Free The Collector Book One: Mana Leak by Daniel I Russell

back behind his ears and pushed his glasses up his nose.
    “Do I look like I have something weird under my bed?” he asked, scratching his armpit.
    “There’s something strange under here. Whatever it is, it’s warm and-ow!” Adam jerked his hand out from underneath the bed and clamped his other around it. “Fuckin’ ‘ell!”
    Another cat, a fat ginger, shot out from the narrow strip of darkness beneath the bed and out through the open bedroom door.
    Jake laughed while Smithy just smiled.
    “That was Empress. I think she likes you.”
    “Gobshite!”
    “No need for such profanities, she barely touched you,” Smithy said and revolved back to the computer. Seconds later, the small bedroom sounded like a war zone again.
    “Well?” asked Jake.
    “Well what?” Adam replied.
    “The box?”
    Adam pushed himself up off the carpet and stood in front of his brother.
    “Oh no, I’m not going under there again, there could be more cats.”
    “You soft bastard. Fine. I’ll do it.”
    Jake crouched on one knee and reached under the bed. After a few seconds he pulled out a white shoebox.
    “Wasn’t that hard, was it?” he said.
    To Jake’s relief, Adam didn’t rise to this challenge; he would have delayed what they’d come here for, and that lay within the box. The smell of the room seemed as strong as when he’d walked in. The sooner that they were out of there, the better.
    He pulled the lid from the box and laid it on the bed.
    On top lay a glossy magazine. He lifted it out, unfolded it and examined the cover. A girl wearing only a g-string sat with her legs open, her stomach bulging out.
    Ah, the latest issue of Pregnant Pussy . Classy, Mr Smith, very classy indeed.
    He glanced up and noticed Adam was eying up the magazine.
    “Enjoy,” he said, tossing it to his brother who promptly began to flick through it.
    Moving the magazine revealed several small polythene bags; the contents, either chocolate brown blocks or what looked like mixed herbs, were easily seen through the thin plastic.
    “Oi, Smithy. This it?”
    He glanced briefly from the screen. “Yeah, that’s the one, but you two won’t want to bother with the resins, being pros and all.”
    Jake fished out a bag containing the green herb for a closer examination. He held it up towards Adam, but only got a passing grunt. Adam seemed too busy with the third trimester centrefold.
    “This as good as I hear it is? It don’t look like much.”
    “Trust me, Jay,” said Smithy, “the beauty is that it is uber concentrated. That small amount will last the both of you all week. It don’t take much.”
    “What you sellin’ at?”
    “Forty a bag.”
    “Forty? Forty quid?”
    “Well I’m not selling in fucking rupees, am I? Yes, forty quid.”
    “We ain’t paying that,” muttered Adam from behind the magazine.
    “Come on, Smithy! We’re old mates. Surely you can go lower?”
    “Hang on there. Old mates? You only come round when you want something. Like when you two idiots got caught robbing your neighbour’s house. You came knocking for an alibi! So no, Jay. The ‘old mates’ argument doesn’t work on me. It’s forty or nothing.”
    “Oh well,” sighed Jake. “Guess that’s that then. By the way Smithy, I noticed that all the time we’ve been here, you haven’t saved that game.”
    Smithy carried on playing. “So?”
    “Well, Adam would also like to see you sell at around, say, twenty quid and he just so happens to be stood next to the socket your computer is plugged into. Get my drift?”
    Smithy paused the game and spun his chair around, his gaze already darting between Jake, his brother and the socket, probably weighing up his options and how much losing his game meant.
    “Twenty it is then. That is, cash up front.”
    Jake grinned.
    “You heard the man, bro. Put the jazz mag down and pay him.”
    Adam closed the magazine, tucked it under his arm and delved into his tracksuit pocket. He pulled out the red purse and plucked