by Conrad Jones
“What do you mean I`ve wasted my time?”
“I mean that you`re barred.”
“What do you mean I`m barred, that`s not fair, I`ve not done anything,” the young man inflated his chest trying to appear assertive in the face of the giant doorman.
“You`re barred for wearing white sunglasses at night and for being a first class twat........ Now do yourself a favour and go before I lose my temper,” Jay grabbed him by the ear, twisting it and dragged him out of the queue. The other revellers laughed and cheered as the man fell over on the cobbled street.
Jay`s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He took the phone out and waved to his colleagues on the door to take over the entrance.
“Hello. Jay speaking,” he answered, not recognising the number on the screen.
“Jay, it`s Terry Nick. We have got a major problem, and I need you to sort our men out tonight,” Terry said, from the custody suite at the police station.
“Why mate? Where are you at?”
“I`m helping the police with their inquiries.”
“What`s going on Terry?” Jay asked as he walked away from the door to find a quiet spot.
“Headbutt and Dithering are in hospital, and it doesn’t look good,” Terry explained.
“What happened to them?”
“They were jumped down the path, on the way home. They`ve been carved up pretty badly, Norman had his hand cut off.”
“Who would do that to those two old timers? Bloody hell they`re harmless,” Jay said shocked by the news, which didn’t make sense at all.
“I`m not positive, but I think the leader was a Somali, from Manchester, they`re after our doors over there. They shot Mandy with a Mac10,” Terry continued.
“What the fuck was Mandy doing there?”
“She was watching from inside the Turf, and they sprayed the front of the pub.”
“Is she...?”
“Yes, she took two in the head,” Terry sounded choked.
“I`m sorry mate, I know you two had a thing for each other,” Jay said, instantly regretting that he had.
“She was just my friend, that`s all,” Terry corrected him, his voice becoming stern again.
“Yes I know, I am just sorry that`s all, she was an alright girl,” Jay recovered his thread.
“I need you to warn the lads in Manchester, and get over there and make sure no one does anything stupid.”
“I`m not sure I understand,” Jay said.
“Tell them to keep their eyes out for anyone looking like they could belong to a Somali gang. There were only two car loads when they arrived at the Turf, so I`m assuming that there are plenty more of them still in Manchester, so tell them to keep their eyes and ears open, but not to go looking for anyone,” Terry said, aware that he was being listened to by the policemen around him in the custody suite.
“Are the police listening to you?” Jay caught the drift.
“That`s correct,” Terry answered.
“Okay, now I understand, do you want us to talk to anyone that is associated with their gang, if they are already in our premises?”
“I think that that would be the best policy in this case,” Terry answered, sounding perfectly innocent.
“Okay and you think they are a Somali drug gang?”
“That`s correct,” Terry said.
“Do you reckon they`re from Moss Side?” Jay knew where all the black gangs operated, but he wanted to be sure.
“That would be correct too, as an educated guess anyway,” Terry couldn’t be absolutely certain, but he was as close as damn it.
“I`m assuming that the police are all over this, and we need to be discreet,” Jay continued.
“That would also be correct, and I would expect a balanced approach to this,” Terry added cryptically.
“How come they have arrested you if you`re witnesses?” Jay asked.
“Do you remember that bank in the town centre being in the papers last week?”
“The Blackstallion, I read something about them sending money to Afghanistan?”
“That`s correct, well someone went to town tonight and blew the fucking thing up,” Terry said it slowly.
He didn’t know if any of his Brigade men were actually responsible. It was just the type of thing they would be involved in, but no one carried out a mission like that without it being sanctioned by the Brigade hierarchy. There had been incidents of younger members taking it on themselves to act unilaterally, but they were rare. The Brigade had a fragile business to operate which needed to be licensed in order for it to exist. Attracting unwanted police attention was the last thing Terry would want to happen. When the Brigade launched an attack on an immigrant target, then it was well planned and well thought out. Nothing was left to chance, and no evidence was left behind that could incriminate their organisation.
“What? I didn’t know we were hitting them,” Jay said genuinely surprised.
“Are you sure about that Jay?”
“Of course I`m fucking sure, are you telling me the police think it`s us?”
“Yes they do, that`s why I`m in here, withholding information, apparently,” Terry still wasn’t sure who had done it.
He couldn’t tell from Jay`s voice if he`d known about the attack. It could just as easily have been anyone who had read about the story in the news papers. The whole country had been up in arms overnight. There were mass withdrawals of funds from the bank the following day, and the television cameras showed long lines of angry customers waiting to follow suit.
“Look Terry, I don’t know anything about it, but someone does. I`ll put the word out now that we are under the microscope for torching the bank. Someone must be bragging about it somewhere. It shouldn’t take long to find out who is responsible. Is your legal brief on the way to the police station?”
“I only have one phone call so I need you to sort that out for me too,” Terry explained.
“No problem boss, you take it easy in there. I`ll get onto it right away,” Jay started walking back toward the Irish pub to make arrangements.
“One more thing Jay,” Terry said.
“Yes, go on boss.”
“No guns,” Terry whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, no guns, they`re very dangerous and we have enough eyes on us at the moment,” he whispered again.
“Okay, I understand, take it easy.”
It would only take a few calls for the Brigade men in the city centre of Manchester to be placed on red alert, and to be made ready for any more attacks. Then a few quiet words in certain ears, several searching questions to the right people, and they would be told who belonged to the Somali gangs and who didn’t. If any of them were drinking in Brigade protected venues tonight, then they were about to wish that they`d stayed in.
Chapter Twelve
Westbrook/ Vigilante
The rear of the cinema complex was unlit, apart from the moonlight. He kept to the darker shadows at the edges of the car park as he skirted the lot to reach his surveillance spot. There were thick bushes next to a service road, which led into a nearby shopping centre, and superstore. Beyond the service road was a quiet cul-de-sac, consisting of a dozen four bedroom detached houses, all made from brown house bricks, with slate roofs, and spacious lawns front and back. He checked his watch as he neared his spot. It had taken just twenty minutes from the bus station to here, and he had allowed twenty nine minutes, so he should be slightly early according to his calculations.
The bathroom light came on in one of the houses that he was watching; frosted glass distinguished it from normal rooms in the building. He could see the silhouette of a male standing close to the bathroom window, probably in front of the toilet, sloped shoulders and a paunch could clearly be distinguished. He counted the roofs across from a big oak tree, one, two, three, and it wasn’t the right house, and that wasn’t his target. It was a false alarm but there was time yet.
The alarm monitoring company that w
orked for Blackstallion bank had a three phase response to any alarm contact. First of all, when the gas explosion ignited, the alarms bells would have been triggered, sending a message via the phone lines to the monitors. The monitoring company would then notify the police and fire departments of the alarm having been triggered. Each step of the process would take some time. He had allowed ten to fifteen minutes for the emergency services to respond, at which point they would confirm if the alarm was a genuine break in or a fire. The third part of the monitoring company`s response was then to call the bank`s listed key holders, who then had to respond by attending the premises.
He had allowed twenty nine minutes minimum for the key holder to be woken up. Then the key holder would have to dress and get organised, grab his car keys, and then drive down the service road directly past the spot where he was waiting. The plan had been timed to absolute perfection. A well organised military operation, just like the ones he`d led in Iraq and Afghanistan on numerous occasions. Only this time he was the freedom fighter, not the invader. He was the one using guerrilla warfare to achieve his aims, in his own country. It was his hands that had created and painstakingly built the improvised explosive device that was hidden in the thick foliage, waiting for its target to pass.
Chapter Thirteen
Manchester
Jay parked his Honda Blackbird in an empty parking bay opposite a Manchester pub called Tommy Ducks. It was a landmark pub in Manchester because it stood completely alone. The only remaining survivor of a Victorian terrace, long since demolished. It had been saved because it was a listed building of historical interest. The exterior walls of the pub had been decorated with green ceramic tiles, much more akin to a gent`s toilet than the outside of a pub, and the windows were made from stained glass. It was set back in a quiet part of the city centre, but only a few hundred yards walk from the main hustle and bustle. Jay always parked here, because of its close proximity to the city centre`s pubs and bars. He pulled the bike up onto its stand and opened the lockbox on the back of the powerful motor cycle.
He removed a thick metal wheel lock and threaded it through the back wheel and frame, before securing it. Jay checked that the coast was clear in either direction; he could hear music from Tommy Ducks but the main entrance was hidden from view around the opposite side. There was no one in sight. He reached into the lockbox and removed a nine millimetre Berretta, and shoved it down the back of his faded jeans, covering the handle over with his leather bomber jacket. Terry Nick had told him, no guns, but Terry Nick was banged up in a urine stinking cell in Warrington somewhere. He had also told him that someone had shot little Mandy with a Mach10 machinegun, and cut Headbutt Norman`s hand off. If there was ever a time when he needed to carry a gun, then it was tonight.
Jay was old enough to remember the terrible race riots that tore Liverpool apart in the late seventies. Huge parts of the city became a war zone as immigration combined with mass unemployment proved to be an explosive cocktail. He had been attacked at school by a gang of black pupils, mimicking what was happening on the streets of their city every night. A week before they had played football together every dinner time in the school yard, but now a line had been drawn in the sand. Jay had become a member of the racist skinhead organisation, the National Front, less than a week later. Six months after that he had joined the army, and three months later he was starting his first tour of Northern Ireland.
A stretch limousine drove by, an elongated Hummer, sprayed powder pink, its windows all blacked out. It seemed to pass him for ages as he wondered who was inside. His mobile buzzed in his pocket and disturbed him from his thoughts.
“Hello,” he answered, watching the red taillights of the Hummer fading round a bend in the distance.
“Jay, it`s Danny Holley. Are you in town yet?” the voice asked.
“I`ve just got here now, I`m behind Oxford Road McDonalds, why what`s up?” Jay answered.
He had put the Brigade men in Manchester on alert before he`d left Liverpool, hoping that they would have some useful information before he arrived. Although it was a big city, everyone knew everyone else`s business, especially where guns and drugs were concerned.
“We`ve put the word out all over the city and I`ve just had a call from our boy`s on Canal Street, and they reckon there`s a couple of Somalis pissed up, bragging about how their gang is about to take over the city centre,” Danny Holley explained.
“Is there now? Well that is exactly what we wanted to hear,” Jay started walking toward the bright lights of Oxford Road. There was a set of traffic lights on a busy crossroads and a McDonald`s restaurant on the corner, Golden Arches glowing brightly in the darkness. Beyond the burger giant the nightlife was still in full swing.
“I thought you`d be happy about that. Have you heard anything about Headbutt and Dithering?”
“No they`re both still in surgery, and it doesn’t sound too good to me. Norman lost his hand.”
“I heard that, what the fuck is that all about?” Danny Holley sounded angry, as did the rest of the Brigade when they heard about the earlier incidents.
“I`m not sure, but Terry reckons it was done as a message, a warning that they were taking over the city centre doors and we are supposed to just walk away quietly,” Jay explained.
“This lot have got a fucking nerve haven’t they? They`ll get what`s coming to them, and make no mistake about that,” Danny Holley snarled.
“No one is to touch them till I get there Danny, which bar are they in?” Jay picked up his pace and nearly fell over a drunken tramp rifling through the litter bin outside McDonalds. “Get out the way!”
“What?” Danny asked confused.
“Nothing, I wasn’t talking to you. Which bar are they in?”
“They`re in the Phallic Palace on the canal,” Danny answered.
“Great name! Who thinks these things up?”
“Some bloody big poof probably, if they move the boys are going to bell me, and then follow them. They`re chomping at the bit to do these bastards Jay, just give us the word and they`re toast,” Danny snarled again.
“Tell the lads to keep their eye on them till I get there, and not to do anything,” Jay spoke slowly and clearly to make himself heard over the increasing volume of music as he approached the main drag.
“No worries Jay, everyone knows what the score is. I`m two minutes away from the bar myself,” Danny said.
“Is everyone tooled up?” Jay asked.
“All the bars are covered, stab vests on everyone, but no shooters right?”
“Right, no shooters, for now anyway,” Jay felt the cold steel of his Berretta against his skin as he walked.
“I`ll see you there in two minutes.”
“Danny, before we get there mate, there`s something else we need to sort out, but it needs to stay hush hush,” Jay changed his tone, trying to draw Danny Holley into his confidence.
“What`s the problem Jay, you haven’t got an ex-boyfriend in the Phallic Palace have you?” Danny laughed to himself and thought he was funny.
“Shut up you moron, this is serious!” Jay berated him.
“Sorry mate, I`m only having a laugh,” Danny answered sheepishly, trying to stop laughing.
“Terry Nick has been lifted by the police,” Jay started.
“How come?”
“Do you remember all that stuff in the papers and on the telly about the bank in Warrington that was sending money for weapons to Afghanistan?”
“Yes, we were going to bring it up at the next meeting, someone needs to sort them out,” Danny was back into snarling mode.
“Well, it looks like someone already has sorted them out. Have you heard anything about it?” Jay pried.
“No, nothing. Why what`s happened?”
“The bank was blown up earlier tonight, and Terry is in the frame for withholding information,” Jay continued fishing for information.
“Do you think it`s one of ours?” Danny seemed surprised.
“I don’
t know what to think to be honest with you, but we need to ask questions discreetly, keep your ears open in case the culprit starts to brag about it, but don’t broadcast it or the police will think we`re covering it up,” Jay said.
“Okay Jay, bloody hell what a night this is, see you in two minutes,” Danny answered.
Jay cut off the call and slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. He reached the traffic lights and pressed the button to cross the busy road. There were black hackney taxi`s whizzing past him every few seconds, crossing the road would be impossible at this time of night unless the lights turned to red. To his right he could see a long line of people waiting to get into a popular vodka bar called Revolution, most of them looked like the last thing they needed was vodka. The lights changed to amber, then green and a beeping sound signalled that he was safe to cross. He jogged across the road and slipped into a narrow alleyway, which took him through to Canal Street.