Page 26 of Crave

If he was expecting sympathy, he was in the wrong fucking industry.

“He works for Ghost, yeah? You know Ghost?” he blurted. “He’ll have my balls.”

“You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a shit about your bollocks.” Though, truth not known, was that I did favour bollocks. Just not ones that shrivelled at the first sign of trouble. Or me. “You got one option: you bring me my cut, or you find somewhere else to sleep. And if Ghost’s got beef, he can bring it himself. Not by sending kids to nick on my street.”

Luca huffed, fingers digging for the roll in his pocket. “How much?”

“All of it.”

“Bruv, you said a cut.”

“How long you been moving product in my club?” I asked, and his mouth shut. “Until I know what my cut is, I take it all.”

He knew the drill. He slapped the notes into my hand. I snorted. That was the same tidy roll I’d watched pass under the club’s neon. I shoved it into my pocket, along with the memory.

“Listen proper, Luca.” I leant closer. “This is my borough. My line. You move product here, I get told first. You’re caught in a crossfire. So tell me, what you shifting? Mep? Coke? MDMA? Don’t play dumb.”

“Mep,” he squeaked. “Meow. Tiny bags, innit.”

“Who fronted it?” I stepped so close he could smell the stale smoke on my coat. “Name. Alias. Who dropped it off.”

His eyes flicked to the dark where his mate had legged it. “Tripper.”

“Where’s the stash? Where do they drop?”

“Yard behind the takeaway. By the bins. Tonight.”

“Right.” I let that sit. He moved to step away, but I shoved him back, splaying my palm flat on his chest. “I ain’t finished.” I sniffed, eyes down. “Those two you had outside. Who are they?”

“No one. Posh twats. Came in a few times, bought bags. Said they could flog it out west. Gave ’em some to sell. Didn’t pay. Saw one in the club today, so we clocked ’em.”

“When you say ‘posh’?”

“From the other side. Gold-card posh. Tried to pay with Amex. Black one. Ain’t seen them before.”

Now that caught me. Why was some posh boy who held a black Amex spreading notes for blowjobs and buying in fifty stacks?

I held out my hand. “I’ll take what you took from them, an’ all.”

Luca fumbled, brought out a phone and the card in question then slapped them into my palm. “Was gonna flog those to Tariq. You hear about his phone hustle?”

“Yeah.” I slid both into my pocket. They were mine to look at later. Quiet, useful.

“Can I go?” He nudged his chin down the alley, ready to fly after his mate and knock him down for fleeing.

“Not yet. Give me a sample.”

“What?”

“A sample of what you’re selling.”

Luca stared at me for a bit. Then he rustled in his pocket and produced a matchbox. He handed it over. “I’m a dead man for that.”

“You’d be a dead man for not handing it over.” I shoved the box in my coat. “You just bought yourself a couple of hours.”

“Cheers.” He started past me, but I grabbed his neck, dug my fingers in and brought him right to me. “One last thing. Who put a piece on Darren Finter?”

He tried to shrug, or maybe I was pressing my fingers in too hard, but he said, “Dunno, mate.”