“That explains why all those packets of steri strips were on your list,” she said, “but I’m not sure they’ll be strong enough to hold a surgical wound together.”
Rodent shrugged his shoulders indifferently. He didn’t know and didn’t much care. He was just the delivery boy.
“Don’t you think your friend should go back and get himself checked out?” Jenna persisted.
“He can’t,” Rodent said without thinking, “not with the Old Bill looking for him.”
Jenna’s eyes narrowed, but before she could enquire further, the doorbell trilled and two middle-aged women walked in, talking very loudly. They made straight for the counter.
“Morning, Jenna, love,” the bigger of the two women said. Underneath her black hairnet, all Rodent could see was row after row of pink curlers. It was as if a huge colony of big fat slugs had taken up residence in her hair.
“Morning, Elsie,” Jenna replied without taking her eyes from Rodent.
“I need something for my grandson’s verruca,” Elsie said, seemingly unaware that Rodent was even there. “And while we’re here,” she confided, “poor old Maud needs some ointment for her piles, don’t you Maud?”
Maud, a slimmer version of Elsie, minus the hairnet, laughed unashamedly. “I do, dear.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Giving me some right jip at the moment, they are. Been itching like a bastard all morning.”
Rodent and Jenna exchanged glances as if to ask each other: Did she really just say that?
“No worries,” Jenna said. “Just let me finish serving this gentleman and I’ll get you some haemorrhoid cream, Maud.”
Gentleman! Rodent thought. He’d never been called that before. Blushing, he handed over the money for his purchases and waited for Jenna to give him his change.
“It was nice to see you again after all these years,” Jenna said with a warm smile. “Feel free to pop in and say hello any time you’re passing.”
Rodent grinned like he had just won the pools. “I will,” he promised. With an embarrassed wave, he turned and started walking towards the exit.
“Rodney,” she called out after him.
He turned; an expectant look plastered across his face. Please let her ask me to stay and talk for a little while longer, he prayed.
“Y - yes?” he stammered.
Jenna pointed to two large carrier bags sitting on top of the counter. “Don’t you think you should take your supplies with you?”
“Oh,” he said, unable to hide his disappointment. “Yeah, of course. Mustn’t forget me supplies.”
“I don’t want to interrupt you two lovebirds,” Maud said, reaching behind for a scratch, “but if you could get me that cream for my piles, I really would be very grateful.”
Chapter 15
Garston had come up with an idea for getting Winston some replacement antibiotics, and he was annoyed with himself for not having thought of it sooner.
The contact who had sourced the uniforms they’d worn during the breakout – and still wore as they had no other clothes to change into – had once boasted that he could get his thieving hands on most things medical. Garston decided it was time to put his claim to the test. He dialled a mobile number and waited impatiently for his call to be answered.
“’Ello…?” a wary voice answered after the seventh ring.
“Flogger, that you?”
“Who’s asking?” the gruff voice was thick with suspicion.
“It’s Deontay Garston, you Muppet.”
“Deontay! Hello mate, what can I do for you?” The man’s tone became friendly, jovial even.
“Do you remember telling me that you could get your grubby mitts on every kind of medical supply that I could possibly imagine?”
“Yeah,” Flogger responded cautiously. “What is it you’re after?”
“I need a couple of weeks supply of antibiotics. Can you help?”
“Is that all? Piece of piss, mate. What type do you need?”
Garston didn’t know. He’d asked Winston before making the call, but his idiot uncle had never bothered to read the name of the pills he’d been prescribed or check the dosage. “Not sure, but they need to be strong. I’m after something that could be given to someone fighting off an infection after an operation.”
“Okay, let me make a call, see what me contact says. I’ve got your number. I’ll call you back in five.”
When five minutes turned into fifteen, and there was still no word from Flogger, Garston began to get impatient. He was on the verge of chasing the supplier up when his phone rang.
Caller ID showed a withheld number.
“What?” he said.
“Deontay, me ol’ mucker, it’s me, Flogger.”
“You were only meant to be five minutes,” Garston complained.
“Sorry about that,” Flogger said, amiably. “Me contact was otherwise engaged so I ‘ad to wait.”
Garston sucked his teeth. “I hope what you’ve got to tell me was worth the delay.”
“Course,” Flogger purred. “Me contact reckons you want either a penicillin or cephalosporin based prophylaxis. I can get a couple of boxes of that for you in six days.”
Garston was dumbfounded. “Six days? Six fucking days! He needs them now, not next week, you wanker.”
“Well, I can’t ‘elp that,” Flogger said, defensively. “Me usual provider’s gone and sodded off to Cuba for two weeks in the sun, so I’ve ‘ad to use a backup, and the geezer’s a little bit slower at getting me the pharmaceuticals.”
“Are you seriously telling me that I’ve got to wait until next Monday? Surely, you can source me some antibiotics from somewhere else? It’s urgent. I need them today.”
“Well…”
Garston could almost hear the cogs turning in his shifty associate’s mind. Flogger wouldn’t want to lose a sale, and he wouldn’t want to look bad in a repeat customer’s eyes.
“There might be a way,” Flogger said with some hesitance, “as long as you’re not too fussy about what type of antibiotics you end up with.”
Garston thought about this for a moment, Surely, it didn’t really matter? Antibiotics were antibiotics regardless of the brand. “I don’t care what you get me, as long as they do the job,” he finally said, massaging
