'While I'm on lying on a beach with a pina co lada
'Jeez, you are becoming a moaning old fart,' said Donovan.
'I'm a desk man these days, Den. It's not like it used to be when I was out and about. Then I could stop by and chew the fat. These days it's noticed if I go out. Questions get asked.'
'Yeah, well, speaking of questions, I've got one for you.'
The detective sighed mournfully but Donovan carried on talking.
'I need a check on two Yardies out Harlesden way. One's called Tony Blair, goes by the nickname PM. The other's Bunny. I don't know his real name.'
'At least I don't have to phone a friend on this one,' said the detective.
'The file's been across my desk several times. They're big players in north-west London. Crack and heroin. Some legit businesses for cleaning the cash. Drinking dens in tough neighbour hoods that we do our best to steer clear of. What's your interest?'
'Need to know, Dicko. Sorry. If you know about them, how come they're still up and running?'
'How long have you been Tango One? Just because they're targeted doesn't mean they get put away.'
'Are you sure there's not more to it than that?'
'Spit it out, Den. I'm not psychic.'
'Do they have someone on the inside?'
'Well, gosh, Den. I'll just raise it at the next meeting of Bent Detectives Anonymous, shall I?'
'Don't get all sensitive on me,' said Donovan. He was starting to get annoyed at the detective's constant whining.
'Have there been rumours? Are they getting tipped off?'
'I don't think so. They're just smarter than the average black gang-banger, that's all. In particular, this Bunny character has his head screwed on all right. PM was just a small time teenage dealer until Bunny hooked up with him. Now he's a sort of.. . what's that thing that Robert Duvall did for Marlon Brando in The Godfather?'
'Consigliore?'
'What's that mean?'
'It's an advisor.'
'Yeah. That's what Bunny does for PM. Keeps him out of the shit. Word is that Bunny's gay, but PM doesn't hold it against him. That's the talk, anyway. You got info on them might put them away? Be a feather in my cap.'
'If I do, Dicko, you'll be the first cop I'll call.'
'One other thing,' said the policeman.
'There doesn't seem to have been any money paid into my account over the past couple of weeks.'
'Don't worry,' said Donovan.
'Cheque's in the post.'
Donovan spent an hour going in and out of several department stores in Oxford Street until he was satisfied that he wasn't being tailed, then he walked to Fullerton's gallery, checking reflections in windows and doubling back three or four times to make absolutely sure that no one was following him.
Fullerton's gallery was on the third floor of a building in Wardour Street. The entrance was a glass door between a coffee bar and a photographer's store. He pressed a button and was buzzed in. He walked slowly up the stairway looking at framed reproductions of Old Masters on the walls.
The gallery itself was bright and airy with white walls and skylights and a light oak floor. The paintings on the walls were an eclectic mix of old oils and modern acrylics, but it was all good-quality work.
Fullerton came striding over from a modern beech and chrome desk, his hand outstretched. There was no one else in the gallery.
'Den, good to see you,' said Jamie.
They shook hands.
'Business quiet?' asked Donovan.
'I had a couple of viewings arranged but I put them off, figured you'd want a word in private, yeah? Do you want a drink? I've got shampoo in the fridge.'
'Nah, I've got to pick up Robbie from school, and it wouldn't be a good idea to turn up smelling of drink.'
'Coffee, then? It's the real Italian stuff.'
'Yeah, coffee's fine. Thanks.' Donovan had his portable MRF detector on and he walked slowly around the gallery, passing the left hand close to any surfaces where a listening device could have been concealed. The Weeper on his belt remained stubbornly silent. The gallery was clean.
Donovan sat down on a low-slung leather sofa and studied the paintings on the wall opposite until Fullerton returned with two china cups on delicate saucers. He sat down next to Donovan.
'Everything okay?' he asked.
'Not really,' said Donovan.
'Did you read about that big cocaine bust? The one where the SAS went in?'
'Shit, that was yours?'
'Sort of,' said Donovan.
'I set it up but then it got taken over by that guy we met in the club. Ricky. It all turned to shit, so now they're looking for the leak. If there was a leak.'
'Anything I can do to help?'
Donovan sipped his coffee.
'Good coffee, mate.'
'Yeah, I've got one of those Italian jobbies. I can do the frothy stuff, too. I'm serious, Den. If you're in a jam, I'd be happy to help.'
'Maybe there is something you can do. It depends.'
'On what?'
'On how much you want to get involved. In what I do.'
'Den, so long as it's safe and I make a profit, I'm your man.'
Donovan nodded.
'Maury said you know people with money, guys with lots of cash, not necessarily legal.'
'Good old Maury.'
'Is he right?'
'Sure. The art business is a great place to hide cash. Moveable assets, saleable around the world. And when you sell you get an auction-house cheque.'
'Okay, here's the scoop. I have a very sweet deal that I'm setting up, and I'm looking for guys who can market heroin. Top-grade heroin from Afghanistan. I can get it way, way cheaper than any wholesaler can supply it in this country, or anywhere in Europe.'
'How cheap?' asked Fullerton.
'Delivered to the UK, ten thousand pounds a kilo. That's about one third of the regular dealer price. Almost a tenth of the street price.'
Fullerton nodded.
'A wrap's a couple of quid at the moment, works out at about seventy quid a gram. Seventy grand a kilo on the street.'
'This is good gear, though, Jamie. Right from the source. Totally uncut. I reckon street value would be nearer a hundred grand a key in London.'
'I'm sure I could get some interest, Den. How much are we talking about?'
'As much as you want,' said Donovan.
'You can't leave it as open-ended as that.'
Donovan sighed.
'I'm going to be bringing in eight thousand keys.'
'No fucking way!'
Donovan grinned.
'Like I said, it's a sweet deal. See what interest there is, but be bloody careful. I'm going to want money up
