit. I can scarcely believe they will remotely think about buying it, let alone contemplate it.
I want out of here, just for now. Why didn’t I pick a seat at the end of the table? That’s exactly what the old me would have done. Sat there, nose, eyes and ears alert like a hunting dog, absolutely bristling with readiness. But nope, I was a typical boorish no-hoper, seduced into the deepest crevice of the booth by pretty ladies and their promises of champagne. What a sucker. I bet this was the plan all along.
I knew that when I got out I would enjoy certain elements of a normal life, and the little perks that being a regular joe can bring. That has clouded my judgement a little, and has hazed my ability to pursue my objective in a professional way. My subconscious is positively drunk on freedom that it is forgetting purpose and objectives. I keep getting sidetracked with the nuances my senses had been deprived of but somehow need.
I must remember - I am no regular joe. If I’m getting out this situation alive, which is unveiling ever more sinister, I need to be single-minded, cool, unbending and without hesitation. I put my champagne down, supposing that that’s a start.
‘I am very flattered, and I can almost certainly say that my answer will be yes. But my father always taught me to sleep on big decisions before I make them, even if my heart is set on it and there is no chance of it changing. Felix, will you grant me that tonight, in good faith?’
I’m gambling here that Felix is as much of a sucker of honor, respect and the romance of both of those things as he seems to be, and sure enough he begins to smile softly and nod.
‘Of course. Your clear-headedness and calmness is something I admire, and one of the many reasons I open the door to you in this way,’ says Felix. If only he knew about the backflips that are in such constant rotation in my stomach. I really want out now, and I stumble across an idea, which sees me rise.
‘Thank you, very much indeed. For the offer and the grace of a more considered response,’ I say. ‘I would like to buy everyone here a drink, as a small token of my own thanks, and there is to be no argument in the matter.’
If in doubt, ply with booze. Nobody can turn down a free drink. Nobody at all. Everyone smiles, even Leonard elicits a small cheer, and I slide out with the helpful movement of Michael and Felix. That has bought me some time, but how much remains to be seen.
‘May I come to the house tomorrow, to see you?’ I whisper to Felix as I go past him.
Felix likes that - that I have such respect for him already that I would seek a more private audience with himself. The man has hankerings for more archaic ways of doing business, and if I can massage such cliches to my advantage, I can keep everything copacetic for a bit longer.
‘Of course. Let’s aim for the afternoon,’ he says, patting me on the arm. I feel his fatherly pull, despite my mental discomfort in all other areas.
‘Thank you,’ I reply, ‘and thanks again. I’m a bit gob-smacked.’
Felix winks at me, a craggy eyelid flopping closed and open again, slow like a Basset Hound, his cheeks still the home of a languid grin.
‘Is it the same again for everybody?’ I ask out loud, hoping that it is, because I don’t know whether I could remember anything of an incoming order, and hope that the barman will already know. My question
is greeted with affirmatives. Thank God.
I head for the bar, and take a deep breath. And another. And another, allowing the oxygen to reinvigorate me like smelling salts. It was like being in a shark cage back over there, except the sharks were actually in the cage with you, probing you, and trying to decide what they were going to do with you.
I arrive at the bar, and the barman approaches.
‘Same again,’ I say, hopefully.
‘No problem,’ he says. I have no idea how much that will cost me, but I don’t care. I’m just happy to be out of the booth.
As I stand and wait, I think of the goldmine of potential evidence I just have heard, and hope in the name of everything and anything Holy that the microphone in my inner jacket pocket has picked all that up. The small flash memory dictaphone feels OK in my underwear (kind of - although it does feel like I have an extra metallic testicle) and the wire seems intact. I ratcheted up the sensitivity of the mic as far as I could take it, so there may be a fair amount of static and rustle from my movements but that should be fine to get a decent enough recording.
It’s amazing what a trip to Argos will get you. I have tried this one once before, when I tried to rumble that loathsome waste Terry Masters. He spotted it a mile off, and made me pay for it big time. This time, I thought it would be worth another shot, considering I’m already classed as an insider, and last time I didn’t buy a dictaphone small enough to fit neatly alongside my nuts. I’ll send the whole lot to Jeremiah Salix, first thing in the morning, with a note detailing how to reach me.
My senses tingle momentarily, and I feel an approach from directly behind me.
‘That’s quite the offer, isn’t it?’ says the low female voice, and I glance left to see Carolyn join me at the bar, coming from the direction of the bathrooms. Instinctively, I look back to the booth, but everyone is engrossed in conversation. I turn back to her. The pensive apprehension is still there, and she seems wracked with nerves of her own.
‘I seem to have done something he approves of,’ I reply. I am suspicious of her, as I am suspicious of all of them. But there is something about her that I can’t pinpoint, a side to her that is buried beyond skin deep. She must have seen some things, as Michael Davison’s wife. I wonder what she used to be like, in the days before all this. Before Felix came along with all his trappings.
The Baby And The Brandy (Ben Bracken 1) Page 17