LITMIR.BIZ

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of annoying all the neighbours.

      The other lads had both arrived by the time they got there, and were keen to crack on, so it wasn’t until they’d run through the four new numbers they’d planned on including in their new set that they took a long enough break for Joey and Paula to run their encounter with Mo by them, and to put forward the proposal he’d made.

      ‘So, no, he’s not from a record company,’ Paula explained. ‘But he certainly seems legit – more than. He lives on Oak Lane.’

      ‘So he says,’ Dan pointed out. ‘That doesn’t mean he actually does.’

      ‘But why would he lie about that?’ Joey said reasonably, revisiting what he’d said to Paula before. ‘It’s not like it’s something we couldn’t find out soon enough anyway, is it? And why would he ask us to do a gig for him if he didn’t have a nightclub? The question is whether we’re interested in doing it, isn’t it?’ He spread his palms. ‘Though that’s obviously up to all of you, not me, man. I’m just glad to be playing gigs at all.’

      ‘And it’s a good earner – well, if it is that,’ Dan said. He, at least, seemed to be up for it.

      ‘So why don’t Joey and I check it out?’ Paula suggested. ‘Call him and tell him we’d like to go down. We’re both free to see him tomorrow, if he’ll let us. And we’ve got nothing to lose, have we? Not till we decide we want to do it anyway.’

      ‘No, you’re right,’ Matt said. ‘Do it. Let’s try and get ourselves a piece of Cool Britannia, eh?’

      As Paula and Joey were both otherwise engaged with their ‘proper’ jobs – his mam’s words on Sunday morning about that still stung, and his anger was still simmering – it was late on Monday afternoon before they could get into town. Though at least by now they’d managed to find out a little more about the mysterious Mo. And mostly good things. Both about him and his business partner, Nico, Mo having apparently just returned from several years doing property development in Spain, and Nico – who apparently was known as ‘Nic the Greek’ locally – being in the property business too, only in Bradford.

      Yes, he’d done time – rumour had it that he’d been a bit of a bad boy in his youth, the mastermind (well, till they caught up with him, anyway) of some big bank job back in the late eighties. But he’d apparently since amassed a legitimate fortune and was a family man these days – wouldn’t harm a fly, as some mate of his uncle Nicky’s had described it. And as far as Joey was concerned, that was all water off a duck’s back in any case.

      ‘I’m not sure it’s quite that,’ Paula had said. ‘I mean, that still makes him a former bank robber.’

      ‘And my uncle’s a convicted murderer, and he’s completely sound these days, isn’t he? And it’s not as if either of us comes from whiter than white families, is it?’

      A point which Paula could only concede. Her mam’s older brother Vinnie was currently serving a long stretch for robbery himself. And, much as she loved him – well, as much as she really knew him – she admitted that she wouldn’t plan on doing business with him any time soon, however much of a hero her mam had always had him down as.

      ‘Two peas in a pod, us,’ she’d observed thoughtfully. And Joey agreed they were. And he’d been firm in the belief that had been drummed into him all his life – that you didn’t judge people based on what they’d done in a former life. You took them at face value and saw how it went. Because everyone deserved a second chance.

      They turned onto the road Mo had told them they’d find the club – not that he’d needed to, because Paula already knew it – and were greeted by the sight of an enormous thick-set man, standing in the entrance, wielding a heavy-looking chainsaw.

      ‘Can I help?’ he asked politely, his voice higher than Joey’d expected, while lowering it and kicking a snake of lead out of the way.

      ‘Alright, mate?’ Joey said. ‘We were hoping to see Mo?’

      ‘He expecting you?’ the man said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, as if he were acting out a line out of a film.

      ‘He should be,’ Joey answered brightly. ‘Spoke to him on the phone a couple of hours back? Joey Parker and Paula Foster.’ He tried not to stand to attention.

      The man, who was wearing a regulation yellow hard hat, was dressed in an assortment of baggy clothes – all heavily spattered with various shades of dried paint. He put down the chainsaw just inside the open double doors and wiped his enormous hands on his trouser legs. Then he stuck a hand out. ‘I’m Billy,’ he said. ‘Big Billy.’

      He cracked a smile, looking sheepish. Joey took the meaty hand in his and shook it hard.

      ‘But it’s just Billy, really,’ the man added as Joey released his paw.

      Paula shook his hand too. ‘Nice to meet you, Billy,’ she said, giving him a mega-wattage smile.

      ‘Is he for real?’ she whispered to Joey as he lumbered ahead, leading them both inside. ‘He’s like something off a bloody cartoon!’

      They’d stepped into what Joey assumed had once been an impressive high-ceilinged foyer but was currently in the middle of major renovations. Well, what he assumed would be renovations, once they’d put back together all the stuff that had clearly been torn down. The walls were a mess of exposed brick and peeling plasterboard, with wires sprouting listlessly from the remains of sockets, and skeins of power cables hanging like vines from what was left of the ceiling. The floor, too, was a mess of rubble, tools and timber. ‘Mind all the shit,’ the man shouted back at them over the whine of some nearby drill. ‘Watch your step, right? It’s this way to Mo’s office.’

      Joey took Paula’s hand – she was in heels (‘Dress to impress!’ she’d told him) – as they weaved their careful way over mounds of ripped-up carpet and a variety of screws and nails. There seemed no way that this place would be re-opening any time soon. But perhaps that was all to the good. A bit more time to think about the decision before committing. Or, more accurately, persuading Matt that the prospect actually had any for them. He’d said he might be up for it but he hadn’t seemed that enthused.

      Their giant host, via a short flight of steps and a long walk down a dark corridor, eventually fetched up in front of a door marked ‘strictly private’ and beyond that to another – a sturdy door, made out of oak – on which was screwed a brass plate that said ‘Manager’s Office’.

      Billy knocked gently and, without waiting, turned the handle to open the door, upon which Mo’s distinctive voice floated out to them. He was talking on the phone. Though it wasn’t any phone – it was a mobile. A bloody mobile. That, as much as anything about the dark, compelling stranger, seemed to signify he was someone to be reckoned with and maybe be around. Paula obviously thought the same. As Billy ushered them in, she squeezed Joey’s hand and nudged him.

      ‘Do you clock that?’ she whispered as Mo finished the call.

      ‘Ah, good afternoon,’ Mo said warmly. He sat back in his swivel chair, looking amused. ‘Come to check us out, then, have you?’

      ‘If that’s still alright with you,’ Joey answered. ‘Looks like you’re pretty busy. Lots to do.’

      Mo nodded at Big Billy, who was still standing by the door. ‘Bill and his team reckon it’ll all be ready in seven days, tops, don’t you, Billy? So, give or take any problems that crop up unexpectedly, that’s when we expect it to be done. Which means opening next Saturday week. Just under a fortnight.’ He waved Joey and Paula towards a brace of seats parked on their side of the crowded desk. ‘Billy works for Nico, my associate, and he’s good at what he does. If he says we’ll be ready,’ he said, obviously noticing Joey’s raised eyebrows, ‘then ready is what we’ll be. Thanks, Bill. I’ll take it from here, mate, if you want to get back.’

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