Get Some (13 page)

Hurrying off up the stairs Paul made himself scarce so Trigg and boys could talk.

‘
I can’t believe people aren’t supposed to smoke in pubs ’n’ shit,’ commented Mario as he stretched back with his cigarette in his mouth.

‘
Fucking ri-di-culous, mate’ laughed Samson. ‘The thing is they’re taking away everything. You can’t do or say shit no more. Fucking PC do–gooder fucks make me wanna puke. We can’t say shit no more.’

‘
Such as?’ laughed Trigg.

Cutting in, Mario was itching to make a point. ‘Ok, Trigg, take me for example. Now I’m from Italy, ok. I was raised here but my dad, God rest his soul, was a thoroughbred Italian. We’re grease balls.’

‘
Wops,’ laughed Trigg

‘
Goombahs, Meatballs, Dagos, Olive-heads,’ added Samson.

‘
Ok, ok, ok, we’re a whole bunch of names. Thing is, you think I give a fuck? You know what? I heard you can’t even say jewboy now.’

‘
No fucking way!’ Samson’s raised his eyebrows as he spoke.

‘
It’s correctness gone mad. I mean you guys have to describe me when talking to other guys. Let’s just say there’s two Marios known about town, wot ya gonna say? You’re gonna say ‘Yeah, it was Mario, Mario the wop’. I tell you fucking shit people say you can’t do. Way it’s going, it’ll be illegal to wank soon.’

‘
You know what gets me too, lads?’ asked Samson.

Both Trigg and Mario sat smiling as Samson continued adding fuel to the debate.

‘
We fucking go to war with the fucking Iraqis and Afghan fucks, we go to war for the people, the same fucking people who say we can’t say shit. We’ve fucking earned our right to call people whatever the fuck we want. Now the Yanks, they call them Hadjis, which you have to admit is pretty fucking funny. We have always called them Pakis but obviously, due to more ’n’ more Pakis in our community, now we had to change our nicknames for them, so we call them Rag-heads. Now what the fuck is wrong with calling a Rag-head a Rag-head?’

‘
Beats me, Samson,’ laughed Trigg. ‘Fucking Rag-head’s a Raghead to me, always will be.’

‘
Same here,’ agreed Mario.

‘
It’s like Niggers,’ continued Trigg, ‘now how the fuck can a Nigger call a Nigger a Nigger but we can’t say Nigger? Anyone explain that fucking shit to me. You get fucking Niggers on TV saying ‘I’m black ’n’ I’m proud ’n’ all that shit. Could you imagine a white boy coming out ’n’ saying that shit? They’d string us up lads, I tell ya. Fucking Niggers sitting there taking the fucking moral high ground as ’n’ when it suits them. Fucking Niggers, I tell ya. It’s like I said to Rochelle, y’know Rochelle, that little black bird with the tits and arse to drool over ….?’

‘
Yeah, I know her. Fucking nipples like sugar dummies,’ laughed Mario.

‘
Yep, that’s the one. I was trying to explain to her one night. I ses ‘Bitch, just because I asked you if both your parents were Niggers doesn’t mean I’m racist. I fucked you didn’t I’? I mean you seen her, she’s black but not black, not a full bourbon but more like a coffee cream. I just assumed one of her parents must a been white. I told her I wasn’t a racist. I mean we have fucking Black Ricky working the markets don’t we - good little earner too.’

Samson outed his cigarette as Paul came down into the room with the food.

‘
Three full English breakfasts, lads, how’s that?’

‘
Fucking tops,’ smiled Trigg as he rubbed his hands together. After serving Trigg, Samson and Mario with their food, Paul asked if he could get anything else for them. Trigg grabbed Paul’s arm just as he walked past.

‘
Yeah, ok, well just a question actually. Where do you stand on Niggers?’

‘
Niggers?’

‘
Yeah Niggers. Well not just Niggers, Paul, but the whole racial names thing. What’s your take on it?’

‘
Well, I guess I just kinda think that whenever you get into an argument, and let’s say things get heated, you will use the first thing you see.’

‘
Explain,’ asked Mario as he tucked into his food.

‘
Ok, let’s say I’m arguing with a big fat guy. Now if me and him get heated over whatever, and he starts calling me names, you better believe I’m gonna refer to his weight. I’d be like ‘shut the fuck up you fat fuck’. Now let’ take another. I’m arguing with some big nose fuck, what am I gonna say ‘Hey you big nose fuck’, catch my drift?’

‘
Yeah, so your saying that if you argued with a Nigger ….?’

‘
Yeah, ‘you stupid fucking Nigger’, that’s my point. I don’t think it’s racial. I aren’t gonna go fucking running around with white sheets on my head. I have some good friends who are black and I don’t give a fuck what colour people are, but you upset me, whether you a Coon or a Kike, you’re gonna get fucking verbalised.’

Munching into his bacon as he buttered his toast, Trigg realised he had lost his train of thought.

‘
You know all this talk of ‘can do’ and ‘can’t do’, fucking Niggers and Wops and shit, it threw me off – which is good because I was in a fucking foul mood earlier. I got another phone call lads, another ‘guess who’s in town’ phone call.’

‘
From who?’ asked Mario with a mouth full.

‘
Fucking Nick, that landscape gardener - y’know, that ex-radio op, talks with a lisp, sounds like fucking Quasimodo – says he saw Tommy going to Emma’s with two other guys, one in a suit and one in a uniform.’

‘
Ha-ha, yeah, I know him. Fucking slavering bastard he is. Yeah, the suit will be that lawyer fuck,’ added Samson.

‘
Hmm, I know, it’s winding me up that he’s here, yet I can’t do shit, not yet anyhow. Anyways the point I’m trying to make lads is this - remember the plans I said I could make for the lawyer?’

Both Mario and Samson looked on. Both stopped chewing their food. There was a silence.

‘
Yeah, you got it lads. Get it done.’

Chapter Twenty Four

Being a lawyer had its perks.

An invitation to a game of golf was a usual thing in my profession.

In fact, my employers encouraged me to get a membership with the local golf club to try and mingle with a better standard of client. They knew I loved playing the game as I played with friends from university once a month. The thing is, it really wasn’t me to go to play for work reasons. I always found it hard to hold a convincing shop face, but I guess I had to do my bit for the firm, so I occasionally went and mingled with a few fat cats every once in a while and tried to fit in. It was a good way of bringing work in, I guess, plus I got to kick their arses at golf. I’d heard some people in my line of work let the potential clients win to get on their good side …fuck that.

I destroyed them every time.

Today’s invitation came at a good time. I was on a leave of absence from work and Tommy was with Emma at the hospital doing baby stuff. It was only his second day with Emma so, of course, they needed time together, so I had a day to myself. Usually I would not hesitate to accept an invitation for a game with a friend, but it was the man who had invited me that had me perplexed.

Valukana, the man, was somewhat of a mystery to me. Having been involved with the criminal justice system for a while now, I got to hear a lot of whispers. For example, the small-time chaps who got caught on petty crimes like possession would every now and then say ‘I’m working for the…’ and it was different most times. It could be a ‘such and such family’, it could be ‘the Poles’, ‘the Turks’, or even a ‘crew from Manchester’. It would usually be a load of crap because in reality these small-time guys never knew where it was coming from.

Every now and then, though, you would see a consistent pattern of bullshit. So when 30 or so people are saying they are dealing with ‘the Russians’ for instance, there just might be a little truth in it.

I had started hearing a few things about a ‘new crew‘coming to town. Upon my first meeting with Valukana at my office when I gave him the contact number for the passport man, I had received a few invitations to his new casino.

I ignored them.

I also had a thank you card, which I presumed was for the passport number I gave him. It seemed I had made an impression on the man. I also knew that he had thrown some business our way. the properties he was investing in were handled by our firm’s commercial property lawyer, for instance, and from what I heard, Valukana had more than a few quid stashed away.

You know what chit-chat is like, though. By the time it gets to you, you may have the 50th different version of what might have been a 10 percent truth. So when I was told Valukana was an ex-Mafioso, I brushed it off.

Then again…

When someone says ‘Yeah, that man’s ok…but I heard he killed somebody once’ it kind of does make you think ‘hmmm’. And I don’t know if its just me, but I kind of can’t help but prejudge someone. I know I shouldn’t. It’s like if someone is charged with murder, people automatically think ‘dodgy fucker’. It’s in our nature, but then sometimes that same dodgy fucker is as innocent and as normal as you or I. But mud sticks, as they say, and when you have that sign on you its hard to shake off.

Declining such a nice offer from the man made me feel bad at first. I just got the whiff of some weird underling issue Valukana had. Maybe he wanted to be friends with me somehow, but for what and why? Something was rotten in Denmark for sure, so I took the coward’s way out and called my secretary at the office and asked her to call him saying I was unfortunately engaged. Sorted right?

Wrong.

I had spent most of my morning in the gym. I love to keep fit. On that morning I had split my workout into two parts. It was important not to over-train or work too many muscle groups, so I’d decided to do half-an-hour’s cardio and an hour on my legs. I had crap legs - my knees were knobbly and no matter what I did, I think a sparrow’s legs looked beefier than mine. But still I tried…in vain.

I had just started on the legs when my phone rang. My ring tone which seemed to echo in the weights room was greeted by looks of disgust by the other gym members. After all, mobile phones were supposed to be left in the lockers or switched off. I also think that having the song ‘Gay Bar’ as my ring tone might have been the reason

I was looked at funny, not that I’m gay or have anything against gay people. It was a private joke because a friend at the office went to a gay bar and I made fun of him because he got embarrassed easily (yes, I am evil). I played the tune on my phone when I walked past him at work and it annoyed him. Yes – I’m a child.

Anyways I picked up the call and walked out of the weights room into a quiet corridor. It was a private number and I figured it might be a client. It wasn’t.

‘
Hello,’ I said as I crouched down to take a breather from my monster workout.

‘
Hello, Joey.’

I recognised the voice. ‘Fuck, its Valukana,’ I thought as I prepared my shop voice.

‘
Hey, hello there. Did you get my message. Would have loved to have played today but you know how it is, busy-busy-busy, ha-ha!’ (My fake laugh even irritated me).

The phone went silent but Valukana was still listening.

‘
Hello? You there?’

‘
I’m here Joey, busy-busy, hmm. The thing is, Joey, you passed me in your car earlier. You see, I deliver certain packages to your gym. Some men like aid in their quest to keep fit.’

‘
Yeah, the roids, eh? I get it. Look, is it Mr Valukana or just Valukana? I…er ….’

‘
Just Valukana, Joey, just Valukana.’

‘
Ok, let’s start over. Just hear me out here because, despite what you may think, I am not an ignorant man. First off, I know - ok I don’t know but I’ve heard - that you are kind of a bit of a gangster, and I am a lawyer, get my drift? I just know these types of things. I’ve been in the system a few years and I’ve heard of these wise guys who are all up and tight with their lawyers. The thing is, the lawyer ends up either vanished or discredited and, quite frankly, I’ve worked too damn hard to end up that way. I know you’re being friendly but seriously, man, I just keep myself to myself, y’know?’

‘
I understand Joey. What’s the other thing?’

‘
Ha, well secondly is you just fucking scare me dude. Seriously!’

‘
I scare you, Joey?’

‘
Yes. I mean, you’re ok ’n’ all but, I don’t know, you’re just, there’s just a fucking coldness there, dude, and it fucking freaks me out.’

Laughing hard down the phone Valukana couldn’t contain his amusement.

‘
I can’t believe you, Joey, I scare you. I tell you what, Joey; you have the scariest weapon a man could have.’

‘
And what would that be - my briefcase?’

‘
It’s your mind, Joey. The number one weapon anywhere, everywhere, is the human mind.’

‘
Well, I don’t feel like that to be honest, but thanks, ha.’

‘
Joey, it is no big deal. The man you helped - with the passport – his family are of major importance to me. You helped him. You then sent the money I gave you to the hospital for children. You are different. Look, Joey, I have dealt with many lawyers - some corrupt, some not so corrupt - but you are the first not to want my money, or any taste of my money, and I hear you’re from the street. You have morals and you have balls, those qualities, my friend, money cannot buy. I’m just new to the area here, Joey. I have been trying to learn golf but I am useless at it. I thought with you being a lawyer and with the few golfing pics on your office wall, then the least I could do was invite you for a game. I won’t be talking shop, Joey, and it would be just two guys whacking a golf club, I assure you. I am being honest.’