Blood Dancing by Jonathan Gash

Author:Jonathan Gash [Jonathan Gash]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749013295
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2013-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

G-man – Grenadian (West Indies)

Bling was toking up on the casino, first after the third St Helens traffic island on the Liverpool Road some way out of the city, when a huge obese Grenadian came and whispered.

‘Rack who?’

‘Some mad lole, looks about four years old. Come to say sorry.’

‘Sorry’s for parole and probation, Jaskie ma man.’

‘He’s in some great tanker fing.’

‘What’s he say sorry ’bout?’

‘He say gelt. Means money.’ The fat G man quivered with anxiety, went for it. ‘Only, I’d see him, Bling.’

Bling looked his surprise at the Grenadian, and nodded, rising to go through the layered smoke as the metal music thumped and screeched. The crowd parted to let him pass, the Grenadian waddling after. Four others separated from the mob and trailed Bling to the curtained entrance.

The Trinidadian was a foot taller than the youth who waited in the foyer. Rack didn’t need to be told the outer doors would close and remain so until he left. Several girls – he liked their glitzy raiment and jewellery, and every one wore a ton of make-up, real class – quietly disappeared, leaving the giant and himself alone. Rack wondered how he’d look in a long leather coat almost down to the floor like this enormous well-shaped black geezer, only he reckoned he could wear better style that that. And the glimpse of gold teeth, like a fucking gilded graveyard, meant this Windy had no sense of style, no ‘rim’ as they spoke among themselves.

‘Who you, man?’ Bling saw the lad’s confidence, and wondered if he hadn’t a vague notion, dredged up from memory, of who this little turd actually was.

‘Rack.’ The youth smiled, standing there. ‘Came to say sorry, that’s all.’

‘I axing whaffor.’

‘Oh, that bloke Mr Iffy.’

‘Who he?’

‘Iffy? Runs a couple of tower blocks and doss rentals near the edge of the city centre. I thought it were the middle syndicate’s, and I sent a couple of lads across to lean on him, get what’s due. First I heard of him tonight, see.’

‘No, I dun’ see.’

‘I didn’t realise Mr Iffy’s shelling to you, like he says. I just didn’t want you taking it wrong, see?’

‘He paying me?’

Bling held up a hand, but the silly young bastard took not a blind bit of notice and started foot-tapping and humming and rocking to the thumping music from within, that wooden way loles did when they full in theysels. Bling thought hard. He had no memory of any Mr Iffy paying him dues for a rental scam. So why he saying he is?

‘Why he sayin’ he is when he in’t?’

Rack paused, still affable. ‘Eh? Isn’t he? Only, my lads said he’s already paying you. I called my lads off, seeing he can’t pay both, right?’

‘Why you here, man?’

‘I came to say I wasn’t trying to muscle in or anything. No business of mine. Just so you know your manor’s OK by us.’

‘Wait.’ Bling stared down at the youth, who seemed unfazed by the casino, the honchos, the bro pack, the scene.

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