11
Benito woke to the buzz of a phone. Groaning, he rolled over in bed and fumbled for it under his pillow, but it wasn’t there. Or rather, it was, but it was the wrong phone. The one that had woken him up was on the floor by the clothes he’d abandoned last night.
He rolled out of bed and lunged for the phone, catching it seconds before it rang out. “What do you want?”
“There’s another run. Ipswich this time.”
“Ipswich?” Benito tensed, wide awake. “Why?”
“Why do you think? They don’t want to risk Coventry again so soon after you slammed it last time.”
“When?”
“Friday. I know the timings, but I’m not sure of the route.”
“Text me from the road.”
“I’m not gonna be there. Asa thinks I need to keep my head down in case what happened last time was personal.”
Benito retrieved his other phone and brought up a map of the south-east. There were multiple ways to get from Ipswich to London, and worse—or better, depending on how he looked at it—all of them took him deep into territory he had no business getting tricky in. The Coventry gangs didn’t scare him—and they didn’t care if Asa lost product as long as they were paid. But the firm running Ipswich would cut his head off if they caught him on their turf.
So don’t get caught. Leave it alone.
“You know he was talking about you the other day.”
Benito snapped back to the present. “Who?”
“Asa. I think he misses you.”
Benito gripped the phone tighter. An ominous creak sounded, and he made an effort to loosen his fingers, glad the caller couldn’t see him. “How much is on the run?”
“Two. Can we meet soon? I want my cut.”
“Soon.” Benito calculated how much such a small haul would net him. It wasn’t enough, but each run brought him closer to the magic figure he needed to buy his freedom and the life he needed to live for Gianna.
For himself.
Maybe...
He closed his eyes and pictured the pain in Mickey’s eyes as he’d gazed at Benito and seen nothing but truth, even when Benito had lied to his face. Maybe if they’d met a few years later, things could’ve been—
“Martell.”
“What?”
“My money, man. I need to see some cash.”
“Why?” Benito growled. “You know I’m good for it. You know too much for me to fuck you over.”
“Not if you kill me.”
Benito snorted. “What good would you be to me then?”
“I’m not the only one who’d help you. You only hit me up because I hate Asa for cheating on my sister.”
“What do you want from this conversation?”
“I told you. A meet. I need my cash so I can get it somewhere safe. You know, in case something happens.”