Chapter Five
Less than an hour later, seated against the supple leather upholstery of the limousine, Cross reviewed the file he had on Mickey Barnes. He was aware of him, as he was aware of all the black market operators in the immediate vicinity, but had never paid him much mind. Barnes had moved into the area some ten years before, not long after he’d assumed control of the Eighth Circle. Details were sketchy about where he’d come from and there had been a brief and apparently bloody turf war when he first arrived, but it had settled back quickly into business as usual before the club had felt the need to intervene, and since then he’d never amounted to anything that might be considered a threat.
Mickey had a reputation for brutality. That reputation alone had been useful to Cross over the years, keeping control of low level dealers and users in the area and stopping any bigger fish from expanding into this part of London. By all accounts he was an opportunistic loan shark and small-time dealer in stolen property and illegal substances but he’d never made any waves big enough to bring himself directly to the attention of the company.
Normally, Cross would have sent an underling to deliver his message, but he wasn’t ready to bring anyone else into his plans just yet. For now, at least, it was safer to keep his cards close to his chest as he decided on his next move. And if that meant a personal trip to one of the less salubrious streets in the area, then so be it. It wouldn’t take long.
***
The hunched figure behind the desk glanced up as he was shown into the room and frowned, clearly trying to place his face. Then his expression cleared and he raised a hand in greeting.
“Well, if it isn’t Mister Cross! What brings you round these parts?!”
Cross suppressed a wince at the thick, mock-ney accent. He wondered if Barnes maintained the charade throughout all his dealings, or just in the presence of those he considered ‘tourists’ to his neighbourhood. He was no more cockney than Cross, but the theatrics were, no doubt, useful, particularly when you didn’t want people to know you too well. He set down the case he was carrying and extended a hand. “It’s good to finally meet you, Mr Barnes. I find it hard to believe our paths have not crossed before now.”
Micky pushed his chair back from the desk and waived away the apology. “Oh you know how it is, busy men and all that. You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up.” He gestured to his useless legs. “Old war wound. You wouldn’t believe the story!”
Cross silently agreed. He wouldn’t. Mickey had been confined to a wheelchair as long as he’d been in the area. Whether he lost the use of legs during the original fight for supremacy or before he arrived was unclear, but he’d lay good money on military service playing no part. Expression politely blank, he carefully removed his gloves.
Mickey watched him and waved a hand towards a chair that was currently occupied by a dozing lurcher. “Make yourself at home. Shift Freddy out of the way, he won’t mind.” His eyes narrowed a fraction. “So what can I do you for?”
Declining the offer of the seat with a brief shake of his head, Cross came to the point, eager to conclude this business and be on his way. “One of your clients. Verity Williams?”
“Oh Verity! Now, she’s a lovely young thing.” He rubbed his hands together. “If I were just fifteen years younger, you know what I mean?”
Cross forced his features into an unfamiliar smile. “Indeed. And I would like you to sell me her debt.”
“Sell it on? Why would I do such a thing? She’s a good girl, our Verity. Always pays on time and in full, not like that waste of space she was living with. She’s a nice little earner for me.” He patted a thick ledger on his desk. “Part of my retirement fund.” He stretched his boney shoulders, straightening in his chair for the first time. “I’m getting to that age when you have to start thinking of the future.”
Cross sighed. “I understand, but I’m afraid I must insist.”
The man roared with laughter. “Oh you insist, do you? Well I’m sorry mate, but that’s not how we do business round here.”
Smile growing broader, if no warmer, Cross opened his case - making sure the man could see the money inside - then extracted a file and set it on the desk between them. “I would urge you to reconsider.”
Ten minutes later Cross was on his way, more than happy with the result of the meeting. The eventual deal had cost him far less than he’d been prepared to pay, and ensured that Mickey Barnes was safely out of the picture. Sometimes the resources of the club were very handy indeed. The money it afforded him was always useful, but having access to information was the key to being able to supply just the right amount of pressure needed.
In this case the information amounted to nothing more than a few tax irregularities. Along with the names of certain individuals at His Majesty's Customs and Excise whom, he’d suggested, would be more than happy to discuss the matter in person with Mr Barnes.
One last negotiation remained and then all the pieces would be in place. And this final conversation he definitely wanted to handle personally. Safely concealed behind the tinted glass he allowed himself a small smile. He was actively looking forward to it.