The Takedown

by Ricky Black

  Target Part Two: The Takedown

  Ricky Black

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

  Tuesday 15 October 2013

  The streets of Hulme, Manchester were deathly quiet, a rattling wind shuffling the sparse leaves of trees. Only a few faces were out; kids in parkas and hooded tops mooching around, spitting on the floor and talking in loud voices. They were unaware they were being watched.

  A car at the bottom of the street idled with its lights off. The passenger, a brawny dark-skinned man with closely cropped hair scarred features, turned to the driver.

  ‘Are we gonna have a problem?’

  The driver shook his head. He was a dreadlocked killer known as K-Bar on the streets of Leeds. He tugged on a pair of weathered leather gloves. The criminals wore black jackets, combat trousers and plain black trainers. K-Bar stifled a yawn, a gun resting on his lap. In the dark car it was hard to see the livid bags under his eyes.

  ‘The right people know what we’re doing,’ K-Bar cocked the gun. ‘We’re gonna go through the back, nice and quiet.’

  Grimer nodded. Black balaclavas securing their faces, they moved. The youths glanced at them but didn’t speak. In silence they made their way to the back of a terraced house, Grimer keeping a lookout while K-Bar broke in. They checked their weapons and padded through the living room, silenced guns at the ready.

  Grimer approached the stairs, K-Bar covering as Grimer tested the steps for any noise. They ascended, searching each room. Approaching the master bedroom, they saw a flash before gunfire ensued. K-Bar ducked, Grimer following his lead. The gun-smoke made it hard to see, but they had been in similar situations before and their movements were fluid. The shooter’s aim was off, but they needed to be quick. Police were likely on route.

  ‘Cover me!’ K-Bar yelled, rolling into the bedroom. Grimer rose from his position, firing multiple shots in the shooter’s direction. K-Bar spotted the muzzle spray and picked his shots carefully. He hit the shooter who dropped with a scream. Hurrying towards the prone frame, K-Bar kicked the gun away, training his own on the shooter. The shooter wheezed, staring up at the figures, unable to recognise them.

  Grimer moved to flick on the bedroom light. They surveyed Brownie, gritting his teeth in obvious pain. They hadn’t seen the man since he’d fled Leeds after almost killing Lamont. His frame remained stocky, but his face seemed thinner. Living on the run hadn’t agreed with him.

  ‘You’re lucky we don’t have time to get deep,’ K-Bar snarled. ‘We took out your shit crew. Marrion’s gone, and Antonio squealed like a bitch when we put him down. You’re the one we wanted though.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn. I ain’t a punk,’ growled Brownie, eyes watering from pain, blood trickling from his shoulder down to his t-shirt.

  ‘Yeah, you are. You tried getting a kid to do your runnings, and you really thought you and that clown you worked for were gonna run our thing?’ K-Bar laughed, Grimer chuckling in his booming voice.

  ‘Fuck you. Go to hell.’ Brownie spat on the floor.

  ‘Let’s forget the talking then. You can hold this for Teflon.’ K-Bar fired, shooting Brownie twice in the head.

  Chapter One

  Monday 12 January 2015

  It didn’t feel real for Shorty. He was being driven towards the Leeds streets he’d always known, yet felt more disconnected than ever. There was no music playing, so he stared out of the window as Akeem drove in silence. Shorty knew nothing about the man, other than the fact he worked for Lamont.

  Akeem was probably around six-feet-tall, with a sculpted beard, short cropped hair and dark eyes. He’d shaken Shorty’s hand, asked if he was okay, then said no more. He was in the zone. Shorty knew the type. He’d been around street people all of his life. Shorty was sure there were hidden depths to Akeem; Lamont wouldn’t have him around otherwise.

  As the buildings and scenery melded into a blur, Shorty thought about Lamont. They hadn’t seen one another in over a year, but Shorty knew everything. Lamont’s shooting shocked him, but not much. They were at war, and Lamont had been an unfortunate, near-fatal casualty of events. The streets were temptresses. They lured fools with promises of riches and fame, but Shorty had seen many close to him fall, none more so than Marcus Daniels.

  Marcus, Shorty, and Lamont were like brothers. Marcus was a giant of a man who feared no one and took what he wanted from life. He and Shorty were formidable; they fought and even killed together. When Marcus was gunned down, Shorty lost a part of himself. Everything that happened since had only added to that.

  Shorty’s eyes grew heavy. He tried to force himself to stay awake, but the car started to swim, his eyes drooping.

  ‘We’re here.’

  A strong hand shook Shorty once. He jolted awake, following Akeem up a short driveway. Akeem firmly knocked three times, then walked into the living room of a detached house. The walls were a refreshing cream colour, the furniture smoke-grey. On the sofa staring into space was the man Shorty had come to see.

  ‘You need anything?’ Akeem asked. Lamont Jones shook his head.

  ‘Not right now. I’ll contact you shortly. Your time is yours until then.’ Lamont didn’t turn. Akeem nodded at Shorty and left. There was an awkward silence. Shorty examined the fixtures in the room. The layout was like Lamont’s old house, but more colourful; fresh red and pink flowers, various plants and paintings of sunsets on the walls. Shorty assumed this was down to Jenny’s presence.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ Lamont glanced at Shorty, who looked away after a moment. Lamont had a habit of doing that; assessing a person until they confessed their deepest, darkest secrets.

  ‘Brandy if you’ve got it.’

  Lamont headed to his drinks cabinet. He removed two glasses, then reached for a diamond-shaped bottle. Shorty’s eyes were immediately drawn to it. Lamont noticed.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  Shorty shook his head. It was the drink they’d shared the night of Marcus’s murder.

  ‘That’s fine.’

  Lamont handed Shorty a glass and sipped his own, closing his eyes.

  ‘Don’t tell Jen. I’m not supposed to be drinking.’ Lamont, motioned to his stomach as he took another deep sip.

  ‘Is she okay?’ Shorty asked. It had never been so difficult talking to his friend. He and Lamont hadn’t always agreed, but they’d never struggled to communicate. Now, Shorty felt like he was playing catch-up.

  ‘She’s works a lot, trying to grow her business. She keeps busy.’

  Shorty dumbly stood, not knowing how to prolong the conversation. Lamont sat, motioning for Shorty to do the same. Shor
ty slid into an armchair, wishing that he had a spliff, or a line of cocaine to make it all easier. He drank the cognac though, savouring the unique taste.

  ‘So . . . You’re out then,’ said Lamont. Shorty didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. It was still a surprise. One minute he was facing twenty years in prison for murder, stuck on remand. The next, the charges had been dismissed, and he was free. Whatever that meant.

  ‘Good looking out on them solicitors, man. They definitely earned their cash.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me. I wasn’t going to leave you languishing in there. I did everything I could to get you out.’

  ‘I know, fam. I’m sorry that I wasn’t around. When it happened.’

  Another awkward silence engulfed the room. Marrion Bernette, a Manchester gangster with a grudge against both Shorty and Lamont had orchestrated Lamont’s shooting. He and his team sought to divide them, sending shooters to end their lives. Shorty was forced to kill three people, and Lamont had been shot twice.

  ‘You were running for your life. If you could have been there, I know you would have been. How are you feeling?’

  The concern on Lamont’s face touched Shorty. He shrugged, noting how fragile Lamont appeared. His arms and shoulders looked thicker, but there was a haunted look in his once powerfully intelligent eyes. It daunted Shorty.

  ‘I feel disconnected, fam. Like I’m in my pad, looking at this shit through someone else’s eyes. I thought I was gonna be in that cage for the rest of my life. I was prepared for that . . .’

  ‘Amy’s doing well. So is Grace.’

  Shorty’s heart soared at the mention of his daughter. He hadn’t seen her since his arrest.

  ‘Bet she’s huge now.’

  ‘Cheeky too. I tried giving Amy some money on your behalf, but you know what she’s like.’

  Shorty did. Amy was wilful. It didn’t shock him she hadn’t taken Lamont’s money.

  ‘I’m gonna get myself cleaned up, then see them in a couple days. They still at the same house?’

  ‘We can see them tomorrow.’

  Shorty shook his head. ‘I need clothes, and my hairs all fucked up—’

  ‘Everything you need is in the spare room upstairs. We can stop at Trinidad’s first thing if you wanna get lined up.’

  Shorty genuinely smiled for the first time in forever.

  ‘You still always think of everything.’

  ‘That’ll never change, Shorty. You’re more than welcome to stay until you get yourself sorted. Jen’s fine with it.’

  Shorty doubted that. He and Jenny had never cared for one another, and in her position, he wouldn’t want a murderous thug around.

  ‘It’s cool, I’ll go lay at one of my older spots. Thanks though.’

  Lamont led Shorty upstairs, pointing to a door.

  ‘Your clothing is on the bed. I guessed at sizes. There’s a connecting bathroom, so take your time. You should have everything you need.’

  Shorty thanked Lamont and headed into the room. It had a similar cream decor to downstairs, and a rich, white bedspread. On the bed were two pairs of black jeans, a pair of trainers, shirts, and t-shirts, along with other bits and pieces.

  There was a thick envelope at the top, resting on the pillow. Shorty opened it, glancing at the stacks of notes. He tossed it back on the bed, then went to take a shower.

  Lamont was leafing through a book when Shorty re-entered the room.

  ‘You found everything?’

  ‘Yeah, boss. Good looking out for that cash. I’ll pay you back when I’m on my feet.’

  Lamont waved him off. ‘We’re brothers. Consider it a portion of your cut. You must be starving. Let’s go get some food, and I’ll bring you up to speed.’

  Jenny’s fingers lingered on the laptop keyboard as she stared into space. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Jenny shook her head, trying to shake the visions plaguing her. She needed to concentrate on the email she was sending. It was an opportunity to lift her dwindling business from near closure, and she had to make the most of it.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Jen?’

  Jenny shook her head. Nadia had been with Jenny for years. She’d had more staff, but was forced to let them go when business dried up. Jenny had built her business from scratch, establishing a name and a certain reliability that her clients respected. That went downhill when Jenny’s partner, Lamont Jones, was shot outside Jenny’s house the previous year. She cradled his body, sure he was dead.

  The aftermath was a blur. Jenny recalled K-Bar, one of Lamont’s soldiers, telling her everything would be okay, assigning men to guard her.

  Jenny practically lived at the hospital, eating little, watching as the love of her life underwent multiple operations. She had been a quivering wreck, sure that someone would come and finish the job.

  Jenny had taken an extended leave of absence from her florist business, leaving Nadia in charge. The poor girl had done her best, but there was too much going on, and the customers began to leave in droves.

  By the time Jenny was back on her feet, the business was on its last legs. She assumed control, but it seemed an uphill battle. Jenny needed to bring the clients back, and she was struggling to think what to do.

  A company had contacted her yesterday, requesting a large order for a charity benefit. Sensing she was desperate, they weren’t offering much money, but it was a good cause, and Jenny needed the positive publicity.

  Nadia closed Jenny’s office door. Jenny let out a sigh. Lamont had offered to put money into the business, but Jenny had turned him down.

  After leaving the hospital, it devastated Lamont to learn about the state of Jenny’s business. Insisting it was all his fault, he begged Jenny to let him be involved, claiming that he could get his business partner Martin Fisher to help her. Jenny refused, insisting she could do it herself.

  Lamont left her to it and focused on the business of getting stronger. He went to the gym as soon as the doctor allowed it, hiring a personal trainer and pushing himself harder than both Jenny and his doctors had liked. He moved them to a new house and tried to buy Jenny a new car. Lamont seemed determined not to let his injuries sideline him, insisting he was okay.

  And so, Jenny let him believe it. She pretended she couldn’t see him wincing sometimes when he moved too quickly. She pretended she couldn’t smell liquor when he would come to bed. They were both trying to find their way back, neither knowing how. For the past few months they had stumbled through.

  Lately, Lamont seemed more tense. He insisted he was stressed with business, but Jenny didn’t know if it was that simple.

  It was dark outside by the time Jenny locked up her premises and climbed into her ride. She wanted nothing more than a long bath when she got home. Lamont’s car wasn’t in the drive, so Jenny entered the house, running a bath and pouring various oils and soaps into the piping hot water. When the bath was set, she warmed up some spaghetti from the night before, forcing it down along with two glasses of white wine. She grabbed a book she’d started reading, lit a candle, and sank into the bath with a sigh of relief, distracted from her mounting issues for a short while.

  ‘Bring me up to speed then.’

  Lamont sipped his wine, weighing up his words. They had gone out to a restaurant in Garforth, fancying a longer drive. The place was full of people, with low lighting, black leather chairs, and mahogany tables. Lamont was already on his second glass, Shorty sticking to water. They’d ordered steaks, sitting in silence until now.

  ‘We took some hits. When I got shot, everything was up in the air.’

  ‘What about the money side of it? You had Chink running it, so didn’t that fall to pieces after he got slotted?’ Shorty asked. Years back, he would have been animated, wanting the drama. Now, he was merely curious.

  ‘We had contingencies in place. I moved a lot of things around after we fell out over the Georgia thing,’ replied Lamont.

  ‘Rapist bastard. I’m glad he’s dead. Have you spoken to h
er?’

  Lamont shook his head, his expression hardening.

  ‘Why not?’

  Lamont lowered his voice, though it was so loud with all the background conversations that it was impossible to overhear.

  ‘She was grinding him.’

  ‘Who was?’ Shorty looked nonplussed.

  ‘Georgia. She was sleeping with Chink. For years.’

  Shorty’s eyes widened. ‘How the hell do you know that?’

  Lamont didn’t reply. As Shorty waited, comprehension dawned on his face.

  ‘You didn’t . . .’

  Lamont sighed, ‘I caught them kissing years back. I told Chink to end it, or I would. I thought he had until Georgia told me everything.’

  ‘And you never told Marcus?’

  ‘Do you think Chink would have still been breathing if I had?’ Lamont finished his drink, ordering another.

  ‘What about K-Bar? He tried to come see me while I was inside, but I wouldn’t let him.’

  ‘I heard. K did well to steer the ship. He had everyone watching, waiting for him to fail. He stumbled a few times, but we made it through.’

  Shorty sensed from Lamont’s expression that there was more unsaid. Certain things seemed off with Lamont. Shorty had put it down to his accident, but he wasn’t sure. His friend seemed on edge, and Shorty wondered why.

  Their food arrived, and both men ate in silence. Shorty sprinkled extra salt and black pepper on the steak and began to tuck in. Until now, he hadn’t been hungry, but his appetite had returned with a vengeance.