status.’
‘Twenty-five eh?’ The stranger pondered this.
‘And of course, it depends on the quality of the product you’re pushing. I mean, I deal with discerning people. They smell chalk or talcum powder, it’ll be no more dice from them and no more dice from me.’
‘Everyday Charlie and his discerning customer-base, eh? I’ll have to bear that in mind.’
Lazenby glanced over his shoulder before leaning even closer. ‘What do you say? I was hoping to meet you guys anyway, at some point, so we could square this very deal.’
The man eyed him, for the first time closely; it was slightly disconcerting – there was steel in that gaze. ‘You want in, basically?’
‘Sure I do.’
‘Into what, though?’
‘The Crew. What else are we talking about?’
‘There’s no such thing as the Crew. Least, I’ve never heard of them.’
Lazenby sat back exasperated. ‘Listen mate …’ He knew he shouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t really control the snap in his voice. He needed to advise them that he was serious about his business. ‘There’s something you need to know. I’m not Mickey Mouse, all right …’
‘No, you’re Everyday Charlie.’
Frustrated that they were still playing this silly game, Lazenby grabbed his briefcase. ‘When you find out who the Crew are, and more importantly, where they are, let’s talk again.’
‘I’ve got another deal for you,’ the man said.
Lazenby stayed in his seat. ‘I can do twenty per cent, but that’s got to be it. That’s as far down as I’ll go.’
‘Let’s stop talking figures, and focus on responsibilities.’
Lazenby shrugged.
‘Because, I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.’ The man took another sip of G&T – in ludicrously genteel fashion; he even raised his little finger. ‘You see … I don’t have any product for you to sell. That’s not my line at all.’
‘So why are we having this conversation?’
‘We’re having this conversation because, like I say, I think you seem like a decent, straight-to-the-point kind of fella, and in addition, you’ve got this ingenuity thing going on. You’re someone who deserves a bit of a heads-up.’
‘To what?’
‘Well, not to how much you’re going to earn.’ The guy treated Lazenby to that steely gaze again, now coupled with a wire-thin smile. ‘But to how much it’s going to cost you.’
‘Ahhh …’ It was several moments before Lazenby was able to work enough saliva into his mouth to reply properly. ‘You’re a tax collector, is that it?’
‘No.’ Though the man’s smile broadened, it still didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I’m the tax collector.’
‘You’re Frank McCracken.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Don’t they call you “the Shakedown”?’
To a degree, Lazenby was honoured, and not a little proud of himself, to have attracted the personal attention, not just of a senior lieutenant in the Crew, but the lieutenant whose main purpose it was to get the syndicate its cut from all those criminal enterprises in the Northwest of England that weren’t actually their own. But he couldn’t deny that he was unnerved too; his hands now shook, their palms moist. The approach had been gentlemanly enough, but Lazenby wasn’t deceived. He’d heard some bone-chilling tales.
‘So, let me see,’ he said, biting down on his fear – this was only going to end one way, so the best he could do now was try to affect some kind of damage limitation. ‘I’ve got to source my own product, pay the advance on it, arrange importation, storage, security, distribution, delivery … with no input from you whatsoever, and you still get paid? Is that correct?’
The man who had to be Frank McCracken sat back. ‘You make it sound like you don’t win.’
‘It depends how much.’
McCracken made a show of thinking this through – for about two seconds. ‘I reckon sixty/forty’s a fair split, to be honest.’
‘Sixty/forty?’ It could have been worse, Lazenby supposed.
‘In our favour, of course.’
‘In your favour …?’
‘You sound doubtful, which I suppose is understandable.’ McCracken thought it through, again. ‘So, let’s make it seventy/thirty. Until we get to know each other better. Oh, and we’ll take our first payment from the two hundred-thou you’ve pulled in so far this year.’
‘This … this …’ Lazenby struggled to suppress his helpless rage. ‘This always the way you do business?’
‘Not at all. We’d normally be having this conversation out back. But out of respect for your status, I thought we’d do it differently today.’
‘And I suppose if I say “no”, those gloves will come off, will they?’
McCracken shrugged. ‘No rush for that. But anything can happen.’
‘I could’ve been a good friend to you.’
‘You still will be, I’m sure.’
‘You reckon?’
‘You live off Mulberry Crescent, don’t you? Nice part of Crowley, that.’
Lazenby didn’t suppose he should be surprised that they knew where he lived. He said nothing, however, neither confirming nor denying it.
‘Not as nice as Carrwood in Altrincham, mind you,’ the gangster added. ‘Or Bromley Cross in Bolton, or Worsley in Salford, or Ellesmere Park, or Hale, or Timperley …’
Neither, Lazenby supposed, should he be surprised that they knew his main sales areas.
‘Nice places,’ McCracken mused. ‘Tree-lined streets, green lawns at the front of every house, couple of cars on each drive.’ Suddenly, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘Be a real shame if things changed. You know, if the yobbos turned up … and the crackheads, and the gangbangers, and the boy-racers. Looking to party every night up and down those quiet streets. The residents would call the fuzz of course. Probably again and again. I mean, they’re not used to that kind of disorderly conduct. But is that really what you want, Joe?’
‘And let me guess … if I pay my taxes, none of that happens?’
McCracken finished his drink and stood up. ‘There are no guarantees in this line of work. But if I was you, I’d hedge my bets. I mean,
