Little Men - The E Book (15 page)

Sam took the package and walked out of the flat, his head swimming. On the one hand he was pleased because he wouldn’t have to worry any more about Sean and the hundred quid, but then again he would have to carry around this large and highly illegal package for the next five hours or so, then take it through London’s crowded streets on a Saturday night,
and then
associate with Sean’s highly undesirable friends.

He felt the same paranoia he always did when carrying drugs, only this time it was heightened significantly. It was also weird to be carrying in daylight hours too. Sam darted back to his car, constantly looking around him furtively to make sure no-one was watching, not that he could have done much about it if they were.

As Sam drove back to his flat, the initial shock of what had happened subsided slightly. He began to think logically again. It was a fairly simple thing he was doing. It happened all the time all over the world, and people took far bigger risks. Bigger packages, longer distances and most of them went by undetected. If he just kept his cool, he reasoned it would soon be all over.

Sam Bradley experienced an odd feeling as he walked through the narrow streets of central London. He walked quickly, head down apart from an occasional glance at passers-by.
I’m doing something incredibly illegal… only me and a few other nefarious individuals know about it… you lot would love to know my secret…

It was cold, wet and dark, the bitterness of winter lingering into early March. There were plenty of people out, despite the chill. ’Revellers’ the papers called them. Groups of girls chattered excitedly as they queued to enter bars and clubs. Young men in flimsy shirts walked hastily, arms held close to their bodies to shield from the weather. Bouncers dressed in black stood guard like soldiers in front of their establishments. Gaudy neon light reflected on the shiny wet surface of the pavements outside. Sam got a sudden blast of music every time a door was opened to allow someone to enter.

He slowed his pace. For some reason the extreme trepidation he felt earlier had almost dissipated completely. He was almost
enjoying
the element of danger. Adrenalin kept him moving. He approached the club, he knew it vaguely. It was not one of his usual haunts, it was an upmarket West End nightspot, famous in celebrity circles, regularly featuring in the gossip columns of newspapers and those silly, tiresome magazines Sam’s female friends were so fond of reading.

He neared the entrance. The fear he’d been feeling earlier returned. He fingered the contours of the paper envelope through his jacket. There was no way of concealing it properly, and there was no way of trying to get into the club in the normal manner, i.e.: queuing up with everyone else then paying to get in. Holding drugs or not, Sam didn’t like his chances of getting into a place like this. They didn’t seem to like young, single men with little money, whose only intention on a night out was to have a good time.

Sam approached the entrance to the club. It was very nondescript. A single doorway with plant-pots on either side. A queuing area was roped off, but there was no-one outside the club yet apart from a rather large bouncer dressed in a dark suit. The man held a clipboard and immediately noticed Sam as he tentatively walked towards him. The bouncer stared at Sam, making him feel even more self-conscious.

“Yes?” the bouncer asked as if it was the first time anyone had ever attempted to enter his club on a Saturday night.

Sam tried to regain his composure.

“I… I’m here to see Tony!” he blurted. “Sean sent me!” he added, for no real reason.

The bouncer looked down at his clipboard. “What’s yer name?”

“Erm, Sam.” The bouncer remained completely expressionless as he scanned the names in front of him. This was the moment of truth. Sam knew the drill. Bouncers held the key to the whole evening, only this time the stakes were far higher. Sam didn’t want to think about what might happen if the bouncer couldn’t find his name or, worse, he had been led to some kind of trap by Sean, and the police were waiting inside the club for him, or…

“Sam Bradley?” the bouncer said after what seemed like an eternity.

“Yes,” Sam replied weakly.

“Go to the top of the stairs. Ask for a lady called Dee. Tell her who you are and you’re here to see Tony.”

The man turned away, pretending to look at something else on his clipboard. Sam looked at him, but it was all the bouncer was prepared to give and his body language told Sam not to bother asking anything else. He reminded Sam of Sean with his surly and abrupt attitude.

Sam reached the top of the stairs. There was the usual counter for people to pay for entry to the club. Sam glanced across the desk. A pretty blonde woman sat looking at him, her ample breasts squeezed into a figure-hugging black lycra vest-top, giving Sam a tantalising view of her cleavage. Sam tried to concentrate on the job in hand.

“I’m, er, looking for Dee. I’m Tony. A friend of Sam’s.” Sam immediately realised his mistake.

“Sorry, I meant I’m Sam. I’m here to see Tony.” He realised what a bumbling idiot he must seem.

The woman smiled.

“I’m Dee.” She picked up a phone handset and pressed one of the keys. A few seconds passed. “Hi,” she said eventually.

“Yes, he’s here.” The woman replaced the handset and stood up from her seat. She walked around the counter to where Sam stood.

“Follow me, darling,” she said warmly.

The pair walked through a door, then up another flight of stairs. They entered a room. There was an office area in one corner. A desk with a computer, a filing cabinet and so on. To the right of that were three huge black leather couches occupied by four men holding glasses of what looked like champagne. They were chatting, laughing. Sam felt awkward and intimidated, like he had no right to be there. It was clearly an informal and private meeting he’d interrupted. One of the men stood up. Dee approached him.

“Tony, this is Sam.”

“Hello Sam, I’m Tony.” The man smiled and offered his hand for Sam to shake. Sam did so and Tony pumped it firmly. Sam quickly noted his appearance. He was a large man in his late thirties or early forties. He had dark skin and a shock of thick black hair, probably Hispanic or Italian in origin, Sam thought. A huge silver watch adorned his wrist, accompanying various other items of expensive-looking chunky jewellery. An awkward moment passed as Sam realised Dee had disappeared and he was alone in the room with the four men.

“Have you got something for me?” Tony said.

“Oh, errr, yeah, sure.” Sam fumbled under his jacket to retrieve the envelope.

“Nice one!” Tony said loudly as Sam handed him the package. Tony sensed Sam’s unease.

“You okay, lad?” he asked as he peered inside the envelope. Sam hardly heard, such was the intimidation he felt to be in the presence of one of the country’s major drug-dealers.

“Er… yeah, fine thanks.” Tony looked at him and laughed. He was in party mode, among his old friends. He dropped his working, hard-man persona for a moment.

“You’ve done a good job,” he said. “Sit down and have a drink with us.”

Tony had encountered Sam’s type many times in his line of work. Kids that were mouthy, confident and brash with their everyday circle of friends, but turned into gibbering wrecks once they were given anything seriously criminal to do. It amused him and fuelled his ego. He had a fearsome reputation within the drug-trade.

“Sorry to be so rude, but I’m going to have to search you first. You know how it is.” Sam was quickly realising that he really didn’t have a clue about how it is. Tony patted his hands gently over Sam’s clothes. He had already removed his jacket and only had a T-shirt and jeans on anyway. Tony was quickly satisfied that Sam wasn’t wearing a wire.

“Champagne?” he asked, regaining his jovial manner.

“Yes please,” Sam said, relaxing ever so slightly.

Tony walked to a large fridge situated next to the seating area of the office. He removed a champagne bottle and reached for a glass from a shelf. He filled the glass with liquid from the bottle.

“These are my friends,” he said as he tried to avoid spilling the champagne as it bubbled up inside the flute. Sam shuffled nervously closer to the sofas. For the first time he glanced at the men seated before him. His jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw who it was.

The world’s best-known disc jockey was sat on a sofa two feet in front of Sam Bradley, and sitting next to him was his production partner, Simon Owen, the man who owned the largest and most successful independent dance music label in the country.

NMA was a truly pioneering company. Not only did it look after the interests of many of the UK’s top DJs and recording artists, it regularly released tracks and albums which reached the top of the charts, often outselling mainstream bands. Many of the CDs sitting on Sam’s shelf in his bedroom had the egg-shaped NMA Music logo on them, with plenty of tracks credited to one Charlie Caxton.

Sam was well aware Charlie was one of the main players in the craze which had spread so rapidly throughout the UK and across the world. As the scene had grown, Charlie’s career snowballed alongside it. Today, he earned thousands for a single night’s work. He criss-crossed the country and the world playing to packed dance floors of kids who clamoured to catch a glimpse of him or just hear him play. He hosted shows on national radio stations, and even people with no interest in the club scene at least knew his name.

Sam had long since given up on mainstream pop music. He despised it. Or, more accurately, he despised the people who made it. It was the
breathtaking
hypocrisy
he couldn’t bear. One minute they were all over the telly telling everyone else why they should give their hard-earned cash to the starving families in Africa, the next they’re poncing around at the Brit Awards shovelling buckets of coke up their noses and shagging groupies by the roomful. Okay, DJs are not exactly sex- and drug-free zones, but at least you don’t have to put up with them jumping on some political bandwagon or other and crapping on about it whenever someone sticks a microphone under their nose.

Dance music was successful because it was about the people. You would go to a club and there would be a stage, often with elaborate lights and chintzy logos bolted to it, and people would stare at it, but usually nothing happened on it. But the crowd would still go bananas. The DJ and what he played was important, but it was the crowd that made the night, the atmosphere they created as they shared a high and the pure love of the music. Pop stars should be banned along with Monday mornings as far as Sam was concerned.

Tony introduced Charlie and Simon to Sam as old friends, along with the other man who Sam learned was the promoter of the club in which they were all sitting.

Sam felt like he was in a dream. Here he was sipping champagne with Charlie Caxton and Simon Owen after delivering a bag of pills to one of the most feared drug-dealers in the country. He sat in a daze as he listened to the men chatting. He learned that Charlie wasn’t actually playing in the club, he had merely dropped in on his way to another gig in London. Tonight was a small, private birthday party for a very well-known celebrity, a super-model and her actor boyfriend. The four men were awaiting the couple‘s arrival, when the promoter would go downstairs to greet them. Sam’s delivery of the chemical enhancements would no doubt be circulated throughout the course of the evening, as and when they were required.

“You work for Sean, then?” Tony spoke quickly, but his tone was friendly.

“Er, yeah, but…” Sam floundered once again, unsure as to how Sean had described him on the phone.

“Unlucky!” Tony exclaimed.

The other men laughed. Before Sam arrived, Tony had been telling the story as he knew it of Sean’s exploits in Holland, much to the amusement of his companions. Sam was still pretty clueless as to the capacity in which Tony and Sean knew each other.

Sam sat in silence as the men laughed and chatted, trying to take in what had happened. It wasn’t long, however, before a phone rang again. Brett, the promoter, answered it.

“Yeah… They’re here? Okay. Cheers darlin’.” It transpired that the guests of honour had arrived in the club downstairs and it was now time to go down and meet them.

The five men finished their drinks and rose from their seats, Sam copying the others and placing his glass on a tray on a table in front of them. Sam walked next to Charlie as they headed to the door. He had seen him in clubs before, from a distance. His picture was always in magazines and on the sleeves of many CDs in Sam’s collection on the shelf in his bedroom. Now they were strolling alongside each other like old friends. Sam was absolutely lost for words. This would be a story down the pub and at work!

The group descended a flight of stairs, then walked through a door. The muffled bass thump of the music resonated around the wooden fittings then became clearer as they entered the main room of the club. It was far smaller than Sam imagined, but he was used to large, warehouse-style raves. The music, although still a deafening volume, was slow R’n’B, again not what Sam was used to on a night out. The room was just starting to fill up, and the bar staff were clearly moving up a gear. Sam looked around. There were some beautiful women in attendance, but as was usual, especially on a night like this, they looked completely bored and uninterested, that is, until they noticed Charlie Caxton walking through the room. It amused Sam to see them double-take. Sam felt his own credibility rise about ten-fold as well!

As the group reached the main bar area, they were approached by a young woman. Sure enough, it was the world-famous model Alicia Stowe. Sam could hardly believe he was standing next to her. She excitedly hugged Brett then greeted Charlie with the same enthusiasm. Brett introduced the rest of the group and, to Sam’s delight, he remembered his name. Alicia shook his hand and smiled warmly.

She looked absolutely stunning, pencil thin, with her trademark high cheekbones and pouting lips. She veritably glowed and grinned with enthusiasm, seeming genuinely chuffed that everyone was making such a fuss for her birthday. In fact, Sam was surprised how down-to-earth she appeared.