Pegden part 4

 

After the Beer Festival, Pegden disappeared again. It wasn’t unusual. I never knew exactly what he did or where he was. He would just show up when he was good and ready. I never chased him. He is what he is. Flighty.

I get a call from Pete. He’d been diagnosed with cancer and he was in a bad way.

“Mike I need a favour.”

“What’s that? Anything I can do… you know.”

“I need some weed, grass. I’m having a really bad time right now.”

“I don‘t have any.”

”But you’ve got contacts. You know people. What do you reckon? Can you get some? I’m desperate.”

“OK Pete. For you’ll I’ll try and sort something.”

It’s not something I deal in, but I can’t have a friend suffering for the sake of some weed. I make a call.

“Pegden?”

“Mike. How are you?”

“I need your help.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I need to get hold of some weed.”

“What you?” He laughed.

“No not for me. For a friend. He has cancer. He’s in a bad way. I’ve got to try and help him out.”

“OK.” He thought for a minute, “I can probably help you out.”

“Great.”

“How much you looking for.”

“A quarter?”

Hysterical laughter came down the line. “When was the last time you bought weed?”

“I haven’t. But at Uni that’s what they bought and sold it in.”

“Mike, you’re precious mate. Un-fucking-believable.”

“Come on Pegden, don’t take the piss. Help me out here.”

“OK it’s sold in grammes now. How many grammes do you want?”

“I don’t fucking know. What do you think? You’re the expert. How many grammes is closest to a quarter?”

“It’s 10 grammes, but that’s a little more than a quarter I think.”

“OK have you got any?”

“Yes mate. For you I’ve got ten grammes.”

“Can I come and get it?”

“Now?”

“Yes this is an emergency.”

“OK. OK. Come on down I’ll sort it out for you.”

“Where are you?”

Pegden was in a bedsit in Woodston down a back street. A long row of terraced houses with cars either side of the road bumper to bumper. I parked up where I could and walked the rest of the way. The house had a low wall out front, enclosing three feet of front garden. Except it wasn’t a garden just a pile of black bin bags and cardboard boxes. I knocked on the door. I waited. Knocked again. The door opened. A girl stepped out. She was thin. Wearing skinny black jeans held up with a leather belt, round what should have been her hips. She had none. Her legs and arms, just sticks. A short black leather jacket draped her tiny shoulders. She looked at me, and, without words, apologised for existing. I smiled at her, friendly like. Nervously she looked up, down and into her hand bag. “Sorry do I know you?” she eyed me sideways, suspiciously.

“I’m looking for Pegden.”

“Oh he’s… I don’t suppose you’ve got a couple of quid.. I’m a bit short right now.”

I fetched some change out of my pocket, it was about two pounds maybe a few pence more. I gave it her.

“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to. Pegden’s upstairs on the left.” She turned aound to count the change. “Come back anytime.” She called back at me. “Maybe we could get a drink.” She didn’t sound like she needed another drink.

I went through the open door and up the stairs. The air was stale and the walls dirty. The stair carpets long since gone and my footsteps echoed round the hallway.

At the top of the stairs were two doors one had a Yale lock. I guessed that was Pegdens gaff. I knocked on the door.