Cole reckoned that bottling it earlier was a blessing in disguise. He had undertaken no preparation, had no clue of what he wanted. It had been instinct. Opportunistic. If he wanted to succeed, he’d need careful thought and precise planning. Best to be careful, he reminded himself.
He absolved himself of any shame over his earlier failure, lay back on the bed and drifted off to sleep.
60
In the morning, Alice stooped to pick up the post and wondered at the stain on the hall carpet. It appeared recent. She forgot about the stain as she leafed through the letters. One caught her eye, and she held it for a moment before ripping the envelope open. She didn’t get to the end. One phrase told her all she needed to know. ...and I regret to inform you... She read no further, and the letter fell from her trembling hand.
61
The door from the street to Scully’s was open, and Cole went straight up. He swung the letter ‘C’ on the door to Scully’s flat with his finger, then rapped on the door. Heavy footsteps sounded from within, followed by a scraping noise as a bolt slid back. The door opened and Mince’s head poked through. “Huh?” Two bloodshot eyes and one tattoo stared at Cole.
“Scully here?” Cole asked.
“Huh?”
“Christ.” Cole pointed inside. “Scully? He in there?”
“Uh-huh. Whad’ya want?”
“Look, mate. It’s Mince, right?”
Mince nodded.
“Tell you what, Mince. I need to talk to Scully. I need to buy something from him. The keys were great. No problems. I’m not here to moan. I’m here to buy. Money, Mince. Money for Scully.”
“Fuck you,” Mince said. “Ain't no dummy. Stoned is all. Wait.” He shut the door and Cole shook his head. Cole stepped back from the door, clenching and unclenching his fists. He considered banging on the door, but before he did, Scully opened it. “Coley, mate. What can I do you for?” Scully held onto the door with both hands as if he was ready to slam it shut again.
“Need to discuss business.” Cole gestured with his hand. “Inside.”
“You sure? Not in the mood for grief. Bit stoned. If I wasn't, I’d take you down no problem.”
Cole spread his palms. “Honest, mate. No grief.”
Scully held the door open, and they walked into his lounge. Mince now sat on the sofa, busy skinning up a joint. The TV was on, the sound down low and every so often, Mince glanced up at it.
“Still on the quality stuff, eh?” Cole asked.
“The fella got more.” Scully waved his arms in the air. “But hey. It keeps him tame. Here. Step into my office.”
They entered the kitchen and Cole looked around. “Christ Scully. This place needs a health warning. You got rats in here or what?”
“Dunno,” Scully said. “Ain't never seen one. Maybe Mince has. He sees a lot of weird stuff.”
“No shit Sherlock?”
“Huh?”
“It don't matter.” Cole shifted from one foot to the other. “I need something else...”
Scully stroked his chin. “Sounds difficult, fella.”
“What?” Cole shifted his gaze from the damp patch on the ceiling back to Scully. “But I ain't told you what it is yet.”
“The way you’re acting. Like you're saying this is difficult or awkward. Hey wait. I bet you need Viagra. That it? No sweat fella. Mum’s the word.”
“Fuck you Scully. I can shag for England. No. I need Captagon.”
“Oh yeah? What do you want that stuff for?”
“Never you mind,” Cole said. “Look, I can get it online, but it takes too long. Can you get it for me today?”
“Dunno. Dunno.” Scully stroked his chin again and shook his head. “See, them Muslim terrorists use it. It was on the TV.”
Cole shrugged. “Dunno anything about that, mate.”
“They’re barbarian cunts, Coley. You hear me?” A vein on Scully’s neck bulged, and he went red in the face. “Don't belong here neither. This is the East fucking End of London, fella, and it's crawling with them. Send the lot of them back to fucking Mecca. That’s what I say.”
Scully produced a knife from his back pocket and hurled it over Cole’s shoulder at the wall. Cole ducked. The knife hit the wall with a clunk and clattered to the floor. A chip of plaster fell off, leaving powder motes floating in the sunlight.
“Christ Scully. Take it easy, will you?”
Scully grunted. He pushed past Cole and picked up the knife.
Cole stepped back and raised his hands. “Scully, do you think you could stop waving that thing in my face?”
“Sorry, fella. Get carried away sometimes.” Scully slipped the knife back into his pocket. “Get angry at them lot.”
“I know, Scully. I know. They done my brother Daz. You know that, don’t you? South Kensington. I was there, mate.”
“Shit fella. Didn’t know. Sorry.” The bulges on Scully’s neck and forehead eased and his face lost the vivid hue.
“Whatever. Tell me this. Can you get the stuff?”
“Usually I can get anything. But this might be different. Need to go way under the radar.” Scully shook his head. “Could be a problem. On the TV and all, innit?”
“But you can get it, right?”
Scully scratched the top of his head and looked askance at Cole. Then he grinned and nodded. “Now I get you. Yeah. It’s payback, innit?”
“Don't ask. Best you know nothing.”
“Tell you what, fella. You do that mosque and the stuff’s free. Do it on a Friday. More of them then.”
“Yeah, right,” Cole said. “You can get it, yeah? Need about 50.” He turned to go.
“Come back tomorrow.” Scully
