The Stranger

this bag, whatever it held, was of unique value to Francis. But too stupid to realise the danger he was placing himself and his friends in by not giving up the goods for the agreed fee.
"I tried to talk him out of it," said Michael. "But you saw what he's like. And Clarissa's in love with him. So she agreed. And he's so persuasive. Made me think his way was the right way, but it wasn't. All I wanted was enough cash to keep the sharks from my mother for a while. I screwed up."
A pang of sympathy for the boy rushed through Abbie. A pang so strong she released her sugar packet and reached across the table. Caught herself a second or two before she lay a comforting hand on Michael's arm. She had agreed to help. She wasn't his mother.
"You did," she said. "Can I ask you a question?"
His eyes said he feared what this question might be. But he was brave enough to nod.
"The people who sell your mother the drugs work for Francis?" she asked.
A sullen nod.
"And the loan sharks she approached when she got in bad debt?"
"I get it," he said, and for the first time, his words contained a bite of frustration. "Mum buys the drugs from Francis' people until she runs out of money. Then she borrows money from Francis' people to enable her to keep buying drugs from Francis' other people. And when it all becomes too much, it's Francis who gives me the job that offers me cash with which I can pay back mum's debts, and that money goes right back into his pocket anyway. It's so fucked up."
Placing her own sugar packet down, Abbie slid it away. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited until Michael met her eye.
"Don't feel too bad," she said. "That's how these people work. They take over a town like cancer takes over a body. They get their hooks into you any way they can, then pull and pull until you've got nothing left to give. Then they tear you apart."
His face white, Michael released a tear. "We owe 25 grand. If I don't start making repayments, they'll force mum to give up the house. We need money. I was desperate."
No longer could Abbie resist. Leaning across the table, she placed her hand over his. As she moved, she tried to remind herself she was here to protect Eddie. Michael was a means to an end. But could she let his life fall apart, now she knew his story?
"I want you to stay away from Travis," said Abbie. "I'll get hold of the bag he stole. I'll deal with him."
"But the money—"
"Forget about the money for now. Look after your mother. Do what you can to force her to bin the drugs. I have your number. I'll be in touch. But I need you to promise me you won't do anything stupid to try and get cash."
Still shaking, he shook his head. His cheeks were wet with tears. "I've learned my lesson."
"Good." Abbie released his hand. Leaned back. "Now, let me deal with this."
He nodded. Abbie said, "One last question. This woman you mugged. Do you know who she was?"
At this, Micheal released a bark of a laugh that drew the attention of the woman behind the counter. Renewed bitterness crossed his face.
"I do now. If I'd known before, I don't think I'd have been stupid enough to get involved. Even though it was what Francis wanted."
"Why?" Abbie asked. "Who was it?"
Michael shook his head. "You won't believe it."
"I'll try my best. Who did Francis want you to mug?"
Michael gave a twisted, bitter smile.
"His wife."

Ten
Abbie walked with Michael until she reached the street of Perfect Chicken, where he cut off to go home. Before he departed, she warned him again to avoid Travis, avoid anyone who worked for Francis, and to spend his time trying to convince his mother to give sobriety a go.
Once he was gone, Abbie moved to the next street and extracted her car from the tiny gap she had trapped it in the previous evening.
It was five minutes past midday. A quarter of Abbie’s time had now passed. At least a quarter, she should say. She had to get moving but couldn’t progress until she started the ball rolling on something else.
Withdrawing her phone, she dialled a number she had years ago memorised and never wrote down anywhere. The phone rang three times, then an automated message responded.
“Thank you for contacting SOMK Ltd. Your call is important to us. Unfortunately, there is presently no one available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”
Then the beep.
“It’s Abbie. Your favourite consultant. I have an interesting project ready to go, which I think could be of huge benefit to your company. Could really take you to the next level. Cost would be twenty-five grand. Sterling. Give me a call when you get a chance.”
She hung up. Dropped her phone into the bag. Dropped the bag on the seat at her side. How long before he called her back? And what would he have to say to her request when he did? No way would he give her 25k. That was her opening gambit. If she got ten, she’d be doing well. She feared he’d give nothing once he learning how she planned to use the cash.
Thinking about it made her nervous. It was an unnecessary distraction. He would call when he called, and she would argue her case then.
For the time being, she deleted the call from her phone log, turned to the address Michael had given her and set off towards Travis’ house.
Travis’ home—or, more accurately, his parent’s home—was a sizeable five-bedroom residence. Detached with a double driveway and beautifully manicured lawn, it could only be the home of a wealthy family. Michael might have needed Francis’ payday to keep the wolves from the door; for Travis, it could only be about the thrill.