Black Daffodil (Trevor Joseph Detective series) by Katherine John Page A
Authors: Katherine John
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We’re not with our women now.’
Trevor allowed the complaint to pass.
‘You’re wearing a suit,’ Peter commented after his third swig of beer.
‘I even have a tie in my pocket.’
Peter finished his beer and tossed the can into the waste bin. He returned to his own quarters, dressed, slapped on a layer of cologne and returned to the lounge where Trevor was watching the news.
‘When do you want to visit Chris and Sarah?’ Peter asked.
‘Tomorrow. We’ll telephone to give them advance warning.’
Peter knew Chris and Sarah had been given supplies of cocaine and marijuana as befitting their covers of “small time” dealers. ‘You think they’ll need more stock?’
‘If Chris is as good as he thinks he is.’ Trevor rose at a knock on the door. He opened the door. The waiter wheeled in a table and set it up in front of the window.
‘We’ll serve ourselves.’ Trevor handed the boy a ten pound note and ushered him out while he was still muttering ‘thanks you’s.
Peter pulled a chair up to the table and cut into his steak. ‘I could get used to this.’
‘I’ll tell your lady love what you said.’
‘If she was along, it would be just about perfect.’
Trevor thought of Lyn and their life together in their own house. ‘For a short break, maybe.’
‘You look like a chick flick ad,’ Peter mocked. ‘Your steak’s getting cold and we have a hard night’s gambling ahead of us.’
Trevor took the hint. But as he cut into his steak he thought of Jake Phillips and hoped it would be only money that he and Peter would be staking.
The shop was a culture shock to Sarah but Chris had seen others like it when he had pounded the beat. The windows were boarded with steel shutters. Only a steel door left slightly ajar, and a Lotto sign fixed high on the wall, outside the reach of all but the most determined vandal, indicated that it was open for business. Next to it was a sign, NO DOGS.
Chris studied the street. Apart from a gang of teenage boys who were kicking a ball around there wasn’t anyone in sight.
‘Stay with Tiger. What do we need?’
‘Everything,’ Sarah said.
Chris walked through the steel door. Fluorescent lights illuminated a central island of shelves loaded with confectionery and tinned and packet goods. The fresh food section behind them held four brown bananas and three wrinkled apples. The glassed-in meat counter held a single tiny lamb chop. There was no salad or vegetables.
Chris picked up a basket and threw in toilet rolls, soap, a box of the least sugary breakfast cereal on offer, two cartons of long life milk, a plastic-wrapped loaf of sliced bread, a jar of instant coffee, because there was no ground, and he couldn’t remember seeing a cafetiere in the kitchen, a bag of sugar and half a dozen eggs. A chill cabinet yielded a slab of pale, plastic-wrapped cheddar, a tub of butter substitute, and a packet of bacon. He opened the freezer cabinet and found beef and chicken burgers and frozen chips. He carried his haul to the counter. Two Asians stood behind it. They eyed him suspiciously. He returned their stare before recalling his shaved head and the coffin-shaped earring and facial studs Ferdi had given him ‘to blend in’.
He lifted the basket on to the high level of the counter and one of the Asians started scanning the contents. Chris glanced around the shop again before asking, ‘Do you have beer?’
‘Cabinet behind me, sir.’
It was only then Chris noticed the shelves protected by a wire grill that sported a large padlock. He recalled seeing Sarah drink vodka and Coke at a retirement celebration. ‘Two six packs of lager and a bottle of vodka.’ He almost added ‘please’ before remembering he was a hardened ex-con. ‘And a large bottle of Diet Coke.’
The man nodded. ‘Sixty-eight pounds and seventy-four pence.’
Chris almost complained before deciding that anyone brave enough to operate a business on the estate was entitled to charge a
Trevor allowed the complaint to pass.
‘You’re wearing a suit,’ Peter commented after his third swig of beer.
‘I even have a tie in my pocket.’
Peter finished his beer and tossed the can into the waste bin. He returned to his own quarters, dressed, slapped on a layer of cologne and returned to the lounge where Trevor was watching the news.
‘When do you want to visit Chris and Sarah?’ Peter asked.
‘Tomorrow. We’ll telephone to give them advance warning.’
Peter knew Chris and Sarah had been given supplies of cocaine and marijuana as befitting their covers of “small time” dealers. ‘You think they’ll need more stock?’
‘If Chris is as good as he thinks he is.’ Trevor rose at a knock on the door. He opened the door. The waiter wheeled in a table and set it up in front of the window.
‘We’ll serve ourselves.’ Trevor handed the boy a ten pound note and ushered him out while he was still muttering ‘thanks you’s.
Peter pulled a chair up to the table and cut into his steak. ‘I could get used to this.’
‘I’ll tell your lady love what you said.’
‘If she was along, it would be just about perfect.’
Trevor thought of Lyn and their life together in their own house. ‘For a short break, maybe.’
‘You look like a chick flick ad,’ Peter mocked. ‘Your steak’s getting cold and we have a hard night’s gambling ahead of us.’
Trevor took the hint. But as he cut into his steak he thought of Jake Phillips and hoped it would be only money that he and Peter would be staking.
The shop was a culture shock to Sarah but Chris had seen others like it when he had pounded the beat. The windows were boarded with steel shutters. Only a steel door left slightly ajar, and a Lotto sign fixed high on the wall, outside the reach of all but the most determined vandal, indicated that it was open for business. Next to it was a sign, NO DOGS.
Chris studied the street. Apart from a gang of teenage boys who were kicking a ball around there wasn’t anyone in sight.
‘Stay with Tiger. What do we need?’
‘Everything,’ Sarah said.
Chris walked through the steel door. Fluorescent lights illuminated a central island of shelves loaded with confectionery and tinned and packet goods. The fresh food section behind them held four brown bananas and three wrinkled apples. The glassed-in meat counter held a single tiny lamb chop. There was no salad or vegetables.
Chris picked up a basket and threw in toilet rolls, soap, a box of the least sugary breakfast cereal on offer, two cartons of long life milk, a plastic-wrapped loaf of sliced bread, a jar of instant coffee, because there was no ground, and he couldn’t remember seeing a cafetiere in the kitchen, a bag of sugar and half a dozen eggs. A chill cabinet yielded a slab of pale, plastic-wrapped cheddar, a tub of butter substitute, and a packet of bacon. He opened the freezer cabinet and found beef and chicken burgers and frozen chips. He carried his haul to the counter. Two Asians stood behind it. They eyed him suspiciously. He returned their stare before recalling his shaved head and the coffin-shaped earring and facial studs Ferdi had given him ‘to blend in’.
He lifted the basket on to the high level of the counter and one of the Asians started scanning the contents. Chris glanced around the shop again before asking, ‘Do you have beer?’
‘Cabinet behind me, sir.’
It was only then Chris noticed the shelves protected by a wire grill that sported a large padlock. He recalled seeing Sarah drink vodka and Coke at a retirement celebration. ‘Two six packs of lager and a bottle of vodka.’ He almost added ‘please’ before remembering he was a hardened ex-con. ‘And a large bottle of Diet Coke.’
The man nodded. ‘Sixty-eight pounds and seventy-four pence.’
Chris almost complained before deciding that anyone brave enough to operate a business on the estate was entitled to charge a
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