The Drop

business, the legit world as well as the criminal one, you had to feather nests and keep the money flowing, you needed bent coppers and shady politicians, dodgy journalists and crooked accountants. You had to know when to scare people and when to pay them off. It was a tough job running an empire and somehow I couldn’t see any of the local hoodlums having the grey cells to even attempt it.
    So, who then?
    I was lying in bed that night next to Laura, not sleeping, when suddenly in a flash of realisation it hit me – the reason that Bobby should trust me. It was a risk phoning him in the middle of the night for a meet but my instinct told me it was the right thing to do. It might have been late but he wouldn’t be sleeping either. I knew him too well. He’d be up and pacing, churning over all of the same thoughts in his head that I was having.
    Sure enough he answered his mobile on the first ring. He sounded guarded, defensive.
    ‘Yeah,’ he said impatiently.
    ‘I want a meet,’ I told him.
    ‘What? Now?’
    ‘No not now,’ I told him, ‘tomorrow, as soon as you can do it. There’s something I need to tell you.’
    There was a short pause on the line while he digested this. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘meet me at Frank’s in the morning.’ We agreed a time and I rang off. I went back to bed then and slept like a baby.

TEN
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    W e were both naked, lying face down on two massage tables, a pair of soft white towels draped across our arses to preserve our modesty. Tina and Susan, the two fittest young lasses in the place, no coincidence there, were expertly kneading the tension out of our necks with their soft, oiled hands and it felt good, really good.
    Bobby was on form considering. Maybe he had already stopped suspecting I’d ripped him off, now that I had found Cartwright’s body, but most likely it was just for appearances. That’s why he was having such a good craic with the girls. When things were bad in your business you carried on like everything was rosy. Some people call it fiddling while Rome burns. I call it common sense, because if people started to lose confidence in Bobby’s ability to control things then he was as good as dead already.
    ‘You know this is about the only legit massage parlour I have any involvement with,’ he told Tina who chuckled at this. She was in her mid twenties and a trained therapist, masseuse and a holistic white witch, or whatever it is they like to call themselves these days when they graduate with their certificates in that alternative therapy shit.
    ‘That’s right pet,’ she told him confidently, ‘you won’t get any hand jobs here,’ and the other girl laughed, ‘well,’ she added cheekily, ‘mebbe’s on your birthday,’ and that set all of us off laughing.
    ‘He’s 29 today as it happens,’ I said and that prompted more laughing but there was no phasing Tina.
    ‘In that case you’re on,’ she said. She paused for effect then told us, ‘I’ll go and fetch Gary. He’s the hand job expert round here.’
    ‘And you can fuck right off,’ said Bobby but he was still laughing. I’ve seen Gary, the in-house male masseuse and if he isn’t gay, he should be. Personally I couldn’t give a fuck who anybody shags, as long as it isn’t children, but I wouldn’t be comfortable getting a massage from any man, especially Gary. I reckon he’d enjoy it more than I would.
    The massage Tina’s mate was giving me was excellent. It was just what I needed and chilled me right out, unwinding all the knots of tension in my back and neck. ‘Frank’s’, named in honour of Bobby’s personal favourite Frank Sinatra, was a gym and spa that Bobby had a share in. His fellow investors may or may not have been fully aware that his stake was based on ill-gotten gains but they didn’t seem to care and it was a legitimate form of income, which supported our story that Bobby was, to all intents and purposes, a successful, local businessman.
    When Tina was done, Bobby said, ‘leave us to it pet,’ and the girls disappeared. We wrapped the towels around ourselves and I followed Bobby out into the steam room to talk business. I closed the door tightly behind us and we almost disappeared in the vapour, but I could still make out Bobby’s face as he sat opposite me on a little wooden slatted bench. He was wearing that frown again.
    ‘What you got to tell me?’
    ‘Not much,’ I replied, ‘just the reason why