The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set

by Wayne Marinovich

  ‘Did that make you feel better, boss?’ Shredder said when the court was restored to order.

  Gibbs nodded. ‘It was that slimy prick all along. I should have trusted my instincts about him. The bastard will pay someday, no matter how long I spend in prison. He will pay for all of this with his life.’

  All three of the men got life sentences without the chance of parole. They were told they had the right to appeal, but that would simply cost too much money. What made it a brutal ruling was that their sentences were to be carried out on the new high-security prison ships that had been brought into service. With the lack of space in all land-based prisons and the scarcity of manpower, giant old oil tankers and container vessels had been converted into floating jails. They were notorious for being home to the most violent and dangerous prisoners in the UK. A place where men were sent to be forgotten.

  Chapter 31

  HM Prison, Wandsworth, London, UK - 2019

  Sharon Matthews wiped her tear-filled eyes with a tissue as she looked at Gibbs sitting across from her at the low tables in the mixed visiting room. Other wives and girlfriends were also present and leant across the tables talking to their partners in the male-only prison in Wandsworth. The noise in the room slowly increased as the excited couples got reacquainted and caught up on the news outside.

  ’I cannot believe that you got life on one of those ghastly prison ships,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears.

  Gibbs reached across and held her shaking hand. ‘No prison ship is going to be able to hold the three of us for very long. I’ll be back here irritating you before you know it.’

  She smiled. ‘I still think we should try the appeal route seeing that my ex has managed to unearth a few emails that would help with the process.’

  ‘That may be so, but none of us has the cash for an appeal, and the same men who fabricated the whole bloody thing will just do the same thing again, I guess,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Not if there is clear evidence that they set you up.’

  ‘Is there such evidence?’

  ‘My ex believes there is enough to get your case thrown out. Something about emails that were deleted from their local Club servers but not before critical keywords were flagged and those emails copied to monitoring servers for evaluation,’ she said.

  ‘Can we get our hands on these emails?’

  ‘I’m meeting him later this afternoon.’

  Gibbs sat forward and said, ‘Please be careful, Sharon. These men have fingers in lots of government pies, and you could both be at risk. They have shown that they’ll do anything to make this issue go away, and I’ve grown fond of having you in my life.’

  The last comment made tears well up in her eyes again, and she squeezed his hands tightly. ‘You too, Gibbs, and don’t worry, I’ll be careful to get the information back safely.’

  ‘Okay, but as a precaution I want you to contact Sheila and get her to organise her gang lord boyfriend to go with you to see your contact,’ he said.

  ‘My ex won’t meet me if I arrive with a full entourage, but I’ll speak to Sheila and sort something out.’

  ‘Okay, fine, I also need you to pass on one more message to her from me,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s about a favour I’m owed.’

  • • •

  The oak and beech trees that lined the Battersea Park pathway swirled in the strong breeze and blew Sharon Matthews’s beige overcoat open. She tied her coat belt tighter around her waist and carried on walking along the gravel path that ended in front of the old Victorian tower, long used as the Pumphouse Street Art Gallery.

  Looking behind her, she scouted the treeline a final time then walked into the ground floor space still used by street artists and painters. Two Scavengers were painting a mural of the better days that London had had. They looked up at her before continuing.

  Someone grabbed her arm, and she yelped with fright. The person pulled her to the side of the doorway.

  ‘Hello, you.’

  ‘Jeez, Colin, you scared the shit out of me,’ she said, hugging the man who was dressed in a dark red jumper and blue jeans.

  ‘All this spy stuff got you a bit jumpy, then?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘You’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have.’

  ‘True,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks so much for doing this for me.’

  ‘You know I’d do anything for you,’ Colin said.

  Sharon looked at her ex-boyfriend. ‘Even if it’s for my new boyfriend?’

  ‘You always said I was too nice and decent for you, so I can only wish you all the happiness. If you’re are not a happy girl, how can I possibly be happy? I’ll always care about you,’ he said, taking her hands. ‘Besides, injustice is an injustice. Of course I am happy to help.’

  ‘Stop it, you flirt, or you might make me regret breaking up with you.’

  ‘There is that hope too, you know.’

  She smiled and pulled her hands away. ‘What have you got for us?’

  ‘Random printouts of about twenty emails between the two gentlemen we’ve been discussing,’ he said, reaching into a leather shoulder bag to take out a large brown manila envelope.

  Sharon looked around at the artists who were now working on the floor of the gallery. None of them stirred as she took the envelope from him. Opening it up, she took the pile of papers out and started reading them. Her hand flew up to her mouth. ‘Colin, this is wonderful. Thank you. I have to rush off to get these to a contact who is waiting nearby.’

  ‘Of course. I thought these might get you excited. As a backup plan, I’ve made two copies of the email correspondence onto small flash drives. I’ve put one into that envelope with the printouts. I’ll drop the other one through your letterbox in the next few days as a precaution,’ he said, taking her hand again. ‘Good luck, gorgeous.’

  She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek. ‘Thanks, Colin. I will never forget this.’

  As she walked out of The Tower Gallery, the envelope felt like it was burning a hole under her arm. Her pace quickened when she thought of the magnitude of the contents. This changed everything.

  Outside the wind had picked up even more. Fallen leaves were being whipped across the concrete path and blown into her as she leant forward to shield her eyes from the gusts. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move and turned to see two men appearing from around the corner of the art gallery. They saw her looking and stopped to have a conversation.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said and picked up her pace to get to the Albert Gate of Battersea Park. Another glance back a few minutes later confirmed her fears. Both men, who were dressed in black suits under large pale brown overcoats, had also picked up their pace after her.

  She walked a little further down the path, then stooped to fiddle with the strap on her shoes. A glance back allowed her to see the men stop two seconds later. They turned to one another and started talking.

  She let out a little whimper and made it to the Albert Gate before crossing the quiet intersection to a corner bar called The Prince Albert. Five old men drinking at the bar lifted their grey heads in unison and stared at her as she walked in. Scanning the large bar for her contact, she felt the tension lift from her shoulders as she spotted the long scar on the cheek of the man she was to meet.

  ‘Martin?’ she asked, approaching the corner table.

  ‘That’s me, love,’ he said and showed her to a seat at the small table next to his. He stared at her with intense brown eyes, his arms folded. Two hefty men approached them through the bar, and she felt her stomach tighten.

  Martin raised his hand, and they stopped nearby. ‘Don’t worry, love, they’re with me. You can never be too careful nowadays, you know. Place the contents of the envelope on your table, please.’

  She removed the printouts and the blue flash drive from the envelope and laid them down on the table. Martin stood up and placed his newspa
per down, covering everything as he picked it all up.

  ‘We’ve only made two men following you right now. I take it they’re after these documents. After I leave, I suggest that you fill the empty envelope with something else and then lead them towards the river. Let them see you dispose of the envelope. That might throw them off for a while. I wish you good luck,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t you escort me home?’

  ‘We cannot risk getting involved with this. We’re already in another gang’s territory so need to leave. Head over the bridge and into Chelsea. It’s busier than these parts too. Stay out in the open and if you see a taxi, take it, no matter what they charge,’ he said and walked away.

  Sharon felt her heart sink as Martin disappeared through the door with his two bodyguards. The plan to distract the men who were following her simply had to work. The emails that would help the man she loved were now in safe hands. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Nerves that pointed to the obvious. She was on her own.

  Chapter 32

  Albert Bridge Road, Battersea, London, UK - 2019

  Sharon tried in vain to stop her hair from blowing across her face in the strong wind as she walked across the exposed expanse of the Albert Bridge. Tucking her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, she leaned forward into the gusts. The dual lane bridge was still in operation, unlike many other bridges in London. Pedestrian walkways had been laid out on either side of the tarred surface, and many street dwellers stood hawking their wares. Two main concrete piers housed the tall towers of the bridge that held the metal cables, giving it the appearance of a large suspension bridge.

  There was no need to turn around to know she was still being followed. Her nerves jangled, but she felt a determined peace starting to flow through her.

  Clutching the manila envelope closer to her chest so the wind couldn’t rip it from her grasp, she strode towards the middle of the bridge. From her beige overcoat pocket, she took out her mobile phone and dialled the number of Gibbs’s message service.

  ‘Hello, my darling. I am being followed by two men but have made sure that you get all the evidence you need for your appeal. My ex informed me that John Mountford has recently been killed in the city so is clearly out of the picture. It probably means that someone higher up in the Club is tying up loose ends. I did manage to get the home address for David Kirkwood, which you have been so desperate to get. It’s Morrison House, 32 Somerset Road, Wimbledon. Hopefully, I will see you soon. Oh, and I like you too.’

  Sharon looked down at the silent phone. Would she ever see Gibbs again? There was no knowing what might happen. Gibbs had made her feel alive, and she had to fight for that. Wiping away the tears with her sleeve, she turned to face the men who stopped abruptly in their tracks at the beginning of the bridge. She smiled at them then showed them the phone before placing it in the envelope that contained an old newspaper. Sealing it, she threw the precious cargo over the bridge with all her might and stood watching it frisbee out into the middle of the rampant, muddy Thames River.

  With a deep breath, she walked as fast as she could, past dishevelled beggars and street dwellers who were all hanging over the bridge railing and staring at the disappearing envelope.

  One drunken man with long tatty hair and a dirty tweed overcoat moved in front of her. ‘Hello, lovely, why don’t you and I have a little fun?’ he said and waved a bottle of alcohol in a brown paper bag in her face.

  ‘Not today, sweet cheeks,’ she said and kicked out at the man’s knee. He screamed as the tendon popped and buckled him into a heap onto the cold pavement. Sharon stepped over him and carried on walking, wrapping the jacket tightly around her.

  With her high heels making a clicking sound on the paving stones, she turned right onto Chelsea Embankment road and caught a glimpse of her pursuers, who were both making calls on their phones.

  Putting their phones away, they started after her again, and cold fear washed over her. They weren’t interested in the documents she’d been carrying. She was always the target.

  ‘Let see just see how fit you are,’ she said out loud and started to run along the riverfront. They both broke into a run and soon reached the end of the bridge. She carried on running for a few hundred meters before turning left up into Chelsea Manor Road, heading away from the river. Great day to wear heels, Sharon.

  With lungs bursting and legs aching, she ran onto the pavement and climbed four small stairs to try and gain access to an apartment block along the affluent road. She yanked on the brass door handle a few times, aware that her pursuers were gaining on her with every second she was stationary. Running her fingers down all the buttons on the brass numbered panel, she activated all the intercom buzzers at the main entrance, and various people answered. ’Can someone please help me? Some men are trying to kill me,’ she shouted.

  The main door didn’t buzz open.

  Sharon reached down and took her heels off, then ran across to the adjacent apartment block and tried the same trick. Nobody was going to chance letting a screaming woman into the front door. She had to find another place to hide.

  Five minutes later as she zigzagged her way through the urban streets towards South Kensington, she turned to see that the two men had gained on her. A small whimper slipped out. A heightened panic filtered through her.

  The sun had disappeared behind the tall buildings, and she was running out of time to find a place to hide. Maybe she could wait them out somewhere. Running along a thick leafy hedge that concealed an open courtyard behind it, she stopped at what looked like a small opening low to the ground, and she crawled in on her hands and knees. Her heart sank as she crawled up against a wire mesh fence and looked despondently across the small well-tended private yard. The open white gate at the opposite end of the park taunted her.

  Shouts from the street behind her roused her fighting spirit again, and she cursed herself for feeling self-pity. Turning around in the narrow crawl space, she faced the pavement again, cringing as she felt a large spider’s web drape across her right ear.

  The two men ran past the hole in the hedge and ran up to a T-junction, stopping to look in either direction. Sharon Matthews smiled as she heard one of them gasping for breath.

  She waited and listened. Nothing from her pursuers.

  Her skin begun to crawl as she could feel something moving in her hair, and then something else crawled across her cheek. She quickly sat back on her heels and flicked at the cobwebs with both hands, ruffling her hair and doing all she could to kill the creatures that she imagined were crawling all over her.

  She held her breath and listened for any movement along the road. All was quiet as far as she could tell, and she sighed with relief.

  A large hand with a gold signet ring on the little finger reached in and grabbed a handful of her jacket. She screamed. The man dragged her out of the hole as she tried to bite down on his arm, the thick brown tweed fabric of his jacket shielding him from any injury.

  ‘Got you, bitch,’ he shouted and dragged her up to her feet, his other hand grabbing a handful of her blonde hair. ‘Stop all this running, will you? Our boss only wants to have a word with you.’

  Sharon spun herself towards him and raised her knee into his groin. The man’s eyes forced shut with tears of pain as he fell to his knees.

  Pulling herself loose from the weakening grip, she looked up to see his partner accompanied by a third man, come around the corner. ‘Stop running,’ one of them shouted as they started towards her again. She turned and ran back in the direction of the Thames River.

  Crossing another road, she saw a large construction site with an eight foot, black-painted hoarding around it. Running along the length of it, she passed a big double gate with a large chain and lock on it, positioned in the middle of the long wooden wall. As she pushed hard on both sides of the gate, a narrow sliver of a gap appeared, large enough for her to squeeze through.

  Once inside, she scanned the abandoned site. Her heart sank. There was no
where to hide other than two large mounds of builder’s rubble that stood three metres tall, covered in weeds and a few small bushes.

  ‘Arrrgh!’ she screamed and was about to slip out of the site again when she heard the footsteps and panting of the men chasing her.

  She simply had to chance hiding behind one of the piles of rubble. The footfalls of the men outside stopped. One of the men said to his partner, ‘You head around the other side of the site and make sure she doesn’t slip away.’

  Sharon sat down on the dusty ground and hid from the view of the main gate, trying not to burst into tears. She knew what they would do with her when they caught her, but she forced that thought from her mind. This is all for Gibbs, and our future together.

  The two men patrolled around the site for about twenty minutes, occasionally giving away their position by an odd cough as they recovered from their chase. Vapour from her warm breath started to show in the evening air, so Sharon pulled her jacket tighter around herself. How was she going to get out of this?

  The squeaking brakes of a car pulling up at the main gate made her jump to her feet again. Men’s voices outside the gate grew more vocal as they argued. She wouldn’t be captured without a fight, and she reached into her handbag to pull out her house keys. Her attackers would need to be close.

  The blast of a shotgun ripped her back to reality as the links on the chain securing the gate gave way. One of the men kicked both gates open. ‘Miss Matthews, this is stupid, we only want to talk to you.’

  The brawny figure of one of the men remained in the open gateway while the other two walked towards the mounds she was hiding behind. She watched them intently as they split up, the bigger man walked to the left, and the slim man took the right. She fancied her chances against the smaller man.