tattooed man snatched a briefcase from one of the seated men, gave a menacing sneer in Leon’s direction, and marched out the door. The tension suddenly lifted, and the men, who were gathered and poring over a large map of South-East London, went back to circling areas on it, using black felt-tip pens. Jackie didn’t know whether to say hello or ignore them and walk over to Leon. She suddenly remembered her make-up had run in the heat: she’d been distracted by the car behind, causing her to forget about the state of her appearance. Now, she was feeling uncomfortable and could have kicked herself.
Leon looked up and waved his hand for two of the men to leave. He grinned and leaned back in his chair.
‘Hello again, Jackie.’
She took two steps forward and nodded. ‘Hi,’ she said, feeling very awkward.
‘So, Jackie, what can I do for you?’ His sly grin widened. He was mocking her, and she knew it.
With her back now to the ominous men, a surge of gumption shot through her veins. ‘It’s more about what I can do for you.’
Leon raised an eyebrow and lost his grin. She noticed how his deep-set eyes were close together. They were dark, like his hair. His skin was olive. Maybe he’s Italian or an Arab, she thought, yet he spoke like a Londoner.
‘Is that so, Jackie? Only I didn’t come knocking at your door, you came knocking at mine.’
She smiled and hoped he was joking, but his eyes narrowed again. ‘So, what is it then that you can do for me?’
‘I know people and—’
He laughed. ‘We all know people, darling.’
‘Yeah, but I know people that I can sell to.’
No sooner had she got the words out of her mouth than Leon lunged across the desk and snatched her hair, pulling it an inch from his face. ‘Bad fucking move, tramp!’
She almost tasted the whisky on his breath, but it was mixed with the taste of her own fear. Wide-eyed and petrified, Jackie didn’t move.
Leon let her go and looked over at the men sitting on the sofa. ‘Leave us, gentlemen, please.’
He didn’t have to ask twice; they swiftly headed for the door, leaving him glaring at Jackie.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are, coming into my premises and announcing to everyone in the room that you can sell stuff? You don’t even know who those fucking men are, do ya? Who the hell do you take me for? I ain’t no small-time fucking street dealer. I gave you a parcel for an associate of mine, and now you’re presenting yourself like you’re some kinda gangster! The only thing you could sell, Jackie, is ya fucking fanny, a score at most. Now, get outta my house and never fucking come back!’
Shaking all over, Jackie was on the point of leaving, but she’d driven all this way, and she needed money. ‘Look, Leon, I’m sorry about that. I stupidly assumed . . . well, never mind. I just thought I could work for you. I’m a grown woman. The Filth won’t sniff around me, if ya know what I mean.’
Leon stretched his neck and rubbed his bristles. ‘So, then, you want to sell drugs?’
Jackie thought he was a bit blunt, but at the end of the day, he was right. Swallowing hard, she nodded. ‘I don’t take drugs myself and I’ve got no criminal record. I keep meself to meself, but I reckon—’
Leon interrupted. ‘You don’t take drugs? Really?’ His eyes regarded her ragged appearance.
She shook her head. ‘I’ve never touched hard gear.’
Slowly, and still keeping his eyes on her, he opened a drawer to the right of him and pulled out a packet. She watched as he pushed it under her nose. ‘Go on, then, open it and try some!’
‘Er . . . what? No, seriously, I don’t take drugs.’
A heavy sigh left Leon’s mouth. ‘Well, you’re no fucking good to me, then.’
‘I don’t understand.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘I’m clean. I wouldn’t be taking the drugs meself, ya see. I just wanna make some money.’
‘You cannot sell that shit without telling the punters what it’s like, ’cos they will ask ya. In fact, the first words that will come outta their mouths will be “Is it good shit?” and you can’t fucking answer that, unless you’ve tried it yaself.’
‘But—’
Leon raised his hands. ‘No buts, darling. Either you wanna sell my gear, or you don’t. Now, try it, or fuck off!’
Jackie tried to suss out if it was some kind of test or if he really meant it. ‘Nah, it’s all right. I’ll leave it ’cos I don’t take shit.’
‘Bye-bye!’ He waved his hand, leaving Jackie flummoxed.
‘Hang on. Are ya serious? Ya really want me to try it?’
Leon shook his head. ‘For fuck’s sake, listen, will ya? I never joke, and I don’t have time for this bullshit, so go on, girl, fuck off!’
‘All right!’ she said, as she snatched the small packet. Carefully, she unwrapped it and stared at the white powder, and then, with wide eyes, she looked at him, hoping he would say he was joking.
Leon took a ten-pound note from a pen drawer, rolled it up, and passed it to her. His eyes were still firmly fixed on hers. ‘Snort it!’
She had smoked skunk before but had never touched powder. Her legs were like mushy peas, and her heart raced. Her mind went back to Tatum when he snorted cocaine. It didn’t turn him into a zombie. He just became more alert and a real chatterbox and, oh yes, very horny.
She shoved the rolled-up note up her nose and reluctantly sniffed some of the powder.
‘All of it, ya silly tart!’
She did as he said and immediately felt a burning in her nostrils followed by a heavenly feeling that slowly eased its way around her body. The anxious state left her, and she was on a high. The sensation was a thousand times better than any amount of Grey Goose could offer. Within a few minutes, her legs felt heavy, and she had the need to sit down, the room becoming blurred as a warm fuzziness engulfed her. As her head touched the arm of the sofa, she was floating on clouds in a world far away from her current miserable existence.
Leon got up from his chair and strolled over to Jackie. He stared at her gaping mouth, and then, slowly, his eyes descended to her breasts. He grinned to himself, thinking they must be fake; no one her age had tits that pert. He could easily help himself, but then he wondered if he could even be bothered.
The bang as the door pushed open pulled him out of his thoughts. Standing there, at six foot five, with a face like thunder and eyes like saucers, stood the Governor.
‘Are you some kind of cunt?’ he bellowed, gripping a heavy-looking metal bar.
Leon stepped back in shock, his mind working overtime, trying to think why the Governor was in his cottage, and, more worryingly, why he was holding a weapon. The Governor only ever made phone calls. He worked from
