Dead if You Don’t

83

Sunday 13 August

13.00–14.00

‘Shit, man,’ Fatjon Sava said, feeling more than a little drunk as he topped up his glass of the sharp rakia. He peered, having difficulty in focusing, at his two colleagues, Valbone and Kushtim. ‘What is this?’

‘You like it?’ Valbone Kadare asked. ‘It’s made by my cousin back home. We have mulberry and cherry also. Good, eh?’

‘We have to drive, Fatjon,’ Kushtim said, reminding him and slurring his words. ‘Only a few hours before we need to get the boy! No more drink!’

‘So why the fuck is his father not coming back to us?’ Valbone, still stone-cold sober, asked.

‘You need a drink, Valbone!’ Fatjon said, walking unsteadily towards him, brandishing the bottle.

The Albanian covered his glass of water with his hand. ‘You want one of us to get arrested for drink-driving with the boy in the boot of the car? I don’t think so, Fatjon.’

‘Go fuck yourself,’ Fatjon replied. He necked the bottle and staggered sideways, colliding with the table. Peering through unfocused eyes at Valbone, he rocked his head from side to side. ‘Not bottling out, are you?’ He roared with laughter at his joke as he held up the bottle. ‘You have another?’

‘You’ve had enough,’ Valbone said.

Fatjon turned on him, aggressively. ‘Oh? Valbone is telling me I’ve had enough to drink. Really? Poor sober Valbone!’

The ting of a bell suddenly silenced all three of them. The doorbell. It tinged again.

They nodded at each other.

Valbone walked out of the lounge, along the short hallway, and peered through the spy hole. The wide-angle lens showed a distorted image of his colleague, Dritan Nano, out in the corridor, wearing motorcycling leathers, holding a crash helmet in one hand and a carrier bag in the other.

He unhooked the safety chain and opened the door with a broad smile.

‘Hey! Good to see you! Come in!’

‘How’s your day so far?’ Dritan enquired.