'If you want to know why the deal went wrong, you're asking the wrong person.'
'Someone grassed.'
'Probably.'
'And it was your deal.'
'I set it up, yes, but these things grow. More people get involved. The more people get involved, the greater the risk.'
PM slammed his hand down on to the desk.
'Fuck the risk. I want my money back.'
'We all lost on this deal, PM.'
PM reached into a drawer and pulled out a massive handgun, a black metal block with an inch-long barrel and an extra-long clip. Donovan recognised the weapon. It was a Mac-io machine gun. Lethal at short range, but unpredictable. It was a spray-and-pray weapon. Spray the bullets around and pray you hit something.
'PM, you pull the trigger on that and there's gonna be bullets flying all around the room.'
'Yeah, but first one's gonna be in your gut.'
'You know they pull to the right, yeah? To the right and up.'
'So I'll aim left and low.'
The man with the dreadlocks took a step forward. He fixed Donovan with a cold stare.
'You got any suggestion as to how we can get our money back?' he asked. The fact that he was the only one other than PM to open his mouth meant he was probably the one called Bunny, PM's adviser.
'You have to write it off. You can put that thing against my head and threaten to blow my brains out all you want, but I don't have your money. We're all in the same boat: you, me, Packy, Charlie, the Colombians who supplied the stuff.'
'When things go wrong, there's always someone at fault.'
'Agreed, but I didn't fuck up. Neither did Charlie and Pvicky. The Colombians are experts. It was either bad luck or someone new to the equation.'
'You pointing the finger at us?' asked Bunny.
'There's no point in trying to apportion blame,' said Donovan.
'We have to move on.'
'And how do we do that?' asked Bunny.
PM seemed to relax a little. He put the gun back in the drawer, then leaned back and swung his feet up on the desk. He clicked his fingers at one of his men and the man fetched him a bottle of beer.
'I can cut you in on another deal. Heroin.'
'Price?'
'Ten thousand a key.'
PM drank his beer as Bunny rattled off quick fire questions.
'Source?'
'Afghan. Pure.'
'Delivered where?'
'UK. South of England.'
'Specifically.'
'An airfield.'
'You're flying it in?'
'That's the idea.'
Bunny leaned forward and whispered into PM's ear. PM nodded as he listened but kept his eyes fixed stonily on Donovan's face.
'How much?' asked PM, when Bunny had finished whispering.
'Up to you.'
'We'll go eight a key. And we'll take two hundred.'
'Eight? I said ten.'
'Yeah, but you owe us for the coke deal. And I figure if you're letting us in at ten, you're getting it for three or four, right?'
Donovan didn't say anything. He was paying the Russians three thousand dollars a kilo, about two thousand pounds. Even letting the Yardies in at eight grand he was still making a profit of three hundred per cent.
'I'd be cutting my throat at eight, PM. Nine.'
'Eight five.'
Donovan hesitated, then nodded.
'Eight five it is. You're sure you can move two hundred?'
PM's eyes hardened.
'You think we're smalltime, huh?'
'Two hundred is a lot, that's all.'
'We can move it.'
'That's great. I'll get Charlie to arrange the money with you.' Donovan stood up.
'One thing,' said PM coldly.
'This gets fucked up, so do you. Bad luck twice in a row ain't no bad luck. I'll be pointing more than my finger. Clear?'
'Clear, PM.'
The man with wraparound sunglasses opened the door and the pounding music billowed into the room.
'You drive here?' asked Bunny.
'Cab,' said Donovan.
'Was worried about losing the CD player.'
Bunny laughed throatily.
'I'll walk you down, fix you up with a ride.'
Donovan nodded his thanks, and Bunny followed him down the stairs and out on to the street.
'Thanks for taking the heat off me,' Donovan said to Bunny.
'The safety was on,' said Bunny.
'Yeah, I saw that.'
'Figured you did.'
They walked slowly down the road, talking in quiet voices.
'Couldn't ask everything I wanted to know without cutting across the man, but this Afghan gear, where's it coming from?' asked Bunny.
'The easy answer to that is Afghanistan, but that's not what you mean, right?'
'Ain't no way you're flying it out of Afghanistan. There's opium there, but the processing is done outside. Pakistan. Or Turkey maybe.'
'My contacts are in Turkey.'
'And you're flying it direct?'
Donovan nodded.
'That's a long flight,' said Bunny.
'I've got a big plane.'
'Two thousand miles and some.'
'Like I said, I've got a big plane. Let me ask you something. Has PM got the weight to move two hundred keys?'
'We wholesale some already. He's got dealers all over north London and contacts south that'll buy up any surplus. He can move it.'
Donovan nodded. Then this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.'
Bunny smiled thinly.
'We'll see about that. It's a bit premature to start emunerating any KFC ready meals. When do you tell us where we collect?'
'Day of delivery.'
'Which will be when?' asked Bunny.
