Stephen Leather - Hot Blood

‘What’s that?’ said Fazal.

‘It’s a thermostat,’ said Sharpe. ‘It stops things overheating. We know you’re not going to do anything silly but just hold up your arms and let me check you out.’

‘You don’t trust us,’ said Ali.

‘We don’t trust anybody,’ said Sharpe.

‘What about you?’ said Fazal. ‘How do we know you don’t have guns?’

Shepherd grinned. ‘Of course we’ve got guns,’ he said. ‘You’re here to buy guns, remember? Now, hold out your arms or piss off.’

Ali and Fazal glanced at each other nervously. Ali was sweating and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

‘Is there a problem, ladies?’ asked Sharpe.

Fazal reached into his jacket and took out a machete, the blade wrapped in newspaper. Sharpe took a step back, transferred the metal detector to his left hand, then pulled out an automatic with the right.

‘It’s okay – it’s okay!’ shouted Ali.

‘Put the knife down!’ shouted Sharpe, pointing the gun at Fazal’s chest.

Fazal bent down slowly and placed the machete on the floor. He reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out a flick knife and put it next to the machete, then straightened up.

‘Knives?’ said Sharpe. He sneered at Fazal. ‘You bring knives to a gun deal? What was going through your tiny little mind? You were going to pull a knife and we hand over the guns ’cos we’re pissing ourselves?’

‘They’re for protection,’ said Ali. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a hunting knife in a nylon sheath. He dropped it on to the floor, then pulled a carving knife with a wooden handle from the back of his trousers, the blade in a cardboard sleeve. It clattered on to the concrete.

‘Against what? You think a knife is gonna stop me putting a bullet in your leg?’

‘Not against you,’ said Ali.

‘Against who, then?’ asked Shepherd.

‘You don’t know what it’s like for Muslims after seven/seven,’ said Ali. ‘It was rough before but we’re all marked men now. You can’t walk down the street without getting abuse and worse.’

‘And a knife stops the name-calling, does it?’ said Shepherd.

Ali pulled up his sweatshirt to reveal a half-inch-thick scar that ran from his left side to his navel. ‘Maybe not, but it’ll stop this happening again.’

Shepherd stared at the scar. It was a full ten inches long and, from the way it had healed, it had been a deep wound. ‘You were lucky,’ he said.

‘Lucky?’

‘Lucky you didn’t die.’

‘Yeah, well, it wasn’t for want of them trying. That was two weeks after the London bombings. I was in Birmingham, for fuck’s sake, on the way to collect my winnings from the bookie.’

‘I thought Muslims didn’t gamble,’ said Shepherd.

Ali frowned. ‘What’s being a Muslim got to do with anything? I’m British, mate, as British as you. If I want to bet on the horses, I will.’

Sharpe put away his gun and transferred the metal detector to his right hand. Ali held out his arms to the side and Sharpe ran the detector over him. Then he did the same with Fazal. It beeped when it went over the man’s trouser pocket but it was only his keys and loose change.

‘They kicked the shit out of me and slashed me because to them I was the wrong colour,’ said Ali. ‘And do you know what the police did? Nothing. They couldn’t care less. Sent a white cop who was younger than me. He took a few notes and I never saw him again. Hospital was great but you want to know why? Because hardly anyone working there was white, that’s why.’

‘Sounds like a racial thing, rather than a religious one,’ said Shepherd.

‘It’s the same,’ said Ali. ‘You think the guys who did this to me knew I was Muslim? Or cared? They didn’t ask – they didn’t need to. The guys who blew up the Tube were Asian so all Asians are the enemy.’

‘And what do you want the guns for? To even the score?’

‘What do you care why I want the guns? You sell, we buy.’

‘Can’t say fairer than that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Come and see what I’ve got.’

He took the two men to the metal cases and opened the one containing the Ingrams. ‘The good news is that these are brand new, unfired,’ said Shepherd. ‘The bad news is that it’ll take me a few days to get the other three.’

‘We said five,’ said Fazal.

‘Yeah, I know, but they’re difficult to get. When you called you didn’t say you wanted five. I can get five, but it’ll take a couple of days.’ He opened the case containing the magazines. ‘I got all the magazines but only a hundred rounds. The other five hundred are on the way.’

‘You can get them?’ pressed Ali.

‘I said I could, didn’t I? I had a hundred in stock but my guy in Croatia is going to have to ship the rest and that’ll take a few days.’

‘A couple? Or a few? Which is it?’ asked Fazal.

‘Why? Are you up against a deadline?’

Ali picked up one of the Ingrams and sighted along the top. ‘When can we get the rest?’ he asked.

‘Three days max,’ said Shepherd.

Ali reached for a magazine. ‘Can I try it?’

Sharpe laughed. ‘No, you can’t bloody try it!’ he said. ‘One, you’ll hear the noise half a mile away and, two, there’s no way we’re going to trust you with a loaded submachine-pistol, not after your stunt with the knives.’

‘How can we be sure they’ll work?’ asked Fazal, picking up the second gun.

‘They’re not second-hand cars,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re firearms. You strip them, you check the working parts. It’s the ammunition you should be worried about.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Ali, frowning.

‘A gun’s a gun,’ said Shepherd, ‘just a mechanical tool. If the individual parts function correctly, it’ll work. But with the ammunition, you’re dependent on a chemical reaction. A crap round can ruin your whole day. Basically guns don’t jam, bad ammunition does.’ He opened the case containing the boxed rounds. ‘But this is the best of the best. You’ll have no problems with it.’

‘I’d be happier firing them first,’ said Fazal.

‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘Buy them and you can fire them all you want. Speaking of which, where’s the money? I’ll take five grand for what you have here, and you can give me the rest on delivery of the other three Ingrams and the rounds.’

‘I’ll get Hassan to call for the cash,’ said Fazal.

‘What?’ said Sharpe.

‘We don’t have the money with us,’ said Ali.

Sharpe took a step forward. ‘What do you mean you don’t have the money?’

‘We wanted to see that you were for real.’

‘Are you winding me up?’

‘We just wanted to see what you had. Now we know you can come up with the goods, we’ll do business with you.’

‘Screw you, Paki,’ said Sharpe, prodding Ali in the chest. ‘We’re not fucking Argos – you don’t place an order and queue up at the desk.’

Fazal moved towards Sharpe, who pre-empted him by pulling out his gun and pointing it at the man’s face.

Ali held up his hand. ‘It’s okay,’ he said to Fazal.

‘No, it’s not okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with but this isn’t how business is done.’ He took the two Ingrams from the men and put them in the case.

‘We couldn’t be sure you’d have the guns,’ said Ali.

‘You’re time-wasters,’ said Shepherd, slamming the case shut. ‘I think you’d better go before my partner decides to use you as target practice.’

‘I want the guns,’ said Ali, ‘and I’ve got the money. Just not here.’

‘Okay, but here’s the thing. We don’t know you, so we don’t trust you. For all we know you could be working for the cops. Or you could be trying to roll us over. Either way, you can see how you not having the cash would set alarm bells ringing.’