Queen of Green (Queen of Green Trilogy Book 1)

by V E Rooney

  When I’m done poring over all this stuff, I place it all back in the bag being extra careful to place it back in exactly as I found it. For a second, I’m debating whether to take this stuff down to the nearest photocopy place but I can’t risk it. For all I know, Powell might have left this stuff here on purpose for me to find. I try to shove away my nagging paranoia but I ask myself why would Jimmy do that? Why leave this stuff here in his flat? What’s his fucking game?

  Jimmy, Simon, Peter Kenwood.

  Sean is dead.

  What the fuck is going on?

  ***

  My head is reeling from everything Reynolds has just told me. It takes me some time to get my thoughts together. Eventually I speak. She’s looking at me with the same impassive expression she had in her mug shots.

  “Alison…”

  “I know, I know,” she says, “you think I’m talking bollocks. You think I’m making all this shit up, that I want to throw up a shitstorm of lies and smears just to get revenge on the people who put me in here. I’m telling you the truth,” she says firmly.

  “Alison, I don’t think that you’re lying. It’s just…even if everything you’ve just told me is true…there is no way that my editor will publish this. I’m sorry but this is just how it is. In the absence of any actual proof or evidence of what you’ve just told me, I have no way to verify any of this. And even if you did have evidence? I’m sorry but…I’ve worked in the media for a long time. Believe me, I’ve heard plenty of rumours about lots of important people. I know of cases where there was evidence against people. Politicians being investigated by the Police, charges being prepared against these people, and all of a sudden, the case is dropped, the Police are told to look the other way and things carry on as before. Time and time again I’ve heard of journalists being pressured to stop nosing into other people’s business. Even if you did have evidence, I can say with 100% certainty that no media outlet will go near this. I’m sorry but that’s how it is.”

  “The good old establishment, eh?” she says wanly, looking down at the table and shaking her head. There is smile of resignation on her face but she looks downcast. Defeated, almost.

  “I’m not soft, alright,” she says, snapping back into life. “I know how it all works. The old boys’ network. The funny handshake club. I know no newspaper wants to go near this stuff. I’m not bigging myself up or anything but this stuff? It could bring down the government if it got out. Oh, never mind if a few kids got raped and tortured, eh? Can’t have that interfering with our lords and masters ruling over us, can we? I’m not telling you this because I want you to publish it. I’m telling you this because it’s the truth. It’s part of why I got convicted, even if none of this was mentioned at the trial. Oh, I told my brief the exact same thing I’ve just told you. He’s heard some rumours as well. And he said the exact same thing that you’ve just said to me. No one will touch this stuff. There was no way any of this could be brought up at the trial. I’m only telling you now because I trust you. And because it’s the truth.”

  “Alison, I believe you,” I say earnestly.

  “Good. Thank you,” she says.

  “Hang on,” I say, pushing away thoughts of politicians and paedophilia out of my mind. “Kenwood and Simon? They were photographed together?”

  “Oh yeah,” she says, brightly. “It was definitely those two. Together. I don’t know when or where this photo was taken but Simon looks to be around 24 or 25 at the time. It was his hairstyle, you see. He’d done away with the floppy Hugh Grant hairdo and had cut it. Oh, Simon’s a true blue, he is. Tory through and through. Oh, he didn’t talk to me about it. Knew I’d rip him a new arsehole if he started talking Tory bollocks to me. Do you want to hear something funny?” she says, leaning forward and placing her hands onto the table.

  “Dopey bastard has even joined the Conservative party. Last I heard, he was even planning to put himself forward as a parliamentary candidate. And, get this, right, this will make you piss yourself laughing. The twat’s not even an MP yet and he’s already being tipped as a future Tory prime minister. Can you fucking believe that?” she says, laughing with incredulity. “Simon? Student rave organiser and pill pusher Simon wants to be prime minister. Fuck me sideways and call me Susan. I laughed my tits off when I heard that. He’ll probably do it and all, the jammy bastard. He’s got the money and the right family, the right connections. Oh, you mark my words. He’s ambitious in all the wrong ways. Never me being an amoral bastard. Wait until that twat gets his hands on the country. I’m fucking emigrating if that happens.”

  Going through my file notes, I ask Reynolds about the final shipment of cocaine from Venezuela. She gives me a wan smile.

  “Yeah, that was the one. That was when it all came crashing down. Poetic justice, in a way. All we had to do was unload the shipment and drive it out of the gates, same way we’d done loads of times before. But no. This time, I fucked up. If I’d kept my head together? Chances are I wouldn’t be here talking to you right now. Nah, the universe had other plans for me.”

  ***

  Duty calls, in the shape of the Vasser, which is currently sailing across the Atlantic towards Liverpool. It’s carrying 520k of Charlie, the largest single haul we’ve put together so far. For me, this shipment is my last. I’ve had enough. It turns out I do have a conscience after all. Better late than never, eh?

  Yep, I want out. I don’t want to live this life any more. I don’t want to deal with the people in my life any more. Jimmy, Mr Chips, Simon, the Mendez lot? How can I do business with them when I can’t even look at myself in the mirror because I’m riddled with shame and self-loathing? How can I do business with people who rape kids for fun, making them even richer? How can I talk to them when every second of every hour, I’m looking at them, thinking:

  Jimmy? Was it you who killed Sean? Because he wouldn’t cough up the money? Because he was still the main man around town?

  Simon? We haven’t seen each other in ages, but you’re still in the ring, aren’t you? Still pulling profit on a regular basis, eh? What the fuck are you doing getting pally with a paedo? Are you one?

  Mr Chips. Oh aye. You are the veritable fucking puppetmaster, aren’t you? Look how you’ve got everyone dancing to your fucking tune.

  I can’t deal with it any more.

  I don’t know who to trust.

  I don’t know who I am any more.

  So that’s it. Once this shipment is through, I’m gonna do a dusty and disappear to a place far away, where no one can ever find me. Oh, I know I already have the money to disappear. Could’ve disappeared long before now if I’d wanted to. But now I’m ready. I’ve resigned myself to getting out of the game for good. I’m still young enough to change course and try and repair some of the damage I’ve done. Maybe I can set up a charity or two, try and assuage my guilt that way.

  Of course, nobody knows that I’m quitting, because if they found out, they’d stop me quitting. I’ve become too valuable to too many people and they’re not gonna let their little golden goose walk away. No. It’s like Sean said – I’ve made a rod for my own back. I’ve made myself target number one. I know all the details, all the bank accounts and all of the stashes. I’m a prisoner of my own fortune. Funny how life turns out, eh?

  The hunt for Sean’s killers has gone cold. The phone numbers I got from the motorbike thief? Number not available. The line’s dead. Whoever was using these numbers has been careful to tidy up after themselves. With no other leads to go on, and with every crew in town swearing that they didn’t kill Sean, we’re stuck. Too many people are getting caught up in pissy little reprisal attacks, and as a result, there are armed Police on every corner of the city. Half of the crews in town have fucked off abroad, fearful that someone’s coming for them. My lot are here, there and everywhere. Paul, Lee, Mitch and Colin are here but I’ve told the rest of the crew to make themselves scarce. There are a lot of Scousers in Spain and Holland now. Hopefully it won’t be long before I’m
away myself.

  But there are a few loose ends to tie up before I can disappear.

  Once the shipment docks at Liverpool, Jimmy and I will be overseeing its removal from the containers in the port before Charlie is transported elsewhere.

  Once Charlie has fucked off? Once all the coke is gone and sent onwards? I’ll be sending Jimmy straight to hell by my own hand.

  Yeah, that’s right. I’m gonna kill the fucker. But not before I get that Kenwood file off him and blow the lid off the whole thing. I owe it to those poor abused kids to bring Kenwood and the rest of those bastards down. And I owe it to Sean. Somebody has to stand up and fight for them. Call it an act of redemption on my part. Oh, I’ll never have a clean conscience. I’m too far gone for that. The Pope himself could hear my confession and grant me God’s forgiveness, but we would all know that it’s a load of bollocks. But at least I can do something for those kids.

  Tonight of all nights, the sight of a container ship gracefully gliding into the dock is a thing of beauty. This massive beast with its hidden treasure, all 520 kilos of it, signals my offering to the universe. Please let this be OK. Please let it go smoothly. I promise I will never do this again. Please let me disappear.

  As Jimmy and I watch on from a van inside the port, the Vasser’s engines come to a stop and she is hauled and tied into place by the port workers. The containers will then be lifted off and deposited into the container yard, where our lads are already waiting to remove the drugs. Dusk is coming in and the sky is streaked with red and orange. Once darkness arrives, our work will begin.

  As I look at the port workers laughing and joking with each other as they haul gigantic ropes across the dock, I get a sudden pang in my chest. It’s like the pang I got when David and Ste left. No, Ali, don’t get all fucking sentimental now. Focus, girl. Get the job done and then you can piss about with your reminiscing. Remember what you need to do.

  It’s night now. Our lads move into position, looking like any other port workers. The first three containers are in place. Time to get to work. I signal to the lads to do their thing. They bring the lorries around and start loading the containers onto the flat backs. Only another 15 containers to go.

  Jimmy Powell can’t conceal his glee as we watch the containers being slowly deposited into the container yard. “Fucking hell, love,” he says, rubbing his hands together in the van driver’s seat. “How about this for brass fucking bollocks, eh? This is the golden pipeline, you know. Now this route is in place, there’s nothing stopping us. This is what it’s all about. Yeah. All those fucking toe-rags who laughed at me back then? Wouldn’t give me the time of day? Didn’t wanna go in with me? Yeah, look who’s fucking laughing now, you cunts. I’m the main man now. That’s right. You can come bowing and scraping to me for your pennies. I am the main man. I am the fucking King!”

  Not for much longer, Jimmy. Not if I have anything to do with it.

  The last three containers are deposited into the container yard. I lower my binoculars and turn to Jimmy.

  “Hang on a minute,” I say, frowning.

  “What’s the gob on you for?”

  “Those containers aren’t ours.”

  “You what?”

  “They’re not part of our shipment.”

  “What the fuck? How do you know?”

  “The markings on the containers, Jimmy. They’re different to the others, they belong to a different consignment.”

  “What are you on about, eh? They’re all the fucking same!”

  “No, Jimmy, look,” I say, handing him the binoculars. “Different shipping company. See the logo on the side? They’re not ours. The stupid bastards at the dock have given us the wrong ones.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. 100%.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he whines. “What now?”

  “I think we should check, that’s what.”

  “You’re joking, aren’t you, love? You never come into contact with the gear, that’s the fucking first thing…”

  “Jimmy?” I say, cutting him off. “If we get into those containers and they’re not ours, that means some fucking sod has got our containers with a shitload of coke in them, yeah?”

  “Oh fuck…”

  “It’ll take us two minutes. Come on.”

  We exit the van and walk over to where the containers have been unloaded. Three blue metal corrugated boxes. They are what is standing between me and whatever future I can find for myself. Jimmy is antsy, he keeps looking about in case anyone spots us.

  “Will you fucking relax?” I hiss at him. “You’re like that fucking kid in The Exorcist, the way your head’s swivelling about.”

  “Just hurry up and check, alright?” he hisses back at me. “Fuck’s sake, let’s just do this and fuck off, yeah?”

  I open the latch mechanism sealing the doors to the first container and open them slowly. Jimmy shines his torch inside. It’s our cargo. There are two rows of stacked concrete blocks, buffeted from each other by thick foam block cladding. Jimmy steps inside, tip-toeing up to the cargo.

  I follow him inside.

  The sound of me pulling the doors shut, locking us inside the container.

  Jimmy spins around, gobsmacked. He shines the torch at me, and sees that I’m pointing a gun at his head.

  “What the fuck…Ali…” He’s holding his hands up.

  “Put that torch on the ground, Jimmy. Do it now.” He has no choice but to comply. The light of the torch on the corrugated surfaces of the container is almost ghostly.

  “Ali…whatever this is…”

  “Shut the fuck up, you lying bastard. It was you all along.”

  “What the fuck are you on about?”

  “You set us up. You set me and Sean up, didn’t you?”

  “Now, hang on a minute, you…”

  “Isn’t it strange, Jimmy? We’re putting together a deal with the Venezuelans, you won’t let us use the docks, and out of nowhere, we’re getting tagged by Customs? Quite the fucking coincidence, isn’t it?”

  “You’ve gone fucking doolally, love. You’ve lost it!” he says, pointing at his own head. “What, you reckon I blew you up? Why the fuck would I do that?”

  “Because you had the most to gain! Cut me and Sean out of the picture and you and the big fella sew up the coke deals all for yourselves! Well, it’s not happening. Not if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

  “You fucking cunt,” Jimmy spits at me. “You think you can rip me off, eh love? Is that what this is? You’ve just signed your own death warrant, you fucking stupid bitch!”

  “Shut up!”

  “The clock’s counting down on you, love! What, you think you can get rid of me? You do that and you’ll have the Turks and everyone else after you for the rest of your life. You think I’m a sick cunt? Haha! Wait until my Turkish mates get hold of you, bitch. Oh, the things they’ll do to you, love, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Bit fond of the old rape and torture, that lot! Yeah! They’ll rape you in holes you never knew you had. They’ll fucking cut holes in you so they can all rape you at the same time, yeah? Is that what you want, eh?”

  “Shut up, Jimmy.”

  “Don’t fuck yourself like this, love! Don’t!”

  “Kenwood.”

  That shuts him up.

  “You what?” he says after a few moments, his face screwed up in confusion.

  “Peter Kenwood. You’ve got some goodies on him, haven’t you, Jimmy?”

  There is the flicker of recognition. Now he knows why I’m pointing a gun at his gob.

  “How did you know that?” he says.

  “I found it in your pad in Amsterdam. Is he one of your mates, eh?”

  “What the fuck? No!”

  “Oh, come on, Jimbo! You must know him! A pair of sick, rapist bastards like you, eh? Oh, I’m sure you have a fine time together, raping all those little kids, you sick fuck!”

  “No, no! You’ve got it all wrong!”

  “Oh r
eally? How else did you get hold of all that stuff, eh? Were you the one holding the camera? Is he your fucking paedo wingman, is he?”

  “I don’t know him! I swear down, love, you’ve got it all wrong!”

  “Oh really? And I suppose I’m wrong about you killing Sean as well!” I snarl as I tighten my aim on him. Jimmy flinches. I move forward.

  “Ali! Stop! Stop, please! You’ve got it wrong, I swear down! I didn’t kill Sean and I didn’t rape those kids!” he says, backing himself up against the side of the container.

  I can’t help myself. I bring the gun down on his forehead with an almighty thud. Jimmy crumples to the floor. I boot him in the gut a couple of times to take the wind out of him, then I kneel on top of him, all the time holding the gun level with his face.

  But his right hand comes up, straight under my jaw, knocking me off balance, knocking the gun out of my hand. It lands out of reach, in the corner of the container. Jimmy tries to flip me off him but I headbutt him and he flails backwards. Before he can get back up, I use every ounce of strength in my body to hold Jimmy down. My arm is locked around his throat and neck, vice-like, squeezing the breath out of him. The more he struggles, the more I squeeze. I could snap his neck in two if I wanted to.

  I scream down his earhole.

  “You fucking cunt…you fucking cunt…it was you…you killed him…you killed Sean…you killed Sean!”

  He wrestles against me but resistance is futile when I’m on the verge of strangling him. He tries to shout but it comes out as a gurgle.

  “I didn’t kill Sean! Think, Ali! Why the fuck would I want to kill him, eh?”

  “You had plenty of reasons to kill him, you lying bastard! He was top dog and you couldn’t fucking stand it, could you? You wanted to be the main man and he was the only one standing in your way!”

  “You’ve got it wrong, Ali! I swear down, I didn’t kill him! I could’ve killed him, I had plenty of chances in the past but I swear to you! I didn’t kill Sean!”