Dark Dawn (32 page)

Marty looked up and down Damascus Street. It was all clear. He ducked in past the hedge and rang the doorbell of number 9. A guy in his early twenties answered full of fake friendliness.

‘Marty, big lad. What about you? Come on in.’

In the front room three students sat like zombies on a sofa, staring at a large television. A bong, full of brown water, sat next to the coffee-table.

‘How’s business these days?’ the guy asked as he followed Marty into the room.

‘All right.’

They each bought a quarter and a couple of pills. Seventy quid’s worth. One of the stoners looked up as the notes changed hands.

‘Don’t go spending it all in the one shop now.’ He sniggered a stoned laugh at his own joke.

Marty thought about smacking him in the head. They could do all four of these wankers. I mean, what the fuck did he know? He held himself back, thinking about something he’d seen on a billboard –
the customer was always right.
He wasn’t though. No. The customer was a cunt.

‘See yous around,’ Marty said, making his way to the door.

Back on Jerusalem Street he unzipped his tracksuit and pulled out the book he’d stolen from the flat.

‘Dopey bastards.’

It was a present for Petesy. Help him on his way. He’d started doing it the week before and had five books piled up at home already. This one was by some Chinese guy.

Sun Tzu.
The Art of War.

‘Fuck,’ he said to himself. ‘I might have a go at this one myself.’

Marty checked up and down Damascus Street. It was all good. He zipped up his top and turned his collar up. He pulled his cap down and rolled on. There were calls to be made.