The Takedown

by Ricky Black

  ‘Ring K-Bar. Tell him I said to call. We’ll find something for you.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that . . .’

  ‘Marcus was closer than family. He trusted you, and I shouldn’t have left you out in the cold. Blame the shooting.’

  Sharma nodded, humbled.

  ‘I need to ask you something though. I need you to be honest.’

  ‘Okay, L. I will. I swear.’

  ‘Reagan. Who got rid?’

  Sharma swallowed audibly, his eyes darting between the pair.

  ‘I was there, but Marcus hired cleaners. He needed to leave no trace, probably cos’ of where it happened. He knew how much you and the old man loved the spot.’

  ‘Do you know which cleaners?’

  Sharma again hesitated. His eyes widened slightly, probably regretting opening his door.

  ‘Some freelancers out of Gipton. They’re trustworthy though.’

  ‘Give me all the info you can on them. You can take down K’s number too.’

  Sharma rooted around for a pen and some paper. He stopped mid-search looking at Lamont, the fear and uncertainty dissipating.

  ‘L, I just want you to know, Marcus loved you like a brother.’

  ‘I need the name regardless, Sharma, but thanks,’ replied Lamont, noting how empty the words made him feel.

  ‘Are you really going to give him a job?’ Akeem asked Lamont when they left Sharma’s. Lamont intended to learn how Akhan had found out about Reagan’s murder. There was a camera fitted above the barbers, but he and Marcus had checked the footage, erasing anything connected to the day Reagan visited.

  Lamont thought back, recalling how nauseous he had felt after killing Reagan. He’d expected a massive outcry, but the work he and Chink had undertaken in smearing Reagan’s reputation paid dividends. Most people assumed Delroy had him bumped off. The police asked a few generic questions, and then they’d buried the case.

  That was why Akhan was able to blindside him, Lamont realised; complacency. He’d forgotten about Reagan until Akhan had brought him up again.

  ‘Sharma is a good soldier, and he’s loyal. If he cleans himself up, we can put him to work.’

  Akeem nodded, focusing on the road again. They had called around, pinpointing the exact location. The cleaners were three men in their late fifties. They had experience in the army and had been cleaning up messes resulting from disputes for years. A friend of a friend had given Lamont the address of the ringleader. He lived in a nondescript semi-detached house.

  As they pulled up across the road, Lamont could see a new model Vauxhall people carrier in the driveway.

  ‘I guess he’s in,’ said Akeem.

  ‘We don’t want him to feel threatened. Say nothing.’

  Lamont and Akeem made their way up the drive. Lamont knocked. A few moments later, a man with balding, silvery-grey hair and a ruddy face looked out at them with hawk-like green eyes.

  ‘Travers?’ Lamont spoke directly to the man who had answered the door.

  ‘Yeah. Don’t think we’ve met though, Teflon.’

  ‘How do you—’

  ‘I’ve been around enough people to know that you’re a force. Do you need something doing?’

  ‘I need information. Can we come in?’

  Travers gave Akeem a long look, sizing him up. Akeem met the stare. After a second, Travers stepped aside.

  ‘What do you need information on?’ Travers picked up a can of beer, but made no move to drink from it.

  ‘You knew a friend of mine. Tall-Man.’

  Travers gave no indication that he recognised the nickname.

  ‘He came to you for some work last summer, didn’t he?’

  ‘What if he did?’

  That threw a loop into Lamont’s questioning. Sharma had already confirmed that these were the cleaners Marcus had used. What could be really learn from this conversation?

  ‘Tall-Man paid for a job. Wasn’t the first time. We don’t ask more questions than necessary,’ continued Travers.

  ‘How secure is it?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Travers glared at Lamont now.

  ‘Someone knows about the job . . . Is there anything to find?’

  ‘No one could put that back together. Someone else must have given them the information. Otherwise, the person is lying.’

  Lamont wanted to be relieved. If the cleaner was being honest, there was no tangible evidence of Lamont’s misdeeds. It didn’t explain why Marcus would speak to Akhan though.

  ‘Has anyone else come to speak to you about this?’

  Travers nodded now. ‘This young Asian lad was here months ago.’

  Lamont straightened in his seat. ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Young, like I said. Lots of jewellery. Had a white Mercedes convertible. Tidy Asian bird in the front with him. She was stunning.’

  ‘Did he give you a name?’

  ‘Can’t remember it. Summat with an R. Gave me five grand too. For my time.’

  Lamont stood now, his head spinning with all the implications. The young man had to work for Akhan. He was sure of it.

  ‘Thank you for your time. Someone will drop something on you later. For your co-operation. And your silence. Got it?’

  Travers again nodded, and Lamont left.

  Jenny mooched around a coffee shop, sipping a bottle of water and staring into space. She didn’t want to go home. She and Lamont had eaten breakfast and sent vague texts through the day about potentially going out for dinner. Jenny hadn’t heard from Lamont since and decided she needed some alone time.

  Jenny had been to visit Martha several times since asking Lamont to attend a session with her, but the woman was sticking to the same line about Jenny leaving the past behind. Jenny wondered if that was what Lamont was doing.

  The disconnect between them seemed to grow. Shorty had said that she needed to remember how to talk to him, but it was difficult with Lamont. He could close himself off in a way Jenny had never experienced before.

  Ordering a scone and some jam, Jenny pulled out her phone and went onto the Internet. Remembering the business card Malcolm Powell gave her, she went onto his website, impressed with the black, gold and white layout. It was clear as she navigated that a lot of effort had gone into the design. She was surprised when checking out Malcolm’s latest blogs that he had mentioned the name of her business and posted a photo he’d taken of the arrangement she had made for him.

  Jenny smiled, distracted for a moment. She clicked on the most recent blog piece and settled in to read:

  Another day, another home invasion.

  Technically, this one occurred outside the home, but that shouldn’t discount the message. Two men dead, shot multiple times, and the police have no clue. One of the men, Kevin Roberts, or Big-Kev to his cronies on the street, was an overweight gangster who like so many others, peddled misery. He was a loan shark who lent money to people and crippled them when they couldn’t pay it back. He was immersed in this life and for a long time, no one touched him.

  Now, he’s dead, and while my thoughts go out to his family, I can’t claim to be sorry for his brutal murder.

  It ties back to what I’m saying; the criminals run this city of ours, and it goes much further than just pushing a few drugs and walking around in a new chain.

  What if innocents had been caught up in the crossfire of the shooting? It wouldn’t be the first time now, would it? When will someone hold the criminals so many of your children look up to, accountable?

  It’s not a good life! A life built on inflicting pain on others is never a good life, and should never be a measuring stick, nor should it be something to look up to. Yet, so many do! And they shouldn’t. Respect your mums, dads, Aunties and uncles and other family members that are breaking their backs to provide for you.

  I understand though; it’s difficult, clawing from the bottom, with temptation and fast money on every corner. I’m talking from experience because I grew up among it. I wanted more though, an
d I type these words as proof that you can do it the right way.

  In other news, Police recently seized a large quantity of drugs in the heart of Chapeltown. These were mostly class A drugs, and there were multiple kilo’s, enough to do a lot of damage to the community.

  I’m no friend of the police, and many of their actions relating to Chapeltown and other surrounding areas has been vile, but I applaud the seizure, and I hope it’s a step in the right direction towards ridding Chapeltown completely of drugs.

  I’ve heard people scoff and say it’s impossible, because too many people profit from the drugs trade, and to them I say this; maybe you should stop them.

  Jenny had to blink a few times after reading the piece, having forgotten where she was. She knew Malcolm could write, but this particular piece resonated with her.

  As Jenny finished her scone in silence and made her way home, she was still thinking about his words, and the obvious passion behind them.

  Lamont’s vehicle was in the driveway when she pulled up. He sat in the living room staring into space with a glass of brandy in his hand. He looked up when Jenny entered and gave her a wan smile.

  ‘Hey babe. Everything okay?’

  Jenny nodded. ‘I just went for a coffee after work. Everything okay with you?’

  ‘Yeah, just chilling.’

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’

  ‘I already cooked. I left you some in case you were hungry.’

  Jenny kissed Lamont on the cheek and padded to the kitchen. She found the pasta salad and warmed it up. When she’d finished, Lamont was still sat in his chair. She watched him from the doorway, noting how fatigued he looked. She wished she knew what was going on, but she hoped he would let her in.

  ‘I read an interesting article about Chapeltown today.’

  ‘Tell me more.’ Lamont put his empty glass down.

  ‘Someone named Malcolm Powell wrote it. Apparently he does a lot of work in the community.’

  ‘OurHood, yeah I’ve heard of them,’ replied Lamont. ‘What did the article say?’

  ‘Read it for yourself.’ Jenny found the page and gave her phone to Lamont. He read quickly, his face expressionless as he handed the phone back.

  ‘He writes well.’

  ‘Doesn’t he? I think growing up locally gives him more insight into what is going on. He’s passionate.’

  ‘You’ve met him?’

  ‘He came into the shop to buy flowers for his mum. Do you know him?’

  Lamont shook his head. Jenny watched him carefully, noting the tenseness of his jaw, and iciness of his eyes. Jenny couldn’t believe it; Lamont was jealous.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  Lamont stood and hugged Jenny, kissing her on the forehead.

  ‘I’m fine. Just tired. I’m gonna get an early night.’

  Lamont trudged upstairs, Jenny’s eyes on him the entire way. She frowned, thinking about Lamont’s reaction to Malcolm, and wondered if there was more to it. Lamont had been in that life for a number of years, and it was possible he’d drawn comparisons between Malcolm and himself.

  As Jenny collapsed onto the sofa, she wondered something else; how could Malcolm write about street politics with impunity? Everyone else was scared to speak out for fear of reprisal, but Malcolm not only seemed unconcerned, but appeared to go above and beyond to antagonise both criminals and people in authority.

  Jenny looked to the door one more time, then picked up her phone to read more of Malcolm’s work.

  ‘What time did you ask him to meet us?’

  Rigby and Murphy sat in Rigby’s grey Skoda. Rigby was looking out of the window as Murphy kept checking the time on his watch.

  ‘He’ll be here shortly. Relax and stop drawing attention to the vehicle.’

  They didn’t wait long. A man approached the ride with his head down and climbed in the back, a hood and cap obscuring his face. He pulled the hood down, breathing heavily.

  ‘Fucking hell. Dunno why I had to meet you lot all the way out here.’

  ‘Maybe because you don’t want people to know you’re working with us, did you think of that?’ Murphy spat. Terry Worthy waved him off.

  ‘Whatever. What do you want anyway?’

  ‘Don’t whatever me, you little prick,’ Murphy raged. ‘Don’t forget who you work for, and what we’ve got on you. You’re the scumbag who got caught trying to sell ounces to an undercover, so remember that and speak properly when you’re dealing with us!’

  ‘This all doesn’t matter,’ Rigby weighed in. Terry’s face was red with rage, as was Murphy’s. He needed to take over the talking before his partner did something stupid. ‘The focus here is putting the right people behind bars. Don’t you agree, Terry?’

  Terry nodded, shooting a dirty look at Murphy. Rigby grinned. They had caught Terry on a distribution charge and he had quickly begun working with them to avoid prison time. Terry was relatively low on the totem pole, but he had a relationship with Lamont and more importantly, he knew the rough shape of the organisation, which had helped them identify some key components.

  ‘What do you know about Kev’s murder?’

  ‘I know he was a fat bastard who took liberties with people.’

  ‘Tell us something we don’t know,’ said Murphy, still eyeing Terry.

  ‘How am I supposed to know what you know?’ Terry shot back.

  ‘Fine. Was your boss involved?’

  Terry seemed surprised by the question, scratching his patchy beard.

  ‘Kev definitely owed Tef some money. Ten, fifteen, twenty grand maybe, and he wasn’t rushing to pay it back. People said Kev was connected to some Manchester guys too, the same ones who shot up Tef’s sister’s gaff, so there was definitely bad blood.’

  Murphy and Rigby shared a look.

  So, who would Teflon use if he wanted to take him out?

  Terry shrugged. ‘I dunno. Serious. L never discussed that side of things with me. I couldn’t even get him to tell me his favourite colour, never mind which slotting crew he was gonna use to take out some loser.’

  ‘The last thing you want is us to think you’re not being useful, Terry . . .’ Rigby let his words hang in the air as Terry paled.

  ‘What do you want me to tell you?’

  ‘Who do you think L would use?’

  ‘Fine, K-Bar, If I’m guessing. Happy now?’

  Murphy and Rigby shared another look.

  ‘We’ve got work to do.’

  That afternoon, Lamont was surprised to get a phone call asking for a meeting. He made his way to a barbers near Harehills, Akeem at his back as he was led into a backroom.

  ‘I see you’re copying my style,’ he said to the man waiting for him.

  ‘Behave. I’ve owned this barbers for nearly thirty years. You’ve got a long way to go.’

  Lamont chuckled. ‘How can I help?’

  Delroy struggled to rise to his feet, but Lamont pretended he didn’t notice. He hadn’t seen the Kingpin in over eighteen months. He and Delroy always had issues, almost going to war at one point, but there was always an undercurrent of respect. Lamont was shrewd enough to know Delroy could have made a lot of situations more difficult for him and was grateful to the man for showing restraint. It was why he was here.

  Delroy shook hands with Lamont and Akeem, offering them drinks, which they declined. Delroy was by himself, which was a surprising sign for Lamont, and he wondered if he should take it in the spirit it was intended; Delroy trusting him.

  ‘I have a proposition for you.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I want you to run my team.’

  ‘Haven’t we had this conversation before?’ Lamont didn’t react. Delroy had tried many times to get Lamont to work for him, and even when Lamont was buying his drug supply directly from Delroy, he would still attempt to talk Lamont into it. Lamont enjoyed his position though and even when the offers increased to ridiculous monetary levels, he still refused.

  ‘
I’ll pay you an up-front fee. You’ll answer to no one, and I’ll only be included when necessary.’

  ‘Up-front fee?’

  Delroy nodded. ‘I’ll pay you one million pounds.’

  The offer was astounding, and far more than Lamont would ever expect Delroy to come up with.

  ‘What’s this really about, Del?’

  Delroy frowned. ‘Don’t you think I’m good for the money?’

  ‘I don’t doubt you have the money, I just think it’s a massive step. You must know about what happened to me.’

  ‘You got shot. So what? You’re still here, and I know you, L. Shit like this makes you better.’

  ‘Still doesn’t explain why you’d want me to work for you. The last conversation we had was basically us threatening one another.’

  Delroy sighed, his face lined and older than ever.

  ‘I don’t know how much longer I can go on. I need someone to teach Winston the game.’

  ‘You taught Winston though. He learned from you,’ said Lamont, his brow furrowed. He’d grown up with Winston, and thought he was an effective manager, but soft, allowing people, Lamont included, to take advantage.

  ‘The drug seizure was his fault.’

  ‘You mean he set it up?’

  Delroy shook his head. ‘I mean that he should have been paying attention. I left the day-to-day to him. He knows that the main spots either get switched up, or you plant them somewhere to allow you to see everything coming, and protect the fuck out of them. He didn’t do that. He left them the same, and people learned the pattern.’

  ‘Do you think someone tipped off the police?’ Lamont had spoken with K-Bar and Akeem regarding the situation, and both believed that Delroy had people in his camp working against him.

  ‘I had three people in mind who I thought might be responsible. Natty Deeds, and Lennox Thompson . . .’

  ‘That’s two,’ Lamont pointed out, as Delroy straightened in his seat and looked Lamont in the eye.

  ‘The third one was you.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Lamont didn’t even flinch. ‘Lennox doesn’t sell drugs though. In fact, he’s always been against them.’