The Walking Dead

He was up close to what he called the 'Tango'. He was always thorough and that was the basis of his reputation, which justified the charges he made on clients. The Tango and the wife had been through Fruit and Vegetables and were half-way down Cereals, and he was four trolley lengths behind them. There were others of his team in the coffee-shop beyond the checkouts, and another at the main doors, so a box had been formed round the Tango. It was all good, the way it should be done. Benny Edwards need not have been there, up close, but it was his tactic to observe before he moved on the approach run. This was confirmation, and he'd never reckoned that what another guy told him had half the value of being there, watching for himself and learning.

They had the right Tango, no question. The Tango gave them a chance. Too many failures, too many convictions, and the reputation he valued would slide. Too many jerks banged up in Belmarsh, Whitemoor or Long Lartin, and the price he could charge went on the slide. He had chosen well, could see it. The Tango's finances were a disaster, and worse. She'd pick something off the shelf — last one had been a branded cornflakes packet — and dump it into the trolley that he pushed, behind her. She'd go on, and the Tango would shove it back on the shelf and take instead the supermarket's own product, which might save twenty pence. Penny-pinching was good news, because with just the two options — the carrot and the stick — there looked to be a useful chance of making the carrot do the work. Less messy than the stick. Because he was there, and tracking them in the box, he reckoned — would have bet big money on it — that the Tango would do the business.

They'd switched aisles. They were through Detergents, had done bottom-of-the-range bread, had picked up only packets of sausages, mince and burgers — what Benny Edwards wouldn't have fed his dog on — from Meats, and they were at the start of the Beverages /Alcohol section. Her eyes lingered on wines, Bulgarian and the least expensive, and he'd seen but not been able to hear the short, snapped exchange between the Tango and his wife, and she hadn't put a bottle into the trolley. Then she'd marched to the checkouts and joined a queue, leaving him to trail behind.

It was all for Ozzie and Ollie Curtis. Two bulky packages were nestling in the rafters of Benny Edwards's home: one held fifty thousand in fifties, and the other was half of that. It was all for Ozzie and Ollie's freedom. Well, they were a legend, a throwback to the past. Hadn't moved on from the times of the east London gangs — all that shit about hitting wages vans, bullion warehouses, banks and a jeweller's, if there was enough tasty stuff inside the safe. Benny Edwards didn't do conscience and he didn't do morals. He did drugs importers if they had the cash, up front, to pay him. The brothers, blaggers, were history. Just about everyone he dealt with had gone over to drugs, and he'd learned that the trade bred deceit and double-cross: the drug dealers were shites, they had no bloody honour. Funny thing, but that was what the brothers had, honour. But he doubted he could do more for them than get a hung jury, which would cost them a whole big mountain of money. Worse, drugs importers would grass up an associate, and would look for the security of sliding information on rivals to the police. No way the Curtis brothers would do down an associate to get leniency, and they'd never pass information to the Serious Crime Directorate. Honour was an old-world thing, and when he'd finished with the blaggers Benny Edwards doubted he'd ever meet it again.

Where he stood, he could see them, the Tango and the wife, at the checkout. The plastic bags were filled. The Tango was into his hip pocket, had the wallet in his hand and seemed to be wondering which of his cards to use. Chose one, it was swiped, and the girl shook her head. Took out a second, offered it, had it rejected. Back into the hip pocket and the cheque book was produced. Benny Edwards had seen the bank statements and didn't rate the Tango's chances. Which was when the wife intervened. She had her purse out of her bag, then a wad of notes in her fingers. He saw surprise splash on to the Tango's face, like the poor bastard hadn't known she had that money. He heard her say, loud enough to share with the queue, 'I went to my mum this morning, told her I'd married a tosser who couldn't earn a proper wage, was too lazy or too stupid.' He saw the Tango flinch, and no other shopper met his eye. God, that was out of order. The Tango was loaded with plastic bags and stormed towards the doors before she'd taken her small change.