Page 20 of The Impossible Fortune

‘The big ones you get from LinkedIn,’ says Tia.

A lot of cocaine dealers are now using LinkedIn, Connie has noticed; she keeps getting requests. ‘And the fork-lift driver and the cleaner?’

‘Well, I got them because I’m now one of the cleaners, and my mate Hassan is one of the fork-lift drivers.’ Tia takes an envelope from her bag and slides it across to Connie. ‘My pay-slip.’

‘This is very good, Tia, very good. You started working there yesterday?’ Connie asks.

‘Yep,’ says Tia. ‘I’m already one of the longest-serving cleaners.’

‘Do they search you on your way in?’

‘They did,’ says Tia. ‘But I hid a bit of coke in mypocket, for them to find. So now they just want to buy coke off me and no one’s going to worry too much about searching me.’

‘Where did you get the coke from?’ asks Connie. She always takes a professional interest.

‘Some guy from the 24-hour garage with one arm,’ says Tia.

‘Ah, Dan Hatfield,’ says Connie. She remembers when Dan Hatfield had two arms. The money he’d wasted on tattoos on that other arm.

‘So you’ve been scoping it out?’

‘Yep,’ says Tia. ‘I’m quite enjoying it. I’m going to miss it. There’s a shipment due on Tuesday, probably two hundred grand or so, if you can handle it?’

‘I can handle it,’ says Connie. You have to smile with the youngsters sometimes. Connie remembers when she thought two hundred grand was a lot of money. Gentler days in some ways.

‘Great,’ says Tia. ‘I’m going to smuggle in two guns and hide the –’

‘Good day, Connie,’ says Ibrahim. Tia closes the exercise book. ‘Please excuse my lateness.’

‘Ibrahim Arif, this is Tia,’ says Connie.

‘Ah, you are being mentored,’ says Ibrahim. ‘How are you finding it?’

‘Rewarding,’ says Tia.

‘She’s already doing a job,’ says Connie.

‘Oh, congratulations,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I knew Connie would be a good influence.’

‘Tia, I’ll leave you to it,’ says Connie, standing. ‘Whydon’t I meet you at my lock-up next Tuesday if you can get out of work quickly enough?’

‘Will do,’ says Tia. ‘Very nice to meet you, Mr Arif.’

‘And you, Tia,’ says Ibrahim. ‘And very best of luck with the job.’

Connie takes Ibrahim’s elbow and starts to lead him out of the café. She stops at the next booth, where the young man is now watching an anime cartoon of two eggs screaming at each other. Connie motions for Ibrahim to go on without her for a second. She sits down in the booth, takes out a gun from her handbag and points it at the man’s groin under the table. He looks up, slack-jawed.

‘I swear to God I will shoot you if you don’t switch your phone off. And when I’m in court I’ll tell them why I did it, and the judge and all twelve members of the jury will cheer and carry me out of the courtroom on their shoulders.’

With some panic the man switches off his video. Connie digs the gun into his groin.

‘I know it’s your lunch,’ says Connie. ‘But I need you to know that you are the worst man in the world, and I just wonder if, in future, you could wear headphones when an old woman tells you to?’

The young man nods, mutely. Connie notices a dark patch seep across his suit trousers.

‘Good lad,’ says Connie, and slips the gun back into her bag and rejoins Ibrahim, who is looking at meringues.

Connie takes his arm again.