by J. D. Weston
"You know who ran it?" asked Harvey, raising the visor on his helmet.
"Haven't a clue," said Melody.
"For someone who works in organised crime, you don't know much, do you?" he jibed.
"Why?" said Melody defensively.
"That pub and the bookies next door was run by Carnell," said Harvey. "I hope for someone's sake that it was an accident, but I doubt it somehow."
"Carnell?" asked Melody. "Bobby Bones?"
"Don't ever let him hear you call him that."
"Why is he called that?"
"The only people that ever called him that, called him it once, then never called him nothing ever again. Or anyone else for that matter."
"You ever run into him?" asked Melody.
"Once or twice. He doesn't know me, but yeah, I had a run in with a few of his guys once, a long time ago. Apparently, he's a decent guy, but you only cross the line once."
"I didn't even know he had pubs. Last we heard of him his boys did a cash transit over, they went away, and he didn't even show up for court."
"Yeah, that was last you heard of him, but that doesn't mean he's been quiet. He's a lively one. John Cartwright pushed him out of East Ham and Plaistow, and he ventured further into town. I know he's got a few bookies under his wing too. I'd have money that fire was a hit, and he's not the sort of guy to take it lying down."
"Who'd hit him?"
"No-one this side of the water. He's a madman," said Harvey. "Let's go. Best not be seen staring at the charred remains of Bobby Bones' pub."
Harvey started the bike.
"I thought you said not to call him that?" said Melody.
"I said for you not to let him hear you call him that," replied Harvey. "I'll call him what I like." Harvey gave Melody a little wink in the mirror, lowered his visor, and pulled away hard. He felt Melody's hands dig into his sides as she held on tight.
Harvey pulled into the headquarters and parked his bike in its spot beside the team's new VW van and the Audi saloon. He killed the engine, waited for Melody to climb off, then kicked the stand down, and climbed off himself, putting his helmet in the bike's back box.
Reg wasn't at his computer and Jackson, the team's new driver and engineer, was nowhere to be seen.
"Up here," called Frank from the mezzanine floor that ran the length of the right-hand wall. The mezzanine was home to Frank's office, a meeting room that was never used, and a break room where the team could eat, which was used as a meeting room.
Harvey and Melody joined the rest of the team in the meeting room, and Melody poured a coffee from the pot before sitting down.
"We ready?" asked Frank.
"Sure," said Melody. "I suddenly feel like we're late. Did we forget something?"
"No," said Frank, "but there have been some developments that we need to discuss."
"Great, a new case," said Melody.
"I like your enthusiasm, Mills. However, I'm not so sure you'll be as enthused when you hear about this one," said Frank.
He turned and faced the room, looking serious. "Are we all familiar with the Albanian mob?"
"Not on a first name basis, sir," said Reg. "But I'm pretty sure we all know what they're up to."
"What are they up to, Tenant?"
"Hookers, coke, and protection, isn't it, sir?"
"Right, illegal prostitution, selling drugs and extortion," said Frank. "We've known about them for a long while, but you know as well as I do that unless we hit the main man, making arrests isn't going to stop the problem. We're better off concentrating our efforts elsewhere, somewhere we can make a difference."
"So do we have enough on him, the main man now?" asked Melody. "Is that what this is about?"
"No, Melody, we don't unfortunately."
"So why the change?"
"Well, every now and then, the types of gangs we're talking about, not just Albanians but home-grown gangs too, will feel the need to stretch their legs, push boundaries and remind the firm next door that they are around, usually in the form of a little turf war." Frank hit the space bar on his laptop, which was connected to a large TV. An image of a dead man with a knife in his eye came up on the screen.
"Ohhh," said Reg. "He didn't see that coming."
"He probably did, Tenant," said Frank. "That's a nasty way to go."
Frank hit the right arrow on the laptop's keyboard. An image of a man with his ears removed from his head and screwed to his hands appeared.
"See no evil, hear no evil?" asked Reg.
"No, it's not some intelligent criminal mastermind playing games and leaving clues," said Frank. "I almost wish it was." He closed the image on the screen and returned his attention to his team. "This is the work of the Albanian mob. The men you see here are members of local firms, wanted for petty crimes, and on the watch list of the drug squad who are waiting for the big one to put them away."
"They weren't watching very hard, were they?" said Reg.
"Do you know how many individuals are on the watch list of the drug squad?"
"Yeah, I get it, loads."
"So what's the point of all this then?" said Harvey. "Where are you going?"
"Ah, Stone, a timely introduction. I'll answer your question in just a minute. But first I want to show you another photo or two."
Frank opened a photo from his desktop. It showed a row of shops totally burnt out. An ambulance was on the scene, and uniformed policemen stood outside to stop the public entering.
"I'm guessing that wasn't caused by a cigarette?" said Jackson.
"You're right," said Frank. "It wasn't a cigarette. See these flats here, above the shops?" The team nodded. "Who do you think lived in these flats?"
"Albanians?"
"No, Tenant, wrong. Ordinary people lived in those flats. Two office workers, a single mum with two small babies, twins in fact. A young couple due to get married." Frank paused and took the time to connect with his team individually. "They all died. Seven bodies, two of them less than a year old."
The room was silent as they all took the news in.
"Sad, isn't it?" said Frank.
"Who started the fire, sir?" asked Melody.
"A local firm started the fire, Mills. Killed their own, if you want to put it that way. According to the fire report, the cab firm downstairs was doused in petrol, as were the cars outside that belonged to the cab firm, and of course the firm belonged to our friends, the Albanians."
"So it's the local boys against the Albanians, is it?"
"So who exactly are we going after?" asked Harvey.
Frank took a deep breath and let it out slowly and audibly. "Both. This will be a long operation. We don't have access to the right people yet. But when we do, we'll be taking down the local firm and the Albanians, no prejudice. It will be messy, and we will be working with other teams to accomplish this."
"Carnell?" asked Harvey.
Frank looked at Harvey with raised eyebrows, questioning his comment. "No, Harvey, actually it's not, not according to the reports from the drug squad anyway. But what makes you say that?"
"His pub and his bookies up the road got burned down last night. We saw it this morning."
"Interesting, but hopefully unrelated."
"Something tells me it's not as unrelated as you hope," said Harvey. "Who's the local firm you think started the fire?"
"We don't know who's running it, yet," said Frank. "But they're smart, and they're tooled up, judging by the mess they've been making of the Albanians. The war is getting out of hand. Our job is to stop it, to prevent more innocent people dying and put an end to the mindless violence that has grown from the occasional dead thug winding up in the street to where we are now, with daily occurrences of violence and bodies."
"What's your plan, sir?" asked Melody.
"Well, first of all, we need to know who's running the local firm. Would you agree with that, Stone?"
Harvey didn't reply. He didn't need to. Harvey had learned from his mentor, Julios, at
an early age how to communicate without words. Gestures, expressions, stares. He often found them to be more powerful than words themselves and allowed him to continue with his stream of thoughts without breaking into conversation.
"Then," said Frank, "we need to get involved."
"Get involved, sir?" asked Reg.
"He means go in undercover," said Harvey.
"What, all of us?" asked Reg.
"No, Reg," said Harvey. "Just me."
"You'll have an implant, a chip inserted under your skin so we can see where you are at all times," said Frank.
"No wires," said Harvey. "Too risky."
"Agreed," said Frank. "But we'll schedule regular meetings. I want a full briefing every day, and I want to see a legend before you do anything."
"A legend?"
"A profile; your name, what you do for a living, where you were born. You need to commit these details to memory. You'll be infiltrating some serious players, and if they catch wind that you're not who you say you are, you'll be torn apart."
"Do we have an in?"
"I was hoping you'd be able-"
"You was hoping to use my criminal past to get in?" said Harvey. "You do realise this is a rival gang to the firm I worked with, and there's a good chance I've done jobs on them already? You don't even know who the boss is yet."
"Are you known to them?" asked Frank.
"Only by name. I doubt anyone would know what I look like. I did a pretty good job of staying downwind. I wasn't a face."
"Any ideas on how we can get in?"
"Yeah, I've got an idea," said Harvey. "Bobby Bones."
"Carnell?" said Frank. "He's not involved.”
"Yeah he is, you just don't know it," said Harvey. "Listen, someone burned down his pub last night. Now that someone either is seriously stupid or is prodding for a retaliation."
"So you're going to get in with Carnell?"
"Not in as such, but close enough to paint us a picture," said Harvey. "He's got another pub down the road, and if that one isn't burned down as well, I'll go for a pint. But there is one thing."
"What?"
"He's a bastard, Frank."
"Carnell?"
"Yeah, if it comes on top, I'm taking no chances. I'll be carrying, and I'll shoot my way out. If he realises I'm with the police in any way shape or form, he'll skin me alive."
"Is that why they call him Bobby Bones?" asked Reg.
"Why don't you ask him, Reg?" replied Harvey. "I hear he loves to sit down and tell people about where he got the nickname."
"Tell us a story, Harvey," said Reg. "Tell us about Bobby 'Bones' Carnell and how he got his name."
Harvey looked across at Frank who rested on the table at the head of the room and nodded.
"Well, Reg," began Harvey, "rumour has it that when Bobby was a lad, some boys were picking on him. So he waited until he got one alone, beat him up and cut the boy's finger off."
"That's not so bad, considering what we deal with here," said Reg.
"He was about ten years old, Reg," continued Harvey. "Then, a few weeks later he got another one alone, and he did the same thing, and then again with the last one. None of the three boys talked. They all told their parents they had accidents. Not one person pointed at Bobby, excuse the pun." Harvey pushed off the wall he'd been leaning on and walked to the centre of the room. "Bobby was left alone after that until he hit mid-teens, and he got into an older crew, did some robberies and got caught. Oddly enough, the witness that was going to testify lost all her fingers."
"Her?" said Melody. "He cut off a woman's fingers?"
"Yeah, some woman suddenly forgot what she saw and didn't stand up. Carnell walked free. It wasn't until he'd matured into doing bank jobs and running protection rackets that his fetish really took hold though. A rival gang, I forget the name, with a couple of heavies, came onto his turf, did a few of his blokes over. Bobby had them tied up in the butcher shop next door to his local pub. He made his own men watch as he cut strips of flesh from their bodies while they were still alive. Just hanging lumps of meat. Then Bobby cut their fingers off and put them in his pocket like they were pens. Rumour has it Bobby has all the fingers hanging in his office."
"Is that why they call him Bones?" asked Jackson.
"No, mate. They call him bones because he cut the leg off the first man, and beat the second guy to death with his femur." Harvey paused. "The fingers are just his trademark. The man is a bastard."
"And you're going to go and have a pint with him?" asked Reg.
Harvey didn't reply.
3
Out With a Bang
"Can they sew them back on?" said the rich, articulate, grumble over the phone's speaker.
"They can, boss, but his hearing will be badly affected," said Tony.
"At least he wouldn't look like a freak. Has he told you who did it yet?"
"No, boss. He's been in surgery all morning having his ears removed from his hands."
"For god's sake. Who found him? Have we got that covered?"
"That's the most astonishing part, boss," said Tony, "he drove himself to hospital."
"With his ears screwed to his hands?" came the reply. "How did he steer?"
"I have no idea. But I checked the Jag, it's pretty beat up, and Les is still missing, so is the gear. I sent Jake over to the field to see if Les is around."
"And the other hospitals?"
"Nothing," said Tony.
"Well, I'm pretty sure I know who it was. But before we make a move, I need to be sure. He'll survive right?"
"Jay? Yeah, he'll just be uglier and a bit mutton."
"Tony?"
"Boss?"
"Go see his missus, will you? Sort her out, keep her sweet."
"Yeah, she's on her way here now," replied Tony.
"Couple of grand should do it."
"I'll sort it, boss."
Tony disconnected the call and walked back to the ward where Jay was. He caught hold of a nurse's arm.
"Excuse me, miss." The large African lady looked down at his hand on her arm. Tony removed it. "Sorry, can I ask you something?"
"How can I help?"
"My friend here, Jay Carter," he began.
"Oh, him." The lady gave Tony a look of contempt. "What do you need?"
"I'm worried whoever did this to him might come back and have another go, know what I mean?"
"No, I don't know what you mean."
"Well, the blokes that did it were pretty nasty. I reckon they'll be back to finish the job. Can we get him a private room?"
"You think this is a hotel, sir?" began the nurse. "We have very limited resources here, and I'm sure some patients have much more-"
"How much?"
"Excuse me?" she hissed.
"How much do you want? In your skyrocket, here you are, here's a grand, straight in your bin." Tony winked and slipped the bundle of twenties in her apron pocket. "Mum is the word, eh? When can we move him?"
The nurse held his gaze. She put her fingers into her pocket, pulled out the folded wad of cash and pinned it to Tony's chest with a long, brown finger. "You cannot buy a room here. Your friend is not in any danger and he, like the other patients we have, will be treated in an equal manner."
"Nothing we can do then?"
"Nothing you can do," the nurse said staccato.
"How about a drink? What time do you knock off, Gladys?" said Tony, reading her name badge.
"Visiting time is over. Say goodbye to your friend."
She turned and left Tony standing in the ward beside an old man's bed. The old man sat up with the covers over his legs and a newspaper laid across his lap. He looked up at Tony and smiled. "Hard to get that one," he said. "Gives a mean bed bath though." The old man winked at Tony, who chuckled and tapped the end of the bed thoughtfully.
"Good luck to you, mate," said Tony. He walked back to Jay's bed, slipping the curtain closed behind him.
"Jay," he called. Jay didn't respond. "Jay?" Tony
gave his friend a nudge in his leg. Jay's eyes opened, but he was still under the effects of the painkillers. "Jay, I've got to go," began Tony. "Time’s up, mate."
"Eh?" shouted Jay. "You what?"
"Shhh," said Tony with his finger on his lips. He acted out what he was saying while he repeated himself. "I," he said, pointing at himself, "have to go." He made his fingers walk then gestured to the door.
"You going?" shouted Jay.
"Shut up," said Tony. He stood and checked behind the curtain to make sure a nurse wasn't around, then pulled a Glock handgun from his waistband and held his finger up to his lips again. Then he gave Jay a mobile phone. It was a cheap Nokia burner with one number on speed dial, Tony's number. "Anything you need, just call." He gave Jay a serious nod, then stood and pulled the curtain back just as Carli, Jay's wife, was walking through the ward.
"How is he?" she asked with concern on her face.
Tony pulled the curtain closed behind him and stood in the ward with Carli. "Listen," he began, "it's pretty nasty. But don't worry, we're dealing with it."
"Don't worry?" Carli cried. "He had his-"
"Carli, easy, hear me out." Tony held his hands up, and then pulled another wad of cash from his pocket. "He'll be off work for a few weeks. Take this, it's from the boss, and if you need more, just call me, okay?"
"I don't want your money, Tony."
"It's not my money, it's the boss'. Just take it. It'll keep you ticking over."
Carli snatched the money from Tony's hand and brushed past him. Tony made his exit before Jay began shouting again.
He stepped out into the car park, lit a cigarette, and stood looking at all the cars. No sign of company. Two uniformed policemen headed towards the hospital's main entrance. They walked past Tony.
"Evening gentlemen," he said to them.
"Evening," one of them responded.
Tony pulled his phone from his pocket and hit redial. "Alright, boss, it's me, I reckon we ought to put a couple of blokes on the hospital."
"Do you think that's necessary?"
"If they come back for him, he won't stand a chance."