Page 62 of The Impossible Fortune
‘I think that might be rather better at making my petals bloom, thank you, Connie.’
Connie leads them out of the yoga annexe, past the pool and solarium, skirts the snooker room, and takes a shortcut through the cinema and into the whisky bar.
‘You have a lot of rooms,’ says Ibrahim.
‘I’ve sold a lot of drugs,’ says Connie, stepping behind a bar and pouring them both a measure. ‘Tia?’
‘Gotta go,’ says Tia. ‘Bit more prep for the job.’
‘That’s very industrious,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Preparing for your job on a day off.’
Tia shrugs.
‘Fail to prepare,’ says Connie, ‘prepare to fail.’
‘I hope the job is going well so far?’ says Ibrahim.
‘It’s coming on,’ says Tia.
Ibrahim smiles. ‘I’m sure you will be a great success.’
Ibrahim is so excited about Tia’s new job. He would be less excited if he knew the job was a warehouse heist, but what we don’t know can’t harm us.
Tia gives Connie a goodbye hug. ‘I’ll see you on Tuesday.’
‘I’ll be waiting,’ says Connie.
‘See you, Mr Arif,’ says Tia.
‘Don’t be afraid to ask if you don’t know something,’ says Ibrahim.
‘Thank you,’ says Tia. ‘I will.’
They watch Tia leave, and the moment she is out of earshot Ibrahim says, ‘She’ll make you proud, I know it.’
She’ll make me a couple of hundred grand is what she’ll make me, thinks Connie.
‘When she calls me Mr Arif, I always mean to say, “Call me Ibrahim,” but I’ve decided I quite like “Mr Arif”. Usually only doctors call me Mr Arif. The last sentence in which somebody called me Mr Arif was “One has to expect some weakening of bladder control in one’s eighties, Mr Arif.”’
‘What can I do for you today?’ says Connie. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you on a Sunday, so I’m guessing it’s a favour?’
‘Well, life is about push and pull,’ says Ibrahim. ‘There might indeed be the smallest favour you could do for me.’
‘Shoot,’ says Connie. ‘Shoot’ is a phrase she often has to be careful with. If you’re ever in a room full of men with guns and someone wants to give you their number, it’s better to say ‘Go ahead’ than ‘Shoot’.
Ibrahim looks over his shoulder. ‘Have you heard of a man named Davey Noakes?’
‘Ravey Davey?’ says Connie. ‘Of course I’ve heard of him, I don’t live on the moon.’
‘Ah,’ says Ibrahim. ‘I hadn’t.’
Connie shakes her head. ‘Forty years in the business, Ravey had, and you’ve never heard of him?’
‘I think you might be the only drug dealer I’ve ever heard of,’ admits Ibrahim. ‘We live such siloed lives, don’t we? It’s social media in my view, it atomizes our shared gr–’
Connie interrupts: ‘What about him?’
‘You know him?’
