Читать книгу Storms - Chris Vick, Chris Vick - Страница 22

‘YOU HAVE TO be kidding me,’ said Goofy. He was sunk deep in his sofa, staring at the small jar on the table. It was a quarter full of white powder.

He stood up, went to the kitchenette and came back with a teaspoon, then opened the jar and scooped some powder on to the table.

They both leant over to examine the small mound of boulders and crystal dust.

‘I thought you might know what it is,’ said Jake.

‘Oh, really. Why’s that, then?’

‘I thought you might have … I dunno. I just did. Could you could test it?’

In films, people licked a finger and tasted a dab. Goofy just stared at the powder.

‘I come down ’ere to get away from that kind of shit. I don’t care what it is.’

‘I thought you came here to surf?’

‘Mostly.’

Jake thought of all the things Goofy had said about his past. And not said. Maybe Goofy had run from something as much as to something.

‘Any idea?’ said Jake.

‘Coke at a guess. MDMA, maybe. Smack, possibly. Why’d you want to know?’

‘So I know what to do with it.’

‘You don’t do anything with it. You tell the law. I hate the bastards, but they have their uses. You don’t want some kids finding it, do you?’

‘Any idea how much it’s worth?’ said Jake.

‘If it’s coke, there’s more than a few grams there. A grand? Two, three, maybe.’

Jake sat bolt upright. He thought of the full jam jar under his bed and the crate hidden on the beach. How much money was in there?

‘A thousand quid, plus? For that tiny amount,’ he said.

‘Yeah. For that tiny amount,’ said Goofy. ‘Why, how big is the package it came from?’

‘Big,’ Jake said. The air in the room was suddenly thick, the roaring wind a million miles away.

Goofy stared at him, his eyebrows knotted. ‘You don’t want to worry about this, Jakey. You’re getting on a plane soon.’

‘And how am I going to afford that?’ Jake shrugged, and nodded. Suggesting something. It took Goofy a few seconds to twig what that something was.

‘Oh no,’ said Goofy. ‘No, no, no, no, no. You are kidding.’

‘Imagine it, Goofy,’ said Jake in a forced whisper. ‘All that dosh. Thousands. More.’

Goofy stood up, keeping an eye on the small hill of powder, as if it was a coiled snake waiting to spring up and bite him. ‘This ain’t a bit of weed, Jake. This is ten years in prison. More, depending on … How much is there?’

Jake didn’t want to freak Goofy out. Not more than he already was. Better not tell the whole truth. ‘The package is about the size of a bag of flour. Is that a lot?’

‘No, Jake. This …’ Goofy pointed at the table, ‘is a lot. That’s a small mountain. You’re talking about the entire Himalayas. Tens of thousands, like. More possibly.’

‘Enough to get us made. For life.’

Goofy started pacing the flat, rubbing his hands together, his voice getting louder. ‘Enough to get you banged up with rapists and murderers till your hair’s gone grey!’ He marched to the door, and opened it, letting in a blast of wind and rain. He looked around, then came back in.

‘Did you see anyone down there? Did anyone see you?’

‘No … Hold on … one guy. Yeah, this surfer. He’d been down before me. Older bloke with a craggy face.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘No, why?’

Goofy didn’t appear to hear the question. He walked to the table, picked up the jar, put it just below the level of the table and brushed the powder back in with his finger. He put his hand to his mouth, as if to lick off the white stain. He paused, then licked it anyway. He looked at the ceiling, thinking. Then nodded.

‘That’s high-grade cocaine, Jake.’ He went quickly to the sink and poured the powder in. He put the tap on full, then rinsed the jar out.

‘What you doing?’ said Jake, standing. ‘That’s more than a thousand quid!’

‘Bollocks. I’ve seen what this poison does to fellows. Girls too. It’s not happening to you, brother. Coke is evil shit, Jake.’

He turned and held the clean jam jar out to Jake, beaming.

‘What the hell? Look at us, Goofy.’ Jake stood up and pointed at his mate, then at himself.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Where we headed? What kind of future we got?’

Goofy looked down at his stained jeans, at the rented bedsit with its damp walls and fag-burned carpet.

‘Where we going, eh?’ said Jake.

‘We do okay.’

‘Now. Plenty of surfs, beers, laughs. But in a year. Five?’

Goofy just shrugged.

‘I need to get on that plane,’ said Jake.

‘Hawaii’s not that important.’

‘It is. Hannah is. This is a chance, Goof. A gift from the sea gods, like you said. I’ll get rid of a load of it cheap. Just enough for a ticket, maybe a bit of spends. To set me up. I’ve got it figured out. I want to be a board shaper.’

‘So does every surfer. You have to be good, to get experience.’

‘I am good. I’m good with boats and wood; I’ve shaped a bit with Ned. I know surfing as well as anyone.’ He could convince Goofy. If he’d just listen! ‘I get there, right? I work, for free, with Alan Seymour Boards. Learn the craft. I come back with a rack of boards shaped in Hawaii. Who else round here can offer that?’

‘All right. It’s a good plan. If anyone can pull it off, you can. But you ain’t funding it like this. Not if I can help it.’

‘You won’t help me?’

Goofy folded his arms. He stood, biting his lip. ‘I can’t get involved in anything like that.’

‘Come on, Goofy. I helped you when you needed it.’

Goofy looked at Jake sharply. Jake was reminding Goofy of when he had arrived in Cornwall. A crusty loser, with a surfboard. Who’d needed clothes, food, a place to stay. Time to call in that favour. It was a rotten thing to do, but he was desperate.

‘You helped me get out of shit,’ said Goofy. ‘Not into it. I can’t help. Look, go see yer man Ned. He might help you. He sells a bit more than boards.’

‘Yeah, weed. He’s known for it.’

‘More than weed I heard.’

‘Ned? I never knew.’

‘Well, he doesn’t advertise, does he? Any case, he might know someone. Or someone who knows someone. Good luck.’

‘Thanks, Goofy.’ He opened his arms wide for a bear hug. Jake’s way of saying: We still okay? Goofy hugged him, then held him at arm’s length, keeping a tight grip on his shoulders.

‘I’m telling you about Ned for one reason, so you don’t start trotting into pubs asking random folk if they want to buy drugs. You’d only end up arrested, beat up or ripped off. Possibly all them things. You still might. And be careful. Ned ain’t exactly sensible. Open his head, and there’s no brain, just dozens of tiny monkeys, dancing. I don’t think he knows what year it is most of the time, he’s smoked that much. Now get out of here. Go see that bird of yours. Seeing ’er might put sense in your thick head.’

Goofy slapped Jake on the back as he went out of the door.

The door closed behind Jake with a cold thud.

He was alone. He’d wanted Goofy by his side. No one would mess with him, then. You could rely on Goofy.

Ned was a different story.