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After Odell left, I vomited into the bin by the open drinks cabinet. I knew what a lobster in a cage felt like when it realised the outside hole was wider than the one inside. The welcoming green glint of the Gordon’s gin bottle in the drinks cabinet invited me to cuddle up inside it.
Alcohol is a good listener. “I can’t confess to being my real self because the police will reopen the car crash investigation and be more thorough than they were the first time,” I told the bottle. “Going to the police and explaining the truth about Janus Angelica isn’t an option because I’ll end up in jail as Peter Black.” The gin bottle was cold to touch, and I basked in the tart, coaxing smell of the liquor. “I have no protection. There are no powerful friends or acquaintances in Glasgow I can call. I have no options.”
The only thing to do was to crawl back into the bottle. It was a path that gave me temporary freedom for more than half my life.
“You Weasel!” I slammed the bottle down on the cabinet and stepped away. “You’re a jerk, I can fix this without you.” I’d learned this technique to manage my urges at the expensive residential detox clinic my brother sent me to. “I have a choice. Fuck off, Weasel!”
My choice was to continue playing the role of Peter Black. With Odell as my ally, I could bluff it out with Cassandra and our criminal clients.
And anyway, there was no proof of anything.
***
I spent the rest of the day driving around, getting my thoughts in order. By the next day, I felt content with my decision. A weight was lifted from my shoulders—I simply had to embrace the role.
At 09:30, I was sat on the executive leather chair behind my mahogany desk researching Bitcoin fraud. There was a knock at the door and Cassandra and Odell entered.
I looked up, shutting the laptop lid. “Morning, both. It’s a wonderful morning to be alive. What can I do for you?”
Odell closed the door. “Cassandra’s been working on a deal that’s right up our street.” He wore casual clothes today, just blue jeans and a black polo shirt.
“Is this a Trade Deal, Cassandra?” I asked, allowing my newfound confidence to ooze out.
She looked at me out of the corner of her eyes, her red lips pursed. She nodded. “It’s a straightforward, clean deal. We’ve got a confirmed seller. And the buyer is from our Rainbow client base.” She pointed to the conference table at the opposite end of my office. “Let’s sit down.”
“You’re in a good mood today, Mr Black,” Odell observed. “Shall I make coffee?”
I smiled at him. “No. I’ll make it for a change, as I’m in such a good mood.” Cassandra plugged her laptop into the big screen. By the time I’d made three coffees from the Nespresso machine and presented them in the fine bone china cups, Cassandra was getting impatient.
“Lock the door, Odell,” she said.
“What’s the low-down?” Odell asked, taking his seat at the table again.
“Stolen identities. But not the usual crap we’ve seen before. These are five thousand virgin records, complete with National Insurance Number, address, phone number, previous salary, bank details, most recent employer.” She ignored the coffee I made her and took a bottle of sparkling water from the drinks cabinet fridge. “Do you remember when McKenzie Taylor Smith fell into administration three months ago?” she asked.
“The accountants? Sure, I remember,” Odell spoke. “Over twenty thousand people lost their jobs.”
“That’s right. It’s those people’s identities.” Cassandra turned to her laptop and a photo appeared on the big screen. “This man is our source. He’s called Grant Williamson, and he works at the Department for Employment.”
Grant’s double chin was big enough to hide a Mars bar in. He wore a pair of square glasses with large frames and modelled an ineffective comb-over.
“Why is Mr Williamson speaking to us?” I asked, keen to act like I was up to speed. “We’ve not worked him before, have we?” I made a calculated guess.
“No, we’ve not,” Cassandra said. “He’s new to us, but I’ve been softening him up for the last six weeks.” She smiled at Odell. “He’s ripe for the plucking.”
Odell laughed. “I’m not surprised. When a guy who looks like that gets six weeks of attention from a gal like you, he’ll be putty in your hands.”
“Thanks, Odell, I appreciate the compliment.” She sipped her water. “Mr Williamson is getting divorced. His wife left him for a richer, smarter man. He’s up to his hairy nostrils in debt. His self-esteem is in his toes.”
“And you’ve put hope in his desperate, dried-up balls!” Odell burst out laughing. He had an infectious joviality that lit up a room. I laughed with him.
Cassandra smiled professionally and closed her laptop lid. “I’m meeting him tonight to get a sample of the data.”
“How much does he want for the entire data set?” I asked, dropping in what I hoped was the right terminology. From my career drug running in Glasgow, I knew the street value of most narcotics, but stolen identities was new to me.
“I’ll find out tonight. He’s never done this before and has no idea of its value. I’ll suggest one hundred thousand to him, and I think he’ll agree. He’s in love with me, after all!”
“Who’s buying the data?”
“Ray Woods.”
“Ray?” I repeated it back, with a questioning tone, hoping she’d tell me who that is.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Surely you know who Ray is? He arranged the job you had lined up for your brother.”
I pursed my lips and rubbed my head. “My memory’s playing up, I guess.” I looked at Odell.
Odell obliged. “Ray Woods is a long-standing client. We’ve invested his money in Ivory and Rainbow Funds. He runs several legit businesses in Edinburgh and further afield—mainly construction and property.”
“Is he a reliable person to deal with?”
“He’s as reliable as any of our clients,” Odell chuckled. “He’s full of himself and prone to a short fuse, but he’s fairly honest.”
“How much will he pay?”
“Again, I’ll find out later when I send him a sample of the data,” Cassandra said.
“Just as well you’re not selling it to Lexi Baryshev,” Odell said.
Cassandra sat bolt upright, her long neck tense. “What do you mean?” she snapped.
“Wow, stay calm.” Odell put his hands up in mock surrender. “I just meant she’s always in the market for data of this quality. Of course, last time you tried to sell her something, she took a particular disliking to you!”
“Yeah, whatever. She’s not involved this time, have you got that?” She snatched up her belongings and stood up. “See you back here tomorrow with the data.”
She picked up the untouched coffee I’d made her and left.
Odell whistled. “She’s touchy today!”
“You can say that again. What happened between her and Lexi?”
“They don’t have the best relationship. Cassandra—” His phone rang. “I’m sorry, Mr Black. I need to take this. I’ll remind you about Lexi over a cocktail one day at the Rum Bar.”