The Planner(45)

Not in the least discouraged, Felix continued.

‘There are a variety of solutions – regulation, consumer warranties. One could say that my own profession, advertising, is nothing but an attempt to address information asymmetries, or I suppose one could equally argue that the industry exists in order to perpetuate them. But none of these easily apply to the sale of illegal drugs. If your stuff is unsatisfactory or makes me ill I can hardly complain to the government or wave a receipt at you, and it’s not as if you have much in the way of a brand to protect.’

‘So do you want to buy some gear or what?’

‘Yes, but my point is – is it any good?’

‘Well, why don’t you just try some now? I’m not really in the mood for this shit.’

Felix nodded his head. That did seem the obvious answer. Without getting up, Marcus reached down under the sofa and pulled out a wooden box. He rummaged around and handed something to Felix, who went upstairs to the bathroom. In theory, being alone with a drug dealer was a new and socially challenging situation, but James didn’t feel the slightest bit nervous or intimidated. A sign of progress, but also a sign of just how physically unimpressive Marcus was. If anything, James might have been intimidating him. Being a cocaine dealer seemed to be as unglamorous and poorly paid as local government. Marcus turned the volume up, and they watched some television together.

‘How long have you lived here?’ asked James.

‘About four years. It’s pretty convenient.’

‘It must be nice and quiet,’ said James.

‘It’s okay. The landlord is an arsehole, but he doesn’t bother me.’

‘Is it expensive?’

‘He charges a fortune, and doesn’t do anything. But the housing benefit covers the rent.’

As he said this, he scratched his scalp and his belly, under his arms and between his legs. In his own house, at least, he made very little effort to seem what he was not. His wrists were thin, but he had a surprising amount of dark hair on his forearms. It was almost certain that he had head lice, a vitamin-D deficiency and fungal skin infections. He was a barbarian, but a weak one – not so much an affront to civilisation as a minor, long-standing problem, something that democratic society would just have to tolerate along with everything else.

‘Have you known Felix for long?’

‘Oh yeah – years. We were at school together for a bit,’ said Marcus.

‘Oh, did you know him well? What was he like at school?’

‘Not really. He was a dayboy, so we didn’t mix much. Anyway, I didn’t stay there very long.’

They watched some more television. It was the lunchtime news. There had been floods in rural India, food riots in Jakarta and an especially significant assassination in Mexico. But here, in this little terraced house somewhere on the outskirts of Watford, it was safe and warm.

Felix came down the stairs. He was moving swiftly and with great purpose. He didn’t look like someone on drugs, but like a man who needed things around him to happen as quickly and decisively as possible. For the first time since James had known him, he looked exactly like an executive in an advertising agency.

‘Uneventful,’ said Felix, ‘but it will have to do. You’re very fortunate to be operating in such an inefficient market. It better not give us dysentery.’

‘So how much do you want?’

‘I’ll take six grams. That should save me the bother of coming out here for a while. Although, of course, it’s always very good to see you.’

Marcus shrugged. He didn’t seem especially interested one way or another.

‘So I’m expecting a discount on the basis of the size of my order and our long-standing friendship,’ said Felix.

‘Not for six grams,’ said Marcus. ‘That’s not enough.’

‘Well, I’m not buying any more than that.’

There was a silence for thirty seconds or so, but it didn’t feel especially uncomfortable. Marcus lived most of his life not necessarily in peace, but certainly in pauses, during the commercial breaks, or while the tea leaves stewed. While Felix and James stood waiting, he seemed content to sit on his sofa thinking about any number of things, or perhaps nothing at all.

‘Come on, Marcus. Let’s do the deal.’

Marcus shrugged again. ‘Fuck it. Okay. Call it three hundred quid.’

‘Good man,’ said Felix. ‘I’m fine with that.’

‘Okay, wait here.’

Marcus left the room. He went up the stairs and came down again a minute later. It might well have been the only piece of work he would do all day. If it wasn’t for his central heating, thought James, Marcus’s carbon footprint would be impressively low. He returned with a small paper bag, which he handed to Felix, and then sat back down on the sofa. Felix gave him some money, and Marcus put it in his wooden box.