A text beeped on Nathan’s phone: ‘MISSION COMPLETE’. The product was loaded, concealed neatly into a lorry-load of furniture. Mission complete indeed. The corner of his mouth rose upwards in a smile. Who did Quinny think he was? Tom Cruise? Jerking his shirt sleeves down his wrists he checked the silver cufflinks. Give him his due: Quinny had done everything he asked despite the fact he had just got out of prison. Nathan shrugged on his Armani jacket, admiring its cut. He was in better shape now than when he was in his twenties. He ran his fingers through his hair, admiring his reflection in the mirror. Lenny’s welcome home party was in full swing now, and big band music vibrated from below. They had spent a small fortune preparing the club – it had never looked so grand. It was the party of the year; the guest list would have been of great interest to the police. At least fifty per cent of his guests were packing heat. He just hoped his brother could stay out of trouble long enough to prevent the filth turning up.
After five years inside, it was hardly any wonder Lenny was as tense as a coiled spring. Nathan hoped that this morning’s bit of business would go some way towards quenching his thirst for revenge. The guy he’d visited was a meathead, a twenty-five stone hulk with a pea for a brain. His fate had been sealed the second he grassed on his brother for the grievous bodily harm that had put him inside. Meathead survived his kicking after the verdict came through, but Lenny would not rest until he paid him a personal visit. Their victim had mistaken Nathan’s aloofness for weakness, making his brutal reprisal all the more of a shock as he and Lenny pinned him to the floor. He could still remember fatso’s expression as Lenny produced, not a knife or a shank, but a spoon. ‘All the better for scooping, my dear.’ Lenny’s thirst for violence knew no bounds, and Nathan could still see fatso’s freshly plucked eyes, white and viscous, like two plump boiled eggs. He was one of the lucky ones; Lenny had let him live. Nathan had managed to persuade him that such a savage act would serve as a living advertisement to any other players thinking of serving them up.
He exhaled a heavy sigh. He should re-join the party. Leona would be waiting, throwing a cautious eye over him when she thought he wasn’t looking. He had come to accept his mother’s interference in his life, and inviting Leona to Lenny’s homecoming party seemed the acceptable thing to do. It was not as if he could ask Ruby. Leona had greeted him like an overexcited puppy. The girl had little substance and her behaviour was all for show.
Sliding his phone from his pocket, he deleted Quinny’s text before dialling the number.
‘Hello?’ Quinny responded cautiously.
‘It’s me. Everything go as planned?’
A sigh of relief followed. ‘Oh, hello boss; I wasn’t expecting your call. Yeah, everything went smoothly. I start the ball rolling tomorrow.’
‘Mmm,’ Nathan said. ‘Remember to get rid of the phone, then buy another pay as you go.’
‘Are you sure?’ Quinny said, sounding as if he was outside as the wind took his words. ‘It’s just that it seems like a waste of money, changing phones all the time.’
Nathan’s voice sharpened. ‘Are you questioning my judgement, Quinny?’
‘What? Oh no, no, of course not. Sorry, boss, just trying to save you some money.’
Nathan snorted. ‘I can afford it. But you can’t afford to mess up. You don’t want to end up back inside now do you?… a good-looking boy like you.’ His tone was light as he delivered the threat, but the young lad knew the score.
Quinny’s voice dropped: ‘No, no I don’t. I’ll text you tomorrow from the new phone. When are you coming?’
‘What did I tell you, shit for brains? Not over the phone. Stick to the plan.’
‘Sure, sorry, boss, I—’
Nathan hung up, locking the door of his private office as he left. Since Lenny came out, all of his senses had been on high alert. Staying on top of the game was not easy with so many newcomers snapping at his heels.
The music had changed now: the live band playing a slow, melodic ballad, transporting them back in time. Lenny loved all the old stuff. The dress code was ‘big band era’ and their guests had not let them down. Nathan milled through the crowd, receiving numerous slaps on the back and ironclad handshakes. Even his more dubious friends had worn tuxedos; the women on their arms looking glam in their vintage swing dresses. Around him, people were laughing and joking, but business was still underway, with Lenny serving up tasters of his finest class A in the private booths. Their attractive young escorts were there too, to sweeten the deal. There was no need, not today. But Lenny couldn’t help himself: that’s just the way he was.
‘Dance with me, babe,’ Leona’s hand snaked around his waist, and Nathan turned to greet her.
‘I don’t do dancing,’ Nathan said, loosening himself from her grip. He had grown to dislike the thin sour odour of her perfume, her skin chemistry turning an expensive scent into something which smelt like urine.
Her smile slid from her face, but she still looked pretty despite her disappointment.
‘You’ve got friends here, go and enjoy yourself, have some cocktails. I’ve got a bit of business to do.’
‘OK then,’ she said, stealing a kiss before joining her friends at the bar. Leona was no stranger to this life; her father was one of Lenny’s oldest friends.
‘You’ve done yourself proud, boss,’ Fingers said, handing him a glass of champagne. ‘This party will be the talk of the town.’
‘It’s good to see the old crowd again,’ Nathan said. ‘Just keep an eye on Lenny, will you? If anything starts, make sure you and the boys nip it in the bud. I don’t want any bust ups. Not tonight.’
‘He won’t misbehave,’ Fingers said. ‘Not with yer mum about.’
Nathan nodded in agreement. As tough as he was, Lenny would never disrespect his mother by ruining the party she had spent months organising. ‘Cheers,’ Nathan said, knocking back the expensive Cristal. He surveyed his club, knowing he should be proud of his wealth and authority. But the better things went, the warier Nathan became. Underneath the veneer of success lay a greasy underbelly, and in this game, things had a habit of sharply turning on their head.