BOILER

Chapter 27

A bottle came spinning end on end out of the Night and Day Bar. The bar was actually called the Frog, but the bikers who drank there called it the Night and Day as the thing would not close so long as somebody was still conscious and drinking. The bottle burst like a firework. A man tumbled out the door and another man barrelled into him. They fought in the slow, rubbery fashion preferred by the drunk. Men and women came out to watch. Pott fetched the toolkit out of the footwell.

Some of the men in the crowd had large skulls on their leather and denim, and this was to show their membership to the Dead by Dawn, a notoriously violent group, born in the city's first established prison. The name was apparently something a founding member sang the night before his execution.

Pott entered the Night and Day under the gaze of these people and ambled up to the bar. The barman watched him come with a look of confusion that twisted further when he noticed the toolbox. A smirk crept into his face. Pott put the toolbox on the bar and put his hands down. He brought his left hand up and held it over the bar, inviting the barman to take whatever he had. The barman took the invite, holding his hand out flat below Pott's. Pott dropped a pin in it, and then he brought up the grenade in his right hand. The barman had an altogether different look about him. He'd become tense in the shoulders and suddenly paler as he backed away.

'Could you turn the music down?' Pott asked. The barman turned the music off. Pott addressed the bar. 'Who in this pit is worth talking to?'

A hand went up, American Indian style.

Pott took the toolkit off the bar and told the barman to put the music on. 'But keep it down,' he said.

The hand belonged to a man with a combover and sunglasses — in the darkness of that bar. This man had a very lean chest, but he got rounder in the waist, and that bell-like, blouse-ness continued with his arms, all fat at the bottom and thin on top.

Pott walked to the table, holding the grenade out in front of him like a church boy holds a candle. The table the man sat at cleared by the time he put the toolkit down. He sat opposite the man and smiled, all the way to his molars.

'And who the hell are you?'

'Don't worry about that. Worry about my fingers slipping.'

'What do you want?'

'I want to offer you a job. It'd be quick for a group like yours, and it's worth a bit.'

'If you come in here to offer a job, why the hell are you bringing explosives with you?'

'I've heard stories of you people being a bit tricky to deal with.'

The man accepted that with a knowing smile, like he'd been reminded. 'How much?' he asked.

'Fifty grand.'

The man's eyebrows crested his sunglasses. He took a cigar that was burning in an ashtray and puffed on it. 'What's this job?'

'Burn down Hinkley's Club.'

The music had been on a while and the general bustle of the place was returning. A few more bottles broke while they talked.

The man puffed the cigar and blew smoke. 'That isn't something you can do so quick,' he said.

'Well, sure it is. You just use your heads a little, and you'll do it right.'

'And how would we do it right?'

'I don't know, but there's gotta be at least one arsonist in this room.'

The man sat up in his chair. He left the cigar in his mouth and folded his arms on the table.

'There'll be a lot of people there.'

'I won't tell you how to do your business, but if civilians are a problem for you just hit it in the day. The only people there will be his.'

The man lifted his sunglasses and looked Pott up and down like he was trying to guess his weight. He tapped ash off the cigar and levelled his grey eyes on him. 'What's it about?'

'You mean why?'

'Yeah. I know plenty of people got bones with Hinkley. What's yours?'

'He's been a little devil in my life lately. Forced some choices on me. There's something about a person tampering with my own free will that really gets my back up.'

'I suppose the money's in that box you're carrying.'

'Half is. And while we're talking about the money, I should tell you that you need to leave a body in the fire for the full amount. The body is in a blue Mazda parked just down the road from here.'

'Okay, So, half is here,' the man said, pointing at the box. 'The rest we get —'

'After. The other half's location is in the box. It will only be there after Hinkley is on fire.'

The man leant back again. He kept his arms folded and cocked his head a little. 'You know, I think I know who you are.'

Pott smiled. 'Keep it under your hat for me. Tell anybody asking that this is all on behalf of Jack Moses.'

The man smiled. He seemed impressed. 'Well, I'm not about to turn down fifty grand in this economy.'

'So, we have a deal?'

'Sure.'

'Good,' Pott said. He lobbed the grenade on the table, and everybody there made like cats in a bathtub, and then they were all rather sheepish when nothing happened. The man in the glasses picked the grenade up and noticed a hair clip in the safety. He looked at Pott who was getting up and tucking his seat under the table.

'Don't take too long.'