The Front (2 page)

       
Mal gripped the edge of his seat with as much cool as he could muster as they careered onto the main road on two wheels and hurtled towards the traffic lights ahead. The car had balls, he’d give it that. He just hoped Lee could handle it. It was too nice a day to end in a hearse.

       
When all four wheels were back on solid ground, he relaxed enough to unhook his nails from the seat. ‘So what’s this “money, money, money” business?’ he asked. ‘And it better be good, dragging me out of me pit at this time of day.’

       
Lee smiled. ‘Oh, it is, mate, it is. Remember that job I said I was working on?’

       
Mal rolled his eyes. For a minute there, he’d actually thought Lee might have stumbled onto something that didn’t require his doing anything. Like a mislaid Securicor case stuffed full of cash, or something. But no – he was on with one of his crap schemes again.

       
Leaning forward, he fiddled with the radio, flooding the air with The Smiths’ latest dirge. He sighed exaggeratedly. ‘Go on, then. What’s it gonna be this time? Taj Mahal? Crown Jewels? Hi-jacking a jumbo?’

       
Lee shot him a sulky side glance. ‘Take the piss all you want,’ he said, his voice matching Morrisey’s for petulance. ‘But it’s right this time, and I’ve worked everything out proper like. Still, if you don’t wanna come in on it, I’ll just—’

       
‘D’y’ have to whine?’ Mal interrupted in a bored voice. ‘I ain’t said no, have I? I’m just saying it depends. Try clueing me up and I’ll let you know. What, when and where?’

       
‘Only if you stop taking the piss?’

       
‘Stop fannying around and tell me if you’re gonna.’ Mal lit another cigarette off the butt of his last and waited.

       
Lee wanted to keep him guessing as a punishment, but managed all of three seconds before blurting out: ‘All right. It’s Pasha’s place. And it’s going off tonight.’

       
Sure it must be a wind-up, Mal twisted around in his seat to look at Lee fully. ‘Pasha’s?’ he spat. ‘You’re having a laugh! That’s the poxiest shite-hole in Manchester! What d’y’ reckon we’re gonna pull from there? A pack of bleedin’ nappies and some fanny plugs? Jeezus!’

       
‘Nah, man, it’s perfect,’ said Lee, quite seriously. ‘I’ve been casing it for weeks and he is
raking
it in. Just think about it.’ He held up his hand and began to count off on his fingers: ‘Look at the threads he’s strolling about in – they’ve got to be worth a fair few bob, yeah? And that big fuck-off jeep he’s driving is twenty-five grand’s worth at least. And look at all them new security cameras and shit he’s had put in. How much d’y’ reckon that lot’s setting him back, eh?’ He raised a questioning eyebrow but didn’t wait for Mal to answer before continuing: ‘A fucking mint, that’s what!’ He shook his head, his lip twisting with contempt. ‘The cunt’s flashing it about something rotten, and by my reckoning, it’s time someone relieved him of some, know what I mean?’

       
Gripping tight to his seat again as they sailed through a red light, narrowly avoiding a van, Mal considered what Lee had said and grudgingly agreed that he might just have a point. Pasha Singh, owner of the local supermarket, had been acquiring some heavy-duty goods recently, and to do that he must be making serious profits. And now that he thought about it, it also occurred to him that Pasha’s shop was virgin territory in the blagging stakes. All the other shops in the row had been done over numerous times, but never Pasha’s.

       
It didn’t occur to him to wonder why.

       
Lee saw the thoughts ticking over on Mal’s face and knew he was interested. ‘Well?’ he asked eagerly. ‘You up for it, or what?’

       
Mal shrugged casually. It sounded just the boost his depleted funds needed, but he didn’t want to appear too eager – didn’t want Lee to get ahead of himself and start acting the great I Am.

       
‘Sounds all right,’ he said at last. ‘So long as you’ve worked it out right, ’cos I know what you’re like for ballsing things up.’

       
Lee grinned confidently. ‘Nah, not this time, man. It’s a dead cert, this. I’ve worked everything out to a T – all the times and shit. It’ll be right, you’ll see. Especially with Sam and Ged in on it. The four of us together, man, we’d be like a bleedin’ army!’

       
‘They said they’ll do it, then?’ Mal asked.

       
Lee shook his head. ‘Haven’t told ’em yet. But if Sam says yeah, Ged’ll do it and all. You know what them two are like. Anyhow,’ he went on with a grin. ‘I wanted to make sure you were in first. You’re me number one, ain’t you?’

       
Mal allowed him a small smile for his loyalty, then asked, ‘So what we looking at?’ He just hoped Lee wasn’t planning on loading the car with fags and booze. He needed hard cash, not shopping.

       
Lee shrugged. ‘Can’t be sure exactly, but I reckon it should be a fair few grand.’

       
Mal frowned. ‘Won’t come to much, split four ways.’

       
Lee pulled his head back. ‘Who said anything about a four-way split? Do I look a complete numpty?’

       
‘You don’t want me to answer that!’

       
‘Ah, shaddup!’ Lee grinned, then said more seriously: ‘Look, I’ve got it sorted in me head. If we drop them at Sam’s straight after and take the dosh back to yours to count, they won’t know how much we’ve got, so they’ll be none the wiser when we give them a third between them and split the rest between us, will they?’

       
Mal pursed his mouth. ‘Oh, I dunno, mate. It still won’t come to that much. It ain’t really worth the hassle, is it?’

       
‘Come off it,’ Lee spluttered, taking his eyes off the road for a full five seconds. ‘Even if it’s only a couple of gees, it’s gotta be worth it for ten minutes’ graft!’ He grinned hopefully. ‘You’re just messing about, ain’t you?’

       
Mal laughed out loud. ‘Course I am, you plank! Think I’m stupid or something?’

       
‘Yes!’ Lee yelled excitedly. ‘I knew I could count on you, mate. And here, seeing as you’re in . . .’ Reaching under his seat, he pulled out a crinkled plastic bag and tipped it up onto his knee. ‘Cop a load of this little beauty!’

       
Mal’s eyes widened. ‘Holy shit!’ he gasped. ‘Where d’y’ get that? Giz a look.’

       
Reaching across, he snatched up the gun and gazed at it in reverent wonder. He didn’t have a clue what make it was, but he knew a dangerous piece when he saw one – and this was deadly. A thrill ran through his groin as he stroked his fingers along the smooth matt-black finish. Guns were the ultimate turn-on – the ultimate frightener. And this one, as Lee had rightly said, was a little beauty.

       
He whistled through his teeth respectfully. ‘Very nice!’ Turning it around, he squinted down into the barrel. ‘Loaded?’

       
‘Course!’ Lee said, his voice thick with pride. ‘It ain’t a toy, you know. That’s the real McCoy, that is!’

       
Turning it streetward, Mal closed an eye and peered along the barrel, setting his sights on a young mother pushing a pram along the pavement. His finger quivered on the trigger, the urge to squeeze almost overwhelming.

       
Kaboom . . . Kaboom
!

       
Blowing imaginary smoke away as the girl and her unseen sprog mentally hit the deck in a pool of blood and gore, he asked again where Lee had got it.

       
‘Jamie Wotsisface from the Eagle,’ Lee told him, jealously reclaiming the gun. Slipping it back into the bag, he stashed it safely back under the seat.

       
‘Junkie Jamie?’ Mal sneered, rubbing his tingling fingers on his thighs. ‘That rip-off merchant? How much did he rush you?’

       
‘A tenner,’ said Lee smugly. ‘He wanted fifty, but I bunged him a brownie and promised the rest later. Yeah, like he’s ever gonna see it,’ he cackled. ‘Suck-er! Anyhow, he wasn’t gonna say no, the state he was in, snottin’ and shakin’.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘Bleeding junkies, man. They’ve got no sense.’

       
Mal nodded, totally agreeing with this sentiment. Smack was a mug’s game, in his opinion: it took a man’s pride, ate it up and spat it out. Now Charlie – that was the stuff. The essence of life. Mother of recreation. Charlie was the main man!

       
‘It’s only in case,’ Lee was saying now. ‘Just to shut him up if he gets lippy, like.’

       
Mal pictured Pasha on his knees behind the counter, begging for mercy as Lee thrust the gun into his face, demanding all the dosh from the till. He shook his head. ‘Nah, he’s a pussy. You won’t need it.’

       
Looking out of his window as they turned on to Barlow Moor Road, Mal’s forehead tightened into a frown. South Manchester sucked the big one. All twitching net curtains and 999 on permanent redial. You couldn’t blend into the background in places like this. Load of creepy bastards! He didn’t care how posh it was, he didn’t want to be here, and he’d make damn’ sure they didn’t stay too long. He didn’t know why Sam and Wendy had wanted to move up here in the first place – or how. It was supposed to have something like a ten-year waiting list.

       
As if reading Mal’s thoughts, Lee said, ‘I think they were dead lucky getting a gaff up here. You seen it yet?’

       
Mal grunted, ‘Nah. I ain’t had me invitation yet. Must’ve got lost in the post, eh? Anyhow, it’s a bit toffee for me. And I thought Sam would’ve had more sense and all. What’s he want to get stuck up here for?’

       
Lee shrugged. ‘You know what Wendy’s like once she’s made her mind up about something. Remember how bad she kicked off when they offered her that dump in Sharston?’

       
‘Yeah.’ Mal smirked, remembering only too well. Wendy had an evil temper, and a tongue that could slice you in half.

       
‘I reckon they shoved her here to keep her quiet,’ Lee went on. ‘Her threatening to go to the news if they didn’t give her somewhere decent. They couldn’t exactly risk that with her fit to pop, could they? Ah, here it is.’

       
Swinging through the gateway of a neat, pebble-dashed semi with a tidy gravel drive and a well-tended garden, he screeched to a stop, sending a spray of small stones across the lawn.

       
‘All right, isn’t it?’ He nodded towards the house, as proud as if it were his own. ‘And Sam’s well made up, being this far out, especially with that posse after his arse an’—’

       
‘You what?’ Mal cut him off with a frown. ‘I thought he’d sorted that?’

       
Lee shrugged, opening his door. ‘So did he, but Jimmy Feeley give him the tip-off the other week that they ain’t too happy with his attitude now. They reckon he’s been dissing ’em, or something. Load of bollocks, but what can you do?’

       
Mal was not happy about this last piece of information. The City Road Posse were an evil bunch of bastards, and Pasha’s shop was smack in the middle of their turf. Being seen with a marked man would be very dangerous, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to take that chance.

       
‘Hang about a minute,’ he said. ‘You reckon we should let Sam in on this? You know what that crew are like, man. It won’t just be him who cops it if they see him. We’ll all get it.’

       
Lee shook his head, dismissing Mal’s concerns with a wave of his hand. ‘It’s cool, man, I’ve got it covered. I’ve got us some masks. And wait till you see ’em. They’re the works, man!’ With that, he got out and marched up to Sam’s front door.

       
Mal followed reluctantly, unable to share Lee’s confidence. If Lee was wrong – which was extremely likely – bringing Sam along could seriously damage Mal’s health.

Sam frowned when he peeped out through the net curtain and saw Lee and Mal standing on his step. He was already having a crap day, thanks to Wendy making him look a complete bastard in front of his kids that morning, and these clowns turning up unannounced did nothing to raise his spirits. He was just glad she was out now or there’d have been hell to pay. It wasn’t Mal so much – she didn’t seem to mind him, for some reason Sam had never quite fathomed. It was Lee. She hated him with a passion, and had fully expected him to vanish off the face of the earth after they moved. She wouldn’t be too pleased if she came home and found him here now.

       
With that thought in mind, he crept away from the window, hoping they’d think he was out and go away. But it was too late. Lee had already spotted him. With another glass-rattling hammering on the door, he lifted the letter-box flap and shouted: ‘I know you’re in! I saw the curtain move!’

       
Sam cursed under his breath, knowing he couldn’t blatantly ignore them after that. It was Wendy’s fault, the bitch! She’d nagged him into submission – turned him into a pushover. She’d always been headstrong and opinionated, but these last few months, she’d turned into a Grade A ball-breaker. And there was nothing he could do about it, apart from belting her – and there was no way he was starting any of that shit, no matter how bad it got.

       
Under this cloud of despondency, Sam opened the door without a word, then turned and sloped away, leaving Lee and Mal to make up their own minds if they were going to come in or not.

       
Picking up on the atmosphere, Mal hesitated. But Lee had no such qualms. Hopping over the step, he followed Sam through to the showpiece lounge and threw himself into one of Wendy’s new chairs, jeering: ‘What’s up with you, you sad bastard? You look like you’ve had shit for breakfast!’