Short Range (The Spider Shepherd Thrillers Book 16)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘So we can pull Harry out sooner rather than later?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Sharpe. ‘How’s it going there?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure Dexter and his mates are here to see about buying kit to use back in the UK,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘How are you going to play it?’

  ‘Show that I’m one of the lads and see if they try to pull me in,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Let me know if you need any backup,’ said Sharpe. ‘You know I always get on well with right-wing nutters.’

  Shepherd chuckled. ‘I’ll bear you in mind.’ He ended the call and he phoned Katra. It went through to voicemail. ‘Hiya, it’s me,’ he said. ‘Haven’t spoken to you for a while, I hope everything is okay. I’m still overseas but I’ll be back tomorrow. Let me know if you can come to London. The least I can do is buy you a nice dinner. Love you.’

  As he put his phone in his pocket, he realised that he had forgotten to ask about Liam. He took out his phone but decided against making a second call. There’d be time enough to catch up when he was back in London.

  He went downstairs to the bar. A buffet table had been laid out and Shepherd’s mouth watered as he went over to check out the spread. There were four large terracotta pots each with a label in front of them explaining what the pot contained. The first was a Serbian goulash. The second was podvarak, which was described as a sauerkraut casserole. Then there was pasulj, a bean stew containing ham hock, and sarma, cabbage leaves stuffed with rice and minced meat. There were also platters of sausages of various shapes and sizes, grilled strips of pork loin and fried ground pork patties. Like most cuisines in that part of the world, there was little in the way of vegetables, but half a dozen varieties of bread.

  Ian and Carol McAdam had already helped themselves to food and were sitting at a corner table with laden plates and a bottle of red wine.

  Dexter was standing at the bar with Branko, who had changed into a red linen shirt and blue jeans but was still wearing his Army boots. Both men were drinking bottles of Lav Pivo, a popular local beer. Shepherd went over to the bar and ordered a bottle of the same. As he was handing over his money, Palmer and Moorhouse arrived so he bought them beers as well.

  ‘Branko, mate, this has been a great trip,’ said Dexter. His friends nodded.

  ‘It’s been a fucking blast, literally,’ agreed Palmer.

  ‘You should come back,’ said Branko.

  ‘We will,’ said Dexter. ‘What about you, John? Have fun?’

  Shepherd grinned. ‘Hell, yeah. Those grenades, huh? And that RPG. That was something.’

  ‘Must be great to use them for real, hey Branko?’ said Moorhouse, his cheeks flushed from alcohol. ‘Against the enemy.’

  Branko nodded. ‘It’s a whole different experience, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Did you see much action, when you were with the Serbian Army?’ asked Dexter.

  ‘Some,’ said Branko, as he had when Moorhouse had asked him the previous night.

  ‘Ever fired RPGs for real?’

  ‘Not so much, I was more of a sniper,’ said Branko.

  ‘What was all the fighting about back in the nineties?’ asked Moorhouse. Hewson arrived and bought himself a beer.

  ‘They were kicking out the Muslims,’ said Dexter. He looked at Branko. ‘Right?’

  Branko rubbed his chin. ‘It was complicated. A lot of different people were forced to live together as Yugoslavia, but no one was happy. We Serbs wanted our independence, and we had to fight to get it.’

  Dexter clinked his bottle against Branko’s. ‘Yeah, but you Serbs did the right thing, getting rid of the Muslims,’ he said. ‘That’s what we should be doing in the UK.’

  Branko shrugged and gulped down some beer. ‘You would think they’d get the message, right? But we’ve had thousands of them walk by here recently. When that German bitch invited all the Syrians to Europe, a lot of them came walking by Sid to get into Croatia.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked Dexter.

  Scott walked in and went over to check out the food.

  ‘They marched right across the cornfields, trampling the crops,’ said Branko. ‘They didn’t care. They were almost all men. Hardly any women or kids. Some from Syria but we had Afghans and Iraqis. Pakistanis, too. Thousands of them. Parasites.’

  ‘Why Croatia?’ asked Hewson.

  ‘Because Croatia’s in the EU,’ said Dexter. ‘If they can get into Croatia then it’s border-free all the way to the English Channel. Then they stow away on a truck and the next thing they know they get a council house and benefits.’

  ‘They don’t all want to go to England,’ said Branko. ‘The Croats were worried that they’d set up home there so they started building fences. Now they throw them back. They reckon there are eight thousand of them in Serbia right now. We have become a holding pen for them.’

  ‘And they are mainly Muslims?’ asked Scott.

  Branko nodded. ‘If they weren’t, if they were Christians, it wouldn’t be so bad.’ He grimaced as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. ‘But Muslims. They are animals.’

  ‘So why don’t you just kick them out, the same as the Croatians do?’

  ‘We have to be careful,’ said Branko. ‘The world is watching. If it was up to me …’ He shrugged and forced a smile. ‘But it isn’t.’

  ‘You’ve got the same problem we’ve got,’ said Dexter. ‘The people want rid of them, but the government won’t do anything.’

  ‘What is it like in England now?’ asked Luka.

  ‘Grim,’ said Moorhouse. ‘We’ve got no-go areas where the cops are too scared to go. We’ve got gangs of them abusing our girls. Hundreds of them.’

  ‘Thousands,’ said Dexter.

  ‘What happens?’ asked Branko.

  ‘They’re Pakis usually,’ said Dexter. ‘They get underage girls by plying them with drinks and drugs then they pass them around.’

  ‘And the police allow this?’ asked Luka.

  ‘For a long time they turned a blind eye,’ said Dexter. ‘They’re scared shitless of appearing racist. So are the local councils. But things are starting to change now that the newspapers have got onto it.’

  ‘They should castrate the bastards,’ said Moorhouse.

  ‘And throw them out of the country,’ said Hewson.

  ‘If that happened here, they’d be killed,’ said Branko emphatically. ‘It’s bad enough that they are here, but if they started hurting our daughters …’

  Branko slapped his palm down onto the bar, making Dexter jump. Dexter laughed to cover his embarrassment. ‘Yeah, well the tide is starting to turn in the UK,’ he said. ‘But the grooming gangs are happening everywhere that have allowed the Pakis in. Finland, Sweden, Germany. It’s a fucking mess.’

  ‘So what’s the solution?’ asked Branko.

  ‘The final fucking solution,’ said Hewson. ‘That’s what’s fucking needed.’

  ‘We’re working on it, Branko,’ said Dexter.

  The McAdams looked uncomfortable at the way the conversation was going. They both stood up and refilled their plates at the buffet, then went and sat at a table at the far end of the room.

  Dexter looked over at Shepherd. ‘Where do you stand on the whole muzzie thing, John?’ he asked.

  It was Shepherd’s opportunity to show that he was one of them. He’d have to tread carefully because he didn’t want to appear too keen. ‘I’m not a fan,’ he said.

  Dexter and his friends laughed. ‘Neither are we,’ said Moorhouse.

  ‘Who the hell is?’ said Palmer.

  ‘Yeah, but with me it’s up close and personal,’ said Shepherd quietly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Dexter.

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘Forget it,’ he said.

  ‘No, come on, John. Spit it out.’

  Shepherd continued to feign reluctance, turning away and sipping his drink.

  ‘You’re among friends, John,’ said Dexter.

  Shepherd fa
ked a shudder. ‘You were talking about the grooming gangs,’ he said. ‘They got my sister, a couple of years ago. There were a dozen of them, in Leeds, they got sent down eventually but for years they groomed and raped hundreds of girls. My sister was one of them. They got her hooked on drugs and then passed her around like a fucking rag doll.’

  ‘Shit, mate, that’s fucking terrible,’ said Dexter.

  ‘She killed herself just before the cops arrested them. Took an overdose.’ Shepherd blinked as if he was close to tears. ‘I wish I’d had a gun then, I’d have shot the fuckers, every one them.’ He took another drink. ‘Bastards.’

  Dexter patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, mate. Really sorry.’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘I just wish I’d done something, you know? My parents were worried about what was happening. They’d seen her getting into a car with some Pakis and staying out all night. They called the cops but they couldn’t have cared less.’ It was a totally made up story but Shepherd had rehearsed it enough times in his head so that he could tell it with conviction.

  ‘That’s what happens,’ said Dexter. ‘The cops are scared shitless of being accused of racism so they bend over backwards to give the muzzies a free pass. You’ve seen how it works. They burn poppies and they get a twenty-pound fine. Throw bacon at a mosque and you get six months in prison. Where’s the fairness in that?’

  Shepherd snorted. ‘No one ever said life was fair.’

  ‘Your sister was abused by muzzies and the cops did nothing,’ said Dexter. ‘If we went around abusing Muslim girls, we’d be in court faster than you can say “Islamophobia”. That’s what’s wrong with our country.’

  ‘So what’s the answer?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Do what those guys did in Acton? Throw grenades at mosques?’

  ‘They were amateurs, mate,’ said Dexter. ‘They weren’t grenades, they were home-made pipe bombs. They didn’t kill anybody, and one of them got caught.’

  ‘What was the guy’s name, the one they grabbed?’ asked Shepherd. He knew, of course, but he wanted to know if Dexter and his friends knew.

  ‘Tony Hooper,’ said Moorhouse. ‘He’s a bit of a nutter. I’ve never met him but I’ve seen his dad talking at various meetings. His dad’s a bit of a legend and I think Tony was trying to impress the old man.’

  ‘He’s a fucking moron,’ said Scott. ‘You can’t ride up on a bike in a crowded street and throw pipe bombs. Where was the fucking planning in that?’

  ‘Yeah, but he has the right idea,’ said Dexter. ‘You know what the problem is, John?’

  Shepherd shook his head.

  ‘The muzzies aren’t scared. They can see that they’re winning so that just makes them stronger. Then you look at the Jews. They are so fucking scared. You ever walk past a synagogue? They have static security and CCTV all over the place. My brother does security for a couple of synagogues and they are scared shitless of being attacked.’

  ‘To be fair, they did have the shit kicked out of them by the Nazis,’ said Palmer. Shepherd couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

  ‘Not just the Nazis,’ said Dexter. ‘The whole of Europe turned against them. Poland and France couldn’t hand their Jews over quick enough. And they’ve never forgotten that. Which is why Jews always keep a low profile. They don’t eat pork, but you never hear Jews insisting that all the food in schools or hospitals is kosher. Not like the muzzies do. And the Jews don’t block off public streets to pray. Or go around burning poppies. And Jews don’t dress differently. Not most of them anyway. They might wear that little cap thing on the way to the synagogue but that’s about it. But look at the fucking muzzies. They dress like they’re in the desert most of the time. And they make their women dress from head to toe in black, covering their faces and shit. It’s like they want to stick out. They want to be different.’

  It was starting to sound like a prepared speech but it was exactly what Shepherd wanted, an insight into the group’s thinking.

  ‘The Jews stay below the radar,’ continued Dexter, showing no signs of calming down. ‘They’re as keen on their religion as the muzzies, but they don’t push it down our throats. They blend. They fit in. They fucking adapt. And they inter-marry, all the time. I’ve got mates who’ve married Jews and it’s no big thing. But when was the last time you heard of a muzzie marrying outside his religion? It never fucking happens. And why? Because they think they are better than us. It says that in the Koran. They are the chosen, everyone else is the shit on their shoes. What we need to do, what we Christians need to do, is put the fear of God into the muzzies. We need to show them that we’re the strong ones, that if they fuck with us we’ll blow up their churches.’

  His eyes were wide and burning with a fierce intensity, and his friends were equally wound up. Palmer was clenching and unclenching his fists as if he was about to lash out, and Scott was transferring his weight from side to side as if he was limbering up.

  ‘That’s what we need to do, John,’ said Dexter, his voice dropping to a low whisper. ‘We need to put the fear of God into them so that they start fucking behaving themselves.’

  Scott nodded enthusiastically. ‘And the sooner the better,’ he said.

  ‘Amen to that,’ said Dexter.

  Later in the evening, Dexter, Moorhouse and Branko sat together at a corner table over bottles of beer, their heads so close that they were almost touching. Shepherd was standing at the bar with Simon Hewson. He would have dearly loved to have been at the table, but it was clear that the men didn’t want to be disturbed. ‘Another?’ he asked Hewson, who was already a little the worse for wear. Hewson was drinking gin and tonics and whenever Shepherd had bought a round he’d made sure that the man had been given a double.

  ‘Sure,’ said Hewson, slurring the word.

  Shepherd ordered drinks for them both, and pointed at Joe Atkinson, who was standing further down the bar. ‘Joe? Another?’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Atkinson, who was also obviously fairly drunk.

  Shepherd ordered a pint of lager for him.

  The barmaid put down their drinks and Shepherd paid with a twenty-euro note. ‘So what do you think Gary and Rog are up to?’ he asked Hewson. ‘Fixing up another visit?’

  ‘They’re shopping,’ said Hewson, and he giggled.

  ‘Shopping?’ repeated Shepherd. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Simon, mum’s the word, remember?’ said Atkinson.

  Shepherd narrowed his eyes, pretending that he didn’t understand what was going on. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Joe is just being over-cautious,’ said Hewson.

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ said Shepherd, playing the innocent. He sipped his Lav. Palmer came over to join them, holding a bottle of lager.

  ‘Joe, mate, John is one of us,’ said Hewson.

  ‘He’s a fucking journalist.’ Atkinson gestured at Shepherd. ‘No offence.’

  Shepherd faked a drunken grin. ‘None taken.’ He sipped his beer. ‘I was just asking. No sweat if you don’t want to tell me. I’m easy either way.’ He grinned again. ‘I’m so bloody drunk I won’t remember anything tomorrow anyway.’

  They all laughed. Atkinson was unsteady on his feet and he sloshed beer onto his trainers and cursed.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Palmer.

  ‘John was wondering what Gary’s getting so busy about,’ said Atkinson.

  ‘I was wondering that myself,’ said Palmer.

  ‘Gary wants to buy some kit from Branko,’ said Hewson.

  ‘Kit? What sort of kit?’ asked Shepherd.

  Hewson looked around as if he feared being overheard. ‘He wants to give the muzzies a taste of their own medicine.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ said Shepherd, faking surprise.

  ‘He’s got a thing about it,’ said Hewson. ‘Says we’ve done enough talking, that we have to meet fire with fire. He says that we’ve let them walk all over us for years and that won’t change unless someone stands up to them.’

  ‘By killing m
uzzies?’

  ‘Simon …’ said Palmer, but Hewson waved him away.

  ‘That’s nothing to what they’ve done,’ said Atkinson. ‘Bombs on our Tubes and buses, machete attacks on Parliament, cutting the heads off our soldiers. They think they can get away with it. Gary reckons if we hit them hard enough they’ll back off. He says they’re cowards at heart.’ More beer splashed onto his feet and he cursed again.

  ‘He’s probably right,’ said Shepherd. He drank more Lav and tried to act a lot drunker than he was. He looked over at the table. Branko was nodding and Dexter was patting him on the back. Moorhouse clinked his glass against Branko’s. It looked like a deal had been done.

  ‘This is your first time here?’ asked Shepherd, turning his back on Dexter’s table.

  The three men nodded.

  ‘How did you guys hear about it?’

  Hewson nodded over at Dexter’s table. ‘It was Gary’s idea.’

  ‘But he hasn’t been here before?’

  ‘He found it on the internet,’ said Atkinson.

  ‘It’s been a blast,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll be coming back.’ He sipped his beer as he ran through what he’d been told. It seemed a very haphazard way of buying an RPG, but then Dexter’s options were obviously limited. It wasn’t as if you could order them on eBay. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Atkinson.

  Shepherd sipped his beer again. ‘So Gary is obviously pretty unhappy with Muslims. What’s the story there?’

  ‘He just doesn’t like what they’re doing to our country,’ said Atkinson. ‘None of us do.’

  ‘But it seems more personal with him.’

  Atkinson nodded. ‘Yeah. He met Lee Rigby. I mean they weren’t friends, but Gary knew him. It was after some Army thing in London, Rigby was in a pub and Gary was there with his brother. This was a year or two before Rigby was murdered but when it happened …’ Atkinson shrugged. ‘It affected him, big time. The way those two Nigerian bastards ran him over and hacked off his head. I mean, who the fuck does that?’

  ‘Muslims,’ said Palmer. ‘That’s who.’

  ‘If that had happened in America, the cops would have turned up and blown them away, no questions asked. But what do our cops do? They treat the killers with kid gloves and now they’re in a nice cell with their own TVs and halal food. Gary’s right, they don’t give a fuck because they’re not scared of us.’