‘You ever heard of a poor fast-food chain? Course they make money. It’s just tomato ketchup and dough. Maybe a bit of cheese and some cheap meat to decorate. I bet the bloke who owns the franchise drives a Porsche and smokes Cuban cigars.’
‘You reckon?’
I nodded. ‘Definitely. His name’s Marco.’
The waitress, a pasty-faced teenager who looked like she sampled the products a little too regularly herself, sidled over and asked for his order. I’d already eaten before I got there (none of that all-you-can-eat crap for me) and was nursing my second Becks. ‘Just a Coke,’ he told her, without bothering to look up.
She went off and he removed his jacket. A bead of sweat dribbled down the side of his face.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ I asked, getting to the point.
Fowler sighed and gave me a hawkish look. I thought that he probably wouldn’t have been too bad looking if it hadn’t been for the eyes. ‘I need some security. I was recommended to speak to you about it.’
‘So you said on the phone. Who’s been doing my advertising for me, then?’
He paused for a moment while the waitress returned with his drink. He waited until she’d gone before he spoke. ‘Johnny Hexham. You used to go to school with him, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Johnny had been a good friend of mine once. A nice bloke and popular with the ladies, but not the most honest of Johns. He’d probably want something for the recommendation. Whether he got it or not depended on what came next. ‘What sort of security are you after?’
Fowler continued to stare at me intensely, like he thought his gaze somehow made the person being stared at want to trust him. It didn’t. If he’d have told me I had two legs, I’d have looked down to check. ‘I have a meeting that I need to attend in a couple of nights’ time. The people I’m meeting with are not what I’d describe as trustworthy. I’ve got a feeling that if I turn up on my own, then they might consider that a sign of weakness and take advantage. I’d rather have some back-up.’
‘What did Johnny Hexham say about me?’
‘He said that you fronted a reliable outfit and that you knew what you were doing. Those are the two things I’m most interested in.’
‘That’s good. I hope he also said that I like to play things straight. That I’m not interested in getting involved in loads of shit that’s going to get me put inside for years on end. I make a good living, Mr Fowler. It’s not fantastic, sometimes it can even be boring, and a lot of the people we guard make more money in a day than I see in a month, sometimes even a year, but it’s still a good living, and I don’t want to trade it in for a room with bars on the windows. Know what I mean?’
‘I understand all that. And I’m not asking you to do anything that you wouldn’t normally consider doing. This is just one night’s work, one meeting, and all I want is to have people behind me that I can rely on if things turn a bit tasty.’
‘Are they likely to?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s in the interests of the people I’m meeting as much as mine to make this thing work.’
‘And this meeting … what exactly is it about?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, Mr Iversson.’
‘That’s why I’m still here. I make it a point to know as much as possible about what I might be getting involved in.’
‘Fair enough. I’ve got something they want, and they’ve got something I want. It’s an exchange.’
‘That doesn’t help me much. I need to know what you’re exchanging.’
‘Why?’
‘Because for all I know you could be carrying twenty kilos of coke and they could be undercover coppers. I once had a mate who was asked to deliver a package to an address in Regent’s Park. He never knew what was in it. Two hundred quid for half an hour’s work, no questions asked. He was hardly going to say no, was he? When he turned up at the house, the bloke answering the door was from Vice Squad and he was nicked. Turns out he was carrying a load of porn mags where the models were no older than those kids over there. So you see why I want to be careful.’
‘If I tell you, I don’t want it going any further. Not even to whoever you bring with you, if you decide to take the job.’
I told him it wouldn’t and he turned and looked over his shoulder, just to make sure no-one was listening. No-one was, and he turned back to me. ‘I told you on the phone I owned a nightclub, right? Well, a couple of months back, I got an approach to buy it from some, er, businessmen. I wasn’t that interested, not for the amount they wanted to pay, so I said no. They upped the offer but I still wasn’t that sure. You know, I’ve owned the place close to ten years and it’s always made me a good living. I’m the same as you, I’m not rich, but I’m doing OK. As it happens, I thought they could still up the offer, so I held out for more, thinking that I wasn’t so worried either way.’
He paused for a moment to take a gulp from his drink.
‘Then things started to happen. The club started getting unsavoury elements coming in, loudmouths looking for trouble. There were fights breaking out, furnishings getting smashed, staff threatened, all that sort of shit. Then some of my doormen stopped turning up for work, saying they’d found jobs elsewhere. It didn’t take me long to find out that these buyers were behind it, and that they were
