The Drop

payroll. He certainly didn’t look like he’d been in the SAS but you tend to find that with those guys. They are often small and not that hard looking, until it matters. I liked the fact that he didn’t look like a big psycho. With Finney you could always see him coming. If you spotted him having a pint you’d know straightaway what he did for a living. Palmer meanwhile wasn’t so obvious, he’d blend in anywhere and you wouldn’t notice him until it was too late.
    Of course, he’d have been more expensive if he had left the army voluntarily, instead of being booted out suddenly about six years ago, when he went a bit mental, but that’s another story. ‘Nobody’s been eyeing up the girls any longer than a normal man would stare at a fit bunch of lasses like that, if you don’t mind me saying it.’
    I was relieved, ‘I don’t mind you saying it but you might not want to put it like that if Bobby’s around or he’ll cut your dick off.’
    Palmer laughed, ‘yeah, well, you aint her dad are you and you have to admit that Sarah is a tidy bit of…’
    ‘Just do your job,’ I snapped at him without meaning to.
    ‘Sure,’ he said calmly, ‘I am doing it.’
    ‘Good,’ I said and left him to it. I walked away wondering why I’d reacted so strongly to some pretty mild words about Sarah and her pals. I put it down to stress.
    I returned to the banquette and sat there on my own for a bit, sipping yet another mineral water, badly wanting a real drink after my one glass of champagne but knowing it wouldn’t be a good idea. I reminded myself things weren’t going too badly. I’d had it first hand from Palmer that his blokes had spotted nothing out of the ordinary. Sarah was having a good time and she wasn’t even aware I had a crew watching her every move. Just as well, she’d have gone mad if she’d known. I just hoped no lagered-up bloke pinched her arse on the dance floor because, if I didn’t get there before Palmer’s lads, the silly bastard wouldn’t know what hit him.
    Two of Sarah’s friends looked like they’d pulled, leaving Sarah and her mad mate Joanne alone in a corner of the dance floor. The last time I’d seen Joanne she was at work, standing on the bar down at Buffalo Joe’s in a black bikini and a Stetson, twirling a flag and marching along, miming the words to Amarillo with four other girls, while the crowd in the bar went crazy; only in Newcastle.
    I could still see them both from where I was sitting. I was faintly amused by the obvious effort they put into making every move seem effortless. They adopted a studied cool but every turn and wiggle looked choreographed. Why is it girls always know the moves to every dance and blokes don’t have a clue? I wondered if they all went to secret practice sessions we didn’t know about.
    Joanne leaned forward and said something into Sarah’s ear and she laughed. It was good to see her enjoying herself. Akon and Kardinal Offishall’s Dangerous started blaring out from the speakers, an appropriate song for Sarah Mahoney if ever I’d heard one.
    They piled into the back of my car, giggling like a couple of teenagers. The birthday cocktails made them braver than normal and they were pretty cheeky when they were sober. I knew I’d got to be on top form to avoid looking like a total cock in front of them.
    I put Ne-yo on and turned the volume up a couple of notches for Closer .
    ‘Blimey,’ said Sarah, ‘I thought you’d be cranking out U2 or something!’
    ‘I spend my life in clubs, I hear this stuff more than you do.’
    ‘Bit old for it aren’t you?’ asked Joanne.
    ‘Are you walking home?’ I asked her in return and she laughed. ‘Can’t believe you don’t think I’m down with the kids… ’
    We passed another club that used to be an old warehouse. It had a big, metal ladder stuck to the side with thick, steel steps that zig-zagged up the side of the building and there was a ledge at the top right by the roof.
    Sarah leaned forward and said, ‘See that ladder… ow!’ it sounded like Joanne had thumped her one, ‘Jo, you total slag,’ but she laughed anyway and a belt on the arm wasn’t going to stop her from telling me, ‘Joanne fucked a bloke at the top of that ladder!’
    ‘I did not! You bitch!’ and she was laughing as well, the two of them were like a couple of breathless hyenas behind me.
    ‘Is that right Jo?’ I asked nonchalantly, as if she had just admitted to kissing a bloke beneath Grey’s