‘They’re fucking arms dealers,’ muttered Fenby. ‘They don’t advertise.’
‘We weren’t looking in the Yellow Pages,’ said Kettering. ‘We asked people who asked people and no one knows anything about them. They don’t exist, mate. They’re on nobody’s radar.’
‘Except yours, Ian,’ said Thompson.
‘Yeah, except yours,’ said Kettering, staring at Fenby.
‘He was an undercover cop, that’s what I was told,’ said Mickey.
‘Bollocks,’ said Fenby. ‘I know guys he’s sold guns to. If he was a cop he couldn’t sell guns, could he?’
‘He showed us guns, didn’t he?’ said Thompson. ‘That doesn’t prove a thing.’
‘It’s entrapment,’ said Fenby.
‘That’s a big word for a football hooligan,’ said Mickey.
‘Fuck you,’ said Fenby. He took the towel away from his mouth and stared at it. It was wet with blood. ‘I need to get to hospital.’
Kettering looked across at Thompson and gestured with his chin. Thompson went into the kitchen.
‘Where’s he going?’ asked Fenby. Blood was trickling down his chin so he pressed the towel against it, wincing with the pain.
‘He’s going to have a look around, Ian. A good look.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we think you’re a fucking slag copper, that’s why,’ said Mickey. ‘Same as your mate.’
Fenby stared at Kettering. ‘Simon, they took you out and showed you the guns. They gave you a hand grenade to throw, you said. A fucking hand grenade. The cops don’t do that.’
‘They do if they really want to stitch you up,’ said Kettering. He took another long pull on his cigar. ‘They could be waiting for us to get the money so that they can seize that. Plus, they might be trying to see who else they can pull in. Your mates asked a hell of a lot of questions in the pub after their little demonstration. For all I know they were wired and it’s all on tape. So if you are a cop, Ian, and if you’re in on this, save yourself a lot of pain and just tell me now.’
‘Do I look like a fucking narc?’ asked Fenby.
‘Who knows what a narc looks like?’
‘How long have you known me?’
‘That’s not the point, is it? The question is, are you an undercover cop or not?’
There was a crash from the bedroom, the sound of a drawer hitting the floor.
‘If there’s anything in this flat that says who you really are, then you’re fucked,’ said Kettering.
‘Totally fucked,’ said Mickey. ‘I’m going to see to that.’
Fenby stared sullenly at the two men as he dabbed at his smashed lips.
Chaudhry was walking up the stairs, about to leave the mosque in Dynevor Road with Malik, when he saw Khalid coming down.
Khalid beamed. ‘Salaam, brothers,’ he said. ‘Is everything good?’
‘You tell us,’ said Chaudhry.
‘You sound upset, brother,’ said Khalid. He put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait for me in the coffee shop round the corner until I have prayed,’ he whispered. His breath was rancid and Chaudhry fought the urge to retch.
Khalid leaned close to Malik, kissed him on both cheeks and then went down the stairs.
‘What did he say?’ asked Malik.
‘He wants us to wait for him,’ said Chaudhry.
‘That’s it? We wait? Like dogs? What about the fact that we sat in all last night and he never called?’
‘Hush, brother,’ said Chaudhry. Half a dozen young Pakistanis came thudding down the stairs. One of them was wearing a coat over candy-striped pyjamas and was chewing gum. Chaudhry shook his head contemptuously.
They went out into the street. Fajr prayers had to be completed before sunrise so the road was still illuminated by street lights and there were delivery trucks parked in front of many of the businesses. Chaudhry took Malik along to the coffee shop. It was a popular place for Muslims to take their morning coffee after prayers and was always busy at that time of the day. They found a corner table and Chaudhry ordered two coffees from the Turkish girl behind the counter. She was pretty and he watched her slim figure as she busied herself at the coffee-maker. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him looking and he felt his cheeks redden.
‘You’re Raj, aren’t you?’ she said with a smile, as she put the two cups down in front of him.
‘Yeah. Do I know you?’
‘I’m the girl that keeps serving you coffee,’ she said. ‘I heard your friends call you Raj.’
‘Yeah, that’s me.’
‘I’m Sena.’ She smiled again and went on to the next customer.
Chaudhry took the coffees over to the table. ‘I think she fancies me,’ he said as he sat down.
‘Who?’
‘The girl behind the counter. Sena.’
‘You’ve got a girlfriend.’
‘Who?’
‘You know who. That bird your dad fixed you up with. What was her name?’
‘Jamila? She’s not a girlfriend.’
‘Got on like a house on fire, you said. Brains and beauty.’
‘It’s early days,’ said Chaudhry. ‘And she’s from a good Muslim family so it’s going to go very slowly.’