Captives

EIGHTEEN

Plummer sat up, the receiver pressed tightly to his ear, his eyes narrowed.

'Listening?' the voice chided.

'Yeah, go on,' he rasped.

Carol looked at him and mouthed 'Who is it?' but he raised a hand to keep her quiet.

He concentrated on the voice, listening to every syllable in an effort to work out his caller's identity. If it was somebody pissing about he'd have their fucking head.

'You're probably wondering why I called,' said the voice.

'Just get on with it. What do you want?'

'Patience is a virtue, Plummer. Now, do you want to hear what I've got to say, or shall we stop now?'

'You couldn't tell me anything I wanted to know anyway.'

'Oh ye of little faith.'

'Are you going to get to the fucking point, or what?' Plummer's initial bewilderment had turned to anger. He felt tempted to slam the receiver down.

'The point is you are about to be shat on from a great height,' the voice told him.

'By who?'

'Ah, now that's why I called. Interested now?'

He was about to shout something down the phone when the caller continued.

'Whoever has the most money controls London, right? Whether it's you or one of your… associates. You all own property, clubs, gambling places. You own people. I'm right, aren't I? The one with most money stays in control.'

'Yeah,' Plummer said slowly.

'Ralph Connelly is about to receive a shipment.'

'Of what?'

'Cocaine.'

'That's bollocks. Connelly doesn't deal in drugs. He makes all his cash by laundering other people's money. He does some of mine, for fuck's sake. I knew you were full of shit. Get off the fucking line…'

'Cocaine worth twenty million pounds. The shipment's coming in six days from now.'

Plummer hesitated.

Twenty million.

'Why should I believe you?' he asked.

'Don't. It makes no odds to me but twenty million, you'll agree, is a lot of money. By my reckoning that should make Connelly top dog.'

'How did you find out about this cocaine?'

'That's my business.'

'Then why make it mine too?'

'Just call it personal reasons.'

'You want a cut,' Plummer said, smiling thinly.

'I said it was personal.'

'Look, any arsehole could ring me and tell me something like this. There's still no reason why I should believe you.'

'Connelly bought a warehouse in Tilbury about a week ago, didn't he?'

Plummer paused for a moment.

'Yeah, he did.'

'What would he want with a fucking warehouse? Like you said, laundering is his business.'

'And business is good. Why would he want to start up with drugs?'

'Like I said, twenty million is a lot of money. Would you turn it down? He was offered the shipment by some people in France.'

Plummer stroked his chin thoughtfully.

'How do you know all this?' he asked, even his anger receding now.

'That's not important. What I do need to know is, are you interested in the cocaine?'

'Yeah, I am. Twenty million…'

The caller cut him short.

'I'll be in touch soon.'

He hung up.

'Wait,' snarled Plummer. Then, hearing the buzz of a dead line, he slammed the receiver down. 'Cunt,' he hissed. Watched by Carol he clambered out of bed and padded through into the sitting room to pour himself another drink. Who the fuck had called him? he wondered. His interest had been aroused. Twenty million notes. Jesus. That was interesting. He smiled.

He might not have smiled so broadly had he realised his flat was being watched.