Warhol's Prophecy

57

POOLE FELT A moment of panic as he was pushed back against the cubicle door.

‘Still using that shit?’ a voice rasped close to his ear.

Poole found himself gazing into a face he knew.

The grip on his throat eased.

David Layton was grinning at him crookedly.

‘Good job I wasn’t the Old Bill,’ Layton said.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Poole demanded, massaging his throat with one hand and looking at Layton warily.

‘I saw you come in here. I thought I’d surprise you.’

‘Well, you fucking did that all right. When did you get out?’

‘A couple of days ago.’

Poole walked across to the row of basins on the other side of the room and washed his hands, glancing at Layton’s reflection in the cracked mirror.

Layton was puffing on a cigarette.

‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me, Russ,’ he mused. ‘Something bothering you?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like some money you owe me.’

Poole shrugged and wiped his hands on the grubby roller-towel nearby.

‘Just before I went down,’ Layton reminded him, ‘I helped you shift some gear. You owe me for that. Two hundred sheets.’

‘I haven’t got that sort of money on me, Dave.’

‘Then get it,’ Layton snapped. ‘I need some cash.’

‘You could sign on,’ Poole offered, attempting a smile.

Layton regarded him contemptuously in silence.

‘What are you going to do now you’re out?’ Poole enquired.

Layton shrugged. ‘I haven’t got anything lined up yet. But I’m sure something’ll come along.’

‘Where you staying?’

‘With my sister, until I can find a place of my own.’

‘She was always a cracking bit of cunt, your sister. She—’

Layton had stepped towards Poole and grabbed him by the front of his jacket, shoving him back against the sink.

‘She’s what?’ he snarled.

‘A good-looking girl,’ Poole corrected himself, seeing the fury in Layton’s eyes.

Layton released his grip.

‘Sorry,’ Poole said, swallowing hard.

‘Yeah, you’re right. She is a good-looking girl. Way out of your fucking league, so don’t even think about it.’

‘She still married?’

‘No. The geezer was a twat anyway.’ He flicked his cigarette butt onto the floor, where it hissed in a puddle of spilled water.

‘So, are you back for good, then?’ Poole wanted to know.

‘I told you, I’m looking around. Testing the water, you could say.’ He grinned.

‘What was it like inside?’

‘Same as it always is. You’ve done bird. You know the s.p.’

‘I was in a remand home, not proper nick.’

‘Yeah, that’s right. You always were small-time, though, weren’t you, Russ?’

‘So what do you want from me, Dave?’

‘You mean apart from my two hundred quid?’

‘I’ll get it for you, right?’

‘I know you will. In the meantime you can buy me a drink. There’s some business I want to talk to you about.’