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with other people, strangers, for two darkened hours. He rented and bought
videos instead. There were probably six or seven hundred in his living room,
more elsewhere in the semidetached house.
For Halliday, films were not entertainment. His tussle with the movie form was
like a student tackling some problem of philosophy. It was as though, if
Halliday could work out films why some were good, others bad, a few works of
genius then he would have solved a major problem, something that would change
his life for the better and for always. When Reeve turned up at the house,
Halliday was in a tizzy. He d just found an old Guardian review by Derek
Malcolm panning Tarantino s Pulp Fiction.
You should see the reviews in Empire and Premiere, he said irritably. They
loved that film.
What did you think of it? Reeve waited in the hall while Halliday
triple-locked the reinforced front door. He knew Halliday s neighbors thought
the reason his curtains were always closed was that Halliday was busy watching
films. There was a rumor Halliday was writing a film of his own. Or that he
was some En-glish director who d made a fortune in Hollywood and decided to
retire young.
He looked younger than his years, with thinning short red hair, a faceful of
freckles, and tapering ginger sideburns plus dark red mustache. He was tall
and lanky, with arms that seemed to be controlled by someone else. He flapped
them as he led Reeve down the short hall into the living room.
What did I think of it? I agreed with Empire.
Halliday seldom had an opinion of his own only what he d gleaned from the
reviewers and the theorists. There was a homemade bookcase, precariously
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angled, which held his store of film knowledge. There were library books and
books he d bought or lifted from shops. There were bound volumes of magazines,
scrapbooks full of reviews from newspapers and magazines. He had video
recordings of several years worth of Barry Norman and the other film
programs. He slumped into his large easy chair and jerked a hand towards the
sofa. There was, of course, a film playing on the TV.
Going through your Scorsese period? Reeve asked. He recognized the film as
Mean Streets. How many times have you watched this one?
About a dozen. There are a lot of tricks he does here that he uses again in
other films. Look, this slo-mo run through the bar. That s in Goodfellas.
Later there s a good bit with Harvey Keitel pissed. How come Keitel plays
Catholics so often?
I hadn t noticed he did.
Yeah, I read that somewhere& Halliday s eyes were on the screen. Music,
too, the way he uses music in this film, like he does in Goodfellas.
Tommy, did you get the birdy?
Halliday nodded. You re not going to like it.
How do you mean?
Halliday just rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
Not cheap, huh?
Not cheap. The Colombians I used to deal with, they aren t around anymore.
They worked for the Medellin cartel, but the Medellin people got shafted by
the Cali cartel. So now I seem to be dealing with Cali, and they re not quite
so I don t know friendly. Plus, as you know, this stuff is thick on the ground
in Colombia but thin on the ground over here& He looked at Reeve and smiled.
Thank God.
So what did it cost?
Halliday told him.
What, did I buy the whole fucking crop?
You bought enough to get you into bed with the Dagenham Girl Pipers.
Looking around the living room, or indeed the rest of the house, you would not
suspect Tommy Halliday of being a dealer in everything from drugs to arms.
That was because he kept absolutely nothing incriminating on the premises.
Nobody knew where the cache was hidden, but Reeve guessed it was another
reason for Tommy s choice of this part of Wales. There was a lot of
countryside around, mountains and forests frequented by hikers and
picnickers a lot of potential hiding places in those sorts of terrain.
No, the only things about Tommy s house that might make someone suspicious
were the antisurveillance devices and the mo-bile phone. Tommy didn t trust
British Telecom, and in the house he used the phone with a portable scrambler
attached. The scrambler was U.S. Intelligence Corps standard, and Reeve
guessed it had been lost during the Iraqi war. A lot of armed forces
equipment had been lost during the campaign; a lot of Iraqi gear had been
picked up quietly and tucked away for resale back in Britain.
Most of the arms Tommy dealt in, however, were eastern bloc: Russian and Czech
predominantly. He had a consignment of Chinese stuff for a while, but couldn t
give it away it was so unreliable.
Halliday glanced at his watch. Wait till this film s over, all right?
I ve got all the time in the world, Tommy, Reeve said. He didn t mean it,
but he found that the time spent in the living room was time well spent. He
cleared his mind and relaxed his muscles, did a little bit of meditation, some
breathing exercises Joan had shown him. He gathered himself. And when he d
finished, there was still half an hour to go.
Mind if I use the equipment? he asked.
You know where it is.
So he headed upstairs into the spare bedroom, where Tommy kept his weights and
a couple of exercise machines. Reeve worked up a sweat. Sweat was the quickest
way to void toxins from your body, assuming you weren t in the mood for
sticking two fingers down your throat. From now on there was a regime he would
follow: exercise when he could and eat well. Keep his mind and body pure. He
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would guess Jay had kept fit. He d recruited from a gym: no mere accident. He
probably frequented a few gyms. Reeve had to prepare as best he could. He
considered taking steroids, but ruled them out quickly: their effects were
short-lived, the side effects long-lasting. There was no quick fix when it
came to fitness. Reeve knew he was pretty fit; family life hadn t completely
destroyed him, it had just robbed him of a little willpower.
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