Den of Snakes

by Damian Vargas

  ‘What are you doing?’ shouted Eddie.

  ‘Making sure that’s what’.

  ‘The flipping fuel tank is under the seats. You trying to kill us all?’

  Pickering looked at Eddie, then back to the body, seemingly undecided. After a tense few seconds, he released the hammer back with his thumb and pushed the gun back into his waist. ‘Some fucking soldier you are,’ he said to Eddie then trudged towards Charlie. ‘Take that useless brother of yours and that corpse and get the fuck out of here’.

  Charlie walked to Eddie and helped him to his feet. ‘You alright, bruv?’

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ Eddie whispered, staring intensely at his brother. ‘Now’. Charlie helped Eddie to the passenger seat and closed the door, then made his way around to the driver’s seat.

  ‘Two hundred grand, Lawson,’ shouted Pickering. ‘You’ve got one week to pay, or we come after you. You and everyone you care about’.

  Charlie started the ignition and swung the car around to face back down the track, then pulled away. ‘I’m sorry, Ed. Sorry you got shot. And sorry you had to do…that’. He waved a thumb towards Metcalf’s body. Eddie was staring into the side mirror. ‘Did you hear me? I said I’m sorry’.

  ‘Drive, Charlie. Just drive’.

  Charlie drove the Porsche down the bridle path and back onto the tarmac road. Eddie glanced behind. ‘Mother fucker,’ Charlie shouted. ‘What was I thinking?’ He punched the steering wheel. ‘Ain’t no way we can pull two hundred grand together. Not in a week’.

  ‘Charlie,’ said Eddie.

  ‘And what we gonna do with…that?’ Charlie continued thumbing towards the rear of the car.

  Eddie pointed towards a tourist viewing area overlooking the lake. ‘Pull up over there,’ he said.

  ‘You can’t dump a body there. It’s too public’.

  ‘Just pull over’.

  ‘No, we gotta get lower down. Fill his trousers with rocks or something. Chuck him in the water, like you said -’.

  ‘Stop the fucking car,’ Eddie shouted.

  Charlie pushed down hard on the brakes and slid the car onto the grassy verge. ‘What? What is it?’ he asked, checking the mirror.

  Eddie waited until the car had come to a stop. ‘We faked it’.

  Charlie gawped at his younger brother, still not connecting the dots. ‘Faked what? I don’t understand’.

  With perfect timing, former Metropolitan Police detective constable Philip Metcalf sat up in the rear seat, groaning.

  Charlie jolted as if having just received an electric shock. ‘Jeeeesus fuuuckin christ -’. He pulled the door lever and fell sideways out and onto the dirt, holding his chest as if trying to stop an impending heart attack.

  Eddie reached to the back seat and released the silver tape from Metcalf’s face. ‘Are you okay?’ Eddie asked him as he cut at the tape around the injured man’s wrists with a pocket knife.

  ‘I’ll live,’ said Metcalf.

  Charlie lurched back towards the car, reached under his seat and pulled out his Colt 1911. He pulled back the slide to chamber the first round, then pointed it in Metcalf’s direction.

  Eddie lifted his arms to shield the man in the rear seats. ‘Nobody else is getting killed today, Charlie’.

  ‘Are you fucking insane, Eddie? We can’t let him go. Not now’.

  ‘Yes, we can. Put the gun down’.

  Charlie shifted to his side, trying to get an improved angle on Metcalf. ‘Get out of the way, Ed’.

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ said Eddie. ‘We can trust him’.

  ‘What are you fucking on? Trust him. He’s a bleedin’ rozzer’. Charlie’s hands were shaking, his face crimson.

  ‘We’re gonna let him go’.

  Charlie did a double-take between Metcalf and Eddie. ‘We can’t. First thing he’ll do is go straight to the Spanish police and then its all over. We’re all be going to the slammer. You, me, Kenny, Roger, Mike - all of us. Bill and Gary, too. It will all be over.’

  ‘Look at me,’ said Eddie. Still holding his hands up, he manoeuvred himself out of the passenger’s door and strode around the front of the vehicle towards Charlie. ‘He made me a promise’.

  Charlie turned his head towards Eddie, the gun still trained on the rear of the car. ‘A promise? He’s Old Bill, you can’t trust him’.

  Eddie stepped between the car and Charlie. ‘Listen to me. I had to shoot that cockney wanker back there. I had no choice’.

  ‘You should have just…shot him,’ blurted Charlie, pointing at Metcalf.

  ‘That’s not who I am, Charlie. And it ain’t you neither’. Charlie remained planted to the spot, his eyes alternating between Eddie and the rear of the Porsche. Eddie stepped towards the car. ‘Mr Metcalf?’ The former policeman grunted from deep down behind the seats. ‘It’s okay. Charlie ain’t gonna shoot you’.

  ‘You sure about that?’ said the unconvinced Metcalf.

  ‘Gimme the gun, bruv,’ he said. Eddie slowly lifted his hand and wrapped it around the Colt. Charlie hesitated for a moment, then surrendered the weapon. Eddie let out a sigh of relief. ‘You can get out now,’ he said towards the car.

  Charlie stumbled away to the wooden fence that marked the boundary of the viewing area. The lake sat a few hundred feet below. He stuffed a cigarette into his mouth, hurried to light it, took an elongated draw and then another. ‘Now what?’ he said, as Metcalf got out of the car.

  ‘Drop me back to town,’ said the former policeman. ‘I’ll make myself scarce. Forget I saw or heard anything about…this’.

  ‘I got your word on that?’ said Eddie.

  Metcalf nodded. ‘You saved my life today, Edward Lawson. Twice. I’m in your debt’.

  Charlie marched back towards Metcalf, index finger pointed at the man’s brow. ‘You go back on this, and I will make it my life’s fucking mission to find you,’ he said.

  Metcalf stood up straight, wincing as he did. ‘I do not like this any more than you do, Lawson’. He cleared his throat. ‘But you both have my word’. They stood glaring eye to eye.

  ‘Fine,’ said Charlie. Get back in and stay out of sight. And don’t go bleeding on my seats no more’. He stormed back around to the driver’s door and sat down slowly.

  Eddie lifted the passenger seat for Metcalf to clamber back in. ‘A word of advice,’ said Eddie. Get on the first bus out of Marbella. Those cockney bastards know your face.’

  They dropped Metcalf off outside his hotel, a low-rent affair on the outskirts of Marbella, and watched as he limped towards the entrance.

  ‘You honestly think we can trust him?’ said Charlie.

  ‘I saved his life. So, yeah’, he said through gritted teeth, the pain in his side making it hard to talk.

  ‘You alright? We can’t go to a hospital, but I’ve got this dodgy quack who can clean you up’.

  ‘That would be good’.

  Charlie seemed perplexed. ‘I still don’t get it though,’ he said.

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘Metcalf shoots you, and you want to help him. How the fuck did that scrawny streak of piss get the gun off you, anyway?’

  ‘I shot myself,’ said Eddie.

  Charlie looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. ‘Huh?’

  ‘I shot the cockney in the head then used the second round on myself. It’s just through the skin. Still fucking hurts though’.

  ‘You shot yourself?’

  ‘Its just a flesh wound. Then I used the shotgun on Metcalf’s shirt and wiped it in the dead geezer’s blood to make it look I’d shot him in the back as he ran away’.

  ‘All that to save a copper’.

  ‘Yeah’.

  Charlie stared at his brother. ‘You’re fucking nuts’.

  Eddie nodded.

  ‘I suppose I am. But I made a promise to myself after the war. I ain’t doing anyone else’s killing never again’. Charlie sighed.

  ‘This is all my fault,’ said Charlie. ‘Fuc
k. How did we get in such a mess? I just wanted to get the property deal done. Get out of this business. People are getting hurt. You were right, what you said back up the hill there. It’s not who we are. Everything we did…it was just circumstances. But I don’t know what to do now, bruv. I think I’m fucked’.

  ‘You’ll think of something. You always do. But can we get back to your place and get hold of that doctor friend of yours now? I did mention I got shot, yeah?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Not Enough Dough

  As soon as they arrived back at the villa, Charlie started calling around the rest of the crew.

  ‘I don’t care what you’re doing, Rog. Get your backside here, now,’ he shouted into the receiver. ‘Bring Judy too. This involves us all’. Charlie hung up the phone, downed his scotch and flopped down onto the brown leather couch in his office. Eddie was standing at the open door, and his brother beckoned at him to come in.

  ‘That them all?’ asked Eddie as he sat down at Charlie’s desk.

  Charlie nodded. ‘They are on their way’. He pointed at Eddie’s side - ‘Did the quack do a good job?’

  Eddie lifted his tee-shirt up to reveal his bandaged torso, ‘He said he’s seen quite a few bullet wounds in his time’. Charlie gave him a wry smile, behind which Eddie sensed there were secrets he would prefer not to know. ‘So, what’s your plan?’

  ‘Raise two hundred grand, somehow,’ Charlie answered, while pouring another whisky. ‘What else can we do?’

  The idea seemed impractical to Eddie. The job they’d pulled off in England a week earlier had been an act of desperation by an ageing crew down to their last funds. Now that the diamonds had turned out to be worthless quartz, their options were even more limited. ‘How you going to manage that?’ he asked. ‘Seems to me everybody’s tapped out. I reckon you need to consider different options’.

  ‘Like what?’ said Charlie. ‘Go to war with Pickering’s crew?’

  ‘Nah, just the opposite’.

  ‘Well go on, bruv. I’m all ears,’ said Charlie, leaning forward. He seemed confident about what Eddie was going to say.

  ‘I said it before. Maybe it’s time for you to up sticks and start again somewhere new?’ Charlie lowered his forehead into his hands and sighed. ‘I mean it, bruv. Sell this place, and whatever other assets you’ve got, and get out’.

  ‘You’re saying I should give up?’ said Charlie.

  Eddie shrugged. ‘Recognising when to retreat is as important as knowing when to fight. You can’t win every battle’.

  Charlie stood up, shaking his head. ‘But I’m so close. Don’t you see that?’

  ‘Close to what? Getting arrested? Getting killed?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Getting what I deserve,’ Charlie growled.

  It was Eddie who was shaking his head now. ‘There are people out there, a lot of them, who’d agree with you. Only their definition of “what you deserve” differs significantly from yours’.

  ‘Fuck them’.

  Eddie realised he was pushing his brother’s buttons, but this might be his last chance of making the point, so he pushed harder. ‘Who, Charlie? Fuck who? Pickering’s crew? The local families? The politicians? The police?’ Charlie was wagging a finger at him to stop, but he continued. ‘What about your own crew?’

  ‘What about them?’ demanded Charlie.

  ‘You don’t trust them’.

  ‘I will handle them,’ said Charlie.

  ‘This is high stakes stuff. You need to know who’s on your side’.

  ‘Yes, I do, little brother. And I’ll find that out soon enough. We both will’.

  A shrill beeping sound interrupted the exchange to announce the first arrival at the villa’s gate.

  Charlie walked away. ‘Get yourself cleaned up,’ he said, pointing at the dried blood on Eddie’s hands. ‘And nobody needs to know about Metcalf’.

  Kenny arrived first, then Bill and Carol, followed by Roger and Judy. They each fixed themselves a drink and made themselves comfortable in the large living room to wait for Mike. The mood was tense.

  ‘Do you know what’s going on?’ Bill asked Eddie quietly. ‘The wife’s got a right huff on and Charlie ain’t saying nuffin yet. What happened with Pickering’s crew?’

  ‘They just talked,’ Eddie replied.

  Bill frowned, and he pointed at Eddie’s side. There was a small bloodstain visible on his clean shirt. ‘Sharp words was they?’ he said.

  A car pulled up outside. Roger peered out of the window. ‘Mikey’s here’.

  ‘About bloody time,’ said Kenny.

  Charlie came back into the room, directing Mike to a sofa.

  ‘No Veronica?’ said Judy.

  ‘She’s here,’ snapped Mike. He peered back towards the door. ‘Powdering her nose, probably’.

  ‘Right, I’ll cut to the chase,’ said Charlie. ‘Me and Ed met Pickering this morning’.

  ‘Why are they here in Spain?’ Roger interrupted.

  ‘If you let me fucking finish, Rog. You’ll find out’. Roger sank back into the sofa, arms crossed. ‘As I was saying, we met Pickering and his crew. The good news is that Bobby believed me when I told him about the diamonds’.

  ‘What’s the bad news?’ said Mike?

  Charlie took a deep breath. ‘They had to do a bunk and leave everything behind’.

  ‘Yeah, so? It’s what we did in seventy-nine,’ said Bill.

  ‘Yeah, but the thing is they figure we owe them’.

  ‘How do we fucking owe them?’ said Mike. ‘They got fucking paid! We got nothing’.

  Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘They think we grassed on ‘em’.

  ‘Why would they think that?’ asked Carol. You boys was all there with them in London’.

  ‘Quiet girl,’ Bill said in a hushed tone.

  ‘Nah, Carol’s right, Bill,’ said Roger. ‘Why would they think we fucked them over? It don’t make no sense’.

  Charlie reached forward to refill his glass from the bottle of Famous Grouse.

  Mike answered. ‘I know why,’ he said. He stood leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand. ‘Coz, they think we did some kind of deal to protect what we have here. Ain’t that right, Charlie?’

  Charlie stayed quiet.

  ‘Shit. I knew it,’ said Roger. ‘I knew all that cloak and dagger stuff of yours would come back and bite us, Charlie’.

  ‘All that “cloak and dagger stuff” has protected you for a long time,’ Charlie snapped. ‘It got both Bill and Mike out of the fucking slammer for a start’.

  ‘What does he want?’ asked Mike.

  Charlie took a swig before answering. ‘Two hundred large’.

  ‘Two hundred grand?’ said Judy. ‘Where’s that coming from, then?’

  Roger had his head in his hands. ‘She ain’t wrong, Charlie. ‘I’ve had to take money out of the dealership. I can’t afford to buy any new stock until something comes up. Probably gonna have to close the site in Estepona for a start’.

  ‘Same with my restaurant,’ said Bill.

  ‘And my cafe,’ Carol chirped in.

  Charlie stood up and ran his hands through his hair. ‘We ain’t got no choice. They know too much. We need to get them out of our hair’.

  ‘We could take ‘em out,’ said Mike.

  ‘We ain’t doing that’.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Mike.

  ‘Have I not made our situation abundantly fucking clear for you, Michael? One false move, one more fuck up, and they’ll have us on the next available plane back to Blighty in handcuffs. Guillem made it crystal clear. “Walking on eggshells”, remember? Look, gentleman…and ladies. I’ll cut you all in on the Majestico deal if you help me sort out this problem with Pickering’.

  ‘But your property project still needs funding, don’t it?’ asked Bill, confused.

  ‘I got some emergency money to keep it ticking over’.

  ‘From who?’ asked Mike.

  ‘That doesn’t matter
. All that matters is that we can stump up the money to get Pickering out of our hair and move forward. If we don’t do that…we won’t have nothing’. He pointed to an A4 writing pad on the coffee table. Several biros sat next to it. ‘Take a sheet each. Make a list of what you can get your hands on inside a week. Cash you’ve got stashed away. Watches you can sell. Jewellery. Cars you can shift. Freezers of frozen meat, gym equipment, suits you ain’t never worn, anything. Even that considerable shotgun collection of yours, Mike’.

  Charlie ignored Mike’s muffled complaints and tore off a sheet of paper for himself, picked up a pen and started writing.

  Bill and Carol were having another private tiff.

  ‘Me mum bought us that for our wedding,’ she said. ‘It’s bloody ugly, she’s dead, and it’s worth a couple of fuckin’ grand. Put it on the list’.

  ‘Fine,’ Carol hissed and started scribbling on the paper. ‘But you’re selling all your bleedin’ golf clubs’.

  ‘Fine,’ replied Bill.

  ‘Pass them all here when you’re done,’ said Charlie. Eddie watched for a few minutes as the others scribbled away, then reached for a piece of paper for himself.

  ‘Not you, bruv,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I want to help,’ Eddie insisted. He wrote down a single item before topping up his glass and sitting back in the chair.

  After a few more minutes, and seeing that the others had all finished, Charlie called a halt. He collected the paper and started to go through the assorted lists, jotting down numbers on a separate sheet as he did so.

  Veronica slipped into the room, apparently unnoticed by all but Eddie. She was wearing tight stonewashed jeans and a blue Le Coq Sportif sweater that was several sizes too big for her slender frame. She wore barely any makeup - not that she needed it, thought Eddie - and her movement seemed impaired. She seemed drunk. Or high. She perched herself down at the stool by Charlie’s Yamaha piano, seemingly lost in thought.

  ‘I don’t see your Omega on the list, Roger?’

  ‘I ain’t got it no more, Charlie. I lost it in a poker game’.