by J. D. Weston
"And how many didn't get away?"
"Seven, boss."
"You left seven blokes to die? In my club? How would you like it if I left you to die? Maybe that's what I need to do?"
"This is out of control. They're going to slaughter us all," said Ginger. "They caught us off guard last night. They could hit somewhere else tonight. It's crazy. It's like they thought we deserved it. One of them actually said it was payback."
"Payback for what, Ginger? Why the sudden violence? I've been in this game my entire life, and believe me, it was nasty back in the eighties, but this is ridiculous. Where are the bloody police?"
"It's a retaliation, boss."
"A retaliation? Last thing I heard they killed Les, cut Jay's ears off, stole four kilos of coke, and blew up Tony. We haven't had time to retaliate ourselves yet."
"It's Bones, boss. Bobby Bones."
"Bobby Bones? What's he got to do with all this?"
"The Albanians hit his pub in Canning Town, burned it to the ground, his bookies as well."
"The one next door?"
"Yeah, the whole building was gutted."
"So what?"
"So Bones hit back, boss."
"He did what?"
"He retaliated, a bad one. One of our boys knows one of his boys, and well, cut a long story short, boss, Bones arranged for two van loads of blokes, all tooled up, to go in hard. Killed about twenty of them and then torched the gaff. A few got away with injuries and severe burns, and one is missing."
"Bones has him?"
"I think so, boss," said Ginger. "We reckon Bones has him tied up somewhere looking for answers. He's sick like that."
"Right, two things. Listen carefully."
"What's that, boss?"
"Tell me where I can find Bobby Carnell. We need to have a little chat. If he's going in hard, then we'll go in hard too. Make it public. In his pub is fine, he won't hit me there, not now. He needs me."
"What then, boss?"
"Well, once Bobby Bones and I have sorted out the Albanians, you and I will need to sort out Bobby Bones. He's cost me a lot of money so far, what with the missing coke and killing my men. I am not going to let him get away with it. Rule number one, Ginger, make sure everyone knows who's in charge."
"Seven dead bodies?" said Frank. "Where's Stone? Tell me he wasn't one of them."
"No, sir," said Mills. "No word from Harvey. His phone is off."
"Where is he, Tenant?"
"He's at home by the looks of things," said Reg. "Tracker says he rolled in at four am."
"Is he making progress, Mills?"
"He's inside, that's all we know."
"Tell him to inform us when an attack is going down. I don't care how he does it. But if he goes on another job without telling us, I won't be the one opening the cell door to let him out, he's on his own."
"I will, sir."
"Let's piece this together," said Frank. "Bobby Carnell and his boys hit the Albanians in Highbury. Two hours later, the Albanians retaliate and hit a club in East London, a club that doesn't even belong to Carnell. Why did they hit there?"
"The guy with the ears, sir," said Melody.
"Mills?"
"He wasn't one of Bones' men. Nor was the guy in the car bomb. Harvey said the blokes he's in with haven't mentioned any of it."
"Go on."
"It makes sense. It's not Bones' pub. There's two firms," said Melody, like she'd just solved quantum physics. "Bones is going after the Albanians for torching his pub and bookies, but the Albanians think it's the other firm. They keep hitting back at the wrong people."
"Somebody is going to be awfully upset at that."
"Who else have we got?" said Melody. "Who runs the club?"
"Unknown. No grasses, no info," said Frank. "It used to be John Cartwright up until he went missing eighteen months ago. It's been quiet since."
"That's what we need to find out. That's the missing link," said Melody.
"Tenant, find out who owns the East Ham club that was torched last night."
"Already done, sir. It's a shell company, Conspectus Group."
"Who's on the board?"
"It's not public. That'll take some digging."
"So dig," said Frank. "Mills, find Stone, take him for a walk, have the chat. No more cocking about. I want to know who's running the other firm, if there is one."
"Sir, I've been thinking," said Melody.
"Go."
"Let's find out from Harvey what the state of play is with Carnell. Reg will do some digging on the other firm, but it's the Albanians that need stopping. It's them causing all the violence. But if we take away Carnell and the other firm, the Albanians will overrun the East End, and we'll have more than just a few fires to put out."
Frank thought on that for a moment.
"You're saying we should let the local firms take care of the Albanians? And then move in once it's just local firms left to deal with?"
"Unofficially, sir."
"That's a crazy idea," said Frank. "If the public got hold of that information, we'd be hung."
"Well, we'd need to act quick. If we can somehow get Harvey to manipulate the play, so the Albanians are outed fast, we can pull Harvey out and remove one or both of the local firms."
"We need at least one. As mad as it sounds, having a strong underground keeps the streets in order. But what we can't have is two strong players fighting over territory," said Frank. "Tenant, go dig. Mills, go find Stone."
7
Junkyard Corrall
Harvey sat on his kitchen stool with his laptop open in front of him. He ran a search for Luan Duri, the name Aleksander had given up, but the results were hard to filter. There appeared to be many Luan Duris. Searches for Luan Duri London, Luan Duri criminal, and Luan Duri Highbury all produced virtually nothing of interest. He needed Reg's research power.
The previous night had reminded Harvey of his past life, not the pub fight, which had been unnecessary violence in Harvey's mind, but questioning Aleksander. Harvey enjoyed breaking people down. He'd tortured many people and found that no matter how hard the person was, they all broke in the end, and they all had some kind of story to tell.
Aleksander's story had been one that many British people wouldn't understand and couldn't empathise with. The average person wouldn't be able to imagine being forced to leave your family behind and venture into a scary new world with no money and no job and no skills. As soon as his feet hit British soil, he would have been on the run, an illegal immigrant. It was no wonder that people like him turned to a life of crime.
Harvey was looking for information that would take the Albanian boss down. The man was responsible for the deaths of a few men, probably many. There were a few that the team were aware of, but they'd need more on him. Harvey knew what was coming; he'd have to go and take a look, follow Luan Duri and find out for certain. If he could get his number, maybe Reg could get more information from it. If Harvey couldn't enable the team, there was no point being involved.
Aleksander hadn't been carrying a phone, but one of his men would be, and Luan's number would be stored on there. Aleksander had given up Luan's location, his office. All Harvey had to do was get close, and be patient.
Patience, planning and execution, the three pillars of Harvey's training with Julios. He knew it sounded almost military, but the approach worked. Harvey had used it dozens of times. When Harvey was in his early teens, he'd found a police report of a boy he used to know from school. A bully. The boy was on the run for sex offences and had immediately sparked Harvey's interest. Harvey was always one to stand up for the small guys, to protect. But somehow, he'd failed to protect his own sister against the men who raped her. He'd been a young boy when it had happened. But still, the guilt played heavy on Harvey.
The boy who was on the run had also had run-ins with Harvey. He was a spiteful coward, and Harvey had slapped him about the playground when he found him picking on a small Asian kid. Harvey had roamed th
e streets for a few weeks looking for him. He'd waited patiently in places where free food may be on hand, and in sheltered areas within the forest when it had rained. His patience had worked out well. Harvey found him lurking in the woods near his parents’ home and dragged the kid deep into the trees where nobody goes. That had been Harvey's second kill, and it awoke a thirst. It wasn't a psychotic desire to torture and hurt people, it was a desire from deep within to avenge the young girls who, like his sister, had been raped or abused. Harvey had seen first-hand how lives are torn apart, families are destroyed, and how life is never the same for these people.
From then, Harvey had an outlet for the urges he had. He would pay attention to the news and other media. He would watch for court cases involving sex offenders, and he would be patient, he would plan his attack, then he would execute it. Over the years, Harvey had refined his methods of getting information out of people. He had honed the skills Julios had taught him about stealth and death. Harvey knew which parts of the body could be removed to provide the most pain, but not kill the victim. Harvey also learned how to research people, and when the internet became widespread, his research became even easier. He suddenly found targets in the outlying counties; he could open up his field of vision and target those who most deserved suffering.
What he needed to do now was to sit and watch Luan Duri. He needed to know where he went, who he was with; he needed to know his flaws, his weaknesses, his strengths.
Harvey stretched and rolled his head slowly from side to side. His body cried for a run, to limber up, to feel free again and breathe fresh air. He could still smell Aleksander's stale sweat.
The rain was loud against Harvey's kitchen window. It came in waves with the powerful gusts of wind. It wasn't a pleasant day for riding a motorbike. It was the type of day that never fully brightens up. The morning had been dark, the clouds had been low, and it had stayed that way until late morning. Harvey guessed it would stay that way until the evening too. But a dark day would work best for what Harvey needed to do.
Aleksander had said that Luan worked from a car breakers yard in Ilford, which was a ten-minute ride from Harvey's house in the dry. In the wet, it was maybe twenty minutes away. Harvey pulled up the satellite imagery view on his laptop. The yard backed onto the River Roding, a Thames tributary stood adjacent to the train tracks that led from London out to Essex and beyond. Harvey knew the area. The tracks were raised, and a small arched bridge beneath the tracks provided access to an industrial area. There were other yards around Luan Duri's, another car breakers and a building materials supplier. Harvey saw the pallets of bricks and lengths of timber and noted how clean it looked compared to the array of crumpled, broken and beaten cars that adorned the muddy breakers yard next door.
Harvey noted the small cabin that was central to the property. It was accessible via a direct mud track from the gates. Alternatively, as Harvey was aiming for stealth, he would use the maze of pathways that led between the cars. He would need to watch for dogs and maybe take something to deal with them. The yard was a great location for Harvey. It was out of the way so he could spend days watching if he needed to, he'd just hole up in an old car. It was also quiet so nobody would hear the screams of anybody he came across that compromised the operation.
Harvey closed his laptop and dressed in black cargo pants, his tan boots, white t-shirt, black hooded sweatshirt and leather jacket. He would be cold but would need to be agile, so he kept the layers to a minimum. Before leaving the house, he sent a message to Melody. Got Alb boss' name, going for a recce. He knew they would be watching him, so he didn't need to provide a location.
The ride to the junkyard was slow. The roads were slippery, flooded and busy with cars. Headlights reflected on the road's wet surface, and dark clouds loomed overhead. Harvey rode past the two huge gates to the yard. A trail of mud leaked from inside onto the pavement. The perimeter consisted of ten-foot brick walls, high enough to deter most people, but without barbed wire. Harvey parked his bike nearby between two cars that looked like they hadn't moved for some time. Before stepping off his bike, he checked his phone. Melody had replied. We're watching you. Reg will update with more details. Harvey stashed his helmet in the bike's back box and strode confidently along the path to the yard.
One of the gates was open, presumably for customers to drive in, so Harvey slipped inside and ducked behind a row of cars. If he was caught, he would just say he was looking for a part. It was typical for someone to find the right model of car before contacting the management to discuss removing and purchasing it. But nobody approached him.
The rain continued to lash down, which made listening for oncoming footsteps difficult. Harvey stopped by a stack of cars in the second row. The car still had seats, and they were dry. Each row of cars had two layers. The top layer seemed to be newer, and in better condition than the lower deck. Harvey climbed inside and pushed the seat all the way back, reclining it as far as it would go, then pulled an old tarp from the back seat over him. If someone were to walk past, Harvey would remain still under the dirty old cover. His view of the cabin was near perfect, save for the door pillars of the car in the first row.
Harvey settled in for the exercise in patience.
"I've got some bad news for you, boss," Ginger spoke into the phone.
"More bad news?" came the reply. "What is it now?"
"It's Malc, boss. He's gone missing."
"Missing? He's a full grown man, not a ten-year-old kid."
"I know, boss. But his missus called, said she hasn't seen him since yesterday morning."
"Is he on a bender? He likes a drink that man. We're not a missing bloody persons you know."
"Yeah, but it's weird. His car is still in the boozer car park with keys in the ignition, but his phone and wallet are gone. It's just not like him, boss. His missus is worried, and well, you know things are getting a little hot lately, maybe it's-"
"Maybe it's what, Ginger? The Albanians? Why would they take him?"
"Maybe payback for the bloke Carnell took?"
"Carnell? This is becoming a royal pain in the arse, Ginger. Have you found that little bastard yet?"
"Yeah, I'm trying to set a meetup, but apparently he's edgy right now. Our man has to pick the right time."
"The right time? Who's calling the shots here? Me, not Bobby Carnell. He's got two choices, meet me and discuss the Albanians or I'll add him to the list, and he knows that's a battle he won't win."
"Yeah, but he won't be pushed around, boss, even if it kills him. Even if he knows we outnumber them by more than double. He's a stubborn man."
"Where's he based? I'm not dicking about here, I'll go see him."
"Pied Piper, boss."
"The Pied Piper? What's he drinking in that dive for?"
"The Albanians burned his other local down. I guess all his other pubs are too far away for a swift half."
"Right, tomorrow night we're going to pay Bobby Bones a visit. Go see Malcolm's missus, give her some money. Tell her we'll find him. If she gets hysterical, tell her to shut up, or we won't bother, she can find him herself. Someone needs to take control here."
"Okay, I have some intel on the junkyard where Harvey is," said Reg, loud enough for everyone at headquarters to hear.
"What you got, Reg?" asked Melody. She was sitting in the reclining office chair with her feet on the desk and her laptop on her knees. The only noise in the open space was Jackson cleaning the van.
"I have the owner, his history, and his mobile. It's all we need to find out who he is and let us keep tabs on him."
Melody put her laptop down and walked over to Reg. "Show me."
"Right, Luan Duri, Albanian male, fifty-two years old. Formerly Albanian SHISH, which is the equivalent to the secret service. Retired with honours, then went missing when the new regime came into power. He's been hiding here for the past twelve years and is the owner of many businesses, mostly cash. Runs an export firm, probably stolen cars en-route to Albania, a
nd a few junkyards officially. Unofficially, the crime squad have him linked to some pretty serious players in the city, and he allegedly runs a protection racket in North London, which is believed to include the Jumping Jack, the pub Harvey blew up last night."
"Hey, Harvey didn't blow it up," said Melody.
"Okay, it's the pub he dragged a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man out of before throwing him into the back of a van," said Reg. "Which one is worse?"
"Do we have this Duri's number?" said Melody. "Where is he?"
"Have a guess?"
"Oh god, don't tell me, he's in the yard where Harvey is sat?"
"Bingo."
"Okay, I'll message Harvey, and tell him to get out. You keep tabs on Duri, and do some more digging," said Melody. She pulled her phone out, and it immediately beeped with an incoming message. Albanians have a blindfolded man inside the junkyard. He hasn't got long. Do I engage or watch them kill him?
Melody hesitated. Somebody's life hung in the air, and she needed to make the call. Save him and risk the operation or let him die? The man's death was by no means a guarantee of a successful mission, it would just allow the team more time.
"Sir," she called and waited for Frank's door to open. "Harvey is in the Albanian's junkyard. Reg has done some digging, and the guy is big time. Luan Duri, ex-secret service Albania. They have some guy blindfolded, and my guess is that it's not going to be a pleasant surprise."
"And you need me to tell you if you should compromise the investigation or let it play?"
"We should let it play, sir, I know we should. But will that come back and bite us in the-"
"We'll get a bigger bite if we expose Harvey now, Mills," said Frank. He eyed her and nodded. "Good call. Let it roll."
Let it roll.
Harvey read the message once then deleted it.
It was growing dark, and the rain was incessant. Harvey moved his feet and toes to keep the blood circulating. He was expecting the doors to open and the blindfolded man to be dragged out and dumped into the crusher. Harvey had seen that method of disposing of bodies before when he had worked for his foster father, John Cartwright. A junkyard was an asset for somebody dealing in stolen cars and dead bodies, making either one disappear was easy. Knowing a man with a junkyard was as good as knowing a man who ran a pig farm.