by Peter Bates
“Bloody hell,” said Terry. “How many photographs did you guys take?”
“Not as many as you think,” laughed Frank. “We took a few, but we had three additional copies of each picture printed off at the same time. That way we’ve all got a copy of each one to look at whenever we want to.”
“Good thinking,” Terry agreed, taking out a pair of reading glasses from an inside jacket pocket, before slipping them onto his face.
“Excellent idea,” muttered Reg, at the same time removing his own glasses from his own inside pocket and then carefully putting them on.
Frank reached a thin hand out to the scattered pile of photographs and quickly sorted them into four equal stacks.
“There you go, lads. Have a really good look at them and let me know what you think. I think that the cameras did a good job. Reg and I are not expert photographers, but most of them seem to have come out very nicely. I’m just hoping that the gang members that were present stand out clearly from the other guests.”
The four men fell silent for several minutes, arranging the photographs in an order that suited them, and then, one photo at a time, began to carefully focus on each one.
“Any ideas?” asked Frank.
Roy Baldwin was the first to speak. “Well, Frank, I’ve a feeling that the best clue comes from what I would imagine was the very last photo to be taken. I’m guessing that it was taken virtually at the end of the short walk to the service. The arriving guests were all scattered on the earlier photos, but by the time the last one was taken, five blokes have moved together, and can be seen walking side by side, slightly ahead of the others. It seems too much of a coincidence that each of those men would have separated from their families and walked in together. The guys that we are looking for appear to be exactly the sort that would do just that. What do you think?”
“I agree,” nodded Reg. “Plus the fact that the men that you have pointed out from all of the other guests, do tend to look a bit heavy duty, if you see what I mean.”
“I think that you’re both right,” confirmed Frank. “What you’re saying makes total sense. I suggest that after we’ve all had a good look at them, we pay a quiet visit or two to the Pilgrim’s Arms in South Shore, and then see if we can get a match. We now almost certainly know what Harrison and his mob look like. Who knows, maybe we can even get more than that, and find out who their rivals are. By the way, when we go to the Pilgrim’s, I suggest that you all tone down the disguises a little. We don’t want to look like a circus act as we did at the funeral. Miss out the moustaches and just dress in something a little less obvious. They probably won’t see four old buggers like us as any sort of threat, anyway.
“In the meantime,” Frank went on with a smile, “I’ll bring out some beers, just for practice mind you, and the team can enjoy the sunshine. It looks very much to me like the old lads are back in town.”
“They are!” laughed Terry. “And if we find Harrison’s rivals, we probably find the killers of the kids. One thing we do need to do. lads, if possible, is to obtain some sneaky specialist listening devices and photographic stuff that can’t easily be seen or detected. Let’s see what we can dig up. Maybe there’s some stuff on the internet we can sort out between us. Whatever it all costs, we can share it out between the four of us.”
“We could get it on the internet, but it could be days before it arrives,” commented Reg. “We could do with the stuff right now, and if we did get some, we could descend on the Pilgrim’s Arms tomorrow and take our chances on what we see and find.”
“Tomorrow could be a bit quick, Reg, but leave it with me for a day or two,” ordered Roy thoughtfully. “I’ll see what I can do though. I still know a few places and a few connections where I can maybe get that sort of thing. Who knows, I may even be able to get my hands on some gear before tomorrow afternoon.”
CHAPTER 12
After briefly scanning the open fields around his own property, Mel Harrison climbed into the BMW, and set off towards Gary’s home, just a little more than a mile and a half away. It wasn’t far, and didn’t take him long, but the difference in stature between his own home and Gary’s was immense. The narrow street of terraced houses that he found himself in was cluttered with parked vehicles, and Mel just hoped that Gary would be at the door, ready to run out and climb straight into his car. He pulled up outside, blocking a car behind him. Whoever was driving it would just have to wait. There was nowhere to park and no way that Mel would move on until his passenger had climbed in. After one minute passed by, the car driver behind began to blast his horn with impatience. Harrison glanced briefly into his mirror, opened the door, and unhurriedly stepped out into the street. He strode slowly to the waiting car, an ageing Ford Escort, and approached the driver’s door with a ferocious look on his face.
The driver, a small, thin man in his late sixties, quickly wound down the window, and looked briefly into Mel Harrison’s darkly hooded eyes and angry, menacing expression. His eyes then dropped down to see the two firmly clenched fists held by the man’s side. The driver opened his eyes wide in shock and then quickly put on a serious expression of regret.
Barely whispering, the driver muttered apologetically, “Sorry, mate, I was just in a bit of a hurry, that’s all.”
Harrison smiled down at the terrified face before responding. “Don’t worry pal,” he said. “I’m in a hurry too. I’m just waiting for a friend of mine to come out of one of these houses. He won’t be long — in fact he’s coming out now — so I’ll be off and away. Then you can go. Just think yourself lucky, mate. You need to get yourself a big dose of patience. This could have been a whole lot worse for you.”
Harrison turned sharply on his heel and strode back to his own car door, grinning to himself as he walked the short distance. He stepped into the open front space quickly and still smiling, leaned across the leather seat to click open the passenger seat door before Gary stepped in, also sporting a large grin on his face.
“You having a bit of fun, mate,” asked Gary.
“You could say that, Gary. Just a minor irritation, that’s all. The old bugger will think twice before he honks his horn the next time.”
“Are we off to the flat now?” queried Gary.
“We certainly are, mate. Did you bring a shooter?”
Gary nodded and tapped the bulge in his jacket.
“OK, let’s go. I don’t think that you’ll need it, but with Jed Thomas about, we can’t be certain. Whilst I’m driving, keep your eyes skinned for any followers. The pile of dope we’re shifting today is worth one very big stack of money.”
The traffic was comfortable, and the trip to the flat took just a little over ten minutes. The flat itself was small, inconspicuous, and situated on the third floor of a large block, relatively recently built in the 1970s. There were allocated parking spots for tenants all along its frontal section, and Harrison pulled into a vacant space.
Engine off, but still buckled in his seat; Harrison turned to face Gary.
“Check, Gary.”
“OK, boss.” Gary stepped out of the car and immediately looked backwards, checking for other cars on the move or approaching the area. A van drove by slowly, its sides and back doors decorated brightly with ‘Window Cleaning’ signs. Beyond the entrance to the car parking area, on the main access road, there was nothing on the move or anything else that would or could arouse his suspicions. The only pedestrians in sight were a lady and a young child skipping alongside her along the pavement and moving away from the building. He waited for a few more moments, and satisfied, tapped gently on Mel Harrison’s window, at the same time giving him the thumbs up.
Mel stepped out, quickly glanced around in all directions for his own satisfaction, and then walked directly to the boot of the car.
“Don’t take it out, but keep your hand on your shooter, Gary. I don’t expect any problems, but keep hold of it anyway.”
Harrison opened the boot lid, and tugged out a huge, strengthened plast
ic bag from the well. After remotely locking the car, he threw the bag over one shoulder and headed directly for the main entrance of the building.
Inside, the lift was settled on the ground floor, its doors open, and the two men strode in and pressed the button for the third floor. Twenty-five seconds later, both were exiting the lift and travelling the short distance along a narrow corridor to flat number 305. Unlike the other apartment doors in the building, this one had two separate entrance locks. One was the original, whilst the second, which was far more robust, had been added at a much later date. Harrison turned a key in the original lock, then carefully fingered in an eight-digit code into the second one, before pressing a small black button beneath the numbers. After once again looking along the length of the corridor in each direction, both men stepped inside, and closed the reinforced door quietly behind them.
The inside of the flat had at one time been exactly the same as the others in the huge building. Now, the interior was nothing less than a fortress. There were no signs of any persons living in the home — today it was simply a fortified holding space. Apart from a central table, five surrounding wooden chairs, and a small cupboard, no other furniture or decoration was evident in its four small rooms. One bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchen, and one lounge — all empty, apart from very bare essentials. All the walls, doors and windows had been strengthened internally with diagonal solid steel bars stretching from the ceiling to the floor. A huge metal safe stood on its own in one corner, a security dial fixed to the centre of its door. Harrison dragged the heavy plastic bag across the floor and hoisted it onto the table, then moved to one side and flicked open the small cupboard door to check its contents.
“Plenty of bags in there. The cupboard’s full of ’em. Certainly more than enough, to take in this pile of powder when we come back to bag it up.”
“Why don’t we do it now?” asked Gary.
“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, lad. Have you any idea how much that sack of dope is worth out on the street? We only bag it small when we’re all here. Until then, it stays in the safe. Doing it that way, we can do it quicker, with far less risk, and we can also keep a check on the car park and any visitors. One of us always has to have a shooter in their hand whilst we bag ’em up, and we also need one of us guys at the window, keeping a beady eye on the car park. We didn’t get good at this game by being sloppy.”
“Sorry, boss.”
Harrison slowly shook his head from side to side, then quickly moved to the safe, twisted its numbered dial precisely several times, and swung open the heavy door.
“Shove the powder bag in there, Gary, and then we’re out of here.”
CHAPTER 13
Roy made several phone calls before he finally hit the jackpot. From his time in the police force, he personally knew many of the owners in the various jewellery shops scattered around town that he had previously come into contact with. Over the years, hardly any of them would have gone unscathed completely. Break-ins on jewellers were a regular occurrence, as were a number of shoplifters in the area. More often than not though, the bad buggers would have ended up with some sort of sentence, and he had been responsible for putting many of them away in his day. Towards the end of his time in the force, and certainly these days, with the help of cameras and sound detectors, there were far less incidents. The detection gear on offer now was far more advanced than it had been in its early years, and Roy guessed that much of it would also have been upgraded and replaced as time passed by. He didn’t need the very best, but he knew that much of the old stuff worked perfectly well, and certainly more than good enough for what he and the lads needed.
He looked up several of the local jewellers’ telephone numbers, particularly those that he had previously been of some help to, and then began his calls. Most of the owners were glad to speak with him again, but most also had long destroyed their old security stuff and replaced it with the very latest modern equivalent. The sixth call was successful. The owner had only replaced the equipment three weeks ago, and still had the old electronics stored in the back of his premises. The kit that he had saved also included a small sound and voice detector, which was unusual, but very welcome to Roy. Remembering Roy well, the owner told him to collect it whenever he wanted. For Roy, that would be at opening time tomorrow. Best of all, the jeweller said that there would be no charge at all to Roy — a bottle of fine red wine would do nicely.
Roy’s next call was to the landlord of the Pilgrim’s Arms. Hearing his voice, Roy was glad to realise at once that he had known the publican for several years, and Bert Stephenson quickly agreed to see him in the morning, right on opening time, the following day.
Roy’s final calls were to Roy, Reg and Frank. After a quick update to each of his friends, they all gladly agreed to meet outside the Pilgrim’s Arms at eleven thirty.
*
Roy parked up in a small street, around the corner from the Pilgrim’s Arms, at ten forty-five, deliberately out of sight of the pub itself. His newly acquired equipment was now stacked together in a medium-sized cardboard box. The box wasn’t too heavy, and he was easily able to lift it from the boot without help. He waited until ten fifty-five, and then locked the car. Carrying the box in his arms, he walked the short distance to the pub’s huge and old solid oak door and tapped it gently with his hand. Within seconds the door lock rattled with the sound of keys being inserted and twisted, and then a few moments later, Roy was face to face with the landlord.
“Good to see you, Bert. You’re looking very well.”
“Thanks mate. It’s good to see you too, Roy.”
“How are things going in the Pilgrim’s Arms?”
“Very good, thanks. You know what it’s like here in the season. Mainly brilliant — occasionally crazy — but that’s Blackpool.”
Roy laughed loudly, then slipped in through the open doorway, and carried the box into the lounee, placing it carefully on one of the currently empty tables.
“I haven’t much time to explain,” opened Roy, “but I know you’ll understand when I tell you quickly what I’m doing. You get an outfit that comes in here regularly — the Harrison mob.”
“Too true, we do,” nodded Bert. “They’re not good for business, that’s for sure. Just a bad bunch of noisy, ill-mannered buggers. I’m always glad to see them gone.”
“You don’t need to worry, mate; nothing bad is going to happen today. I’ll be in later, with a few of my old retired pals from my days in the force. We’ll all be dressed like typical holidaymakers. Jeans, T-shirts, cowboy hats, maybe an odd fake moustache or two. Without being in any way obvious, Bert, we’d like to get a good look at Harrison’s lot from close up, and I know that they come in here regularly, usually around midday. It’s probably much better if you don’t know anything about why we are here, so we’ll just sit at a table and look like a bunch of old fellas having a chat and a couple of pints. Do the Harrison mob usually sit at the same table?”
“Yes. It’s usually the big one up against the back wall. I guess they use that one because they can always see the entrance and the whole of the inside from there. As well as that, there is also a rear fire door close by, which gives them another fast exit option.”
“OK. If it’s OK with you, I’m going to put a gadget underneath the table top by the back wall. It’s very small, and it won’t be seen. If by any chance I pick the wrong table because they decide to sit somewhere else, it won’t matter. I can come back and do it another day if I need to. The gadget is very small and will clip on underneath the table centre. I have a tiny, black camera, also, which I’d like to fix out of sight in the very corner of those thick black beams overhead. There’s no light on the camera, so there is no way that anyone will see it up there in the darkness. Whilst my three pals and I are in here, we may also take a couple of quick snaps of each other, just like the holidaymakers do when they’re out visiting the pubs. Apart from that, we’ll be doing nothing unusual, and I promise that we’ll just look and beha
ve as normally as we can. Just a bunch of old pals having a fun day out at the seaside. Please remember, Bert, that just for the time that we’re here today, you don’t know me or any of my pals.”
“Right you are, mate, and whatever you’re doing, I wish you all the very best. I for one would be definitely glad to see the back of those buggers. By the way, I’ll bring out the step-ladders, so that you can reach up and get under the beams. It won’t take long, will it, Roy? If they do come in today it will be very soon.”
“I’ll get the stuff out now, Bert. It’ll take no more than a couple of minutes to fix them up.”
The two men shook hands warmly and Roy moved quickly and intently to the cardboard box, removing two very small black plastic units. Five minutes of good work right now could pay big dividends.
CHAPTER 14
At eleven-fifteen, Roy exited the Pilgrim’s Arms through its normally infrequently used rear delivery door, and casually walked along the narrow alleyway the short distance to his car, placing the now empty cardboard box back in the boot and out of sight.
“So far, so good,” he muttered to himself, as he locked the car again, and once more began the brief walk back to the pub. This time, as he expected, the big entrance door was already wide open, and he stepped straight across the welcome mat, casting his eyes directly at the preferred table, immediately spotting Frank, Reg, and Roy. Their timing had been immaculate. Bert was already standing by them, a note pad in one hand, a pencil in the other, busily writing down the orders. Roy was glad to see that all the lads had dressed down. All were very casual, and each one wearing clothes that looked as though they had seen much better years. They certainly wouldn’t stand out in any crowd.