Free The Business by Martina Cole Page B

sundry.
    But Timmy was being very good about it. He was prepared to give the boy a leg-up, help him get a proper corner for himself, all the little fucker had to do was ask. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.
    Jason irritated him because he was quite happy to use his family connections to further his career, while at the same time begrudging his father his success. The same success that the little fucker was now trading on to get himself a fucking gee-up in the world of the illegal: the cheap, recreational pharmaceuticals.
    In his calmer moments Timmy enjoyed the fact that Jason was a real chip off the old block as far as everyone else was concerned. He admired the fact that his son had the guts to go out on his own, was sensible enough to see that anyone with half a brain used what they could to get on in life. But he only felt like that when he was really mellow, after he had imbibed a few drinks, smoked a few joints. Then, and only then, would he find it in his heart to see the boy as someone to be proud of.
    Not that he would ever tell him that, of course, that was something he would one day understand himself through learned wisdom, through his own hard graft; consequently the knowledge would then be far more advantageous because he would have come to that realisation on his own.
    As he opened the safe, he was surprised to see Gerald Dooley walk into his office. His office was currently in a rented Portakabin on an industrial estate in South London, an office that he made sure was moved every three weeks to another location so he had a heads-up if anyone decided to flip on him. The appearance of a gang of men was bound to make him feel that something untoward was going down.
    ‘How the fuck did you know where I was?’ Timmy was genuinely interested, he really had believed that his constant movement of premises would keep him safe.
    Gerald looked around the small space as if he thought the person he was looking for might be hiding under a seat cushion or in the desk drawer. Timmy watched him not only with suspicion, but also with outrage. The people he had been paying the serious bucks to all this time should have ensured that this kind of thing didn’t happen.
    Gerald Dooley and his crew made the confines of the little cabin seem minuscule, and for the first time Timmy Parks felt a stirring of fear. He knew that this was serious, and he racked his brains for any reason whatsoever why these people should be confronting him like this, in the sanctity of his private offices. He could not come up with anything, he could only assume, which he did, that someone was out to take what was his.
    They were blocking the only entrance and the only exit and all Timmy had going for him was his mouth, so he would attempt to try and talk his way out of this situation as best he could. He smiled as if their presence was the most natural thing in the world, as if he was somehow expecting them. Opening his arms wide in a gesture of welcome he said happily, ‘Come on, Gerry, don’t tell me you’ve decided to start dealing.’
    Gerry was champing at the bit, his anger almost electric in the tiny room. He looked as if he was capable of a murder, and of course he was.
    ‘Where is that cunt of a son?’ He was talking through gritted teeth, and his words were almost unintelligible.
    Timmy knew then that this was not anything to do directly with him personally, and he felt himself relax, even with Dooley looking like something from a Hammer Horror movie. He was, first and foremost, a man who looked out for number one before he would even consider looking out for anyone or anything else. If he had been on the Titanic he would have got into a lifeboat while throwing women and children over his shoulders and kicking the old and the infirm out of his way.
    Settling his face into a picture of innocence Timothy Parks said loudly, ‘I might have known this was his call, that little fucker is nothing to do with me. You want him, Gerry, you can