‘Well, I had given the bloke a head’s up, yeah,’ said Charlie. He started walking back towards the restaurant entrance.
Eddie grabbed his arm. ‘But you ain’t given him the go-ahead? Why not?’
‘Coz, he charges a hundred quid an hour’. Eddie could not believe what he was hearing.
‘Are you fucking having’ me on? You’ve got ten million quid’s worth of diamonds in a briefcase’. Charlie shrugged his shoulders.
‘I told you already. Bill will be alright. But cash is still tight. More than ever after cash-flowing the job we just did. I need to shift them stones’. He started towards the door again, but Eddie grabbed him again.
‘One of your crew…one of your best friends, is in a police cell, and you don’t want to spend a few hundred quid to help him?’ Eddie was almost shouting.
‘Shhhh,’ said Charlie. He glanced at a young couple who were approaching them. They were not paying any attention to the two brothers, but Charlie put his arm over Eddie’s shoulder and steered him away. Then, in a hushed tone, said, ‘You’re right. I should have done it already’.
‘Tell Carol, not me’.
‘I will, I promise. I’ll give the geezer a call first thing in the morning’.
‘You better had,’ said Eddie.
‘Good man. Right, c’mon. Let’s see the others off’.
They strolled back into the restaurant, but as they approached the table, Charlie halted. Several of the staff and about a dozen of the guests were standing between them and their table.
‘Oh, fuck,’ Charlie said.
Eddie followed his brother’s stare to their table where the investigative TV reporter, James Crampton, stood with a microphone in his hand. Behind him stood two men, one with a camera, the other holding a bright light. Crampton positioned himself between the camera and the table, before pointing the microphone at Mike.
‘Michael McNaughton. Did you pull the trigger that ended that man’s life? He was a father of two. Did you know that?’
Charlie and Eddie pushed between the onlookers.
‘Please don’t do nuffin’, Mike,’ whispered Charlie.
Crampton noticed Charlie approaching, gave a sly smile, then continued his speech. ‘The British public demand answers. How do you and your villainous friends have the audacity to sit here in full public view celebrating your latest criminal exploits when back home a family is without a father, a husband, a son?’
Mike leapt up and, in one fluid movement that would have graced an athlete half his age, flew at Crampton, sending the reporter backwards and to the floor. In a second Mike was on top of him, one hand around the man’s throat, the other raised behind ready to strike.
‘Mike, no!’ shouted Charlie, but if Mike heard him, it had no effect. His giant fist crashed down onto Crampton’s face. Eddie heard a crunching sound as the stricken man’s nose flattened, followed by a spray of rouge upon the restaurant’s white marble tiles.
‘Shit,’ says Charlie.
The cameraman moved forward and pointed the lens at Mike. He must be a consummate professional, thought Eddie. Or just stupid.
Mike glared up at the onlookers, and grunted at the cameraman. ‘Get that fuckin’ thing outta my face, or I’ll shove it up your fuckin’ arse’. The camera and light operators both took a few steps back, but Eddie could see that they were still filming. Crampton, meanwhile, was rolling around on the floor, his hands covered in blood.
Eddie pushed a waiter aside, and strode to Mike, who was now on his feet. ‘Time to leave!’ he said.
‘Bit late for that,’ said Mike, directing him to turn around.
Eddie peered over his shoulder to see a group of four Police officers marching towards them. ‘Where the hell did they come from?’ he thought.
The policemen pushed their way through the small crowd, batons drawn. Mike put his hands together, held them out, and was swiftly rewarded with a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.
‘Michael McNaughton, you are under arrest for assault and for causing a public disturbance,’ barked the more senior-looking of the Spaniards who wore a commander’s insignia. The other policemen surrounded Mike and pushed him towards the door through which Eddie could see a flashing blue light.
As the police manoeuvred Mike away, Charlie tapped the commander on the shoulder. ‘You’d better treat him well, Paco,’ said Charlie.
The man spun on his heels, one hand on the pistol in its holster. He took a step towards Charlie. ‘What did you call me?’ said the officer.
‘I was just reminding you, officer. That the boys here and me have supported our local police officers over the years and -’.
‘You think because you have bribed the local police that you can tell me what to do, Mr Lawson?’ said the man. ‘They sent here me from Madrid to deal with scum like you British. You think you can bribe me? Think again!’
‘I was just pointing out -’.
‘That man assaulted that reporter in full view of the public,’ said the officer. ‘There are a dozen witnesses. And a video recording. Walk away, or I will arrest you for obstructing justice.’ He still had his hand on the pistol butt.
Veronica slipped past, brushing against Eddie as she did so. Their hands made contact for a fraction of a second.
Kenny stood next to Charlie, who was still locking eyes with the Spanish policeman. ‘C’mon, Charlie. We need to go,’ said Eddie. Charlie followed him out of the front entrance, cursing under his breath, to where Mike was being pushed into the back of a police van. Two police cars were parked behind it. Jeremy Crampton stood holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose, his cameraman capturing the scene.
‘This was a setup,’ said Kenny.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Eddie. Kenny nodded to one of the on-watchers. It was Philip Metcalfe, the former British policeman.
‘Bastard,’ snarled Charlie, and started towards the man who was holding a rolled-up newspaper. Eddie put his arm across Charlie’s chest to stop him. Metcalf grinned and advanced towards the brothers.
‘You won’t be able to keep him locked up here. He’ll get out. You know that, right?’ said Kenny.
‘Your crooked lawyer might get him out in a few days, yes. No doubt some local judge will be a few quid better off. But it won’t matter.’
‘I think you’d better fuck off now, you pretend peeler,’ said Kenny.
Metcalf remained still. He locked eyes on Charlie. ‘You will pay for your crimes, Lawson. I will put you behind bars’.
Charlie snorted and pushed past his brother. Two of the Spanish policeman approached.
‘Charlie, don’t -,’ said Eddie.
‘S’alright, bruv. I ain’t gonna do nuffin’. Not here’. He stood in front of Metcalf, looking him over. ‘You ain’t got shit on me. Never did. Never will’.
‘Don’t I?’ said Metcalf. He leaned forward and, in a hushed voice, replied, ‘I know you did it’.
‘Did what?’ said Charlie.
‘The United Security job. I know it was you lot’.
Charlie shook his head. ‘We ain’t been back in England for years. You’re pissing up the wrong tree’.
Metcalf grinned again, and shifted to face Eddie. ‘You should have taken my advice and got out of here, Edward. You’re one of them now’. He handed Eddie the Spanish newspaper. ‘This hits the streets in the morning’.
Eddie unfurled the paper and held it open.
‘Now I don’t speak much of the local lingo,’ Metcalf continued, ‘but I’m told that what this says is “Government orders crackdown on foreign criminals”, or something like that’. He peered back at Charlie, a wry smile on his face. ‘The Spanish government will sign a new extradition treaty with Britain. Make the most of this time, Charlie. It won’t be long before you’re back in England, doing a fifteen-year sentence’. He backed away and strode off.
‘Give us that,’ said Kenny, and took the newspaper from Eddie. He studied the print, then sighed.
‘Well?’ s
aid Charlie.
‘They reckon there will be a new treaty in place by the autumn’.
Charlie snatched the paper out of Kenny’s hands and scanned the article.
‘So, what now?’ said Eddie.
‘We’ll worry about it another day,’ said Charlie. ‘First things first. We need to get out of here’. He glanced over to where a medic was treating the still-bloodied TV reporter. ‘Come on, before that wanker starts filming again. He signalled at the parking valet. ‘Give me my keys’.
‘I can get your car, sir,’ the man replied.
‘Just give me my fucking keys,’ shouted Charlie. The valet plucked the keys from the wooden stand and held them out. Charlie snatched the keys from out of his hands.
‘And if it’s covered in bird shit, I’m coming back to find you’.
Chapter Twenty
Someone's Out To Get Us
The next morning Charlie and Eddie drove down to meet Charlie’s lawyer, Guillem Montacada, at the Policía Nacional station just outside Marbella.
As they approached the building’s entrance, Eddie spotted Philip Metcalf. He was leaning against a yellow postbox with a large camera in hand and began snapping photos of the Lawsons as they approached.
Eddie tapped his brother on the elbow. ‘Metcalf’s over there,’ he said.
‘Ignore the tosser,’ said Charlie.
‘Good luck keeping that mad bastard on the straight and narrow,’ shouted Metcalf.
‘He’s really enjoying this,’ said Eddie.
‘Yeah. Trouble is, he’s right’.
Guillem was beckoning at them from inside the door of the grey edifice. As they entered, he motioned at Charlie and Eddie to follow him to a secluded corner of the building’s sizeable entrance hall.
‘So?’ asked Charlie.
‘They want to charge him with aggravated assault and affray. That could mean up to two years in prison,’ said the lawyer.
‘Two years? Fuck me. Are they serious?’
‘I think not. Probably they want you to know they are watching’.
‘So, what now?’ asked Charlie.
‘The hearing is in one hour. Bail will most likely be set at around fifty thousand pounds,’ said Guillem.
Charlie puffed out his cheeks and put his hands on his hips. ‘Fifty grand?’
The lawyer nodded. ‘Mr McNaughton asked if the crew will put up the money,’ said Guillem. ‘He said that he has no liquid funds. He intended to surrender his sports car, a Ferrari, as collateral but…well, there was a problem’.
‘A problem?’ said Charlie.
Guillem’s eyes dropped to the floor. ‘It seems the car was not…legally registered’.
Charlie scrunched his face. ‘It was stolen?’
The lawyer nodded. ‘It appears so,’ he replied. ‘The authorities have confiscated the vehicle’.
‘For f -’. Charlie motioned as if to punch the wall, but remembered where he was. ‘That moron will be the end of me’.
‘What shall I tell him?’ asked the lawyer.
Charlie hesitated for a few seconds, his hands working his car keys in his jeans pocket. ‘We’ll try to get the money together,’ he replied. ‘It’s gonna take a day or two, though. So that idiot’s gonna have to suck it up in here until then’.
Guillem nodded. ‘I will let him know. I’ll call you later’. He shook Charlie’s hand, before heading back to meet Mike in his cell.
Charlie leaned towards Eddie, who was propped up against a window, listening to the conversation. ‘I was tryin’ to hold off shifting the stones for a few more days. While the heat’s on, like. But I ain’t got the cash to deal with shit like this. We’ve gotta get rid of them and quick,’ said Charlie, scratching his stubble.
‘How you gonna do that? Have you got someone who can take ‘em?’ said Eddie.
‘I know this local guy. Jewish geezer’.
‘You trust him?’ said Eddie. Charlie smirked. Eddie shot his brother the same face he had used a thousand times before - care to explain yourself?
Charlie started towards the doorway. ‘Well, he’s a respectable, married man with five kids and a fine reputation to uphold…and a weakness for rent boys’. Charlie held the door open for his younger sibling. ‘Lucian caught him on camera. So yeah, we can trust him!’
The brothers made their way back to Charlie’s Porsche, all the time wary of Philip Metcalf and his telephoto lens. The former policeman was, however, nowhere to be seen.
‘He’s probably gone home to wank over the photos he took this morning,’ said Charlie, as they reached the car.
‘Where to now?’ asked Eddie.
‘Kenny’s. I need him to chip in for Mikey’s bail’.
‘You think he will do that?’ said Eddie.
‘Yeah, I’ll talk him around. No worries,’ said Charlie as he got into the car.
Half an hour later, Eddie and Charlie were standing in Kenny’s living room where Charlie’s attempt to persuade Kenny to chip in to cover Mike’s bail money had fallen on deaf ears.
Eddie stood leaning against the bar, maintaining a respectable distance from the two older men.
‘The quack said my eyesight is damaged, Charlie. Possibly forever,’ said Kenny, stubbing out a cigarette into an ashtray on his mantlepiece. ‘So, no. Fuck him. He can rot in that fuckin’ cell for all I care’. He sat down on his couch, crossing his arms, his eyes fixed on Charlie.
Charlie lowered himself down next to Kenny. ‘I know how you feel, mate, but -’.
‘I said no, Charlie. And I mean it’. Kenny crossed his arms.
‘Mate, we got to stick together,’ said Charlie.
‘We? What “We” ?’ said Kenny.
Charlie seemed hesitant. ‘Us. The crew,’ he replied.
‘There ain’t no crew. You disbanded it last night,’ said Kenny. ‘Or have you changed your mind already?’
Eddie could see that Kenny’s answer had thrown his brother into a quandary.
‘Yeah, well…what I meant was no more jobs. We’ve still gotta stick together’.
‘He punched me in the face and knocked me into the fucking pool, Charlie. In front of everyone’.
‘I know, but -’.
‘And don’t think I don’t know about him not wanting me to get a cut on the job, neither,’ said Kenny. ‘Rog told me’.
Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘You’ll get your cut, mate,’ said Charlie.
‘I better bleedin’ do. Coz until that happens, I ain’t got the cash to invest in no property projects neither. So, end of conversation. I ain’t helping that cunt’. Kenny pushed himself up from the red leather couch. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, young Katie will be here in a minute. She’s bringing me my lunch’. He strode to the apartment door and held it open. Charlie shook his head, sighed, stood up.
‘Enjoy your lunch,’ he said as he walked to the door. Eddie nodded at Kenny and followed his brother. The siblings entered the elevator. Charlie punched the button for level one.
‘So, now what?’ asked Eddie.
‘Time you met Lucian,’ said Charlie.
Charlie’s Porsche pulled to an abrupt halt on the street outside his pub, taking Eddie, who had been gazing at the surroundings from the passenger seat, by surprise. He followed his brother’s stare towards a blue Policía Nacional van parked in Charlie’s private space. Two policemen stood at the foot of the stairs. Two more were escorting the bar staff from the building.
‘What the fuck?’ said Charlie. Philip Metcalf stood on the street nearby, taking photos. He appeared not to have noticed Charlie’s car pull up. Lucian Soparla, Charlie’s private snoop, as he stepped out from the bar’s entrance and began to shuffle up the hill. The Romanian glanced down the street towards the silver Porsche and gestured at Charlie to keep on moving.
Charlie put the car into gear and drove forward, before pulling over a hundred yards up the road. Soparla walked to the car, glancing behind him to see if he was being followed.
‘Quick, let
him in,’ said Charlie. Eddie opened his door, got out, and lifted his seat forward. Soparla slumped down into one of the rear bucket seats, and Eddie climbed back in. Charlie pulled away from the kerb and shot Lucian an expectant look in the rearview mirror.
‘Well?’
‘They arrived thirty minutes ago. They informed your bar manager that the bar must be closed,’ said Soparla. Charlie slapped the steering wheel.
‘Did they give a reason?’ asked Eddie.
‘They said it was because of “Financial irregularities”. The local magistrate has suspended the license as well’.
‘Wankers,’ said Charlie.
‘Was Metcalf there when the coppers turned up?’ asked Eddie.
‘He was,’ said Soparla. ‘The bastard Spanish forced everyone to leave. I saw the English policeman at the bottom of the stairs with his camera as I left the building’.
‘Tell me everything’s locked-up downstairs, Lucian,’ said Charlie, staring at the thin man in the mirror.
‘They will find nothing’.
‘So what’s going on? Are they coming after you?’ said Eddie to his brother.
‘Not just me,’ said Charlie. He was pointing at a cafe outside which was another police vehicle, blue lights flashing. ‘That’s Carol’s place. Looks like they’re hitting all of us’. He drove past, shielding his face with one hand. ‘Lucian, where’ve you got the photos of that Jewish bastard?’
‘I have them in my apartment’.
‘Good. That’s good,’ replied Charlie. He glanced at Soparla in the mirror again. ‘Call him. Tell him what we’ve got on him. Tell him I’m coming for a visit in the morning’. The Romanian nodded. Charlie pulled over at the side of the road below a white apartment block and swivelled around to face Soparla. ‘This one yours?’ The thin man nodded and Charlie beckoned at his brother to let Soparla out. Eddie opened the door and climbed out, alert for any signs of trouble. Soparla moved to climb out of the back seat, but Charlie grasped his arm.
‘Make sure he understands his predicament,’ said Charlie. ‘Tell him what will happen if he fucks me over’.
Den of Snakes Page 23