Stone Rage

by J. D. Weston

  "If they meant for him to die, they would have killed him."

  "So what was the point in cutting his ears off then?"

  "That, Tony, was a message from them to me."

  "Are we sending a reply?"

  "They found Les, Tone."

  "What's the news, boss?" asked Tony.

  "Old bill found him this morning." There was a pause. "Stabbed in the eye with his own knife."

  "Jesus, boss," said Tony with a grimace.

  "Yeah, well, we aren't going to sit on our arses crying, Tone. We're going to make a plan. Meet me in the Spread Eagle tomorrow lunchtime."

  "You want me to go see Julie?"

  "I went to see Julie myself. Les was an old mate. But thanks, Tone, yeah. Get some rest."

  Tony strolled across to his Ford in the far corner of the car park. He liked to park it away from the other cars so it stood out, and he could see if anyone was waiting in the cars nearby. He hit the button on the key fob, and the indicators flashed in the dim, early evening light.

  Tony flicked his cigarette butt and watched the glowing lit tip spin through the air then extinguish on the wet tarmac. He opened the door of the car, climbed in and pulled it closed behind him. So much had happened, and he knew things were going to get a lot worse before they got better. If he was right, and it was the Albanians that had pulled the stunt, then things were going to get very messy. He sighed and laid his head back on the headrest for a moment before putting the keys in the ignition, and triggering the detonator on the explosive device connected to the ignition coil.

  4

  Early Days

  Harvey swirled the remains of his pint at the bottom of his glass. It was one of the things he was dreading about going undercover. Not the danger, he could handle himself. Not the risk of death, he was ready for that provided it was quick, and he took the bloke with him. It was drinking alcohol; he hated the feeling of not being in control. But he would deter the people he was aiming to cosy up to if he didn't drink. It would raise a few eyebrows. So Harvey sucked it up and ordered another pint.

  He was sitting at the bar of the Pied Piper on the edge of Canning Town. An old bloke sat on the end of the bar. A group of underage or barely legal kids sat in a booth in the corner. Three blokes about Harvey's age stood at the bar six feet away. It wasn't a particularly nice pub or even a big pub. But it had a bar, and that was all the clientele required. The types of people that drank in there did not require mirrors, marble or make-up. The men drank beer or spirits, and the women drank wine. Anything out of the ordinary would draw unnecessary attention, and the Pied Piper was not a pub where you wanted to be noticed.

  Harvey ordered his second pint and waited patiently. He was playing the part of a bloke whose girlfriend lived nearby. If he was asked, he'd complain that she was driving him crazy and he needed to get out for a pint. The guy behind the bar turned the TV on. It was a decent sized flat screen mounted to the corner of the room so it could be seen from anywhere in the pub. Harvey wasn't into football, but he watched the game anyway. The red team were winning, the blue team weren't. Good match, he thought.

  Harvey remembered the eighties when the football riots had escalated. West Ham fans would chase Chelsea fans along Green Street. Policemen and horses would line the road outside the Boleyn. It had been enough to put Harvey off the sport for life. He watched the players roll around with barely a scrape and felt ashamed that they were grown men. It was like watching kids play.

  One of the men beside Harvey cheered when the red team missed an opportunity. "What, you supporting Chelsea now, Doug?"

  "No, Trev, but if United win then West Ham will be relegated, but if Chelsea win, we'll stay in, just."

  "I often wonder if it wouldn't be better to just go down a league. At least then we'd win a few games next season," said the one called Trev.

  Harvey didn't look at the men, he just watched the match.

  "Who you going for?"

  Harvey heard the man's question but ignored him.

  "Oy, dopey, who you going for?" said Trev.

  Harvey turned his head to look at the man.

  "What, are you special or something, mate? I asked you a question."

  Harvey didn't reply.

  "Jesus, we got a live one here, boys," said Trev, putting his pint down on the bar.

  "The blue team," said Harvey without looking away.

  "Oh, it talks, does it?" said Trev, looking to his two friends to see if they were laughing. "The blue team, eh?"

  "Leave off, Trev," said Doug. "The bloke is just having a quiet pint. He don't want you in his face."

  "Well, looks like you're losing, pal," said Trev.

  Harvey didn't reply. He turned back to the TV, lifted his glass and eyed the men as he took a large mouthful of the rancid beer.

  The door opened, and two big men stepped in out the cold. They wore old, scruffy, leather jackets, faded jeans and trainers. Harvey watched them in the reflections of the window as they stood at the bar on the other side of Harvey.

  One of the newcomers ordered two Stellas in an Eastern European accent.

  "Cheeky bastard," said Trev quietly to his two mates. "Who the bloody hell do they think they are?"

  "They're just having a beer, Trev, calm down. What's the matter with you tonight?"

  "What's the matter with me?" ranted Trev. "Did you hear him order the beer? Bloody Albanians. These lot burned down the boozer last night and then come strolling in here for a swift half. I want to ram it down their throats, Doug."

  "Calm down, it probably weren't them."

  "How do you know that?" said Trev. "How do you know these pricks haven't come in here to size the place up so they can burn it down later?"

  "I don't know that, Trev," said Doug. "But it's the boss' place, and we'd do well not to smash it up and get the mob down here. The boss wants this place intact. He said he's got a plan for the Albies."

  "Shouldn't let them in," said Trev.

  "Another pint please, mate," said Harvey. He nodded to the barman.

  "Same again?"

  "Yeah, mate. Please."

  "Ain't seen you around here before."

  "That's because I've never been in here before," said Harvey.

  "What's the occasion?" asked the barman.

  "What are you, a copper?" said Harvey.

  "No, mate, just making conversation," said the barman. "Take it easy, eh?"

  "Yeah, sorry, mate," said Harvey, going into full undercover mode. "The bird is upstairs in the flat with the hump about something. I had too much to drink to drive home, so I came over here to get away from her. Is that allowed?"

  "Yeah, mate, of course. We've all been there. Ain't that right, boys?" The barman gestured to the three men watching the match.

  "Yeah," said Doug, disinterested, "join the club."

  "Where are you from?" asked the barman.

  "You ask a lot of questions."

  "Just being friendly, pal," said the barman. He held out his hand. "I'm Lee," he said.

  Harvey shook Lee's hand but said nothing.

  "I didn't get your name, mate."

  "No, you didn't, did you?" said Harvey. "Best we keep it that way."

  "Suit yourself," said the barman.

  Harvey raised his glass to his mouth just as the man beside him accidentally bumped his arm. Harvey spilt beer down his t-shirt. He froze and stared ahead of him over the bar. He felt the eyes of the Albanian bore into him. Testing him.

  Doug, Trev and their mate all fell silent.

  "Barman," said Harvey, "fat bloke here owes me a pint."

  "I understand English," said the big man in a thick Eastern European accent.

  "Good for you. So where's my pint?"

  "Maybe you should learn how to hold your beer. Barman, get him half, maybe he will find it easier to hold." The man slapped a twenty-pound note on the bar. "Keep the change."

  "Boys, boys, boys, no trouble in here tonight, please," said the barman. "Take your
argument outside. Trevor, do the honours, will you?"

  "Gladly," said Trev, putting his beer on the bar. He walked towards the door and held it open. A cold breeze blew in, and Harvey saw in the mirror behind the bar that it had started raining outside. "Right, tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumber, out."

  Neither of the Albanian men moved.

  Harvey remained motionless.

  "Did you hear me?" said Trev. "We don't want your kind in here. Out." Trev stared the pair up and down and took a step towards them. They immediately dropped their glasses and turned to face Trev.

  The man closest to Harvey pulled his massive arm back to throw a punch. Harvey watched in the mirror, then raised his own left arm. He hooked it into the crook of the man's arm and stamped down on the back of his knee. The Albanian buckled as Harvey dragged his weight back, smashing the back of his head on the hard wooden bar. He crumpled to the floor out cold.

  The other man stood shocked, then squared up to face Harvey and Trev, expecting a blow from either man.

  "You speak English?" asked Harvey calmly.

  The man nodded. He knew he was outnumbered.

  "Take your mate, and go," said Harvey. "Don't come back."

  Trev held the door open again, and the big man dragged his friend into the rain.

  "Nicely done, mate," said Trev. "What's your name?"

  Harvey considered ignoring the question. He stared at the man who ten minutes before had been picking a fight with him. It had all been part of the plan. "Gerry."

  "Nice to meet you, Gerry," said Trev, shaking Harvey's hand. "This is Doug and the quiet one there is Sid."

  Harvey nodded at them in greeting.

  "I'm surprised you didn't just lump them when he spilt your pint."

  "Waiting for the moment, weren't I?" said Harvey. "I can't stand Albanians."

  "You waited long enough," said Trev. "I thought it was going to kick off. How do you know they were Albanian?"

  "BO and cheap leather jackets," replied Harvey.

  "Fair enough. Can I get you a beer, Gerry?"

  "Tell you what," said Harvey, "why don't we let tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumber get a round?" Harvey held up the twenty pounds the big Albanian had left behind and gave a half grin.

  Melody woke the next morning with a message on her phone from Harvey telling her that the Albanians had made contact and he'd sent a message back to them. He expected things to heat up any day, but he would stay away from headquarters until it's over.

  She rolled out of bed and stretched. She looked back at her girlfriend who was still sleeping, then dressed in yoga pants and a hooded sweater to go for a run. She ran along the river and into the old docks. There were no cars to avoid, and the relative peace meant she could let her head mull over the case.

  She felt slightly helpless. Harvey was in the thick of it as usual, but it would be impossible for Melody and Reg to have his back if he was holed up in some pub. They relied on effective comms from Harvey but so far, all they had was the SMS he'd sent her that morning.

  What did that mean? What message had he sent to the Albanians?

  Before Harvey had left headquarters, Frank had insisted on Melody inserting a chip under the skin on his neck, so they could always trace his whereabouts. He'd spent most of the night in the Pied Piper, and knowing that Harvey didn't drink, Melody guessed that he would have been steaming drunk by the time he'd left.

  Harvey had taken a tumble off Tower Bridge six months previously wearing an explosive vest. He'd taken down known-terrorist Al Sayan, but the explosion and the thought of him dying had rocked Melody. She had cried more than she ever thought she would. It was then that she realised she had feelings for Harvey. It was hard not to. He was a good man at heart; his moral compass was tuned. He was also a man's man, as tough as they come. He was desirable in every way, except for his very obscured past. She'd been with Frank when they had found the boiled remains of Sergio, Harvey's sister's rapist, and she'd seen Harvey at work. He was ruthless, yet he was gentle when he'd pulled Melody's half-drowned body from the ocean. He was cold-hearted and unforgiving, yet warm when Denver, the team's old driver, had been killed. He'd held her. Now Harvey was putting himself in danger yet again, and it didn't seem to phase him. Perhaps he'd never had someone to care for him. Maybe if he knew she cared, he'd stop and think. But if Harvey knew how she felt, the whole team dynamic would be changed, and she might lose him forever.

  She ran on, pushing herself hard through the biting cold. The best she could do was to be there for him when he needed. She could watch Harvey's little icon on Reg's tracking screen as often as she could to keep tabs on him, and make sure she was never too far away to help if he needed it.

  She showered, dressed in her cargo pants, boots and tank top beneath a clean hooded sweater, and left her girlfriend asleep. It was still only five am. Melody drove a little two-seater Mazda convertible. The roof stayed up most the year.

  Her phone rang as she pulled out of her apartment and she snatched it from her pocket in case it was Harvey. It was Frank.

  "Sir?"

  "Mills, good morning," said Frank.

  "What's the plan?" asked Melody.

  "Have you heard from Stone?"

  "Yeah, he says he'll stay away until this blows over, doesn't want to blow his cover."

  "Okay. Next time you talk to him, tell him I want a daily debrief, not via you."

  "Yes, sir, I'll tell him."

  "Good. I want you to get down to Romford. Queens Hospital," said Frank.

  "What's there?"

  "Car bomb, known suspect. Remember the ears?"

  "How could I forget?"

  "Well, this guy was visiting him. He left the hospital got into his car and well..."

  "Okay, sir. What are your thoughts?"

  "My thoughts, Mills? I think this is getting out of hand and we're closing the proverbial barn door."

  "My sentiments exactly. It's going to take some mopping up, sir."

  "I agree. Sadly we have Stone in the thick of it, and he's not likely to be diligently mopping anything up. Whatever it is he's doing, you can be sure he'll be making a mess."

  Four big men banged their pint glasses on the bar of the Pied Piper. It was a lock-in, and the doors had been locked five hours ago. They cheered loudly, and fistfuls of money exchanged hands. Harvey connected his sweaty hand with his opponent's, and they began to arm wrestle.

  Harvey's fist gripped Doug's. Each man tried hard to get his fingers on top. Their hands were sweaty and slick, their shoulders and arms ached from the previous rounds, and Harvey, the undisputed champion, stared into the eyes of his opponent. His face remained impassive, his mouth unsmiling. He pushed hard; each inch of progress was locked off with Harvey's tired bicep. Move an inch, lock it off, repeat. Doug strained and squirmed, his feet fought for grip as he tried in vain to find purchase and a new advantage. Harvey took a deep breath, released it slowly through his gritted teeth, then slammed Doug's hand onto the bar.

  There was a loud uproar, money exchanged hands again, Trev hooted loudly, and the three other spectators sank their drinks.

  "No more," said Harvey. "Home time." He feigned a little drunken balance issue and looked at each of the men with one of his eyes closed.

  "You think she's still mad at you?" asked Trev.

  "Who?" asked Harvey, then he remembered the lie he'd told about his girlfriend being upset about something. It was the reason for him being in the pub in the first place. "Whatever. Catch you around boys."

  "See ya later, Gerry," called Trev.

  Harvey walked in the direction of some council flats. He took turns down a rabbit warren of alleyways and roads to make sure he wasn't being followed, and then found a small cab firm on the main road to Canning Town. He sat in the back of the car and directed the driver to the row of shops a hundred yards from his home, where he stripped, showered and fell into bed.

  He wasn't drunk. He'd managed to stay sober by drinking as much water as he could from the
tap in the Pied Piper's bathroom. Each time he finished a beer, he'd excuse himself and drink more water than he had beer. He was happy that he'd made a good impression. Taking the Albanian down had been a decent way to infiltrate the firm, and then the drinking time had helped. Usually getting into a firm would take months, but Harvey didn't have months. The quicker he could get through this undercover piece, the sooner he could get back to normal, whatever that was.

  He fell asleep wondering what exactly normal meant to him. Harvey's life had been far from normal before he'd been brought into the team. But ever since, they'd stopped a ring of sex traffickers, prevented a terrorist attack on St Paul's and saved a priceless jade buddha from being stolen. During which, he'd been shot at and blown up, drowned, and now, he even had a dog. How did any of that happen?

  He woke with a start and saw the bright light through his windows. It took a few moments for him to remember what had happened, and why he'd slept so late. It was early afternoon. There were missed calls and messages from Melody on his phone. He dialled her number. The number was stored, but for Harvey, it was easier to dial from memory than it was to go through his contacts list.

  "Harvey, what's going on?"

  "You tell me. I just woke up."

  "You sound sleepy. You do realise what time it is, don't you?"

  "Yeah, it was a late one, made some good progress with the firm."

  "New besties?"

  "You're my bestie, Melody. Where are you?"

  "I'm at Queens Hospital in Romford. Remember the guy with the ears?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, he had a visitor, one of his firm, a guy called Tony. Someone planted a bomb in his car while he was visiting."

  "Tony?" said Harvey. "Not Tony Hunt?"

  "Yeah, that's him, or was him," Melody corrected herself. "Did you know him?"

  "I knew of him. He was one of Thomson's blokes back in the day. What was the name of the bloke with the ears?"

  "Jay Robins," replied Melody.

  "And the guy with the eye?" asked Harvey.

  "Les."

  "Les Fitzpatrick?" asked Harvey.

  "Yeah, that rings a bell, I think so."