Tahir Hussain made a detour on his way home. Waqar Ahmed had asked for a meeting. The Little Taj, a sit-down restaurant on the Curry Mile was another of Ahmed’s businesses. A much bigger concern than the Kashmiri Palace; Ahmed used a relative as a dummy director.
The waiters greeted Hussain with much pomp and ceremony. He was something of a celebrity as far as Ahmed’s crew were concerned.
‘I’m not here to eat. I need to see Mr Ahmed.’
‘Of course, Mr Hussain,’ replied one of the waiters in Punjabi, showing the solicitor to a stool at the bar.
A waiter handed him a bottle of Cobra. ‘Please, on house.’
Hussain left the drink but reached into some mints on the bar, then thought better of it, remembering he’d read in some magazine that they were always covered in different people’s piss – customers who hadn’t washed their hands.
Several minutes later Ahmed appeared with outstretched arms. ‘Tahir Hussain, the best lawyer in Manchester. I’m honoured by your visit. Come, my friend, sit down.’
Hussain followed him to a table in a secluded corner. A waiter quickly removed the cutlery, leaving only a fraying red table cloth and two paper napkins folded into swans. Hussain sat down opposite his best client. He loathed having to associate with the man. Ahmed was like a cancer: once he had a hold over someone, he would gradually spread into every aspect of their life. Hussain wasted no more time on formalities: ‘You wanted to see me, Waqar?’
‘Yes, to see how it’s going and to congratulate you.’
‘Congratulate me?’
Ahmed sniggered. ‘On getting him to accept you as his brief. Can’t have been easy.’
Ashamed of his duplicity, Hussain forgot himself. ‘Someone beat the crap out of him. Was that you?’
Ahmed didn’t give an answer. ‘Does he have a defence to killing those people?’
Hussain ignored the question but posed one of his own: ‘Did you have something to do with what happened in that car?’
Ahmed’s expression twisted into one of anger, then contempt. ‘You dare to come into my restaurant and ask me that?’
No going back now: ‘Well, did you?’
Ahmed leaned across the table. ‘Just make sure you lose.’
‘What?’ Hussain’s mouth went dry. ‘That wasn’t part of the deal. You said just get the brief. Tell you what’s going on. Nothing bent. I won’t lose it on purpose. I can’t do that to him.’
‘Then I think it’s time for you to pay back my money.’
‘You know I haven’t got it.’
‘You’ve got two choices: get my money, or lose the trial. Understood?’
There was nothing else to say.
Hussain got up to leave.
What the hell was he going to do?