The Desert Run

by Gregg Dunnett

  “And normally, I’m not a big fan of surprises. You should know that about me. If you’re sitting in my kitchen, which you are, looking at my beautiful fucking view, that’s the first thing you should know about me. Don’t fucking surprise me, got it?”

  Ben didn’t say anything to this. There wasn’t much he could say. I just kept my head down. I wasn’t enjoying his view. I wasn’t enjoying anything.

  “So, what do you know about me?” Jimmy asked Ben.

  And when Ben hesitated, Jimmy went on.

  “Come on, you must have done your research. What do you know?”

  “We don’t know anything. We just heard you were the man to see. That you could, you know, handle a big shipment.”

  “And who the fuck told you that?” As Jimmy spoke, he slammed his hand down on the table next to Ben. There was a shocked silence in the room. Then Paul broke it.

  “Calm down, Jimmy. You know the story. They talked to Danny. Danny called me. I checked ’em out. You know all this. No need to put them in the lake.”

  Jimmy ignored this and turned back to Ben.

  “That it? You didn’t want to know anything else. You agreed to come here just on what that fucking gobshite told you?” He didn’t point or say Paul’s name, but it was obvious who he meant. Paul didn’t flinch at all.

  Ben still didn’t answer.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Jimmy said and turned away. He walked a couple of paces until he was at the kitchen worktop, then turned around and walked back, rubbing his hand across his face as if he were deep in thought. Then Paul piped up again.

  “How about offering them a cup of coffee?”

  Jimmy swung toward him.

  “Come on, Jimmy. I’ve driven all fucking night to bring these boys to see you. Can we at least have a cup of coffee while you decide if you’re gonna shoot them or not?”

  Jimmy stared at Paul for a moment. Then he relented and jerked a hand at a coffee percolator. It was already full.

  “Go on. Go fucking wild.”

  Paul pushed himself away from the window and put four cups on the worktop. He filled each with black coffee, then slid one in front of each of us. Neither me, Ben nor Jimmy touched them, but Paul took his to the window and blew on it, then took a sip.

  “Where’s the product?” Jimmy asked.

  Ben and I hesitated so Paul ended up answering. “It’s in the boot. Packed in bags.”

  “How many bags?”

  “Six.”

  Jimmy seemed to consider this for a moment.

  “Paulie. You—” He pointed at me like he’d forgotten my name, although I’m not sure he knew it at that point. “Go and get em. A bag each. Bring ’em up here.”

  I didn’t move. I didn’t know if he meant right now.

  “The fuck you waiting for? You think I’m not busy?”

  I got up at once, pushing the chair back across the floor so that it squealed in protest. Paul gave me an ironic smile, and then with mock politeness, he gestured for me to go first.

  I walked back down the stairs and out to the car. Paul zapped the remote to open the boot and we each shouldered one of the sports bags; then Paul shut and locked the car again. Paul didn’t say a word the whole time, instead he whistled. He was clearly feeling pretty relaxed about the situation still.

  Paul led the way back upstairs, and I did what he did: put the bag down on the table, then stepped away.

  “Sit down,” Jimmy said, so I did that instead.

  As I did so, Ben cleared his throat and started talking. Maybe he’d managed to break the ice a bit with Jimmy while I was gone.

  “So, what we’ve got here is one hundred kilos of pure Moroccan dope, of the highest quality—” But Jimmy cut him off instantly.

  “Shut up.”

  Ben’s mouth hung open for a second, but he did what he was told too.

  “Did you weigh it?” Jimmy asked, but none of us answered.

  “Did you weigh it? You just said a hundred kilos. Did you check that?” When still none of us answered, he swore under his breath.

  “You again.” He pointed to me. “That cupboard, there’s some fucking kitchen scales in there. Pull ’em out. You might have to get on your hands and knees to find them cos it’s a right fucking mess. I’ll make sure no one fucks you up the arse.”

  I did what he said, and rummaged around in a cupboard full of cake tins and old baking trays, thinking how weird this was, that I was getting to see the inside of a major drug dealer’s kitchen cupboard. But I found the scales in the end. Digital scales, slim smoked black glass, stained with something. It looked harmless, cake mix, not blood.

  I put them down on the table next to the bag, and Jimmy took over. He pressed the “on” button, then unzipped the bag all the way and plumped open the sides to have a good look at the contents. He pulled down the sides of the bag so we could all see.

  “Very nice. We’ve got ourselves a big pile of nine bars. Let’s just refresh all our memories on some weights and measures. Four nine-ounce bars make one kilo, which means each of these is going to weigh in at two-fifty grams. Four times two-fifty is one thousand grams, or one kilo. We all clear on that?”

  No one said anything, but I was thinking through the numbers in my head. It made sense. What didn’t make sense was the horrible realisation that it hadn’t ever occurred to us to weigh the stuff. We just took it on trust. Jimmy reached into the bag and ran his fingers down the first stack, pulling a few of the bars out at random.

  “Ready, boys?” He dropped the first bar onto the scales. The display rolled up nearly instantly. Two hundred and twenty eight grams.

  He glared quickly at all of us and swiped it off. When the display was back to zero, he dropped the second slab on.

  Two hundred and thirty one grams. Oh, fuck.

  The third was one gram more at two hundred and thirty two, and Jimmy was shaking his head.

  “Still think you’ve got a hundred kilos of finest Moroccan?” Jimmy said to Ben.

  Ben didn’t reply, nor did anyone else.

  “First thing you do. First fucking thing you do is check the bastards aren’t ripping you off on the measures.”

  Jimmy was still shaking his head.

  “I’m assuming you haven’t tested it either?”

  Ben looked too shocked to answer, but to my surprise, I found myself speaking into the silence.

  “We had a few joints to check it. It’s good stuff. It’s pretty strong.”

  Jimmy let this sentence hang in the air for a long time. Ben seemed to have taken a big interest in what his coffee looked like. Finally, Jimmy went on.

  “Good stuff, eh? Good stuff.” Jimmy turned to look at me like he’d only just noticed I was capable of speech.

  “That’s interesting, because it doesn’t look that different to fucking dog shite to me. But while we’re in the business of ruining your day, let’s find out.” He pulled a bag out from under the table, a leather briefcase thing, and out of it he pulled a small cardboard box. Inside was a selection of little plastic bottles and cards. I couldn’t make out what it said on the side, but it looked like something medical.

  “Pick a bar for me,” Jimmy told me. “You choose. Which one of these looks the most like ‘good stuff’ to you?”

  Not knowing which to choose, I pointed at the closest bar of dope.

  “OK,” Jimmy said, and he sat down. With a finger, he slid the bar of dope over in front of him, and unpicked the cellophane on the corner until the bare hashish was exposed. Then he turned his attention to the box. He poured an equal amount of two clear liquids into a single glass vial and shook it for a moment. Then he produced a lighter and held it under the corner of the nine bar I’d chosen, until he was able to crumble away a little of the dope. It expanded into a floury powder, and he carefully dropped this into the vial so it fell into the liquid. Then he plugged the top and shook it again, for longer this time, a full half minute before holding it up to the light coming in from the huge wi
ndow.

  “You know how this works?”

  No one answered but I shook my head.

  “Course you fucking don’t.” Jimmy sighed.

  “There’s over eighty different strains of cannabinoids found in marijuana. Most of them, we don’t have a clue what they do, but there’s one we know about. Tetrahydrocannabinol—let’s call that THC because it’s a fucking long word for people that can’t even handle kitchen scales. Now, it might be that you’ve brought me a big pile of camel shit wrapped in cling film. Or, it might be you’re really, really lucky, and you’ve managed to buy some hashish. This little test will tell us.” He stopped and gave me a black stare.

  There was a silence that dragged out until Ben broke it, his voice reedy and uncertain.

  “Well? What does it say?”

  “You have to wait ten minutes before it says anything,” Jimmy answered.

  The silence came right back, and I stared at the pile of dope on the table. It was dope, I knew that much, and the quality had seemed good. But what was this test going to say? I didn’t know. Then Jimmy said something totally unexpected.

  “So, what else has my gobshite of a brother told you about me, then?”

  Ben rode the surprise better than me, but his mouth still dropped open. Jimmy read it at once.

  “OK, so that’s something. He didn’t tell you we were brothers? Jesus wept. Why else do you think I would let an arsehole like that into my house? Why else do you think you’re here? We’d normally be doing this in an abandoned warehouse somewhere. Don’t you go to the fucking movies?”

  I stole a look at the two of them now. Jimmy was older, at a guess I’d have said by about ten years, but now, I knew I could see the family resemblance. It was there in the way they stood, in the shapes of their bodies—thick, powerful upper arms that filled the fabric of their shirt sleeves. You could see it too in the shapes of their faces, although Jimmy was dark and Paul almost blond. Now I knew it, I was suddenly stunned I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Did he give you the Crazy Jimmy story? Well?”

  Ben nodded, and Jimmy almost broke into a smile.

  “Fucking Paulie.” Jimmy turned to us. “He likes a joke does my brother. It’s all bullshit. We fought a lot as kids. That’s all.”

  “It’s not all bullshit,” Paul interrupted. “One time he shot my rabbit with an air gun.”

  “It was a fucking accident. And it didn’t die did it?”

  “You still fucking shot it.”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes like this showed how Paul liked to kid around. Ben and I exchanged glances for the first time. He looked as confused as I felt.

  Then there was another surprise.

  33

  A small white West Highland terrier suddenly burst into the room and bounded up to Jimmy, its claws making it skate across the floor, nearly crashing into the furniture. Then it saw the rest of us there and seemed to want to visit us all at the same time, its stumpy little tail wagging away.

  “OK. Let’s put this away,” Jimmy said, moving at once to do it himself. He scooped up the slabs of hash, slipped them back into the bag, and zipped it up; then he pulled it from the table and slid it underneath, not exactly hidden, just out of the way. The testing kit was bundled back into its box and put into the cupboard. And just as he finished, a small girl in a bright green coat and red-and-white spotted boots appeared in the doorway.

  “Hi, Paul,” she said, but she looked at me and Ben too and didn’t come any further. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Hello, Alice!” Paul said, a big smile overtaking his face. “My favourite little niece. I came up just to see you. Come over here.” He bent down with his arms open. “Give us a hug, then?”

  The girl—she was maybe three years old—looked a little uncertain for a moment longer, but then began to take her boots off.

  “OK, but I’m not allowed to keep my boots on.” She sat down on the floor and kicked them off, leaving them piled up in the doorway. Then she ran lightly over to Paul, who swept her up and started teasing her by blowing the hair out of her eyes.

  “We walked all the way to the shop,” Alice said to Paul, and he made impressed noises while Jimmy watched them. I couldn’t read his expression. Then a dark-haired woman came into the room. Presumably, the kid’s mum. She was dressed in black leggings and a long, tight, knitted grey jumper pulled tight over three bumps, her breasts and stomach. She was tall, startling pretty, and very obviously pregnant.

  “Hello, Paul,” she said. She was smiling, but she too seemed cautious to come in with us there. “Jimmy said you might be coming. How are you?” She had a light Scottish accent; her voice purred with it.

  Now, she did walk over to Paul, and he balanced the girl on one arm while he gave the woman a kiss on both cheeks.

  “Hi, Sarah. You’re looking as gorgeous as ever.”

  She smiled a thank-you but didn’t say anything.

  “I see you’ve come with friends. I hope you’re all being good.” Sarah’s eyebrows rose. She had the kind of face you just wanted to stare at.

  “You know me Sarah,” Paul said. “I’m always good.”

  The woman gave him an indulgent look and turned to Ben and me.

  “I’m Sarah. I’m Jim’s wife.”

  I wondered if I was expected to kiss her too but she took the lead and held out a hand. She had long, slim fingers, and up close, I could smell her perfume. I mumbled my name, unable to properly meet her gaze. Her grip was cool and soft.

  “And how do you know Paulie?” She asked me.

  She was just making conversation, I realised at once, but it caused a tangible shift in the atmosphere in the room. I had to answer, but I could sense from Jimmy and Paul I absolutely couldn’t answer her honestly. Problem was I didn’t know a thing about Paul other than he was a drug dealer.

  “We’re um…” I started then stopped. Then I had a flash of inspiration. “We’re mates from work.” I turned to Ben, hoping this would be enough and she’d move on but instead she continued to face me. I felt a red glow creeping up my face. I noticed how green her eyes were.

  “Really? You look very young for that,” she answered, and that left me flummoxed. I was beginning to shrug my shoulders when Paul rescued me.

  “He’s the youngest pilot on the books,” he said, then seemed to notice Ben also sitting there. “They both are.” Paul smiled at Jimmy as he said this, like it was pretty funny, but Jimmy’s face was set in an angry stare.

  Sarah seemed to read it all then she looked at Jimmy. “Well you all look busy here so I’m going to take Alice into the other room.” Sarah sent a look to Jimmy and went to scoop the girl up, but she said she wanted to stay with Paul.

  “No Alice, I think they’re discussing daddy’s work.”

  The dog stayed in the room, though, curling up on a mat next to the window and keeping its eyes on Jimmy.

  “OK. Let’s get this done. Then maybe we can all get on with our day,” Jimmy said when they were gone. Just a hint of Sarah’s perfume stayed in the room. He opened the cupboard and pulled out the testing kit again. He pulled the little glass vial out of the box and held it up to the window again. It had turned an orangey-red colour.

  “So what does that mean?” Ben asked.

  Jimmy turned to him slowly. “It means your suppliers must have run out of camel shit.”

  I felt the beginnings of some relief. I’d known it was dope, but if Jimmy was admitting that, it had to be a good sign. But the relief didn’t last.

  “Instead, they’ve put in the lowest-grade crap they could find. This is fucking shite. The dregs scraped off the presses.”

  I knew it. In a way I’d always known it. We’d come all this way, we’d risked so much, but in the end, we didn’t know what the fuck we were doing. It gave me courage I hadn’t expected.

  “So you don’t want it?” I asked. It didn’t feel like I had anything to lose.

  Everyone in the room turned to stare at me. I had
to go on.

  “If you don’t want it, just say so, and we’ll take it elsewhere.” I didn’t know how we were going to do that, but I was sick of this.

  “Don’t be so hasty,” Jimmy said. He surprised me by not sounding angry. He sounded amused. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it. We’re just establishing what it is you have for sale.” He gestured at me to calm down.

  “Now, most of the hash on the streets is fucking shite, so the relative poor quality of this shipment isn’t necessarily a deal-breaker.” He took a long, slow breath before going on.

  “What are you looking for? How much per kilo?”

  Although this was Ben’s side of things, I knew the figures just as well as he did by then.

  “A thousand,” I said.

  Jimmy whistled.

  “A thousand?” His eyebrows flicked up his forehead. “That’s high. Even for a starting bid. You’d be lucky to sell it for that to the end user. No, no. I think we’re looking at half that.”

  “Five hundred a kilo?” I asked.

  “And don’t forget you don’t have the full one hundred kilos.”

  I was silent, miserably doing the maths in my head, the whole point of our plan falling apart around us. I nearly didn’t hear Ben when he joined in.

  “No way. We might not have a fancy testing kit but we tried it out and it’s good stuff. Way better than what you can normally buy. So if you don’t want it we can find loads of other places to shift it.”

  Jimmy turned to him. “Oh really? And how exactly are you going to find these other places?”

  “Well, we found you, didn’t we?”

  For a long time Jimmy just stared at Ben, his face unreadable. But then he answered.

  “Yeah. You did. You did find me.”

  Jimmy turned away from both of us and looked out suddenly over the loch. He walked to the window, as if suddenly the view was the only thing that interested him. He tapped the vial of liquid against the glass. Then he turned back, and when he spoke again he changed the conversation.