Perry laughed back. ‘It’s training, innit?’ He sat down next to Harper and pointed at the cocaine. ‘Help yourself.’ He flashed T-Bone a thumbs-up and the heavy headed back to the front door. ‘Hell, man, it’s great to see you. When was the last time?’
‘Brixton. Four years ago. The Fridge.’
Smith laughed. ‘That’s right. But it ain’t the Fridge no more. Electric Brixton they call it now.’
‘Yeah? A rose by any other name, yeah?’
‘You introduced me to the Dutchman there, remember? Seven years ago. Vouched for me and that. That made me a stack of money, man. That connection made me.’
‘Glad to have helped, Perry.’
‘I’m serious, man. You always looked out for me.’
‘And vice versa, mate.’
There was a glossy magazine with a razor blade and a silver tube the size of a biro on it. Harper pulled it closer to him and used the blade to take a dollop of cocaine from the bowl. He used small, economical movements to divide the powder into four equal lines and then used the tube to snort up two of the lines. He felt the kick almost immediately and sat back, nodding his approval. ‘That’s good,’ he said. A second wave coursed through his bloodstream stronger than the first. ‘Very good.’
‘Only the best for you, brother,’ said Smith. He pulled the magazine towards him and did the remaining two lines. ‘So where’s your money these days? I’ve had to close down my Isle of Man accounts, and my Swiss accounts. And I hear the EU is after Jersey now.’
Harper shrugged. ‘I’m spreading it around,’ he said. ‘I’m putting a lot in property owned by offshore companies. You can’t trust the banks any more. And gold. Gold in safe deposit boxes is the way to go.’
‘Funny old world, innit? First cash was king, then they made us jump through hoops to get it in the banking system, and now we’re trying to get out the banks.’
Harper laughed. ‘Don’t get me started, mate,’ he said. ‘I reckon it’s a global conspiracy.’
Smith piled more cocaine on to the magazine and split it into four lines. ‘So to what do I owe the pleasure?’ he said. ‘I mean, always great to see you, Lex, but I’m assuming you want something.’
Harper rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel his pulse racing as the cocaine coursed through his veins. He had a sudden urge to get up and walk around but he knew that was just the drug talking and he ignored it. ‘I’ve been away for a while and I need some chrome.’
‘Thought you always used Ks?’
Harper grinned. ‘That was back in the day. I need something small but with a kick. Can you help me out?’
‘Open all hours,’ said Smith, leaning over the magazine and snorting up one of the lines. ‘You know me. You getting back into the blagging game?’
Harper shook his head. ‘Nah, this is personal.’
Smith snorted a second line and then sat back, his eyes wide.
‘T-Bone can sort you out, I can’t keep it on the premises, Five-O keep kicking my door open. Looking for drugs, they say.’ Smith laughed and wiped the back of his nose with his hand.
‘Do they ever find any?’ asked Harper.
Smith waved at the remaining lines of cocaine. Harper grinned, reached for one of the tubes and snorted two lines, one up each nostril. ‘We’re always clean as a whistle because we know when they’re coming.’
Harper took a deep breath and blinked a couple of times. It was very good coke. As good as anything he’d had before. ‘Where did you get this from?’ he asked.
‘The Serbs,’ Smith said. ‘They’ve got a deal going with one of the Colombian cartels.’ He laughed and squeezed Harper’s knee, hard enough to hurt. ‘But if you want to place an order, Lex, you talk to me. You hear?’
‘Loud and clear,’ said Harper. ‘But I was just asking. I don’t do much coke, and definitely not out of South America. The DEA’s all over that bit of the hemisphere and they’re bad news.’
‘I only deal with the Serbs, and they’re cool.’
‘Yeah, everybody’s cool until the DEA starts offering deals,’ said Harper. ‘I’m sticking with dope these days, pretty much. That’s practically legal now. And E. Can’t go wrong with E.’
‘Coke’s where the money is, though,’ said Smith. ‘Coke and crack.’ He stretched out his arms and arched his back. ‘Still in Spain?’
‘Some of the time.’
Smith laughed. ‘You always did play your cards close to your chest, man,’ he said, and squeezed his knee again. ‘You need any help with this personal matter then you call me, you hear me?’
‘I hear you,’ said Harper. ‘But this one is complicated. There’s a few other guys involved.’ He stood up and held out his arms. Smith stood up and the two men hugged.
Smith walked Harper to the front door and hugged him again before showing him out. Another heavy had joined Jelly on the doorstep and they both watched as T-Bone and Harper walked over to T-Bone’s black Porsche SUV. ‘Nice motor,’ said Harper. T-Bone climbed in and Harper joined him. ‘I’m thinking of getting a Bentley. The convertible.’
Harper laughed. ‘A black man in a Bentley? Why don’t you just draw a target on your back?’
‘They pull me over whatever I’m driving,’ said T-Bone, starting the engine. ‘But they never find nothing.’ He waved over at the two men outside the house and they nodded back. T-Bone drove to Streatham and parked in front of a row of six brick-built lock-up garages with metal doors and corrugated iron roofs in an alley a short distance from the town centre. He switched off the engine and the two men climbed out of the SUV and looked around. There was the hum of traffic in the distance but other than that it was quite. There was half a moon overhead but there were no street lights and it took Harper’s eyes a while to get accustomed to the dark. T-Bone opened the back of the Porsche and took out a large black Magnalite torch. He switched it on but kept it pointing at the ground as he walked over to one of the lock-ups in the middle of the row. He pulled a set of keys from his Puffa jacket, selected one and used it to unlock the door. It went up and over but T-Bone raised it only a few feet before ducking under and waving at Harper to follow him.
There were four metal trunks lined up in the middle of the lock-up and a stack of wooden packing cases against the far wall. There was a cloying, damp smell mixed with an acrid tang that suggested an animal had been using the place as a toilet.
‘Pull the door down,’ said T-Bone.
‘You’re not going to rape me, are you?’ asked Harper.
‘With your straggly white arse? You couldn’t be farther from being my type if you’d been on a plane for twelve hours,’ said T-Bone. ‘Now stop pissing around and pull the door down so I can switch the light on.’
Harper did as he was told and once the door hit the ground T-Bone flicked a switch and a solitary fluorescent light flickered into life. He switched off the torch and slid it into his pocket. ‘So what do you need, Harpic?’
‘A couple of revolvers,’ said Harper. ‘Russian would be good. And if you really wanted to make my day, I’d love a couple of Makarovs. Failing that a revolver, but again I’d prefer Russian.’
‘Bloody hell, Harpic, when did you get so fussy?’
‘It’s a special situation. Can do?’
T-Bone frowned and shook his head. ‘Sorry. I don’t have any Makarovs. I do have a few Russian pistols but they’re semi-automatics.’
‘Nah, I need revolvers.’
‘I’ve got a couple of Colt KingCobras.’
‘How long are the barrels?’
‘Six inches.’
Harper pulled a face. ‘I’m looking for something to easily pull out of a pocket.’
T-Bone nodded. ‘I’ve got some very nice Smith & Wessons, the Five Hundred short barrel. Four-inch barrel, only holds five rounds but it packs one hell of a punch. Five-hundred calibre, weighs almost three pounds.’