Читать книгу The Make - Jessie Keane - Страница 10

Chapter 3

It had all started out so easily. Harry and George were chilling in their rented flat. They had ordered in pizza, they had beer, they were sorted. They’d watched the match and then a cheesy old Richard Gere film had come on. As the action unfolded they were paying it scant attention. They were busy moaning on about how they were always skint.

George was bored with working as a dealer at Lorcan’s place, but what else could he do? And Harry was Job Seeking, only not really. They had few qualifications between them, and it was George’s firm opinion that they were screwed from now until they fell off the twig at ninety. Well, sixty more likely. But it would feel like ninety years had crawled by, because the whole damned circus was going to be such a long dull pain in the arse. And there was Richard Gere, being a gigolo on the screen. Humping beautiful girls and – for God’s sakes! – getting paid for the privilege. George liked the ‘getting paid’ bit. As for humping the girls, well, he could do it. He wasn’t crazy for it like Harry was, but as Tina Turner so rightly said, Keep your mind on the money.

‘We could go for that,’ said George idly.

‘For what?’ Harry was yawning, nearly ready to turn in. He had to go and sign on again tomorrow – what a fucking treat.

‘Being a thingy. You know. A gigolo. Boffing the birds for money.’

Harry burst out laughing. ‘You what?’

‘Look, the girls do it, don’t they? Escort work? Guys do it too. And it’s safer for guys. They make major money.’

‘Oh sure.’

‘Damn right I’m sure.’ Now George was sitting up straight, and there was that mad light in his eyes that he always got when he had a bright idea. George’s bright ideas had landed Harry in a lot of trouble over the years, involving him in gang fights, territorial disputes, all sorts of shit, so Harry was starting to feel a little nervous. He’d come this close to getting a knife shoved between his ribs once, and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

But still . . . escort work.

Maybe George did have something there.

‘I could set up a website,’ said George. ‘We could get some cards printed.’

‘Maybe,’ said Harry.

‘Oh come the fuck on, Harry, it’ll be a laugh,’ said George, grinning. ‘You got anything else going on?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, but . . .’

‘Well then.’

‘I don’t want any trouble, George.’

‘Trouble?’ George was wide-eyed and innocent. ‘This’ll be like taking candy from a baby. No trouble involved.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well . . .’

‘Oh come on. Let’s do it. Okay?’

Harry started to smile.

‘Okay,’ said Harry, and they high-fived. Harry was con fident that George would forget all about this conversation by the morning. He was drunk as a skunk. They both were.

But George didn’t. Morning rolled around and George was still talking about his escorting idea. He was on a roll.

By the end of that week, their website was no longer a drunken dream in George’s head: it was fact. And before long they had booked their first client, and then, in quick succession, came their second, their third, their fourth . . .

‘Christ!’ laughed George, his eyes dancing as he playfully waltzed his younger brother around the room. Their tenth client had just booked. ‘Look at this, boy. We’re going to be minted!’