Vixen

27

Caz surprised everyone, especially himself, by coming up with the goods so quickly. He met with Brant at the Cricketers, said:

‘I got a result.’

Caz was wearing what could only be described as a garish shirt, something Elvis would have worn for Elvis in Hawaii. He was even wearing a large gold medallion on his exposed chest. Brant, yet again in a bespoke suit, asked:

‘Where did you get the shirt?’

‘Like it? I can get you one just like it, or would you prefer a more colourful shade?’

The horrendous thing was, he was serious.

Brant stared at the medallion.

Caz said:

‘It’s Our Lady of Guadeloupe… but I can’t get you one as my sainted mother, God rest her, gave it to me when I escaped from El Salvador.’

This was far too much data for Brant, who said:

‘El Salvador? I checked on you, boyo, you were brought up in Croydon.’

Caz looked defeated — crestfallen just wouldn’t do justice to how his face appeared — and he tried:

‘Not too many people know that.’

Brant gave him a hard slap on the face, said:

‘Get the drinks in. You behave yourself and you can be from fucking Nigeria if you like. Now hop on up there. A large Teachers for me, and some cheese and onion… go.’

Caz was attempting to focus, whined:

‘But don’t you want to hear my news?’

‘What’s the hurry?’

And Caz got the look. He moved rapidly to the bar. The barman had a pony-tail, a checked waistcoat and an attitude. The attitude, of course, would cost extra. Caz ordered and the guy kept the smirk in place.

So Caz asked:

‘What?’

The guy chuckled. It’s hard to credit that a human being in this era of global terrorism would seriously make such a sound, and worse, think it was clever. He said:

‘That’s Brant you’re keeping company with.’

‘And that means what?’

Another chuckle, then:

‘Don’t let the big boys hear about that.’

Caz didn’t do threats well, unless it was from Brant, which was a whole other country. But some git in a pub? He fingered his stiletto, said:

‘I’ll tell him what you said.’

And got the guy’s full attention. He pleaded:

‘Jesus, don’t do that. Tell you what, how would it be if I gave you these drinks as a treat from me, how would that suit?’

It suited fine. Caz told Brant anyway. Brant was delighted and raised his glass to the guy who busied himself with glass-cleaning and wished he’d kept his frigging mouth shut.

Brant asked:

‘Where is she?’

Caz produced a slip of paper and said:

‘She’s shacked up with a stripper. And Ray… Ray is in Brighton. Both of them have changed their appearance.’

Brant was seriously impressed. He didn’t show it of course but did concede:

‘Nice one.’