Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(43)

‘Yeah, well clean it up before the neighbours complain and you get a visit from the filth.’

‘It’s all good, boss.’ He punctuated his speech with sniffs from his cocaine-wrecked nose.

Sonny slapped him on the back. ‘Course, Tyrone.’ Snot erupted bubbling out of both nostrils and was retrieved by a sleeve. ‘Of course it is . . . This is Mr Hart. He’s come to look at the merchandise. Tyrone here is the manager. I bring the girls in and Tyrone looks after them for Digger. Plus he earns a bit on the side for his friends, which he thinks I don’t know about.’

Tyrone turned and raised the free arm as a greeting – the other one still wiping away snot. He did his best to look happy to see them. He didn’t look quite so happy with the news that Sonny knew he let his friends have a special deal with the girls.

‘Show us then,’ Sonny ordered.

Inside the windowless rooms girls stared out at them. Four to a room they waited in their underwear to be chosen. Carmichael thought they looked at him the way his sheep did when they were waiting for slaughter. He recognized the young country girl Anna from Digger’s club. Her eyes lingered on his. He thought about Sophie.

‘Do you want to choose some girls, boss?’ Tyrone asked. Sonny looked at Carmichael. He shook his head in answer.

Sonny led the way back towards the front of the flat and into a room on the left. A screen showing porn was on in the corner of the room. The room had an aroma of sickly sweet perfume and sex. There was a Florida-style cocktail bar in the corner. There were two sofas, and a coffee table between them.

Sonny went across to the bar and poured Carmichael a large whisky and handed it to him. The porno moaning in the background rose and fell.

‘You interested in these girls?’ Sonny asked.

Carmichael shrugged. ‘Maybe. I was looking for top quality. Not sure these fit the bill.’

Sonny looked momentarily put out but recovered fast. ‘You tell me what you need and I’ll get it special order.’

‘Sounds promising. You’re an ambitious man, Sonny . . . You purely about supply? You’re not interested in having your own club?’

He shook his head. ‘I like what I do. I want to hang onto my head. Don’t want to have it kicked in. I know what I’m good at. At the moment . . . If I could I would take over some of the routes from the fucking Turks and Albanians.’

‘. . . it’s just Digger you supply? And Digger makes arrangements to sell the girls on?’

‘Yeah . . . like I said . . . I’m up against it with the fucking Turks and Albanians. I have to keep my hand around their throats otherwise they’d have me.’

‘So what? You just waiting for that day?’

‘No. But it’s a hard business to trust in. I want to take over a couple of the big routes. Most of the contacts from the old days have gone. At the moment I don’t step on too many toes. I get left alone.’

‘So you need to stamp on some heads, not toes.’ The room had become charged. Sonny was beginning to get excited.

‘If I had the backing . . .’

‘I might consider investing in your business.’

Sonny crashed his glass against Carmichael’s and beamed. Carmichael stood and downed his drink, ready to leave.

‘Show me some of the competition. I want to take a look at some of the other clubs.’

Sonny looked momentarily reluctant. Digger had told him to stay out of sight.

‘What the hell.’ He picked up his keys.

On the way out Carmichael shook hands with Tyrone. Tyrone felt a crackle of folded paper in his palm. He waited until he’d shut the door and double-locked it on the two men then he went into the kitchen and told the girl making toast to get out. He pulled out the piece of paper and looked at it.

On it was written a phone number and attached was a credit note for ￡10,000.

Ring me tomorrow at 11.30 if you want to cash it.

Carmichael and Sonny drove to a club in Islington. While Sonny went to the bathroom to cut himself a line of coke, Carmichael tipped crushed horse tranquillizer that he’d brought from the farm into Sonny’s drink. Sonny came back from the bathroom wiping the cocaine from his nose.

‘Drink up!’ Carmichael handed Sonny his glass and knocked back his own. Sonny obliged by doing the same. Carmichael got up to leave. ‘I’ve seen enough here – let’s go somewhere else.’ Out on the street Carmichael went round to the driver’s seat. ‘I’ll drive. You’ll get nicked.’ He held up his hand for Sonny to throw him the keys.

Sonny shrugged. ‘Okay . . .’ He threw them across and opened the passenger door. ‘Give me the chance to chop another line.’ He dropped into the passenger seat and opened the glove compartment. Carmichael saw the butt of a revolver. Sonny rooted round and then took out the packet of coke he found. Carmichael braked just as he unfolded it. ‘Fuck . . .’ it showered like fine talc over his lap. ‘I’ll get some more . . . no problem.’ He squinted at the road ahead. The car twisted and turned down back roads. ‘You know where you’re going?’

‘Yeah. Staying off the main roads, don’t want to get pulled over. Not when you’re wearing a lap full of Columbian snow.’ Carmichael looked across at Sonny, whose head was nodding as he grinned. ‘Hey, Sonny . . .’

‘Yeah?’