hard at Richie, one eye going lazy. "I had one, aye. But now I need another one." He grinned wide. "You can never have too many fuckin ' guns around the place, the job I'm in. And it's not like I'm going to give anyone a good kicking, is it?"
Richie smiled, but he didn't laugh. He knew better than to laugh in Goose's presence. A smile you could explain away if the cripple got bolshy ; laughter was a lot harder, and if Goose reckoned you were laughing at him, you could forget about it. He'd been known to launch himself at blokes, especially if he'd had a couple of lines before the meeting. And right then, Richie was glad Goose didn't have a gun, because the man's eyes narrowed, waiting for the smile to turn into a laugh.
"What d'you want us to do?" said Richie.
Goose moved again in his wheelchair. The coke made him itchy, and Richie had to drop his eyes whenever he moved his stump. Then Goose breathed out hard as he dropped back into his seat. In his hand was a stack of cash, all fivers. He tossed it to Richie. The money was still arse-warm.
"You know the Leam ?"
Richie nodded. "Been there a couple times."
"So you know how to get there and back in a day."
"Not that far, is it?"
"I know it's not. I'm wondering if you know. So's I don't get the fuckin ' excuses later on that you didn't know where you was going and now you're fuckin ' lost."
"I'm not like that." Richie raised his chin. "I been down there, I can handle it."
"Alright then. There's a gadgie on the Leam called Florida Al. I'll write down the address." He pulled out a small pen, wrote the address on a used bus ticket he'd pulled out of his pocket. Handed it to Richie – a house number and address. Richie had an idea where it was. Wasn't that far from the Metro station, so he could probably walk it.
When Richie looked up, Goose had a mobile phone in his hands.
"What's that for?"
"In case you get any bother."
"I won't."
Goose raised his eyebrows. "Like fuck, you won't. I know Al, and I know what kind of fuckin ' bastard he can be. Anyone goes there on my behalf, he's going to try and skin you. Cunt thinks he's fuckin ' special. But we all know he's not, and the fuckin ' Jocks know he's not an' all. Lad couldn't even run a stand-and- tan, he's hardly the fuckin ' Godfather. Anyway, you think he's trying something on, he gives you any shit, you give us a ring on that – the number's in the contacts, it's the only one – and you put him on the fuckin ' line. I'll straighten him out."
He barked a laugh, handed Richie the phone, who felt weighed down with all this stuff.
"He asks you what gun you've come to pick up, it's a Brocock ME38 Magnum, right? Al should've already procured and drilled the fucker. He should've loaded it an' all." Goose pointed. "You better check on that an' all, because he'll fuck us out of bullets if he thinks he'll get away with it."
"Okay."
"Either way, you get the gun, you give us a ring."
"Got you," said Richie. He straightened his hoodie , tried to pat the pockets flat, then made to leave.
"One last thing," said Goose.
Richie nodded.
"You know who I am."
"Aye."
"So you know what happens to people with notions."
Richie breathed out. Slowly, so Goose wouldn't notice. He knew what happened. He wasn't daft. Them lads down in Gateshead, that ginger dealer called Moses and his mate. Goose sent down a couple of smackheads with a hunger to take their fucking teeth out. That was the rumour anyway. And Richie wasn't about to question it.
"Aye," said Richie. "I know what happens."
"Good. Off you go."
He did as he was told.
2
Richie got the Metro through to town, then changed at Monument and headed south. When he got to Heworth , he checked his watch. He was supposed to go down the dole today, but this job from Goose meant it'd probably have to wait until tomorrow. His Becka would be disappointed, but that'd have to be the way it was. He couldn't make money and look for a job at the same time. She'd
Richie smiled, but he didn't laugh. He knew better than to laugh in Goose's presence. A smile you could explain away if the cripple got bolshy ; laughter was a lot harder, and if Goose reckoned you were laughing at him, you could forget about it. He'd been known to launch himself at blokes, especially if he'd had a couple of lines before the meeting. And right then, Richie was glad Goose didn't have a gun, because the man's eyes narrowed, waiting for the smile to turn into a laugh.
"What d'you want us to do?" said Richie.
Goose moved again in his wheelchair. The coke made him itchy, and Richie had to drop his eyes whenever he moved his stump. Then Goose breathed out hard as he dropped back into his seat. In his hand was a stack of cash, all fivers. He tossed it to Richie. The money was still arse-warm.
"You know the Leam ?"
Richie nodded. "Been there a couple times."
"So you know how to get there and back in a day."
"Not that far, is it?"
"I know it's not. I'm wondering if you know. So's I don't get the fuckin ' excuses later on that you didn't know where you was going and now you're fuckin ' lost."
"I'm not like that." Richie raised his chin. "I been down there, I can handle it."
"Alright then. There's a gadgie on the Leam called Florida Al. I'll write down the address." He pulled out a small pen, wrote the address on a used bus ticket he'd pulled out of his pocket. Handed it to Richie – a house number and address. Richie had an idea where it was. Wasn't that far from the Metro station, so he could probably walk it.
When Richie looked up, Goose had a mobile phone in his hands.
"What's that for?"
"In case you get any bother."
"I won't."
Goose raised his eyebrows. "Like fuck, you won't. I know Al, and I know what kind of fuckin ' bastard he can be. Anyone goes there on my behalf, he's going to try and skin you. Cunt thinks he's fuckin ' special. But we all know he's not, and the fuckin ' Jocks know he's not an' all. Lad couldn't even run a stand-and- tan, he's hardly the fuckin ' Godfather. Anyway, you think he's trying something on, he gives you any shit, you give us a ring on that – the number's in the contacts, it's the only one – and you put him on the fuckin ' line. I'll straighten him out."
He barked a laugh, handed Richie the phone, who felt weighed down with all this stuff.
"He asks you what gun you've come to pick up, it's a Brocock ME38 Magnum, right? Al should've already procured and drilled the fucker. He should've loaded it an' all." Goose pointed. "You better check on that an' all, because he'll fuck us out of bullets if he thinks he'll get away with it."
"Okay."
"Either way, you get the gun, you give us a ring."
"Got you," said Richie. He straightened his hoodie , tried to pat the pockets flat, then made to leave.
"One last thing," said Goose.
Richie nodded.
"You know who I am."
"Aye."
"So you know what happens to people with notions."
Richie breathed out. Slowly, so Goose wouldn't notice. He knew what happened. He wasn't daft. Them lads down in Gateshead, that ginger dealer called Moses and his mate. Goose sent down a couple of smackheads with a hunger to take their fucking teeth out. That was the rumour anyway. And Richie wasn't about to question it.
"Aye," said Richie. "I know what happens."
"Good. Off you go."
He did as he was told.
2
Richie got the Metro through to town, then changed at Monument and headed south. When he got to Heworth , he checked his watch. He was supposed to go down the dole today, but this job from Goose meant it'd probably have to wait until tomorrow. His Becka would be disappointed, but that'd have to be the way it was. He couldn't make money and look for a job at the same time. She'd
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