The Pure

her a house, proposing to her. He pulled himself together again and asked in Russian if Andrzej was there. She asked him if he was Tomislav Kasheyev. He nodded and she gave him another sort of look, as if he might be a policeman. He ordered a Scotch. Then she showed him upstairs to the back room.
    There seemed to be no air and for a moment Uzi thought he would pass out. He was dehydrated. He turned to ask for some water, but the girl had disappeared. He drank his Scotch. The room was square and gloaming, with blacked-out windows and red drapes lining the walls. Incongruous music was playing in the background – Metallica. Three men sat around a table, their amber beer glasses clustered around a candle in the middle. Two were leaning back casually, and one – Squeal’s contact, Andrzej – sat hunched forward, his arms folded into his stomach. Little could be seen of them on account of the shadows; the room was lit only by candles. They looked up, scrutinising Uzi carefully. Then they beckoned him over and he took a seat among them.
    ‘Special delivery,’ he said in Russian.
    ‘Wonderful,’ said Andrzej, in the same language but with a strong Polish accent. ‘What excellent service. Wonderful.’
    ‘Party, is it?’ said Uzi, not letting go of his rucksack. ‘Birthday party?’
    ‘Yes,’ Andrzej said, ‘for one of my girlfriends.’ They all laughed and drank.
    Uzi lit a cigarette and nobody said anything. One Metallica song ended and another began. Then Andrzej lit up in the same way, blowing a jet of smoke over Uzi’s shoulder. They all laughed. Sidelong, Uzi sized them up. Well dressed, but in a try-hard sort of way. Small-time. Unsure of themselves. But he knew that amateurs could be more dangerous than professionals; these men could be volatile. They were in a jovial mood, but they clearly had something to prove.
    ‘So, Tomislav, my friend,’ said Andrzej with a smile. ‘Let’s see the goods.’
    ‘Put the money on the table,’ said Uzi.
    ‘Open the bag,’ said Andrzej.
    Uzi reached into his rucksack and pulled out a spliff. Then he tossed it on to the table and sat back.
    ‘Why the hurry?’ he said. ‘Have a puff. Free sample.’
    This seemed to slacken the atmosphere. Andrzej rested his cigarette on the edge of the table and lit the spliff. The Poles handed it around.
    ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Tomislav,’ said Andrzej, ‘this is some good shit you got here. Some good, good shit.’ Evidently, he was the only one who ever spoke.
    ‘Yes,’ said Uzi, ‘you’re going to have a great party.’
    The men eyed him warily as Andrzej produced a thick envelope. Upon seeing it, Uzi removed the stash from his bag and put it on the table, without letting go. He felt strangely relieved to have emptied the rucksack. Andrzej moved to take the stash, but Uzi held fast.
    ‘Not until I’ve counted the money,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you understand.’
    Andrzej pursed his lips and made a generous gesture with the spliff, leaving loops of smoke in the air. Then he dragged on it and exhaled exaggeratedly. The other men laughed. Uzi opened the envelope. It took him a long time with one hand. What an amateur, he thought, what a fucking amateur. Lost my edge.
    ‘Come now, don’t be so wary,’ said Andrzej in flowery Russian. ‘You are amongst friends here, Tomislav.’
    Uzi took his hand away from the stash and counted the money quickly. His head was fuzzy and he had to start again. When he looked up, Andrzej was cradling his stash.
    ‘This is only nine hundred,’ said Uzi. ‘We agreed a thousand.’
    ‘A hundred here, a hundred there,’ said Andrzej casually. ‘We are aiming for a long-term relationship. There’s no need to be petty. Next time we’ll pay you more. When we have full confidence.’
    His companions laughed.
    ‘We agreed a grand,’ said Uzi, knowing that this was a test of his gullibility; if he gave in now, they’d rip him off for ever. ‘A grand or no deal.’
    ‘You should be grateful for the money,’ said Andrzej. ‘One thousand is too much. As you know, you could buy a herd of cows for this on the steppe. Maybe two herds.’
    The Poles laughed again.
    ‘Don’t fuck with me,’ Uzi said. ‘I’ve got a business to run.’
    ‘It’s only a hundred pounds.’
    ‘I don’t care. Don’t fuck with me.’
    ‘Don’t be a prick, Tomislav Kasheyev.’
    ‘Fuck your mother.’
    ‘What?’
    With a single movement, Uzi snatched the stash and got to his feet,