Part five: How to get along in business

[darkisrising]

In which Ben gets a job as a bouncer, and then gets... noticed.


Ben fiddles with the ear piece he's wearing. It just won't sit right and no matter
what position he gets it into, it's always digging in somehow. At least standing
around for hours is familiar, though this time he's wearing a big coat. And
nowhere near the heavy equipment.

His companion on the job looks amused. "First time wearing one?"

"Yeah." Ben says. "Bloody thing just won't sit right."

"try and ignore it. You've just got to get used to it." The other bouncer says,
tucking his hands into his pockets and smiling at the early arrivals. "We're open,
but you're a bit early, darling."

The girl adjusts her belt. "The pub was full of Chelsea supporters and there was
no way we were staying for that."

"Too right." Her mate says. "it was horrible."

"Probably a wise choice." He nods, going to hold the door open to let them in.

"Who's your mate?" The first girl asks, giggling. "He's a bit quiet."

"Go gentle on him, ladies, it's his first night on the job." The bouncer grins,
ushering them in. "Get on with you."

Ben groans. "You didn't have to tell them."

"Nah, they won't remember by the time they get out." He says, grinning. "And if
they do, they'll be so pissed that the most you'll get is 'my new best friend, say
hello to him!' by which point you're normally having to make sure they don't fall
off their heels and point them in the right direction of the night bus."

"Cheers. I think." Ben says.

"Ah, you'll be all right. By the end of the night it'll be nothing."

It's quiet period, about a week in, that strange point of the night when the pubs
have finished kicking out, and most of the club goers have got into their choice
of venue, inside dancing, determinedly on a mission, that being getting off
their tits or pulling, hoping like hell that the beer goggles haven't kicked in and
that the girl or boy they wake up next to tomorrow morning is at least half
decent looking. Ben's fidgeting. Normally at this time of night when he'd had
this shift when he was on this borough, they'd be checking on the homeless
bloke who'd decided that drinking as much Tesco's vodka as he could get his
hands on was a good idea, huddled in a café waiting for a cuppa to break up the
night, blinking at the fluorescent lights glinting off the tiles, the brightness in
contrast to the yellow-tinged gloom outside, breathing in the comforting but
slightly nauseating smell of bacon grease and chip fat because at least it didn't
smell of piss and exhaust fumes. they'd be constantly on the move, walking the
streets and doing that specialised task called 'proceeding'. Minimal effort, a
pace to keep up hour after hour.

Here, when there's no punters, it's a matter of chatting amicably, eyes out for
trouble, but not trouble in the same way as he did on the beat. Drunks getting
leery and girls falling off their heels and screaming at their mates or fellas. if
they're noisy it's not his problem. The cab drivers and junkies occasionally stop
for chats. He's not being eyed like they're about to skedaddle because he might
nick them for something, and he doesn't miss the abuse hurled at him just
because of the uniform he was wearing. There's a bit of abuse from people you
don't let in - it was a pretty steep and fast learning curve on judging just how
drunk or off their face someone could be before you refused to let them, and
he's still learning the cues for who might try to throw a punch in the queue or
take exception to his face. As a copper he was used to people taking an
exception to the uniform, not his face. Though it turns out an earpiece and a big
dark wool coat aren't nearly as good an intimidation tool as a copper's helmet.

For the last half hour, they've had a few people on night shift hurrying into work,
and a few cleaners on the night shift, lumping the rubbish bags from whatever
offices they're coming from. Couple of chefs, too, laughing and slapping backs
as they've finished for the night, the last diners gone home and the kitchens
cleaned up, merry on whatever wine is left over. Sometimes they start staging
mock punch-ups in the street, bobbing and weaving, still on the high of working
flat-out, adrenaline release from a completely manic job that does not attract
anyone who's even slightly normal. Plus they wield sharp knives and play with
fire for a living. So you smile and make space for them. Nice for the most part,
but there's always a few nutters. They've had a few coppers, who nod and say
'see you later', in case there's troubles at kick out time, in which case it's
normally a bit interesting. One or two recognised him from when he did his
rotation here, but don't say anything, clearly thinking he just didn't pass or
dropped out for some reason, and they don't want to embarrass him. The few
coppers he's seen outside work - his and theirs - tend to aim sympathetic smiles
at him but don't try to talk. Message clear that he's being given space. He does
occasionally wonder what stories they're passing around, especially the ones
who knew he'd passed probation, but he hasn't seen any of them. Suppose he'll
find out when he runs into them eventually.

Inal, the bloke who works with him, it has to be said, is not stupid. "So what's
your problem with coppers? You don't have a record or at least never had a
run-in, else they'd be giving you the hairy eyeball. What happened, you break
up with one and it was her fault, so though they're on your side, they're not
allowed to talk in case it gets back to her?"

Ben gives him a look. "You sound like you've been reading those relationship
bits in your missus' magazines."

"Nah, those're much more interesting. And tell you to talk about your feelings
and where the relationship's going." Inal says. "Oh, and the importance of using
toys and masturbation to spice up your sex life."

Ben blinks. "...You're kidding."

"I'm not. Apparently you can't count on the bloke to know anything, and if you
want better sex with him, masturbate more." Inal sucks in a breath. "I keep
bloody wondering if I should be scared, but some of the stuff in Ann Summers
gives me the willies." Pause. "Not to mention the underwear - how long's it take
a girl to get into some of that stuff? I can just imagine me sitting there for half
an hour while she's in the bathroom, and then she'd get pissed off with me for
falling asleep waiting."

"you've got a point there." Ben muses, nodding to the paramedic passing by in
his car.

"Anyway, what is your story with all the coppers we've seen?" Inal says,
returning to the previous subject. "You don't get off the hook that easy. Related
to one?"

Ben shrugs, hunching into his coat a bit. "Wanted to be one for ages. Took the
tests, did my training, didn't work out."

"Drummed out of the brownies, eh?" Inal says sympathetically.

"Not quite." Ben frowns. "Passed the tests, just wasn't everything I thought. Had
to look somewhere else for work."

Inal winces. "Ouch. Bit of a bastard, that. I mean, having your sights set on it,
putting all your time in and you end up with nothing?"

"Did get a few things." Ben muses, then says cheerily "I learnt how to fill in all
the forms and paperwork, if nothing else."

"Yeah, and don't we all love that." Inal says dryly. "My missus is a teacher, and
she hates anything that even looks like a form, but she's got all that marking at
the end of the day, so dunno what she was thinking."

"What about you, what did you do before bouncing?" Ben asks, nudging him.

"Ex-army. Finished my stint, came out and realised I should've trained as an
engineer or electrician while I was in there. Being bloody good in a firefight's
not much use in civvy street."

A few months into being a bouncer, and Ben's getting the feeling tonight's going
to be one of those nights. All the excitement of a week into one night.

A girl flashes her tits to try and get him to let her in ahead of everyone else,
right when the club's full to overflowing, and they're only letting people in when
others go. Ben rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Put 'em away, love. They're very nice tits, but you're still not getting in."

She scowls, which does something horrible to the shape of her mouth, the
amount of lipstick she's got on emphasising it really oddly. "What, are you gay
or something?"

"Nah, picky. And they're not as good as the last girl's who tried to get in like
that." Ben points out. "We didn't let her jump the queue, we're not letting you.
Simple as that."

One bloke in a baggy jacket gets to the front of the line, walks in, Inal slams an
arm across the door. "Oh no you don't."

"What?" The bloke asks, in surprise.

"I've seen your face before, mate." He states. "You're not getting in there."

"What'd I do?" he protests.

"Open the jacket." Inal commands.

"What, you think I'm carrying a gun or summink?" he asks, surprised,then
unzips it, holding it open. "There you go, satisfied?"

"In a minute." Inal states, patting him down. Then pauses and pulls something
out of the front pocket of his jeans. Little bag of pills. "What do you call this?"

"I dunno, aspirin?"

"Right. Fuck off, will you?" Inal gives him a shove.

"Oh, come on man, you can't -"

"Yeah we can." Ben says. "You're dealing and we don't like your face."

Halfway through the night, there's a fight starts up, and Ben and Inal race in to
break it up because it's got a bit big, both of them hauling the fighters apart,
arms behind their backs, then having to stop their girlfriends as well, who seem
to take exception to their boyfriends being restrained. And if Ben wanted to
deal with being clawed in the face, he'd get a job down Battersea Dogs Home.
Or as a vets' assistant.

An hour later and they've got to call the paramedics because one of the girls
decided that because a girl dated her current boyfriend two years ago, this
meant she deserved bottling. Broken glass everywhere and the poor girl's just
lucky her face was missed.

Ben's sitting with her on the chair just inside the door, holding an ice pack to the
back of her head and neck. "Doesn't look too bad from here, honest."

"but it hurts so much, and the blood..."

"I'm keeping pressure on it, and the paramedics'll be here in a minute, okay?"

the paramedics get in, and it's Johnny and Ilse who he knows from before. "Hey,
Ben. What're you doing here?"

He shrugs. "Didn't work out. Glass missed her face, and the bleeding looks like
it's stopped. Dunno how much got embedded, though."

"Ouch." Ilse sympathises. "Have you got a name, sweetheart?"

"Aleesha." Ben supplies when she just sobs slightly.

"Okay, Aleesha. Ben, if you just want to take the cloth off so we can see what
we're dealing with..." Ilse winces. "Ooo, nasty. We'll get that fixed right up. If
you can get into the ambulance for me?"

Later in the night, he's got to go and get a message to Tony the manager since
it looks like it might start to kick off if he doesn't intervene sharpish. What he
walks in on is some bloke right up in Tony's face. "You all right, Tony?"

"He's fine. we're just having a bit of a discussion." The man says as Tony
quakes and looks like he's about to shit himself, fingers digging into the arms of
the chair he's sitting in. If Ben was still on copper duty, he'd be trying to arrest
this man right now for just existing. Big bastard, smooth, nice suit, but every
motion of his yells 'menacing polished thug'.

"Got it." Ben pauses. "Only there's a bit of an argy-bargy going on in the bar you
might want to take a look at. There's a footballer in, and he's just bought
everyone drinks, only his card's been declined. He's going off on one, and it
looks like it might get a bit nasty without intervention. You want we should
chuck 'im out?"

"What team?" Thug in a nice suit says.

Ben shrugs. "Chelsea."

thug straightens, tweaks his suit into line in a perfectly polished motion that
looks like it comes straight off Strictly. "We'll have to see. Some of these
footballers think their name's good enough, and sometimes they're a bit too up
themselves. Coming, Tony?"

Tony swallows. "Course, Harry." He scurries after the thug, whose name is
apparently Harry, and Ben follows.

When they get there, it's still just at the shouting stage, thank christ, but the bar
staff are stressed out, the rest of the punters are now getting pissed off, and
Ben's honestly in the mood to just chuck him and his lot out on his arse,
overblown pay packet be buggered. Inal's there keeping an eye on things, but
his eyes widen on seeing Harry, and stray to Ben in a definite 'is everything
okay?' query. Ben shrugs back, and mouths 'talk later' at him.

Tony scurries in. "What's the problem, sir?"

"My card's been declined, and I've got all these people, and my card does not
fucking well get declined, you know how much I earn, this is a fucking disgrace,
it -"

Harry cuts in smoothly. "No problem, probably just a glitch, we'll get it all
settled. I'll guarantee it myself. Now you lot just keep drinking, all right?" he
turns to the crowd. "Sorry, show's over."

Some of the crowd shrank visibly on seeing Harry, which only confirms that he
wants to know more, and quickly. And he'd really, really like him out of the
door as soon as possible.

Harry hooks a finger in Ben's direction once Tony's signed off on the card
dispute and Harry ushers him back upstairs. Inal makes discreet shooing
motions, so Ben goes. Reluctantly. At least his presence means Tony might
make it out in one piece.

Soon as the door closes, Tony dives for his chair again so he's got the desk
between him and Harry. Harry doesn't seem to notice, though, leaning against
the wall, one hand on his chin in thought. "Right, that's been sorted. You'll be
getting the money from the club, of course, if it turns out the talented little shit's
got debts coming out of his arse. Reminded me, we really need to do a check
on the state of most of their finances." He turns his head slightly to look at Ben.
"You support Chelsea?"

"Spurs fan meself." Ben says, keeping his gaze up and not blinking.

"Well, they're not doing too badly this season, I'll give you that. Loyalty's good
to see." Harry says, then turns back to Tony. "So what I want to know, Tony, is
do I have your word that it'll be delivered on time?"

Tony nods frantically. "Yes, Harry. Right on the dot."

"Good." he crosses over and pats Tony on the cheek, rolex glinting slightly as he
does so. "Nice that we had this little chat. Now don't let it happen again." He
straightens, turns, and Ben opens the door for him. "Nice to see manners in this
day and age." Harry says, giving Ben an assessing look. "Got a name?"

"Ben."

"Keep it up, then." Harry says, exiting.

Ben watches him go, until he's gone through the back entrance, before turning
back to Tony. Who's managed to look like he's run a marathon. "You all right?"
Ben asks. "Only it looked like he was about to do you some serious damage."

"Yeah. Just got a reminder." Tony says. "You go back to work, okay?"

Downstairs, it's quietened down, so Ben goes outside to find Inal. "Bloody hell."
Inal says, running a finger round his collar. "You have any idea who that was?"

"From everyone's reactions, I'm guessing someone important."

"Yeah, Harry Jones might be classed as important. He's the right hand man of
Peter Stokes, who you do not want to bloody cross under any circumstances.
Peter Stokes owns this club and a fair few other businesses, and Harry... well..."
Inal sucks in a breath. "I wouldn't stand up to Harry if you paid me. nasty,
nasty piece of work and fucking scary. What'd he want you for?"

"Think a witness that he wasn't knocking Tony around." Ben says. "Dunno why,
though Doesn't strike me as a man who would hesitate even with witnesses."

"He isn't." Inal confirms. "Let's just bloody hope Tony manages to stay in his
good books for the foreseeable."

End of a quiet night. Tony's smoking shakily. Inal and Ben exchange glances.
Must be in trouble again. Tony turns his head to watch the progress of a taxi go
past, lights flaring in the dark off the wet pavement. "You all right, boss?" Ben
asks.

"Yeah, fine." Tony says, exhaling. He turns his fag around, looking at the end of
it, then flicks it into the puddle in the gutter, where it makes a rather final
fizzling noise. "Either of you want to earn some extra money? Like, overtime?"

"What're we looking at?" Ben asks, trying to look fairly disinterested.

"Nothing much. Just a bit of extra security, you wouldn't have to do anything,
just loom a bit and make sure it doesn't get out of hand." Tony says, now
watching the fag end float down towards the drain.

"Dunno, boss." Inal says cautiously. "What kind of thing might get out of hand?"

"Harry's got a meeting and he wants some extra muscle on hand. Doesn't
expect it, but like I said, he'd like to make it pretty clear to this bloke that he's
not messing about, and it's a definite no guns area." Tony says, now poking the
pavement with the toe of his shoe.

"When you say no guns, that does not fill me with confidence, boss." Ben
interjects.

"Harry says everyone's getting searched before they come in." Tony says.
"Basically, you'd be back-up muscle to show they mean business. Not expected
to do anything, just loom. It's tomorrow afternoon. You up for it?"

Inal shakes his head. "Can't, boss, got to pick my daughter up from
gymnastics."

Ben tries to look like he's thinking it over, then nods. "Yeah, I can. Long as
we're sure there's no bloody guns. they say what the pay'd be?"

"Decent for a couple of hours' work, is what he said." Tony says, still poking the
pavement with his shoe. Nerves. What nerves? "I'll tell Harry you're coming,
he'll get someone to phone you later."

Inal stares after Tony when he goes back inside. "If I didn't know better, I'd
swear he was back on the hard stuff."

"hard stuff?"

"Yeah, went through a bad patch, got told, came off it bloody quickly." Inal says,
then shakes his head. "Nah, probably just got the frights from Harry." He
glances at Ben. "Hope you know what you're doing, mate. Agreeing to anything
that involves Harry Jones..." He leaves it hanging, emphasising the ominous.

Ben shrugs. "Wouldn't mind the extra cash, and they did say no guns. I'm just
going to loom a bit."

"And if it turns to shit?"

"Try and keep out of the way of any flying debris." Ben says, watching a white
van go by.

The meeting is tense. and mostly calm. Harry's busy scaring the shit out of
some bloke from Liverpool who's apparently stepped out of line - something to
do with Ibiza and drugs, but you never get any details. Even though Ben is
supposed to be gathering info to feed back to his masters, he's almost glad that
they're not going to discuss business to that level. He'd like to be in a bit further
before hearing that kind of thing, because seriously, who discusses incriminating
detail in front of someone who's green enough to not think twice about
rabbiting

There's a moment where it gets a bit shouty, at which point Ben grabs the
shoulder of one of the other lot's security, aiming for the one who looks like he
might have some influence. "Tell 'em to calm down." He hisses.

"What?"

"This isn't going to do any good for anyone if they don't calm down." Ben
repeats. "Getting nasty isn't going to solve anything." He digs his fingers in. "Tell
them to calm the fuck down."

"Boss, calm it down." Security says. "Remember last time."

After the others've gone and whatever needed to be discussed is over,
everyone's trooping out. Harry's sitting back in his chair, clearly thinking. As
Ben's about to go, he opens his mouth. "Nice work there."

"Boss?" Ben asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Getting them to calm down. Nice work aiming for the right person, too." Harry
says, tapping his fingers on the chair.

"Just looked like trouble we didn't need." Ben shrugs. What can he say, he
wasn't keen on the situation turning violent.

"Still, nice work keeping a clear head." Harry replies, pulling out a small book
and making a note in it.

Ben gets a call on his mobile when he's in Tescos, trying to decide whether he
wants to risk the ready meals or cook something from scratch. On the one
hand, speed. On the other hand, he's not quite sure what the chances of the
lasagne just tasting wrong in some indefinable way are. Unknown number. He
hopes it's not some call centre as he thumbs the answer button. "Hello?"

"Ben Cooper? It's Harry. You able to talk?" Ben freezes slightly. He doesn't
have to ask which Harry, not with that voice.

"Yeah, I'm just in Tescos." Ben replies, picking up the lasagne and examining the
ingredients so he doesn't do anything stupid, like drop the phone from nerves.
Because he's really bloody dreading getting some sort of news about Tony.
Tony's calmed down a bit, but seeing it ramp up again would not be good. Or
finding him in an alley. He doesn't know what it is Tony owes or did, but Ben's
pretty sure he'd like him to stay alive.

"Long as you're not at the checkout." Harry says. "Always
think that's bloody rude to the checkout girl, answering your phone while you're
in the middle of talking to someone."

"Nah, just staring at the ready meals." Ben says idly, wondering what some of
the E numbers translate as. He knows at least one of them is just lemon juice,
but he can never remember which one it is.

"Learn to cook. Cooking's always a useful skill to have." Harry says decisively.
"Anyway, you impressed me with that bit of peacekeeping . Not many do that.
You able to do some work for me on Monday?"

"Yeah, should be able to." Ben replies, trying to keep his voice normal.

Another couple of jobs go by. They're security jobs for the most part, standing
around and looming at people, or at least making sure they don't leave the
room when Harry wants to talk to them. A couple of times he's delivered a
message, and by that he really does mean delivering a spoken message, just
with added looming. Apparently it creates a more lasting impression than a
phone call or email, especially when you stay quiet and reasonable.

Then there's the time they're in an office that's still being built in Battersea.
They've got to the stage of painting it, but the wires are hanging down from the
ceiling, awaiting fittings, and the windows are covered with plastic sheeting on
the inside. There's him and a few other blokes standing around the edge
soberly, Harry, and the poor sod Harry's pissed off with sitting in a chair in the
middle of it. Ben's not precisely sure if he pissed Harry off directly by ,messing up
or by not paying or what he was doing was brought to Harry's attention and
Harry disapproved. Whichever way it was, it still ends up here, with harry
talking very quietly but very menacingly at him.

The poor sod's shaking, but isn't giving the right answers, or at least isn't
responding in the way harry wants. Harry draws back from looming, stepping
back. "I think you, my son, need persuading that we mean business." He looks
up at Ben. "help his memory along a bit, will you?"

Which means physical. Mostly laying hands - the threat - is enough. Ben steps
forward from the group he's been standing with, and jerks him out of his chair.
he hasn't been tied to it, just got pushed into it when he got dragged here, the
looming threat of harry enough to keep him glued to it without even thinking of
bolting, a rabbit in the headlights of Harry's articulated lorry. But this time, it's
pretty clear Harry means a bit more laying on of hands. Faintest edge of pain
really gets them to break. Ben says quietly, and a bit regretfully, like he doesn't
want to do this but he's brought it on himself. "This'll all go a lot easier on you if
you co-operate, mate." He grabs the bloke's arm and twists it behind his back.
the bloke whimpers in pain. Normally, that's enough, the taste of pain. he can
feel him starting to crumple, weight leaning back into Ben rather than holding
himself up properly.

Only this time, Harry decides he needs a lesson. Harry narrows his eyes. "Twist
if further."

"Harry, I gave you the info, I -" the bloke pleads.

"get on with it." harry says, waving his hand dismissively, then tucking his hands
into the pockets of his expensive, well-cut trousers, eyes boring into the man,
clearly in position to wait it out.

Ben makes a very distinct attempt to not swallow or react, keeping his face
immobile. he pulls the bloke's arm up further slowly, waiting for the signal that
Harry thinks he's done enough, had enough pain to learn he lesson Harry seems
to think he needs. But as the bloke lets out more pained noises and pleads
something chronic, voice getting more frantic as Ben pulls and twists, it becomes
clear that Harry's not about to give any sort of stopping sign.

Ben takes a deep breath and grits his teeth. "Sorry about this, mate." He says
quietly, and bends and pulls the arm beyond the point it'll take stress and
elasticity, feeling the joint pop. the man screams and crumples, but Harry's still
staring at him impassively, so Ben keeps going, feeling the muscles tear and the
bone snap wetly. And if he thought the poor sod screamed enough when his
shoulder dislocated, this is nothing to the break. Ben grits his teeth and
focusses on Harry's face, waiting for him to tell him when to stop.

That's the point Harry appeared to be waiting for, since he nods slightly, rocking
back on his heels fractionally, the signal that Ben's gone as far as he needs to.
Ben lets out a breath and changes his grip, lowering the bloke to the ground
gently. Almost immediately that his knees touch the bare floor, the bloke tries
to move his shoulder so he can cradle his arm to take weight off the break,
maybe reduce the pain, but can't since it's dislocated and useless, and screams
with the pain that lances through him, collapsing sobbing in pain. harry strides
forward and crouches in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees and letting
his hands hang loose between them. "There. Now remember that the next time
you try to play silly buggers."

Ben shoves his hands into his pockets, digging his nails into his palms to stop
himself from even starting to shake. Calm and steady. Stay calm and steady.
Don't think about the fact that he just broke someone's arm on order. "That all,
boss?" He asks.

"Yeah." Harry gets up, gracefully, reminding Ben of one of those big cats on an
Attenborough documentary. Sleek big muscles that you're all too aware that
could explode into bloody violence at any moment. "Now get the bugger to A &
E, we don't want him any more useless than he already is."

"Want me to pop his shoulder back in?" Ben inquires.

"Nah, he can cope with it like that until the professionals deal with it. Do him
good to get all the reminder he needs." Harry says, turning away. "Now get 'im
out of my sight."

The others haul him up, not being too rough but at the same time not being too
careful of jostling the bloke's useless arm. Ben lingers, something telling him he
can't go just yet. He's right, when Harry lifts the side of one of the loose pieces
of plastic covering the windows, gazing on the street scene below. "Anything
more, boss?"

"Nah. You did good today, Ben. Nice work." He says, glancing back. "Good to
have someone reliable around."

Ben nods, departing. The pain in his palms from where he dug his nails in
carries him through to the call he places to Inspector Sims after lunch, arranging
to meet with him in some little coffee shop to update him on the situation. It's a
fairly regular arrangement, get a cuppa and have a chat with him or one of the
others running this. Sometimes it's just a quick email, but they like the
occasional face to face.

"So how's it going? New job treating you well?" Sims asks, sipping his tea.

"Doing a bit of work on the side." Ben says, turning his round in the saucer, not
touching the tea yet, trying to make the clinking sounds and chatter of the
coffee shop into white noise that wipes out the memory of the screams and
feeling of breaking bone under his hands. Or at least takes the edge off it.

"Oh?" Sims asks in interest. "Decent earner?"

"Just a bit of extra cash." Ben says tonelessly. "I broke some poor bugger's arm
for Harry this morning."

"Ah. And it's the first time you've had to do major work on command, right?"
Sims says, a tinge of sympathy edging into his voice.

"Yeah." Ben replies, turning the cup round again "...Not good."

"Well, better get used to it." Sims says bluntly. "Backing out now because you've
got a bit squeamish wouldn't look good." he takes another sip of his tea. "So
how's your boss treating you?"

"Seems a bit better. I think I'm getting a bit more responsibility."

Sims raises an eyebrow, unable to let the slight smile getting in on the side of
his mouth. "Well, there's a turn up for the books. Keep doing what you're doing,
it's clearly working."

Ben rubs his forehead, not able to look at him any more. "Yeah. Clearly
working."

They sit there in silence for a bit, Ben desperately listening to the hiss of the
espresso machines to stop thinking and remembering and blank out. Eventually
Sims drains his tea, getting up. "Well, I've got to get going." He pulls his coat
back on, then pauses, laying a hand on Ben's shoulder. "Look, son, you'll get
used to it. It's not a nice business you're into, but you've just got to grit your
teeth and bear it. All right?"

Ben grits his teeth and nods. "All right."

"Finish your cuppa on your own time. And get yourself to the gym and beat a
pad up. It'll get rid of some of the stress you're carrying." Sims says, walking
out. Ben sits there for a long time, taking occasional sips of his cuppa until it
gets too cold to drink.

That evening, it's back on the door. Inal gives him a worried look when it's
quiet. "You okay, mate? Only you're looking pretty fucking awful."

"Just been up since this morning. Work." Ben says tonelessly.

"Ah. You've been ...working a fair bit lately." Inal says. "You sure you're okay
there? Only if it's getting a bit much, you can always back out."

"Just a bit stressed and tired, Inal." Ben says.

Inal shoves his hands in his pockets, looking desperately uncomfortable - he's
all too aware that Ben's up to something dodgy, you have to be, working for
Harry Jones - and says in really low tones, quickly "Look, you can still back out.
You don't owe anything, do you?"

"No, Inal, I don't owe 'im anything and I'm not stupid enough to start shoving all
my earnings up me nose." Ben says, grinning slightly. "Just a bit of extra cash
and a bit less sleep, that's all. no need to worry. I'll be right as rain again soon
enough."

"Just so's you're not into trouble, all right?" Inal says, still looking worried.
"Because I've seen lads do occasional work for Harry before. they always start
looking like this. I'm sure it's what Tony thought."

"Yeah, but we all know Tony's got the impulse control of a kid in a sweet shop,
the twazzock." Ben says, and Inal grins at the all too plain truth.

After that job, Ben starts being given jobs that aren't so much security as going
and doing things. Running errands. Especially if it involves talking and talking
people down. Nothing too important, but it's like he's being tested a bit. And
then asked his opinion. Which is... odd, but good, he supposes. he's sitting
around the club after hours, helping with the last of the clean up as one of the
bar staff had to dash off, promising him a favour, when Harry strides in, looking
as unruffled as ever. "Something I can help you with, harry?" Ben asks, pausing
in putting the glasses back behind the bar. the rest of the staff've frozen, all
knowing exactly who Harry is.

"Yeah, was in the area, thought I'd drop in for a drink." he says, sliding into a
seat at the bar.

"What can I get you, then?" Ben asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Decent vodka'll do."

"Straight?" Ben asks, reaching for the grey goose.

"That'll do." Ben nods, fixing it for him, catching eyes with the others to get on
with it like nothing out of the ordinary's going on, just get on with clean up.
Ignore the nice hard bastard at the bar. After a bit, Ben becomes aware that
Harry's eyeing him. "You ought to get yourself some decent suits. Smarten
yourself up a bit."

"Oh?" Ben asks, keeping any opinions to himself and keeping it light. "Not
Burtons then, I take it."

"Nah. Got a job for you, need you to look half-decent." Harry says, swirling the
vodka in the glass.

"I'll try."

"Get 'em adjusted for fit, too." Harry says, pointing with the finger he's holding
the glass with to emphasise his point. "There's plenty of tailors around'll do a
good job and it's worth it. you've proved you've got a decent eye for detail."

"Will do." Ben says. "Ta for the pointer."

So the next day he's out trying on suits considerably nicer than anything he'd
have ever contemplated, the assistants fussing around him. Keeping the fit
simple, though. Apparently a martial artist's physique means he's not in need of
anything flash to distract since he's not got anything to hide. And after that it's
the tailor's to get measured up and the suits taken away to be returned to him in
a couple of days. Least he looks good in it.

The job's not much different from the usual delivering a message, with a bit of
added arranging and negotiating delivery, but the players are definitely a bit
smarter both sartorially and brain-wise than he usually deals with, and the
stakes are higher.

It goes pretty smoothly, but it's when he gets back to deliver his message and
the news to harry that it gets a bit odd. He walks into the men's club off Hyde
park Harry likes to lounge around in, and Lyndon takes one look at him and
explodes.

"I knew it! i fucking well knew it!" he yells. "What's Ben got that I ain't fucking
got?"

"A head on his bloody shoulders is what." Harry says, lowering his paper and
fixing him with the level gaze that normally means someone's going to be in
pain very shortly. "You, my son, are a fucking liability. Now quiet down before
I have to take care of you. And we don't want that now, do we?"

"He's fucking green, he's a bloody jumped up bouncer -" Lyndon sputters.

"And doesn't lose his rag at the most fucking stupid moments." harry continues.
"Not going up his nose, neither."

"Seriously, mate, there's nothing going on." Ben says. "I'm not after your job,
just doing some work for Harry because he asked me."

"Some fucking expensive work, is what!" Lyndon is not calming down.

"Calm the fuck down, Lyndon, you're making a scene." Ben says quietly.

"I'll give you a scene, you jumped up -" he swings. Ben dodges easily, the idiot
was telegraphing something chronic, catching the arm and using it as leverage
to push him into the nearest chair and hold him there. Lyndon's got no idea how
to fight against someone who knows what he's doing when it comes to restraint,
and then there's the size of his pupils. idiot.

"i said, quiet down." Ben says firmly. "You want me to make you regret it?"

"Leave im, Ben." harry says. "I'll have a talk with him, now sit yourself down
and have a drink. How'd it go?"

Ben lets go, Lyndon staying sullenly in the chair for now. "Fine. They were a bit
difficult about a couple of requests, but we figured out a way to keep both sides
happy."

"Good man." Harry says approvingly as Ben sits. "Suit makes a difference, by
the way. Send me the bill for it, it's a good investment. "