not appear to want to spend any more time in daylight than was absolutely necessary and skipped the small talk.
“How much?”
Andrew sat demonstratively with his back to them. “I prefer there to be as few people present as possible before we get down to brass tacks, mister,” he said without turning.
Kinski tossed his head and Mother Kindheart left with a peeved expression. She probably worked on a percentage basis, and Harry assumed the trust between her and Kinski was as it always was with junkies: non-existent.
“I’ve got nothing on me, and if you’re cops I’ll cut your balls off. Show me the bread first, then we can get out of here.” He spoke fast, he was nervous and his eyes jumped about.
“Is it far?” Andrew asked.
“It’s a short walk, but a lo-ong trip.” What was meant to be a smile was a brief glimpse of teeth before it was gone.
“Good on ya, mate. Sit down and shut up,” Andrew said, showing him his police badge. Kinski froze. Harry stood up and patted the back of his belt. There was no reason to check whether Harry really had a weapon.
“What is this amateur dramatics stuff? I’ve got nothing on me, I told you, didn’t I?” He slumped defiantly into the chair opposite Andrew.
“I take it you know the local sheriff and his assistant? And they probably know you. But do they know you’ve started selling
horse
?”
The man shrugged. “Who said anything about
horse
? I thought it was grass we—”
“Of course. No one said anything about junk, and it’s unlikely anyone will so long as you give us some information.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you. Would I risk being beheaded for snitching just because two out-of-town cops who don’t even have anything on me come bursting in and—”
“Snitching? We met here, unfortunately couldn’t agree on the price of the goods and that was that. You’ve even got a witness that we met here on normal business. Do as we tell you and you’ll never see us again, and nor will anyone else here.”
Andrew lit a cigar, peered through narrow slits at the poor junkie on the other side of the table, blew smoke into his face and continued.
“Should we not get what we’re after, however, we might put on our badges when we leave here and perform a couple of arrests, which wouldn’t exactly increase your popularity in the local community. I don’t know if cutting the balls off snitches is used up here—after all, potheads are peaceful folk as a rule. But they know the odd trick or two, and it wouldn’t surprise me if right out of the blue the sheriff didn’t stumble across your whole stock, quite by chance. Potheads aren’t so happy about competition from the hard stuff, you know, at least not from junkie snitches. And I’m sure you know all about the penalties for dealing in large quantities of heroin, don’t you.”
More blue cigar smoke in Kinski’s face. It’s not every day you have the chance to blow smoke into an asshole’s face, Harry thought.
“OK,” Andrew said, after no reply was forthcoming. “Evans White. Tell us where he is, who he is and how we can get hold of him. Now!”
Kinski looked around. His large, hollow-cheeked skull turned on the thin neck, making him look like a vulture hovering over some carcass, checking anxiously to see if the lions were returning.
“That all?” he asked. “Nothing else?”
“Nothing else,” Andrew said.
“And how do I know you won’t be back asking for more?”
“You don’t.”
He nodded as though he had known it was the only answer he would get.
“OK. He’s no big fish yet, but from what I’ve heard he’s on the way up. He’s worked for Madam Rousseau, the grass queen up here, but now he’s trying to set up his own business. Grass, acid and perhaps a bit of morphine. The grass is the same as the rest that’s sold here, local production. But he must have connections in Sydney and delivers grass there in exchange for good, cheap acid. Acid’s what it’s all
“How much?”
Andrew sat demonstratively with his back to them. “I prefer there to be as few people present as possible before we get down to brass tacks, mister,” he said without turning.
Kinski tossed his head and Mother Kindheart left with a peeved expression. She probably worked on a percentage basis, and Harry assumed the trust between her and Kinski was as it always was with junkies: non-existent.
“I’ve got nothing on me, and if you’re cops I’ll cut your balls off. Show me the bread first, then we can get out of here.” He spoke fast, he was nervous and his eyes jumped about.
“Is it far?” Andrew asked.
“It’s a short walk, but a lo-ong trip.” What was meant to be a smile was a brief glimpse of teeth before it was gone.
“Good on ya, mate. Sit down and shut up,” Andrew said, showing him his police badge. Kinski froze. Harry stood up and patted the back of his belt. There was no reason to check whether Harry really had a weapon.
“What is this amateur dramatics stuff? I’ve got nothing on me, I told you, didn’t I?” He slumped defiantly into the chair opposite Andrew.
“I take it you know the local sheriff and his assistant? And they probably know you. But do they know you’ve started selling
horse
?”
The man shrugged. “Who said anything about
horse
? I thought it was grass we—”
“Of course. No one said anything about junk, and it’s unlikely anyone will so long as you give us some information.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you. Would I risk being beheaded for snitching just because two out-of-town cops who don’t even have anything on me come bursting in and—”
“Snitching? We met here, unfortunately couldn’t agree on the price of the goods and that was that. You’ve even got a witness that we met here on normal business. Do as we tell you and you’ll never see us again, and nor will anyone else here.”
Andrew lit a cigar, peered through narrow slits at the poor junkie on the other side of the table, blew smoke into his face and continued.
“Should we not get what we’re after, however, we might put on our badges when we leave here and perform a couple of arrests, which wouldn’t exactly increase your popularity in the local community. I don’t know if cutting the balls off snitches is used up here—after all, potheads are peaceful folk as a rule. But they know the odd trick or two, and it wouldn’t surprise me if right out of the blue the sheriff didn’t stumble across your whole stock, quite by chance. Potheads aren’t so happy about competition from the hard stuff, you know, at least not from junkie snitches. And I’m sure you know all about the penalties for dealing in large quantities of heroin, don’t you.”
More blue cigar smoke in Kinski’s face. It’s not every day you have the chance to blow smoke into an asshole’s face, Harry thought.
“OK,” Andrew said, after no reply was forthcoming. “Evans White. Tell us where he is, who he is and how we can get hold of him. Now!”
Kinski looked around. His large, hollow-cheeked skull turned on the thin neck, making him look like a vulture hovering over some carcass, checking anxiously to see if the lions were returning.
“That all?” he asked. “Nothing else?”
“Nothing else,” Andrew said.
“And how do I know you won’t be back asking for more?”
“You don’t.”
He nodded as though he had known it was the only answer he would get.
“OK. He’s no big fish yet, but from what I’ve heard he’s on the way up. He’s worked for Madam Rousseau, the grass queen up here, but now he’s trying to set up his own business. Grass, acid and perhaps a bit of morphine. The grass is the same as the rest that’s sold here, local production. But he must have connections in Sydney and delivers grass there in exchange for good, cheap acid. Acid’s what it’s all
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