Chapter 72

Chapter 72

His attacker came up fast behind, giving Brent Mason no time to react. Finally released from custody, the dealer had hurried away from Southampton Central, determined that none of his associates should see him tripping happily down the steps of Southampton Central. That's how rumours started, rumours that could get you killed.

Head down, Brent moved swiftly away down the street, avoiding the gaze of passers-by. He was determined not to run or appear uneasy; in fact he wanted to draw as little attention to himself as possible. But his measured pace cost him now, as heavy footsteps hurried up behind him, catching him off guard.

He had no weapon, nothing to defend himself with, but if one of his rivals, or indeed one of his associates, wanted rid of him, he wasn't prepared to go down without a fight. Spinning, he advanced on his nemesis, snarling, only to stay his raised fist at the last second. His shadow was not a dealer or a hired hood, but a police officer, somebody he knew by name, someone who he'd had dealings with before.

‘DC Jennings? What can I do for—'

But he didn't get to finish, Jennings grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him down an alleyway, out of sight.

‘Hey, what hell are you doing, man? Your lot just let me go .'

‘Maybe so, but I wanted a quick word.'

‘Then get your bloody hands off me. You can't mess me around like this.'

‘When we've finished our chat. I let you go now and I won't see you for dust.'

Annoyed, Brent tried to wrench himself free from the officer's grasp. For a moment, Jennings appeared to relinquish his grip, but it was only a ruse, Jennings allowing the dealer to take a step forward, before slamming Brent back into the brickwork.

‘Play nice, Brent, or this could go very badly for you …' his attacker breathed menacingly, his malodorous mouth just inches from the young man's face.

‘All right, all right,' Brent wheezed. ‘You've made your point.'

‘Good, then I'll cut to the chase. I need information.'

‘About what?' Brent asked, suspicious.

‘The Freemantle shooting.'

Already, Brent was shaking his head. There was no way he'd risk that. Jennings' reaction was immediate, his hand sliding up from Brent's chest to his throat, pressing down hard on his Adam's apple.

‘Get off, you're hurting me,' the dealer gasped.

‘I'll do a lot worse if you don't give me what I want. I know you know who organized the ambush, who took the money. I want names, I want locations, I want the whole lot.'

‘Get out of here, you must be mad.'

‘You better believe it,' Jennings continued, pushing still harder on the young man's throat. ‘Which is why I'm not walking away from here until I've got what I need. I want to know the who, why, where. I want an arrest.'

‘I've said I can't,' Brent protested. ‘I'll be a dead man walking if the Main Street boys know I grassed them up.'

‘Not if they're all inside, Brent. And I can make that happen. In fact, I'm determined to make it happen. Which presents you with an opportunity. Think about it, if I can take down the rest of the Main Street crew, if I can nail them for attempted murder, then a space opens up in the drugs market. A space you could fill.'

Now Brent paused, perplexed. A serving police officer appeared to be encouraging him to deal drugs. It had to be a set-up, a trap, yet Jennings seemed completely sincere and would hardly be strangling him if their conversation was being recorded. Even so, ratting on fellow criminals, your own paymasters, was a massive ask, casting a permanent cloud over your character, your loyalty, your reliability.

‘I'm sorry, man,' Brent replied, twisting his neck in order to try and get a bit more air in his lungs. ‘I can't do it, there are some things that just aren't right.'

But Jennings could tell he was wavering, so he went in for the kill.

‘What if I was to sweeten the deal a little further?'

Brent looked at him, surprised.

What can you possibly offer me? I'm in the clear. Grace let me go.'

‘How about the stash they took off you when they picked you up?'

Jennings dug into his jacket pocket, producing a handful of small, clear plastic bags, each containing a good measure of cocaine. Brent stared at it, disbelieving. It looked like his stash, but was this guy really going to give it back to him?

‘What's more,' Jennings added, grinning wolfishly, ‘I can supply you with a steady quantity of this, gratis, if you supply me with the information I need. Who ordered the shooting, who pulled the trigger, where are they likely to be now. If you do that for me, if you can lead me to them, then I will give you protection, I will provide supply. Think about it, Brent, you could be a solo operator if you wanted to be. The next Mr Big …'

Brent eyed him, saying nothing, his vision clouded by dreams of riches.

‘Now what do you say?' Jennings continued urgently. ‘Do we have a deal or not?'