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the toilet, only to discover that the person at the door was a neighbour who wanted to borrow a shovel.
    Despite Turner’s instability, Roy called him. Turner said he’d come round. At once Munday’s office then rang.
    ‘He’s coming to you,’ they said. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
    ‘But when?’ Roy whined.
    ‘Expect him in the near future,’ the cool girl replied, and added, with a giggle, ‘This century, definitely.’
    ‘Ha, ha.’
    They had some time at least. While listening for Upton’s car, Roy and Jimmy had a few more drinks. At last Roy called Jimmy over to the window.
    ‘There.’
    ‘No!’ Jimmy seized the curtain to give him strength. ‘It’s a windup. That isn’t Turner. Maybe it’s Munday.’
    ‘It is our man, without a doubt.’
    ‘Doesn’t he feel a little conspicuous – in his profession?’
    ‘Wouldn’t you think so?’
    ‘Jesus, Roy, and you’re letting this guy into your new home?’
    They watched Turner trying to land the old black Rolls in a space, his pit-bull sitting up front and music booming from the windows. He couldn’t get the car in anywhere, and finally left it double-parked in the road with the traffic backing up around it, and rushed into the house with the noisy dog. Turner was small, balding and middle-aged, in a white shirt and grey suit that clung to his backside and flared at the ankles. He saw Jimmy drinking at the table and came to an abrupt standstill.
    ‘Roy, son, you’re all fucking pissed. You should have said we’re having a bit of a laugh, I’d have brought the party acid.’
    ‘This is Jimmy.’
    Turner sat down, parting his legs and sweeping back his jacket, exposing his genitals outlined by tight trousers as if he anticipated applause. He reached into his pocket and tossed a plastic bag onto the table containing fifty or sixty small envelopes. Jimmy was rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
    Turner said, ‘How many of these are you having? Eh?’
    ‘Not sure yet.’
    ‘Not sure? What d’you mean?’
    ‘Just that.’
    ‘All right,’ Turner conceded. ‘Try it, try it.’
    Roy opened one of the envelopes.
    ‘Never seen so many books an’ videos as you got in these boxes,’ Turner said, pacing about. He halted by a pile and said, ‘Alphabetical. A mind well ordered. As a salesman I evaluate the people from looking at their houses. Read ’em all?’
    ‘It’s surprising how many people ask that,’ Roy said with relaxed enjoyment. ‘It really is. Turner, d’you want a drink or something else?’
    ‘You must know a lot then,’ Turner insisted.
    ‘Not necessarily,’ Jimmy said. ‘It doesn’t follow.’
    ‘I know what you mean.’ Turner winked at Jimmy and they laughed. ‘But the boy must know something. I’m gonna offer credit where it’s due, I’m generous like that.’ He lit a cigarette in his cupped hand and surveyed the kitchen. ‘Nice place. You an’ the wife getting the builders in?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Course. I bet you have a pretty nice life, all in all. Plays, travel, posh friends. The police aren’t looking for you, are they?’
    ‘Not like they are for you, Turner.’
    ‘No. That’s right.’

    ‘Turner’s looking at fifteen. Isn’t that right, man?’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Turner. ‘Sometimes twenty. I’m looking at –’ He noticed Jimmy suppressing a giggle and turned to see Roy smirking. He said, ‘I’m looking at a lot of shit. Now, Mister Roy, if you know so fucking much I’ll try and think if there’s something I need to ask you, while I’m here.’
    Jimmy said to Roy, ‘Are you ready for Mr Turner’s questions?’
    Roy tapped his razor blade on the table and organised the powder into thick lines. He and Jimmy hunched over to inhale. Turner sat down at last and pointed at the envelopes.
    ‘How many of them d’you want?’
    ‘Three.’
    ‘How many?’
    ‘Three, I said.’
    ‘Fuck.’ Turner banged his fist on the table. ‘Slags.’
    Roy said, ‘You want a piece of