Macbeth

‘Because he’s desperate, of course. He can see that the Riders’ mediocre Turkish product is outclassed by my brew. But with such a large quantity of quality speed from the Soviets, bulk discount and reduced transport costs will makes it competitive in price and quality per kilo.’ Hecate rested the stick on the thick wall-to-wall carpet and caressed its gilt handle. ‘Well calculated by Sweno, and if he succeeds it’s enough to upset the balance of power in this town. So here’s to our worthy competitor.’

He raised his glass, and Bonus obediently followed suit. But as Hecate was about to put it to his lips he studied the glass with a raised eyebrow, pointed to something and handed the glass back to one of the boys, who immediately cleaned it with his glove.

‘Unfortunately for Sweno,’ Hecate continued, ‘it’s difficult to obtain such a large order from a completely new source without someone in the same line of business catching wind of it. And unfortunately it seems this “someone” may have passed on to the police an anonymous, though reliable, tip-off about where and when.’

‘Such as you?’

Hecate smirked. Took the glass, turned his broad bottom towards Bonus and leaned down to the telescope. ‘They’re lowering the lorry now.’

Bonus got up and went over to the window. ‘Tell me, why didn’t you launch an attack on Sweno instead of watching from the sidelines? You would have got rid of your sole competitor and acquired four and a half tons of quality amphetamine at a stroke. And you could have sold it on the street for how many millions?’

Hecate sipped from his glass without raising his eye from the telescope. ‘Krug,’ he said. ‘They say it’s the best champagne. So it’s the only one I drink. But who knows? If I’d been served something else I might have acquired a taste for it and switched brands.’

‘You don’t want the market to try anything else but your brew?’

‘My religion is capitalism and the free market my creed. But it’s everyone’s right to follow their nature and fight for a monopoly and world domination. And society’s duty to oppose us. We’re just playing our roles, Bonus.’

‘Amen to that.’

‘Shh! Now they’re handing over the money.’ Hecate rubbed his hands. ‘Showtime...’

Duff stood by the front door with his fingers around the handle listening to his breathing while trying to get eye contact with his men. They were standing in a line on the narrow staircase right behind him. Busy with their thoughts. Releasing the safety catch. A last word of advice to the man next to them. A last prayer.

‘The suitcase has been handed over,’ Seyton called down from the first floor.

‘Now!’ Duff shouted, wrenching open the door and hugging the wall.

The men pushed past him into the darkness. Duff followed. Felt the rain on his head. Saw figures moving. Saw a couple of motorbikes left unmanned. Raised the megaphone to his mouth.

‘Police! Stay where you are with your hands in the air! I repeat, this is the police. Stay where—’

The first shot smashed the glass in the door behind him, the second caught the inside leg of his trousers. Then came a sound like when his kids made popcorn on a Saturday night. Automatic weapons. Fuck.

‘Fire!’ Duff screamed, throwing down the megaphone. He dived onto his stomach, tried to raise his gun in front of him and realised he had landed in a puddle.

‘Don’t,’ whispered a voice beside him. Duff looked up. It was Seyton. He stood stationary with his rifle hanging down by his side. Was he sabotaging the action? Was he...?

‘They’ve got Sivart,’ Seyton whispered.

Duff blinked filthy water from his eyes and kept looking, a Norse Rider in his sights. But the man was sitting calmly on his motorbike with his gun pointed at them, not shooting. What the hell was going on?

‘Nobody move a fuckin’ finger now and this’ll be fine.’

The deep voice came from outside the circle of light and needed no megaphone. Duff saw first the abandoned Indian Chief. Then saw the two figures in the darkness merge into one. The horns sticking up from the helmet of the taller of the two. The figure he held in front of him was a head shorter. With every prospect of being another head shorter. The blade of the sabre glinted as Sweno held it to young Sivart’s throat.

‘What will happen now—’ Sweno’s bass voice rumbled from out of the visor opening ‘—is that we’ll take our stuff with us and go. Nice and quietly. Two of my men will stay and make sure none of you does anything stupid. Like trying to come after us. Got that?’

Duff hunched up and was about to stand.

‘If I were you I’d stay in the puddle, Duff,’ Seyton whispered. ‘You’ve screwed this up enough as it is.’

Duff took a deep breath. Let it out. Drew another. Shit, shit, shit.

‘Well?’ said Banquo, training the binoculars on the protagonists on the quayside.

‘Looks like we’ll have to activate the young ones after all,’ Macbeth said. ‘But not quite yet. We’ll let Sweno and his men leave the scene first.’

‘What? We’re going to let them get away with the lorry and all the stash?’