Den of Snakes

by Damian Vargas

  ‘He will understand,’ said Lucian, grinning and clearly unconcerned at the prospect of threatening the jeweller. ‘I’ll call you later’. Lucian winked at Eddie, then sauntered away as Eddie got back into the car.

  ‘Where did you find that slimy git?’

  Charlie sniggered. ‘Someone made me an introduction. He’s not so bad. He’s also flippin’ invaluable to us, so don’t go antagonising him’.

  ‘If you say so’.

  ‘I do. That bloke has a unique set of skills I need. What we all need, if we’re gonna shift them stones and get this heat off our back’.

  Charlie pulled out into the traffic and put his foot down. The Porsche’s exhaust barked, the noise bouncing off the surrounding buildings.

  Eddie could see his brother’s forehead was speckled with fresh sweat. ‘Don’t you ever think maybe it’s time to move on?’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sell up. Sell the bar, the house, and whatever else you have here. Take the money and start again somewhere else’.

  ‘Why would I do that?’ asked Charlie, agitated.

  ‘Bruv, it doesn’t seem like things will get better for you here,’ Eddie said. ‘This extradition treaty sounds like it’s gonna happen. So what then?’ Charlie looked at his brother. Eddie could tell he was not in agreement, but he pushed the point further. ‘And you said it yourself, the crew ain’t united anymore. I can’t see Kenny and Mike reconciling soon, and -’.

  ‘They’ve always been at each other’s throats. Nuffin’s changed there’.

  ‘And the others? They went against you to go do that last job. It doesn’t look to me like your crew is a tight unit any more. And obviously the Spanish authorities are on your case now’.

  ‘And where would I go?’

  Eddie shrugged. ‘South Africa? Thailand? South America, maybe?’

  Charlie shook his head, eyes on the road ahead. ‘I’m too old to up sticks and start again,’ he said. ‘And besides, I’ve got too much riding on things down here now. He put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘I’ve got it all planned’.

  ‘Yeah?’ said Eddie. ‘But things don’t always go to plan, do they?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Stones

  Early the next morning Eddie stood outside a low-rent jewellery store in Marbella with Charlie, Roger and Kenny.

  Charlie, who was carrying the diamonds from the United Security robbery in a black, leather briefcase, seemed to be readying himself for a confrontation. ‘How long’s it take to open an effin door?’ he cursed.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ asked Eddie.

  ‘We are going to cash in our chips, bruv,’ said Charlie, before pressing on the doorbell for the third time.

  They heard multiple locks being turned one by one, before the door opened outwards to reveal an obese man in a white shirt and black trousers. His hair was shaven, except for two long orange plaits that hung from the side, and was topped by a black skullcap.

  ‘Shalom, Avram. How the fuck are yer?’ said Charlie.

  ‘I’ve had better days’. The man peered up and down the street while the group entered, before closing the door. ‘This way,’ he said and descended a flight of concrete stairs.

  The Englishmen followed him down into the jeweller’s subterranean workshop. Eddie saw two lines of stainless steel desks upon which were an array of well-worn machine tools, surrounded by empty fast food packets and soda cans. He ran his fingers over one of the work surfaces. It was coated in a film of fine dust.

  ‘So, you gonna do this for us?’ said Charlie as he surveyed the room.

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want them photos finding their way to your father, your mother, your wife, your kids, and your fucking rabbi,’ snarled Charlie.

  ‘Okay. Let me see them,’ said the fat man.

  Charlie placed the brief cases down on one of the few available spaces on the tabletops and thumbed at the combination locks. He opened it to reveal several polythene bags full of what appeared to be small chunks of dirty, rock salt. It occurred to Eddie that this was the first time he had laid eyes on the diamonds. There were a lot of them.

  ‘Christ almighty,’ he said.

  ‘His lot don’t believe in that fella,’ said Kenny.

  ‘They believe in anything if there’s a profit in it for ‘em, though,’ said Charlie. ‘Ain’t that so, Avram?’

  The jeweller closed his eyes and took a resigned breath. ‘Can we just do this?’ he asked.

  ‘Be my guest,’ said Charlie, stepping back from the case.

  The fat man pulled a set of black-rimmed spectacles from his inside pocket, put them on. He lifted one bag from the case, thumbed at the contents and held the bag up to a desk light. He frowned. ‘I need to examine them properly,’ he said to Charlie.

  ‘Of course,’ said Charlie. The fat man was emptying the bag out into a stainless steel tray.

  ‘What are they worth?’ asked Kenny.

  The jeweller answered without looking away from the diamonds. ‘On the open market? Ten, maybe twelve thousand a carat’. He picked one stone up with a pair of tweezers and scrutinised it. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Is this some kind of test?’

  ‘What you talking about?’ said Charlie. The man discarded the first stone and examined another before peering back at Charlie, evidently bewildered.

  ‘But these are no good,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean “no good”?’ said Kenny.

  ‘They…they -’.

  ‘They what?’ demanded Charlie.

  ‘They’re not diamonds. They’re just quartz, basically’. Charlie grabbed the now very-frightened jeweller by the throat, pulled a pistol from his belt and pushed it to the man’s temple.

  ‘Are you trying’ to cheat me, you Jewish cunt?’

  ‘No, Mr Lawson. I swear’. The jeweller pointed towards a small hammer. ‘Pass me that. I can show you’. Charlie gestured at Eddie to pass the silver tool across, took a step back, his pistol still pointing at the petrified man.

  ‘Show me,’ demanded Charlie.

  The jeweller took the hammer from Eddie, placed one stone on a nearby vice and hit it. The stone disintegrated into dozens of small shards.‘You see? Diamonds don’t break,’ he said.

  Charlie’s eyes were bulging, his jaw wide open. He grabbed another stone from the case, wrenched the hammer out of the jeweller’s hand and brought it down hard on the second stone. It too shattered into multiple pieces. He grabbed another stone and hit that with the same result. Then another and another before dropping the hammer to the floor.

  ‘What the fuck is happening?’ said Eddie.

  Charlie grabbed a handful of the stones from the case and held them out in front of the petrified jeweller. ‘Are you telling me -?’ He stared at the bags of worthless rocks in the case. ‘Are you telling me we stole a case full of fuckin’ glass?’

  The jeweller’s lips quivered, but he could not muster a reply.

  ‘Someone must have switched them,’ said Kenny.

  ‘How?’ said Roger. ‘We had them the whole way’.

  Charlie dropped the remaining stones onto the floor, sat down on a red plastic chair, and placed both hands on his head, one still holding the black pistol. ‘It must have been a setup,’ he said, staring at the floor.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Kenny.

  ‘Right from the start. The entire job. We got played’.

  ‘Played? By who?’ said Roger.

  Charlie looked up at his fellow crew-member. ‘Angus. It must have been Angus all along’.

  ‘Angus is dead,’ said Eddie.

  ‘That was an accident,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Pretty fuckin’ convenient, don’t yer think?’ said Roger.

  ‘Not for him it wasn’t,’ said Eddie.

  ‘You reckon Gary was in on it?’ said Kenny. ‘And Bill? Getting himself pinched like that’.

  ‘You fuckin’ what?’ shoute
d Roger.

  ‘No? The timing stinks, don’t you think?’ said Kenny.

  Roger shook his head. ‘Not Gary and not Bill’.

  ‘Well someone fucking fucked us,’ said Kenny.

  Roger sat down on one of the metal seats. ‘Charlie, do you think it was De Boars all along?’ Charlie did not respond.

  ‘So, what the hell do we do now?’ said Kenny. They all looked at Charlie who sat motionless, eyes fixed on the floor still.

  ‘Bruv?’ asked Eddie.

  Charlie looked up at him. He was holding his chest, and his bottom lip was quivering. ‘I’ve got to pay the first instalment on the apartments this week’. He pushed himself up from the chair. ‘I’ve got to pay that money, or I’m fucked’. He put his pistol back in his belt, and ambled to the stairs, his shoes crunching on the broken quartz. The others followed him towards the door.

  ‘What about the photos?’ said the fat jeweller.

  He got no reply.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We Need To Talk

  Eddie stood on the street outside the jewellers as Roger and Kenny drove away. Charlie was ripping open a fresh pack of Benson & Hedges.

  ‘What are you gonna do?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Find whoever stitched us up and shoot ‘em in the fuckin’ head, that’s what!’ Charlie put the cigarette between his lips and thrust a gold Zippo in front of it.

  ‘How are you going to do that?’ asked Eddie. Charlie was thumbing repeatedly at the lighter’s flint wheel, but it refused to ignite. ‘I think you’re out of gas’ Eddie said.

  Charlie tried several more times before throwing the lighter to the floor. ‘Piece of shit!’ he shouted. He was attracting attention from several passersby.

  ‘Calm down,’ said Eddie. Charlie was shaking, his face red and his fists tight, fit to explode. Eddie put his arm around his brother’s shoulders and attempted to manoeuvre him towards the silver Porsche. ‘Want me to drive?’

  ‘No, I don’t want you to drive. I’m fuckin’ angry, not fuckin’ disabled,’ Charlie snapped.

  Eddie nodded towards a group of nearby tourists who had stopped. They were all now staring at the angry Englishman. ‘We’re causing a scene’.

  Charlie stood poised like he would storm towards the group but, much to Eddie’s relief, checked himself and instead unlocked the Porsche and slumped down onto the driver’s seat. He slammed the door shut. Eddie climbed into the passenger’s seat and closed his door. The potential drama over, the onlookers walked away.

  ‘I’m fucked, bruv,’ said Charlie.

  ‘You’ll think of something’.

  ‘No. You don’t understand, Ed. I have got to make the first payment to the construction firm by next week’.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Five hundred grand’.

  Eddie sat back. ‘Five hundred. Fuck’.

  ‘I’ll lose everything I put into this if I don’t find that money’. Charlie had a tight grip on the wheel with both hands. ‘Ain’t no way I can find that kinda cash’.

  ‘Get the crew together. Talk it over’.

  Charlie shook his head. ‘I don’t know if I can trust them’.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Eddie.

  ‘We was stiffed on them diamonds. Maybe it was Angus? He could have been working with someone at De Boars. Gary could have been in on it as well? He brought us the job. Or maybe it was Bill? Or Mike, even? They both pushed us to do it. They made it happen. Fuck, it could be any of them’.

  ‘You ain’t thinking straight,’ said Eddie, shaking his head.

  Charlie paused for a moment, staring into space. ‘Or, maybe I’m seeing things clearly for the first time?’ he said as he placed one hand behind his younger’s sibling’s head. ‘But, I need to know I can rely on you, Ed. No matter what happens next. I need to know you’ve got my back’.

  ‘Sounds like we’re going into battle’ said Eddie.

  Charlie nodded. ‘We are,’ he said.

  The next morning Charlie and Eddie drove to a run-down beach bar near Cancelada, ten miles west along the coast from Marbella.

  As he clambered out of Charlie’s Porsche, Eddie paused for a moment to regard the ageing structure.

  ‘This…is a restaurant?’ he said. ‘It looks more like a shipwreck’.

  ‘I like it. It’s private’.

  The brothers entered the ramshackle building where they found Roger, Kenny and Carol sitting around a wooden table, looking glum. Charlie placed some money on the bar and, without checking to see if the elderly waiter was even aware of his presence, ordered two coffees before then walking over to the rest of the group. Eddie followed.

  ‘Tell men,’ said Charlie. ‘What’s happened?’ He stared at Carol who gulped at her drink - which, despite the earliness of the hour, Eddie guessed was a Gin and Tonic - wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and responded.

  ‘They said my restaurant had cockroaches,’ she said.

  ‘It does,’ said Roger.

  ‘Every bloody bar and restaurant on the Costa has cockroaches. But they chose mine to close down,’ said Carol.

  ‘What about you, Rog?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Some asshole from the council came to my showroom. He had a copper with him. He demanded the registration documents, purchase invoices, MOTs, records of previous owners and a shitload more paperwork for every bleedin’ car I have in stock. I’ve got over forty here, twenty more in Estepona’.

  ‘Are some of them hot?’ said Eddie.

  Roger glanced back at him indignantly. ‘Nah, they’re all legit, but the fucker took everything and said I was prohibited from trading until he’d checked every document’.

  ‘How long will that take?’ asked Kenny.

  ‘No idea. Weeks, probably. This is Spain, it could be months. I can’t afford that, Charlie’.

  ‘Ain’t just us,’ said Kenny. ‘I heard they’ve been leaning on other Brit crews up and down the coast’.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Charlie.

  Carol eyed him like he had just broken wind. ‘How’s that good, Charlie?’

  ‘Coz, it means they aren’t just picking on us, don’t it?’

  ‘We’ve still got to do something,’ said Roger. ‘I’m pissing cash away if I can’t shift no motors’.

  ‘Same here,’ said Carol. ‘I had to throw away two fridge loads of food that had gone off’.

  ‘They’re putting’ the squeeze on us, but it won’t last. It never does’.

  ‘It might be different, this time,’ came a Spanish accent from behind them. Eddie shifted around to the source of the voice to see Charlie’s lawyer, Guillem Montcada.

  The barman approached with the coffees Charlie had ordered and asked Guillem if he wanted anything. If the lawyer heard the man, he chose to ignore him.

  ‘This comes right from Madrid,’ Montcada said, while pulling a chair towards the round table. He checked his surroundings before continuing. ‘Spain needs to get into the EEC. The government applied in seventy-seven. It has taken much time, but now it is happening’.

  ‘What’s that got to do with us?’ asked Carol.

  Guillem puffed out his cheeks and snorted. ‘Mrs Taylor, this is worth billions to Spain. They will do anything to make it happen now. And that includes agreeing to renew the extradition treaty with Britain’.

  ‘For definite?’ asked Roger while fidgeting with his lighter.

  Montcada nodded, a stern expression on his face. ‘We must assume so’.

  ‘What will that mean for us?’ asked Roger. ‘Do we have to leave Spain?’

  ‘The new treaty will not be retrospective, so it won’t apply to…past indiscretions’. Roger seemed relieved. ‘But it also means that you won’t be able to leave the country. Not even for one day. If you leave and then return, they will arrest you, and they will put you on a plane to England’.

  ‘So? Who we gotta bribe?’ asked Kenny.

  ‘You can bribe individuals,’ said Guillem. ‘But you cannot br
ibe the Spanish government. And besides, the local politicians will not want a fight with Madrid. They dependent on federal funding’.

  Charlie had sparked up a cigarette, which he sucked on and released the resultant smoke upwards. ‘So it’s just like I’ve been sayin’ all along. We have to keep our noses clean’.

  Guillem nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. The footage of Mr McNaughton hitting that reporter is all over Spanish and British television,’ the lawyer said. He reached into his leather case, pulled out several British newspapers and laid them on the table. Eddie picked up a copy of the TODAY paper. The headline on page three was entitled, “COSTA DEL CRIME”. He scanned the article.

  ‘What’s it say, Eddie?’ asked Carol.

  He stopped at one sentence and read it out aloud. ‘It says that Parliament had a debate about the “Escaped British criminals living with impunity in Spain” ’.

  ‘Your newspapers and television stations are all covering the story,’ said Guillem.

  ‘Like flies on shit,’ said Kenny.

  ‘And Mikey locked in the slammer ain’t helping none, is it?’ asked Charlie. His question was directed at Guillem and seemed, to Eddie, to be more than a little rehearsed.

  The lawyer uncrossed his legs and shifted to face Kenny and Roger, who were sitting to the right of him. ‘It would be most advisable to post Mr McNaughton’s bail so that the journalists focus on one of the other crews’.

  Kenny sighed. ‘Remind me how much that’s gonna cost us’.

  Guillem glanced at Charlie before he answered. ‘In British Pounds, about fifty thousand’. Kenny shook his head, eyes to the ceiling.

  Charlie leaned towards Roger. ‘We got to club together and get him out,’ he said. ‘Mikey would do the same for us’.

  ‘You sure about that?’ said Kenny.

  ‘You know he would, Ken’. Charlie’s tone was terse. Eddie had flashbacks of a drill sergeant back at Colchester that had spoken to the soldiers in the same commanding manner.

  Kenny thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘If I do this, that flipping’ gorilla has to pay me back,’ he muttered.