The Burnley Boys

by Drew Black

  "I wish I felt the same way as you about all this, but the truth is I don't, and what's more, I don't believe I ever will." Jack sighed and lay back in his chair, Tom went over and squatted by his side. "You will get used to it Jack; I promise. I genuinely think we've seen the worst of what it's got to offer. What with last night and that shitty training camp. Things will get better, you'll see."

  "Do you think Jimmy deserved to die Tom, honestly?"

  "Yes, I do. Traitors must be made an example of. What if it was someone passing war secrets to enemy, what would you think then?"

  "Come on Tom, that is completely different."

  "No! No, it's not Jack, it's exactly the same. And don't think that Jessop's deranged just because of what he did. On the contrary, he did it to protect us all, to protect the syndicate."

  Jack let out another long sigh. "I don't know Tom, maybe you're right. It just sounds so different the way you put it, I just don't want to spend the rest of my life living in fear, that's all."

  Tom stood up. "You won't spend the rest of your life living in fear Jack, not as long as you are a part of the syndicate."

  "I hope you're right about that, but what about this Briggs character, he sounds a real nasty bastard."

  "Listen Jack, trust me, Eddie Briggs won't come up here looking for trouble, it's all bravado. He's got enough on his plate in Manchester and Liverpool which are ten times more lucrative than the rest of Lancashire put together. This is peanuts in comparison, besides which it's too rural and spread out. In other words, it's too much hassle for someone like him. And don't forget Jessop's got Shards and Cheeseman in his pocket, that must count for something."

  Jack nodded. "Okay." he said. "Listen, I could do with a pint, do you fancy buying me one?"

  "That's the spirit." Tom said rubbing his hands together. "Just think Jackie-boy in a couple of years’ time, there'll be no more brown ale and whippets, it'll be pink champagne and strippers all the way."

  Jack laughed; "If I were you Tom, I'd stick to the brown ale and whippets. We're in enough shit as it is, without getting Helen on our case!"

  12

  Quilter read the instructions on the bottle carefully. He unscrewed the cap and poured a generous helping of the liquid into his left palm before massaging it into his scalp. "This better fuckin' work." He mumbled to himself as he took his comb from off the sink and began combing the dye through his hair. He felt his chin. It was now smooth to the touch and a world away from his usual unshaven look. Something was going down with The Seedmore Park Gang, he could just feel it, but his men, wankers, couldn't find out what it was, so, he’d decided to take the bull by the horns, and find out for himself. If you wanted a job doing, and all that. As far as he was aware, no-one from Briggs’s mob knew him, but then again, for all he knew, Briggs could already be in possession of a shit load of pictures of him because he felt sure that there were more Jimmy Tolson's in their midst, it was just a matter of rooting them out, that was all.

  Quilter spent the required twenty minutes waiting for the dye to work thumbing through The Daily Mirror; There'd been seven arrests at a CND rally in London, but no charges had been brought. Tossers, they could lock the lot of them up and throw away the key, as far as he was concerned. Hippy fuckin' do-gooders. Artic conditions to hit Britain. Oh great, that's all I need. He flipped through to the sports section. Charlton double puts United top. Bobby Charlton’s ninth and tenth goals of the season took Manchester United two points clear at the top of the First Division. A delighted Charlton said after the game ... Quilter's interest waned. He could not afford for any of The Boys to see him in his new guise because he knew that if he messed up this operation, for whatever reason, he would be history. He had to give Jessop his due mind, he'd agreed to keep all of his movements on this op confidential, even from the board. The official line was he was away on business abroad, which was believable because it was common knowledge within the syndicate that Jessop was far from happy with how his business interests in Europe were being handled. Dave Jenkins had been put in charge of his department in his absence. Jessop was even feeding back fictitious progress reports to key personnel to keep them off-sent. It wasn't water-tight, but it would have to do.

  Quilter felt relieved that Jessop was finally beginning to realise that everything in the syndicate's garden was not quite as rosy as he'd previously imagined it was. Tolson had been a major shock to Jessop, but one hell of a coup for himself. He had to be careful though because the whole episode had made Cheesman look poor, for not discovering Tolson earlier, and Cheesman was livid about it. And the last thing he needed was bad blood from an asshole like Cheesman. However, bad blood or no bad blood he still couldn't resist having a little smile about it.

  Quilter checked his watch and returned to the bathroom. He rinsed his hair over the bath and then vigorously towel-dried it. He stood with both hands on the sink and gazed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Jesus." he said and was mildly surprised that his refection mimicked the profanity. Quilter laughed, this was unreal, only now could he see the true results of the starvation diet he'd imposed upon himself over the last few weeks. The blonde hair made him look positively gaunt. Was it good enough though, would it fool Briggs? Well one thing was for sure, he would find out soon enough.

  Quilter gathered his thoughts as he drove along the road, Newcastle 5 Miles the sign read. Not far now, he thought as his heart rate began to pick up. This was a risky move though, even by his standards, maybe it was too risky. He could always turnback without losing face. It had always been a long shot anyway, there were just too many things that could go wrong. He could say that the target already left or something. Jessop would understand, he'd have to besides which he couldn't see him putting his ass on the line like this. Well, on reflection, maybe Jessop would because, like him, he was also a bit of a mad fucker, but none of the others would have the stomach for it. What the hell had he to gain from this though, would Jessop think any better of him if he managed to pull it off? Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't, but one thing was for sure though; he'd be pretty hard-pressed not to give him the deputy's job when Emerson stepped down. Jessop had said he would not elect Emerson's successor for at least six months, so that it would give the newer board members a chance to stake a claim for the position, in other words he didn't want Neville Hunter, the numb bastard, to get the job. No, Jessop wanted Jack Davies, but Quilter thought that he was definitely swaying Jessop's feelings in his favour. The Tolson result had been massive, and although Quilter respected Jack whom he considered to be much sharper than Tom-- 'I'm so popular, but thick as pig-shit'—Ford. He sensed his heart wasn't really in it. Oh, he made the right noises, and in fairness, came up with some good ideas. However, he didn't live and breathe the syndicate, not like he and Jessop did.

  Quilter pulled the car over into a layby and paused. you know you don't have to do this Dave, he told himself, but what about all the effort and planning. Also, an opportunity like this may never arise again. He amended hid last thought to WILL never arise again. He mustn't think about all the things that could go wrong, instead he must focus on doing the job right. He unfolded his map and pinpointed his destination.

  Quilter drove up Maple Road... 29, 37, 41, 45... "Got ye." He parked his car twenty yards further along the road and killed the engine. His heart felt as though it was going to pop right out of his mouth. He took a moment to compose himself, he breathed deeply, covered up his blonde hair with a cap, leant over to the glove compartment and opened it. He took a quick look around before removing the gun. He double checked that the safety was engaged before burying it in one of his coat pockets. Quilter opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. He'd better lock it, he thought; he'd heard the Geordies were a right set of thieving bastards. He approached number forty-five which was a big old Victorian building that had been converted into flats. Quilter mounted the well-worn steps which glistened with rain. As he reached the top step, the door opened suddenly. Shit, his hea
rt felt as though it had just stopped. Two girls, early twenties he imagined, came out chatting and giggling. Nice tits he thought. 'Nice Tits' held the door open for him. "Thankyou." Quilter said giving her a warm smile. She smiled back at him giving him a quick up and down look before descending the steps to re-join her friend. She belted her coat and got beneath her friend's umbrella.

  Quilter entered the building paused for a few seconds before going back outside. He bent down as if to retrieve a dropped object, a pen maybe, and on his way up he quickly scanned the list of residents. Bingo! C. Moores - Flat 7, that was his baby. Quilter went inside and closed the door. He climbed the stairs trying to act as natural as possible. He cursed under his breath; he could find every fuckin' flat bar number seven. Then he noticed a door that he'd previously dismissed as a broom cupboard. He approached it and saw a faded outline of a number seven where a brass numeral had once been. Obviously, the penthouse suite he thought sarcastically. He gave the door a gentle knock ... nothing. After a few seconds he knocked again. He was just about to have a go at the lock when he heard movement from inside. Jesus, take your fuckin' time Quilter thought struggling to retain his temper. The lock rattled and the door opened.

  "Craig Moores?" Quilter enquired in a non-committal tone.

  "Who wants him?" The blonde-haired man asked suspiciously.

  "I'm Bill Franklyn, Eddie Briggs has sent me." Quilter replied carefully removing the safety on the gun in his raincoat pocket.

  "Aye, come in gadgie, Ah thowt ye wa ganna meet weh at Manny train station tomorra."

  Quilter flicked the safety back on with his thumb and relaxed his grip. "Yeah, well I had some business not too far away, so Eddie said I may as well pick you up tonight."

  "Why didn't ye ring man a could've been ready four ye."

  Quilter thought shit, what the fuck do I tell him? "Well I tried a couple of phone boxes, but they were both out of order. Kids probably, you know how it is." his hand moved back to the gun.

  "Aye bloodee keeds they want stringin' up, ye naas. A blame the parents, myest of 'em danna gis a sheet."

  Quilter relaxed again, this might be easier than he'd imagined, this guy seemed as thick as two short planks, ye naas. Quilter stifled a laugh; "You got much packing to do Craig? Only we've got a long journey ahead of us. We'll check into a hotel in Manchester, just to ensure we're not late for Eddie tomorrow."

  "Na," Craig said sniffing his armpits, "A need a showa tho, a stink leek sheet."

  As the guy disappeared into the bathroom Quilter shook his head. He had to be careful not to become complacent though because this guy could be leading him up the garden path. However, instinct told him that he wasn't. He looked around the room; not much to show for twenty-three years, he thought. Mind you, his place was no palace either but that's the way he liked it. Besides, he had the cash, and lots of it. Probably more than this poor git had earned in his entire life.

  Ten minutes later Moores emerged from the bathroom rubbing his hair with a towel. "Am sorry a canna offers ye anthin' te drink leek, am cleaned oot what wi movin' an all."

  Quilter simply shook his head to indicate it didn't matter. "I need your address book, if you've got one Craig?" he ventured.

  "Wot te check up on me, see if am kosher?"

  "Exactly, it's nothing too heavy though, just procedure. Eddie's paranoid about new recruits, and rightly so, you just can't be too careful about people these days."

  "Na problem Bill, it's in tha drawer there."

  Quilter opened the drawer and found a slim green address book in between the Yellow Pages and a telephone directory. He showed it to Moores who nodded; "That's the one."

  Quilter thumbed through it, there were a hundred entries tops.

  Twenty minutes later they were heading out of Newcastle.

  "Mrs Phelps couldna beleeve er aan eyes. Er rent settled in stowed. Apparently, Mr Briggs didna want any loose ends at this seed." Moores said.

  "Eddie." Quilter amended. Moores looked at him questioningly.

  "It's Eddie, he doesn't like formality.

  "Ah a ken."

  "We may as well go through the address book now, save time later."

  "Anythin' ya syah Bill ya knows best. Am a rookie as far as aal this lot’s concerned man."

  Quilter smiled to himself, was this guy for real? If he asked him to chop his own dick off, Quilter felt sure that he'd do it. He mustn’t become complacent though, he knew only too well how situations could change in a heartbeat. "Thanks for driving Craig, I'll take a turn later."

  "Ney bother Bill."

  "I'll just switch the tape recorder on." Quilter pressed the play and record buttons simultaneously and the spools began to turn lazily. "Right, Jim Andrews, Firbank Road; tell me about him."

  Approximately two hours later Quilter felt confident that he had a pretty good summary of the life and times of one Craig Moores. More importantly, he had a tape full of Geordie-speak. Some fuckin' crash course this was going to be. He glanced at his watch; in just over twenty hours he would be setting foot inside the lion's den. He had been practicing the accent by listening to Bill Humphries, a Geordie character, who had a show on Radio Five, but his accent was still some way short of convincing--twenty hours and counting.

  Fear made up his mind for him, he could not afford to waste any more time. "Pull over Craig, I'll drive the rest of the way." Quilter said.

  "Na yer aal reet Bill, I'm canny."

  Quilter bit his tongue; "You don't understand Craig, it's an order. You need to rest up, you've got a big day tomorrow."

  Craig pulled over.

  After bundling Moores's body into the boot Quilter took a deep breath, gave his clothes a quick once over, and got back into the car. For the rest of the journey Quilter listened to the tape of his recently deceased driving companion. He wasn't over concerned with memorising his life story, he could do that later, what he focused on was the phonetics of the Geordie accent. He practiced saying hello to Eddie Briggs and was disappointed at his efforts, so much so that he banged the steering wheel in frustration. He banged it so hard that he almost lost control of the vehicle. Quilter barely noticed though; he was too immersed in becoming the man he had just murdered. Well, he thought, the customised version at least, it would be difficult enough pulling the stupid accent off without having to learn how to act that lame as well.

  He reached the gates of Jessop's estate and beeped his horn in the pre-agreed sequence. He was about to beep again when he saw headlights coming down the driveway. Jessop unlocked the gates and beckoned for him to drive through.

  They transferred the body without speaking. Quilter got back in the car and wound the window down.

  "Good luck Dave,"

  Quilter nodded, "Thanks."

  "and remember, the slightest hint of danger and I want your ass out of there."

  "Okay John, I'll keep you posted."

  Quilter drove home to his flat with a dead man's voice for company.

  13

  Jack had agreed to go on a night out with Tom, Helen and Jane, but when the time came, he regretted his decision. He didn't want to give Jane the wrong impression. It wasn't so much that he didn't want a relationship with her, he simply didn't want a relationship at the moment full stop. However, he supposed it was only a few drinks, what harm could that do? He still fancied her though, she'd started to grow her hair again, and he thought that it really suited her.

  As Jack lay in the bath his mind drifted. The syndicate was now a part of his life. No, correction, it was his life. He worked for its leader and with some of its members, the people he socialised with were all in it, and he was certain if it allowed female members, he'd be seeing one of them. However, he was finally beginning to find his feet, just as Gerald Emerson told him he would. God, that seemed a long time ago, more like years than just a few months. Jessop was coming back around as well. He'd been a bit off with him in the aftermath of the Tolson incident, maybe he'd started to have doubts as to whether he co
uld cope or not. He wasn't sure, what he did know though was that Dave Quilter was certainly Jessop’s blue-eyed boy at the moment. He’d discovered Tolson and was now being tasked to sort out Jessop’s French operation. If Quilter could turn that around he would be odds on to become Jessops Deputy Commander-in-Chief. Jack shuddered at the thought. He lay back allowing his hair to dip into the water. The soap suds had been reduced to flat white shapes on the bath water's surface. He stared at them as they gently swirled.

  Steam rose from Jack's body as he dried himself down. He went into his bedroom, teeth chattering slightly, and fished out some clean socks and undies from his dressing table. He sat on his bed and put on his socks. The phone rang. Jack grabbed his dressing gown and went to answer it.

  "Darling I've waited so long for this moment, to feel your manly body close to mine."

  "Hi Tom."

  "You ready for a big night out then?"

  "Yeah, I suppose so."

  "Jesus, don't sound too enthusiastic about it, will you? Jane's here panting on the settee."

  "Tom, stop it!" Jack heard someone say. "She's not there is she?"

  "Nah, it's your sister who's doing the panting, Jane's not arrived yet."

  Jack sighed, and then smiled.

  "You alright, you sound a bit ill?"

  "No, I'm fine, I've just got out the bath that's all, and I'm sat here freezing my bollocks off."

  "Okay Bud, I'll let you go. We'll pick you up about eight."

  "Okay."

  "Oh, and Jack,"

  "Yeah."

  "Don't forget to put some clean underwear on, not that week-old stuff that you normally wear. Jane's a bit particular about things like that."

  "Tom come on. that's enough, and you better not be like this tonight."

  "Okay Helen, we're only messing around. Listen buddy I better go, I'm getting some serious earache here."

  "Okay, see you later." Jack hung up the phone and went back up to his bedroom to get ready.