Mortal Taste Read Online Free PDF

Become part of our distribution service.’ He rolled off the phrase as if it amused him.
    Mark wondered who the ‘us’ were. He didn’t ask: something warned him that it was better not to know. He smiled again, to show he was no fool, that he would back out of this if he wanted to. He leaned a little towards the man. ‘And who else is in your “distribution service”?’
    A frown flashed quickly across the sallow features. Then the smile returned as the man said, ‘That’s for us to know and you not to know. You’ll find it’s better that way.’ He nodded a couple of times and waited for Mark’s answering nod before he said, ‘There’s money in it. Easy money. You could do with money, couldn’t you, Mr Lindsay?’
    Mark took another draw at the spliff, wondering exactly how much this man knew about him and his circumstances. He forced a little smile as he said, ‘We can all use a little more money, can’t we?’
    The man nodded thoughtfully, as if assimilating a wise observation. Then he said, ‘You wouldn’t have to do much. There isn’t an easier way of making money, for a lad like you.’
    â€˜How much money?’
    The narrow shoulders shrugged, agitating the gold earring for a moment. ‘Thirty quid, for starters. More, when you’ve got the hang of things and begun to shift more. You’d be on commission, then.’
    Commission sounded exciting to Mark, a glimpse of that bigger world outside which seemed so attractive to the girls he craved to touch. ‘And I’d have stuff for my own use?’
    â€˜That’s right. An allowance. Be up to you whether you smoked it all yourself or sold it on.’
    â€˜Just pot, is it?’
    â€˜Yes, just pot. Initially, at any rate. Smoking it is pretty well legal now, but we like to treat our distributors well.’
    Mark finished the spliff. His head was singing and he knew he was high. But his brain seemed to be operating very sharply. He smiled at himself when he caught his image in the mirror. He felt as if he could handle this man and this situation easily enough, now. If you had the right sort of brain, pot just made you see things more clearly. He said, ‘How would I get my supplies?’
    The thin lips smiled. The man had the air of someone who had netted a small fish and was bringing it ashore, but Mark Lindsay was not able to see that. ‘Don’t you worry about that. They’ll be there for you just as you need them. If you sell more, there’ll be no difficulty about increasing the supply.’
    â€˜I see. Well, that seems satisfactory enough.’ Mark could hardly believe this was him talking. He nodded a couple of times, imitating the businessmen he had seen on television, finding the gestures coming surprisingly easily to him. ‘And who exactly will my customers be?’
    â€˜That’s up to you. The lads and lasses in the sixth form, I should think, for a start.’
    Mark liked the ‘for a start’. And he thought he rather liked the ‘lads and lasses’ as well. That seemed to put him on a plane above them, looking down on them, using them as the unwitting pawns in his new business enterprise. With all the gravitas he could muster, he said, ‘We’ll need to be careful, you know.’
    â€˜Very careful. The pigs don’t worry much about smoking pot, but supplying it’s still illegal, you know. And if you’re successful, I expect you’ll be going on to other things. E and coke, perhaps, if you get the customers. There’s bigger money in that. But first things first.’
    â€˜First things first. That’s right.’ Mark repeated the words slowly, as if the sentiment was an important discovery for him. His fume-misted brain felt it could handle anything, now. He was dominating a boardroom, not standing in the toilets of Shakers.
    The man controlled his impatience and