Luke Delaney: The Network

‘You’re late,’ the black one told him.

‘Traffic’s shit,’ he answered. ‘You know how it is.’

‘Ricky’s waiting,’ the white one added. ‘He don’t like to be kept waiting.’

Sean had expected the bullshit. ‘Yeah, well he’s not going to give a fuck about being kept waiting when he sees the cash I brought him.’

The two goons looked at each other before the black one spoke again. ‘Put your hands up, brother. We need to search you.’

Sean did as he was told, lifting his arms and spreading his legs — all standard procedure for a meet where money was expected to change hands. But this search was more thorough than usual — too intimate to be just a search for weapons — clearly they were looking for a transmitter or recording device. It was the first sign Ismain might have doubts about Sean. Satisfied, the black one spoke again. ‘Alright — he’s clean. Follow me.’ He turned and walked deeper into the bowels of the warehouse, Sean following close behind, trying to remember everything he saw, taking in every possible escape route, until eventually they reached the closed door of Ismain’s office. The white hoodie knocked gently on the door before opening it and leading Sean inside where he was met with a beaming smile from Ismain, who stretched out his hand for Sean to shake.

‘Sorry about having you searched, brother,’ Ismain told him. ‘You know what it’s like when money’s changing hands — everybody gets a little nervous.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ Sean asked, shaking Ismain’s hand with a false smile of his own. ‘Think I’ve come here to rob you?’

‘No, man,’ Ismain laughed, ‘nothing like that. You’re cool. You’re sound. I know that. Now, how about a drink?’

‘Naturally,’ Sean answered. ‘I could go a large bourbon, ice if you have it.’

‘Dalton,’ Ismain told the black hoodie, ‘get the man a drink.’

‘You not joining me?’

‘Maybe later,’ Ismain told him, ‘after the business is out of the way. I’ll take you to a little strip-club I own — get you sorted out, know what I mean?’ Ismain and his cronies laughed together — Sean kept the smile fixed in place. When the laughter stopped, Ismain eased himself back into his oversized leather desk chair, smoothing his Hugo Boss pinstripe suit as he did so, its elegant simplicity contrasting sharply with his shiny black shirt and heavy gold jewellery. He had zig-zag patterns cut into his hair, heavy rimmed glasses and huge diamond earrings in each lobe. As he sat he suddenly became serious, waiting for Sean to be handed his drink before speaking again. ‘So, you got the cash, Sean?’

‘Yeah, I got the cash,’ Sean told him. ‘Seventy-five grand — as we agreed.’

‘Yeah, you see there’s a little problem with that figure. Ismain told him, pursing his lips. ‘Seventy-five grand ain’t gonna be enough no more.’

‘Really,’ Sean said expressionless. ‘How so?’

‘You know how it is, Sean — people hear about a good thing on offer and they come to the table. Now normally I wouldn’t even listen to offers after I’ve made a deal, but when someone offers you fifty grand more, hey, brother, I got to take them seriously. You understand? But if you can match their offer, then I’ll give you first rights, in the interest of our friendship — fair enough?’

Sean had expected some late change in negotiations, there always was. ‘So let me get this right,’ he asked. ‘You want me to pay an extra fifty grand more than we agreed?’

‘There you go,’ Ismain mocked, ‘I knew you were smart. I knew you’d understand.’

‘I understand you’re fucking with me,’ Sean told him.

‘I ain’t fucking with you, Sean.’

‘Yeah you are. You’re definitely fucking with me a little bit.’

‘No, man. You’re getting this all wrong. It’s just business.’

‘Well here’s my business,’ Sean told him. ‘I got seventy-five-grand here and now. You give me the five-hundred laptops and I give you the seventy-five grand — just like we agreed.’

‘Seventy-five ain’t enough anymore,’ Ismain barked. ‘They’re worth three-hundred grand, brother.’

‘Maybe,’ Sean laughed, ‘if they weren’t stolen and you were PC World, but they are and you ain’t, so seventy-five or I walk with the cash.’ Ismain sank deeper into his chair.

‘You got the cash here?’ Ismain asked, an unmistakable glint in his eye.

‘Close by,’ Sean told him. ‘Not in the motor, before you get any funny ideas. A phone call away, once I’ve seen the goods. When I’m happy with the merchandise I’ll call one of my people in, then you send one of yours with him to where the cash is waiting. Once you know I’m good for the money, my man will come back alone and drive the goods away. When I’m happy he’s not being followed I’ll make another call and tell my people to hand the cash to your man. I’ll wait with you until he brings the cash back here where you can check it — that way everyone’s safe, no one gets ripped off — okay?’

‘I knew you was a professional, Sean. First time I met you I says, that guy’s a professional. Okay, what the fuck, let’s call it seventy-five and get this fucking thing done. I didn’t like those other fuckers anyway.’

‘Good,’ Sean told him, the excitement rising in his chest again. ‘Then let’s call the goods onto the plot so I can check them.’

‘Sure,’ Ismain agreed. ‘But there’s just one thing, one little problem that’s come up.’ Sean felt his excitement quickly turning to anxiety. ‘You remember Jimmy Logan?’

‘Yeah. I remember him.’

‘Of course you do, because he introduced us. He vouched for you — said I could trust you — that you were a man I should do business with — right?’

‘What’s your point?’

‘My point,’ Ismain shouted, ‘is that Jimmy’s a fucking grass — so what do you think about that, officer?’

Sean’s belly tightened as he swallowed rising bile. ‘What do I think? What I think is you’re still fucking with me.’

‘No fucking bullshit this time. Jimmy’s a grass and that means everyone he touched is tainted, man.’

‘Fuck Jimmy,’ Sean bluffed. ‘My business is with you — here and now. Jimmy’s nothing but a low-life fixer. So what he introduced us — he’s probably been a grass for years. It doesn’t mean everyone he did business with is dirty, and that means you as well as me, Enrico.’

Ismain sat back in his chair, seemingly calm again. ‘You know what,’ he said, ‘you make some good points. But I got to know if you’re Old Bill, so I had a little think about things — you know what I mean?’

‘I’m listening,’ Sean told him.

‘And I was thinking that if you is Old Bill then right now this warehouse will be being watched, right, and that as soon as the truck pulls up outside all your policemen friends will come swooping down on it, arresting everyone they see, right?’

‘If I was Old Bill — which we both know I’m not — then yeah, I guess you’d be about right.’

Ismain began to laugh, delighted with his own cunning. ‘Only thing is, the truck is going to be empty — so when your police colleagues come running, all they’re going to find is an empty fucking truck and I’ll know for sure that Jimmy Logan is a fucking grass and you’re a fucking cop.’

‘And when nothing happens,’ Sean asked, ‘when none of these imaginary cops come crashing down on us, what then?’

‘You just worry about that empty truck,’ Ismain warned him, lifting a mobile phone from his desk and pressing a sequence of numbers before speaking into the mouthpiece. ‘Send the first truck in,’ he ordered before hanging up. So long as Benton followed Sean’s instructions and held the troops off until he got the call from Sean, they could still spoil Ismain’s day. The two hoodies from outside stepped into the room, meaning Sean was now outnumbered five to one — not good odds if the proverbial hit the fan. Ismain stood. ‘Let’s go. You too, Mr Policeman.’