Queen of Green (Queen of Green Trilogy Book 1)

by V E Rooney

  There’s nothing more I can do. I feel like I’m slowly deflating and shrinking as I open the car door and clamber inside. I can’t look at Richie. I can’t speak. It’s like the ground and the sky are coming together to crush me into nothing. Richie starts the motor without a word and drives around the back of the service station. Instead of going onto the westbound slip road back onto the motorway, he takes a cheeky diversion through the out-of-bounds access road which links the two separate areas of the service station underneath the motorway. From there, he drives eastwards onto the M62 in the direction of Manchester before slipping onto one of the A roads and then onto some of the B roads. It will be another hour before he turns the car around once he’s confident that we’re not being tailed.

  I do my duty. I diligently check the mirrors although right now I feel like there’s no fucking point.

  I did what I was supposed to do. I did what I was told to do should this situation ever arise. My fate now lies in Sean’s hands. Past ties, loyalty, friendship and sentimentality count for nothing now. He could kill me just as easily as he’s killed everyone else who has provoked his wrath. I’m under no illusions about that.

  During the drive into Liverpool, I mentally bolster my case by outlining why I did what I did, why I was prepared to wave goodbye to 230 kilos of Venezuela’s finest. But it doesn’t help to make me feel better. Is there any point in trying to feel better? I took my action, and now I have to face the consequence of that action, whatever it may be.

  The crew rendezvous is set up at the lock-up off Princes Road. Richie skids the car to an abrupt stop outside, almost launching both of our heads at the windscreen. He’s out of the car before the momentum throws me back into my seat. I unclip my seatbelt and open the door. The effort of it, the way my body suddenly feels like it weighs 10 tonnes, is an indication that I’m close to approaching a mental shutdown. I’m pretty much on autopilot at this point, just going through the motions.

  I make my way to the entrance of the lock-up. Paul is outside on guard duty. I’m expecting a tirade of abuse from him but he’s silent. As I draw level with him, he just raises both eyebrows and puffs his cheeks out. He follows me into the lock-up and shuts the door.

  The scene in front of me is like every stereotypical showdown meeting I’ve seen in all those mobster films. A circle of chairs in the centre of the room, a ring of angry grimaces all looking at me, illuminated by a sorry single light bulb swinging overhead. As one, all the lads start throwing their worst at me.

  I hope you’ve got a good fucking reason for this, girl. A fucking spectacular reason.

  You know you’ve just lost us millions, you fucking stupid cow.

  I told you it was bad luck having birds on jobs like this.

  The utterer of that last gem was Baz. A spark of anger deep within me ignites my resolve. “I didn’t hear you fucking moaning when I was bringing the money in. Fucking shithouse,” I yell at him before turning my fire on the rest of them. “You know what? Get it all out of your systems, lads. Because I’ll give it back to you twice as fucking hard.”

  Just then, there is a bellowing shout from the back of the room.

  “YOU LOT. SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

  Sean steps forward out of the shadows. The lads comply although I can still hear a few muttered insults of cunt, twat and bitch as he steps into the circle.

  “Sit down,” Sean says to me, pointing to the only empty chair in the ring. I take my place next to Richie and Gary. Straight away, Richie is up and out of his seat.

  “No, mate. Not fucking sitting next to her. I’ve had her for the last 24 fucking hours already. Fuck that. Baz, get up, lad.” Baz dutifully swaps seats with Richie. Richie is now sitting directly opposite me. He’s eyeballing me. Stare as much as you want, lad. All of you. You can all stare as much as you fucking want.

  Sean stands in the centre of the circle. He looks at each of us as he speaks. His voice is calm and composed.

  “The first thing I want to say is well done. Well done for being organised, for remembering the drill, for being efficient.”

  He turns to look at me.

  “The second thing I want to say…Ali. Start explaining yourself.”

  Here goes. I outline everything that happened, from the lorry being late leaving the docks, to the dodgy car on the motorway, to the lorry driver acting weird.

  “How many runs have we done with this driver?” I say, reminding everyone that if anyone knows the score in this particular situation, it’s me. “And all of a sudden, on this run, he’s sitting there in his cab looking like he’s scared to move.”

  Shouts from the crew:

  Are you taking the piss? Fucking bollocks.

  Fucking seeing things, you are, you need your head tested.

  For fuck’s sake, what a load of shit.

  Sean tells them to shut up. He turns to Richie.

  “Richie? Wanna give us your version?”

  Richie, still shaking his head at me, lets rip.

  “You know what, mate? You know what? This is all bollocks. All the way from the docks to here, there was nothing. Nothing following us. No fucker was keeping tabs on us. There was nothing at the service station. Nobody was watching us. This one,” he says, jabbing his finger in my direction, “has just dumped our fucking shipment for no fucking reason. No fucking reason at all, mate.”

  Sean remains where he is in the circle. He looks down for a few moments, slowly nodding his head at nothing in particular. Then he turns to me. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me. A few moments of silent intimidation.

  “We’ve spoken to the driver,” he says. “He doesn’t know what the fuck you’re on about. He says he was late leaving the docks because the van in front of him on the ferry broke down. That’s why he was late, he says. So now, Ali, he’s on his way back down south as per protocol. Do you know how much of a fucking pain in the arse this is?”

  Fuck you, Sean. My voice is angrier than I expected it to be.

  “Yeah, Sean, I do. You know, seeing as I arrange logistics and all that. Did you or did you not tell me that I was your eyes and ears? The second I see something dodgy, I call it off. That’s what you fucking told me. I was just following your orders. And speaking of protocol, you didn’t follow it. Not only did you call me on the mobile, once a shipment is dumped, you don’t speak to the driver. You cut him off and act like he never existed.”

  It’s like I’ve just slapped Sean across the face. He stares at me wide-eyed. Before he can say anything, some of the crew pipe up. Richie is first.

  “You fucking hard-faced cunt!”

  Then Gary and Baz.

  “It’s a good fucking job we did get hold of the driver, at least we know now you’re full of shit!” says Gary, pointing at me.

  “Maybe you should stay at home in future, love, it’s better that way,” Baz adds.

  Sean yells at everyone to shut up. He takes a few steps towards me. He bends down so that his face is level with mine.

  “Don’t you dare get fucking cocky with me, girl. Don’t,” he says, glowering at me, his voice growling with barely-controlled rage. Then he turns to face the others.

  “It’s not a write-off. We haven’t lost anything. But I’ve got a few calls to make. Debrief over. Go on, fuck off, the lot of you.”

  The crew don’t hesitate to get up on his command. There are a few hushed questions between the crew as they make their way out.

  Pint?

  Yeah, Devonshire House? There’s this dead fit bird behind the bar. Reckon I’m in, you know.

  See you there in 30, yeah?

  Of course, I’m not invited to this impromptu get-together. For a moment, I think that Sean wants me to stay behind so he can pick my brains properly without the crew jumping all over me. But he doesn’t look at me. He heads to the door of the lock-up and leaves without a backward glance.

  Outside the lock-up, one by one, the crew depart in their motors. Paul and Lee are chatting animatedly about somethin
g as they drive off. Both of them looking at me through the windscreen. Within seconds, I’m alone outside the lock-up.

  For the first time in ages, I begin to doubt myself. And so begins my forced exile from the crew.

  A month later, I was back in Sean’s good books. Oh, I’d still been taking care of the crew’s business but I was the proverbial social pariah. Nobody wanted to come near me in case they caught a dose of failure. Sean blanked me every time I tried to call him. Paul and Lee were on my side but they both said that it was best to wait for Sean to get his head together. How did that happen?

  Oh, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that it was something to do with our abandoned shipment of coke being found by Kent Police, which they proudly showed off on the evening news two days after I had made the call to dump it. That was just a little too convenient for my liking. On top of that, it appeared our trusty lorry driver was not answering his phone. Nobody could get hold of him. Let’s just say my spidey senses were twitching big time. But Sean didn’t want to hear it. He wanted me to stay away.

  It was a few weeks after that. After hearing nothing from him in almost a month, Sean basically begged and pleaded with me to meet up with him until I got so sick of his whining that I invited him over to my place. Things were a bit frosty at first, we weren’t really sure what to say to each other.

  So Sean being Sean, he just gets straight to the point.

  “So yeah…the reason I’m here…I was at the Freemasons earlier in the week.” Ooh… he’s putting aside his usual reticence to talk about all things Masonry-related to me, a mere female who by possession of a vagina is not allowed into this mystical, esoteric fraternal society.

  “So the Mason stuff is over with and we’re all in the bar afterwards. That’s where the real Mason business takes place, girl. Yeah, it’s all fucking bollocks beforehand. Fuck knows why we have to dress up like a load of Egyptians but some of the old fellas are really into it, you know? It’s like an old geezer school play, all the costumes and the rituals. They love it. Anyway, in the bar, I meet up with my mate George. George is a very respected detective inspector so I make sure his palm is always greased, know what I mean? He’s my Police goldmine, he is. No busy gossip gets past George, and if it’s useful to me, he’ll pass it on. So we’re having a chinwag at the bar…”

  “I hear you had a little spot of bother recently. Delivery gone awry,” George says.

  “Oh yeah? How did you hear about that?”

  “A little birdie told me. I want to emphasise, Sean, that this little bird is not of our locale, if you get my meaning,” George says.

  “No?”

  “Oh, the natives are doing their best to keep up with your activities up here. No change there.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything else from Merseyside’s finest, George.”

  “Merseyside’s finest? God help us all if that’s the case. Anyway, as you know, Sean, your particular activities don’t come under my remit. But I stumbled across something very, very interesting. Something which has the potential to throw a rather large obstacle into your path.”

  “Oh yeah? Should I be worried?”

  “Mmm, it’s something that you need to take into account. If you wish to carry on your business unimpeded.”

  “Go on, George. I’m all ears.”

  “This little bird belongs to another force. I was attending a meeting with some of our brethren down south. This little bird let slip that a small team of Merseyside officers – and I want to stress that I don’t know who they are – were very recently transferred down south.”

  “Really? To which force?”

  “Well, Sean, this is the very interesting thing. They haven’t transferred to another force. My contacts in the south are unaware of any new officers joining their ranks. I want to emphasise something, Sean. I do not yet have any confirmation of this so it is all complete supposition and speculation on my part.”

  “Go on, George.”

  “It is my strong belief, Sean, that this team of Merseyside officers has been seconded to Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise. They are part of what I believe to be a new dedicated cross-agency task force, one which is tasked with putting an end to your operations.”

  Sean pauses for a bit, shaking his head. “You know what, girl, when he told me that, I felt like the floor was falling out beneath me. I was fucking gobsmacked. Suddenly, everything started to make sense.”

  The fucking cuzzies. Of course. It had to be the cuzzies.

  “Oh, fucking hell,” I say to him. “Customs? Shit.”

  “Shit indeed, girl. Anyway, so me and George are still chinwagging, right? So he says to me…”

  “Sean, I cannot say with 100% certainty that this team was tracking your abandoned delivery. What I do know, however, is that afterwards there were some very rancorous debriefings taking place down south, debriefings during which it was mentioned that this particular task force was whiskers away from catching someone with their hands all over an expected consignment. It appears that one of the, shall we say, chaperones of this shipment realised that the shipment was being tracked and called off the handover just at the moment when this task force was preparing to move in and make arrests. If that is the case, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility to consider that a new front has been opened up against you. Once again, I cannot say with any certainty that this task force was tracking your shipment. But it is my strong belief, Sean, that you are now very firmly on their radar. Far be it from me to tell you how to conduct your business, but if it is the case that Merseyside officers are working with Customs, the rules of your particular game have just changed in a very significant way. In a way that could have a serious impact on all of us.”

  “Christ, George.”

  “Sean, I will of course do what I can to glean some more information from my contacts. But in the meantime, I would strongly advise you to cease and desist with any more deliveries until I can ascertain the facts.”

  “George, I can’t thank you enough. I owe you.”

  Sean finishes his anecdote and looks at me. “So that was that. Chinwag over. Did the funny handshake and then we fucked off.”

  “So I was right,” I say with a hint of triumph in my voice, although the gravity of the situation is not lost on me. “We were being tailed.”

  At least he has the decency to look a bit shame-faced. “I’m sorry, girl. You were right all along. If it wasn’t for you…fuck, girl.” He smiles at me.

  Crew meeting a few hours later at the Huyton warehouse, where Sean will break the news to the rest of the crew. I cannot wait to see the look on Richie’s face. Fucking arsehole. I walk into the warehouse feeling like I’m coated in Teflon and titanium. I am impervious to the sarcastic greetings and the blatant snubs, the sideways glances and open sneers of condescension. Enjoy your gloating while you can, wankstains.

  Paul is walking round with a plastic bucket to collect everyone’s phones and pagers. New protocol in light of recent events. Everyone’s phones and pagers get swapped out every three days instead of every other week. They’re all getting destroyed in case the cuzzies were listening in. But this isn’t enough to stop crew protestations.

  Aw, mate, I only got this yesterday.

  Do you know how much these are?

  Fuck’s sake. May as well go back to using fucking pigeons.

  Sean gets everyone in a circle again. I’m doing my best to look blank and innocent, like I don’t know what he’s about to tell them. I also don’t want to appear vindicated when he does tell them. There will be no told-you-so taunts from me. All I want is for things to get back to normal as soon as possible.

  There’s Richie, still eyeballing me. I smile at him. He mouths the word cunt at me and then looks away. Twat. I don’t even get to waggle my little finger at him.

  Sean hushes everyone. He inhales deeply, exhales and drops the bomb.

  “The busies weren’t tailing us,” he begins. He can’t even start on the next sentence b
ecause Richie jumps out of his seat and within three strides is inches from my face.

  “I fucking knew it! You fucking stupid cunt!” he screams at me. The veins on his forehead look like they’re about to burst open. His face has gone the colour of a shitting baby. For a second I actually think he’s about to strike me. Some of the other lads are standing up and are trying to get him to back off.

  Rich, take it easy, lad.

  Come on Richie, there’s no need for that.

  But he’s not listening to anyone. Not even to Sean who is trying to get his attention.

  “Rich? Richie?”

  “This fucking cunt,” Richie says, bending over towards me, his finger inches from my face. “How much have you cost us, eh? You fucking bitch, you useless fucking…”

  “Richie! Pack it in!” Sean yells, but Richie wants to have his say. Tell everyone what he really thinks of me.

  “No! Don’t fucking tell me to pack it in!” he screams at Sean, spinning round to face him, his arms flailing like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Why is she here? Why is she here, Sean? Yeah, she’s brought in a few brewsties. So fucking what? Big fucking deal. It would’ve happened with or without her. Fucking birds, they don’t belong in this game. Why is she here, Sean? Answer me that, mate. What’s happened to you, Sean? She must give a fucking good blow job, that’s all I can say.”

  “Richie. You are this fucking close to the line, lad,” Sean warns him. But Richie is only just getting warmed up now.

  “Only fucking thing she’s good for,” Richie spits, turning back towards me. “Tell you what, bitch, make yourself fucking useful. Get your tits out for the lads, go on.”

  He goes to touch my chest. The fucker is actually trying to touch me. I react without hesitation. Up comes the palm of my hand, into his nose it goes. His head snaps back. It all happens so quickly that some of the lads don’t even see what’s happened. It’s only when Richie wheels around with blood trickling down his face that they get it.