Kettering nodded enthusiastically. ‘You can count on it,’ he said.
The waiter returned with two bottles of champagne in individual ice buckets. He was followed by another waiter who was carrying a tray of champagne flutes. The first waiter popped the cork of one of the bottles while his colleague placed the glasses on the table. Two more men arrived at the table: one, obese, in a dark-blue suit, his hands festooned with gold rings, the other tall and thin with a shaved head and a large diamond stud in one ear. Kettering introduced them to everyone else at the table. The fat man was Davie, a scrap-metal merchant; the thin man was Ricky, a property developer.
Once all their glasses were filled, Kettering clinked his against Shepherd’s. ‘Here’s to swimming with bow-legged women,’ he said.
Shepherd sipped his champagne and smacked his lips appreciatively, even though he didn’t really like the taste. ‘I love a drop of bubbly,’ he said.
‘Big fan of Cristal, myself,’ said Kettering.
‘Yeah, you can’t beat Cristal,’ said Shepherd. He raised his glass to Sharpe. ‘Me and James, we knocked back half a case one night, remember?’
‘I remember the bloody hangover, that’s about all,’ laughed Sharpe. He leaned over and clinked his glass against Shepherd’s.
‘Then it couldn’t have been Cristal because you never get a hangover from Cristal,’ said Kettering. ‘You get what you pay for.’ He touched his glass against Shepherd’s again. ‘Anyway, great to finally meet you. Ian tells me good things.’
‘I hope he’s not told you too much,’ said Shepherd. ‘Wouldn’t want my name being taken in vain in Brummie-land.’
The doors to the kitchen burst open and a dozen waiters filed out carrying trays. The first course was a prawn cocktail served in stainless-steel bowls, followed by roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes and vegetables. Kettering made small talk with Shepherd while they ate.
As the plates were being taken away, Kettering ordered another two bottles of champagne, then he patted Shepherd on the arm. ‘You smoke, Garry?’
‘Not really,’ said Shepherd.
Kettering slid a brown leather cigar case from his jacket pocket. ‘I’ve got some nice Cubans.’
‘I’ll take a cigar, yeah,’ said Shepherd.
‘Come on, then. Let’s give dessert a swerve and we’ll have a chat outside.’ He stood up and gestured with his chin at Thompson. Shepherd caught Sharpe’s eye and nodded at the door and the four men threaded their way through the tables to the doorway. They headed along the corridor and over to the pub. ‘Hey, Paul, get us some brandies,’ said Kettering. ‘The good stuff.’
Thompson went inside the pub while Kettering handed cigars to Shepherd and Sharpe and then lit them with matches. The three men blew smoke up at the stars.
‘So, Ian says you’re the go-to guys,’ said Kettering.
Shepherd leaned towards Kettering and lowered his voice. ‘What is it you want?’
Kettering looked around, then bent his head towards Shepherd. ‘AK-47s. Can you get them?’
‘I can get you anything, mate. The question is, have you got the money?’
‘We’ve got money,’ said Kettering. ‘Money isn’t a problem. So what would an AK-47 cost?’
‘Depends on how many you want,’ said Shepherd.
Kettering shrugged. ‘Forty?’
Shepherd laughed. ‘Forty AK-47s? What are you planning, a war?’ He continued to laugh but his mind was racing because Kettering had caught him by surprise. He had been expecting the man to want to buy two or three, or maybe half a dozen. But forty was a totally different ball game. As he laughed he looked over at Sharpe and could see that his partner’s eyes had also hardened with the realisation that their investigation had moved up to a whole new level.
‘Can you get us forty or not?’ asked Kettering.
Shepherd forced himself to appear relaxed. ‘I can get you four hundred. Give me a month and I could probably get you four thousand.’ He took a pull on his cigar and held the smoke in his mouth rather than inhaling before blowing it out. ‘A grand each. So forty grand.’
‘Pounds?’
Shepherd frowned. ‘Of course, pounds. What do you think I meant? Roubles? Rupees?’
‘A grand each, though,’ said Kettering. ‘That’s more than we thought.’
Thompson returned with four brandy glasses and he handed them out.
‘Garry here says a grand each,’ Kettering said to Thompson.
‘Fuck me,’ said Thompson. ‘That’s about three times what we thought we’d have to pay.’
‘What, Googled it, did you?’ Shepherd chuckled. ‘It’s like buying bubbly, mate. You get what you pay for. If you want Bolly or Cristal you pay top price. If you want a bottle of fizzy white wine then you piss off down to Tesco with a tenner in your hot little hand.’
‘You can get a second-hand Romanian knock-off for a couple of hundred quid,’ said Sharpe. ‘But it won’t be new and you won’t know whether or not it’s going to blow up in your hands. We’ve got the real thing, brand new and still in their boxes, never been fired.’
Shepherd nodded in agreement. ‘We only sell good gear,’ he said. ‘No one has ever complained about our product.’ He sipped his brandy.
‘But a grand,’ said Kettering. ‘That’s steep.’
‘Plus the ammunition,’ said Shepherd.
‘How much?’
‘Again, depends on how much you want. We can do you a good deal if you want to bulk buy.’
‘We do,’ said Thompson. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘And these guns, where do you get them from?’
‘Not thinking about trying to cut out the middleman, are you?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Because that’s a dangerous game to be playing in this business.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Kettering. ‘Jeez, you’re a suspicious bugger. I just meant where do they come from? Russia? China?’ He flicked ash into the street.
‘I wouldn’t sell you a Chinese gun,’ said Shepherd. ‘Pile of crap, they are. As bad as the Romanians. No, mate, we’ve got the Rolls-Royce of the AK. Made in the former Yugoslavia. Serbia. Google the Yugo and you’ll see what I mean. Everybody loves them.’
‘The Yugo’s a car, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but I’m sure you’ll be able to tell the difference,’ said Shepherd. ‘Our Yugos are the ones that go bang.’
‘I thought the best AK-47s were the originals, the Russian ones,’ said Thompson.
‘Nah, the Yugo’s better, no question,’ said Shepherd.
‘And you can get us forty?’ asked Kettering.