chat-ups, some guy from Manchester, and someone I’d met once before. I flushed at the memory. A hotel room in Kensington and too much wine. He’d been good, but rough, and I’d been careless. I’d been reckless, in fact. Stupid. He’d given me a damn good fucking but left me bruised for days, requiring a trip down Accident and Emergency after an overly zealous fisting attempt. I clenched my legs at the thought. Fucking ouch.
He’d been good, though. His dirty voice, his edgy sadism... like Masque without the finesse... without the restraint, too.
Maybe...
My handset buzzed in my hand. Text message from Raven. Impeccable timing.
How’s the hunt for Mr Dangerous? xx
I smiled as I replied.
One or two contenders. xx
She didn’t leave it long.
Edgeplay? x
I screen shot his profile, attached it to my reply.
He’s top of the list at the moment. x
Buzz.
Are you fucking mental? Craving some medical intervention? x
I’d been questioning that myself.
Pickings are slim. I’m contemplating my options. x
I spied Christine approaching, leaving me just enough time to read the last of Raven’s messages.
Be careful, Missy. Don’t you dare fucking go alone! x
“Not disturbing you, am I?” Christine sneered. “I’ll hang around while you finish up on Facebook if you like.”
“I wasn’t on Facebook,” I snapped. “I’m on lunch, anyway.”
She pointed to the clock, two minutes past lunchtime. Pedantic bitch. I figured she’d come along for another moan at my lack of attendance at her meeting, but no.
“I just intercepted the strangest call, about you, Miss Harding.”
“A call? From who?”
“Janine Scott.”
I felt my colour drain. “Janine Scott?”
“These tenants try their luck, don’t they? They must think we were born yesterday.”
“What did she want?” I hoped my poker face was a good one.
“She had the most incredible story. It must have taken her hours to concoct the stupid thing. She claims you took a trip to her flat yesterday, and stole her dog.”
“Stole her dog?”
“Quite. That’s not the best of it,” she smirked. “She only claims that you’re in league with Callum Jackson. Apparently you stole her dog and gave it to him.”
“Callum Jackson?”
“Yes!” she laughed. I’d hardly ever heard Christine laugh. I found it quite unsettling. “She was quite put out when I told her the scenario was entirely impossible.”
I smiled. “I can imagine.”
“She must think we’re an office full of halfwits. I assured her in no uncertain terms there’ll be trouble if she continues with this nonsense. Honestly, these people! Anything for sensationalism. Out for compensation, of course.” She handed me a scrawled note. “Here’s the detail. I haven’t written it up.”
“Thanks,” I smiled. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Oh, and Sophie,” she said, before wandering off. “Your mother called, asked that you call her back. Apparently you’ve been ignoring her messages?”
Yes. Yes, I had.
“I’ll deal with that, too.”
She rolled her eyes in a thoroughly patronising manner. “Seems you have a lot of things to be dealing with, Miss Harding. Best get to it. Chop-chop!”
Bitch! The note went straight in the bin, along with any intention to call my mother.
It could all wait, the whole sorry lot of it.
I had a date to arrange.
Chapter Four
Callum
“Got any more for me?” I whispered into the mobile, hiding my face from passers-by. “Need the work.”
Jack Willis took his time answering, smoking a big fat joint, no doubt. “Not till next week. Next delivery’s Tuesday.”
I sighed. “Throw me some rope, Jack. Anything bigger?”
“I thought you weren’t in the game for bigger parcels?”
Desperate times. “I could do one or two.”
I heard him rustling papers. “Maybe next week, we can talk then. Best I can do.”
Too late. Much too late. “Any chance of an advance, Jack, I wouldn’t ask...”
“You know I don’t do advances, kid. Sets a bad precedent.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
I hung up, almost out of phone credit and feeling like a first class prick.
I’d made best part of two hundred quid the last few days, running myself ragged delivering packages across the city. Two hundred quid that could feed me and Casey like kings, but no. It was all for the Stoney’s pocket. All that work and still it weren’t enough.
Vick had scraped a couple of quid together, selling old toys on eBay, but we were still over a hundred short. Finding a hundred quid over the weekend wouldn’t be easy. Not without robbing. Saturday morning, less than two days to go and out of options. We had nothing to pawn, nothing left to sell, no place left to turn.
Maybe the Stoneys would settle for two hundred, but I doubted it. They weren’t the generous