Page 34 of Crave

“You could have someone.” She rocked Maisie from side to side, stepping into the room, half shielding Darren without even thinking about it. “Go on a date or something.”

I gave her a look. One I hoped said don’t start.

She smirked anyway. “You’re not ugly, Rich. I mean, you stink and you’re a prick, but other girls seem to like that. And I ain’t seen you with no one since you were at school.”

“I’m picky.” I bent to grab my bag, hoping she didn’t hear the crack in my voice.

No, I wasn’t out to her. Not to anyone. Only one person had ever known outright, but he wasn’t around anymore to corroborate. Lennon probably guessed, he saw more than he should, but even he didn’t know the full story. Couldn’t. Round here, being that kind of bloke made people look at you different. Softer. Not feared. Not hard. And I couldn’t risk that. I could prove myself with fists and choices if I had to, but I didn’t live for it like the others did.

What I got off on was the money, keeping my family safe… and pretty men who knew how to keep their mouths shut.

Keeley laughed. “You’re impossible, you know that? You could have a stack of girls if you wanted.”

I glanced at Darren, checked the kid quick, making sure whatever lines he was thinking stayed locked behind his teeth. He kept his head down, which was fine by me.

So I chucked an unused burner at him. “New phone.”

He fumbled with it, muttered something like thanks but was more sarcasm than real gratitude.

Keeley watched me. “You going somewhere?”

“Yeah. Got shit to do.”

“Don’t you always.” She rolled her eyes.

I paused at the door, long enough to reach out and brush Maisie’s head with the back of my knuckles. “I’ll look into getting her a buggy, alright?”

Keeley beamed, rising on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

Then I left. Waved to Mum sparko in front of the telly, open polystyrene box on her lap.

Out on the balcony, the wind was sharp and filthy, carrying the sound of the market starting up down below. Traders shouting, metal shutters clattering open, the bass from some kid’s speaker shaking the air. The towers rose around me, stained concrete and rusted railings catching what little light the city offered. Eighteen floors up, I could see the skyline. Cranes and glass towers in the distance, all polished and perfect, the money reaching the sky via Canary Wharf.

I trundled down the stairs, stashed my bag in the car, took what I needed, and headed for the high street. The air hit thick. Diesel, chip grease, someone shouting about cheap trainers. Hackney waking up. Halfway down, wedged between the chicken shop and the bookies, was the place I needed. QuickFix Mobiles, open twenty-four seven, unless the police happened to drive by. Then the shutter came down, and the closed sign went up real quick.

I pushed through the door, bell giving that half-dead jingle. Tariq was hunched over the counter, busy with the guts of a smart phone. He had his full setup going: screws, wire spaghetti, broken glass, the lot. His light grey Imama, tightly wrapped, looking practical and well-worn, sat high on his head, framing that lean face, all dark beard and nervous eyes, making him look more like a scholar than a fence.

He saw me. Clocked me fast. Straightened up as if I’d pulled a wire, pulling those cheap specs off to dangle on their string around his neck.

“Razor.”

“Tariq.” I kept my nod tight and let my eyes do the walking around his chaos.

Rows of second-hand burners, consoles, cheap laptops stacked on old shelving. Cables hung like veins. Everything here had a past life. He sold the usual. Gear, gadgets, knock-off tech. But the real money sat under the counter. Along with the back room his cousin ran. But I didn’t need that today.

I reached him, and he dipped out of sight then came back up with a padded manilla envelope. “There you go.”

I frowned. “What’s that?”

“Your cut.”

I lifted a brow. “Of what?”

He sighed. “The phones.”

“I move gear, Tariq. Not stolen iPhones.”

“I know.” He raised a hand. “But this is your patch, innit? And most of them come from your runners. Figured that meant I owe you. Been saving that, in case you came round asking. Which I guess is what’s happening now.”