As he bobbed up towards the surface he saw a face above the water. It was Carlo Vitale, a fully dressed Carlo. Regan’s head and mouth cleared the water and he grabbed a lungful of air before he yelled, “What the fuck! Is this a...”
Regan quickly closed his mouth because he had to. He was now back under water with Carlo holding him down. Carlo had hold of Regan by the shoulders, forcing him under water. Regan grasped his attacker’s arms but Carlo was too strong. His grip was like a vice. After a few moments Regan felt the grip relax and came up once more to the surface. Forcing more air down his lungs, he heard Carlo scream, “Who the fuck are you exactly? You a cop? You’re a fucking limey cop!”
Spitting out water, Regan was about to shout back. Instead he was forced to take another mad gulp of air as Carlo thrust him under once more. Regan clawed at Carlo’s arms in an effort to break free but in vain. He felt himself blacking out, his muscles going limp. Regan knew he was losing consciousness fast and sinking. The air above the water line revived him in an instant. He was exhausted and heard Carlo ranting, “Tell me the fucking truth! Are you a cop?”
“No! I am a fucking nobody and I want ...”
Whoosh! Regan was under again. He kicked out for all he was worth but it was useless. There was nothing to kick as Carlo now had Regan forced down by the head and shoulders so Regan’s back was closest to the pool floor. Blackness encroached again.
Regan came to on his side facing the same pool but he could feel solid tiles beneath him. He coughed and spat out water then rolled on to his back. Looking up, he saw Carlo, Enrico and Bill. He noticed a strange look in their eyes. A look of concern. Regan thought, I don’t get it. Why look worried when they just tried to drown me? Yet he felt inner relief when he heard Enrico speak, “You okay, Steve? I thought Carlo had taken the play acting too far? Thought we had a stiff on our hands.”
Regan spluttered, “Play acting? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“We had to be sure about you. As much as Bill recommended we meet you here, he isn’t infallible. We all make mistakes. In this business we can afford no mistakes. So let me say sorry for nearly having you killed.”
THE CARTEL OF ENRICO, Carlo, Marvin and Bill moved inside to an indoor movie theatre. Regan and Carlo joined them after they dried off and got dressed, which in Carlo’s case involved a complete change from his waterlogged clothing and shoes.
Regan took a seat in the front row, a kind of VIP seat wide enough for almost two with padded armrests. The others were seated to his right except for Enrico. He sat next to a small podium on the stage below the huge screen.
“Right, we are all here. Steve, listen up, this is the deal.”
Once the deal had been laid out in its entirety Regan knew. He knew what he was going to do. He was free of Red’s restraining influence, free to go rogue and send his mother to America for the surgical procedure. No one would ever know except Regan.
Regan was driven to Miami airport for his flight back to Heathrow.
The Boeing 747 jumbo jet made a perfect landing in London. Regan caught a glimpse of the new Concorde jet plane in British Airways livery as he glanced out of the cabin window. Then he was greeted by a grey blanket for a sky and a cool misty morning. Regan felt the difference in temperature and humidity as soon as the cabin crew opened the doors for disembarkation. The cool air made him shudder. He soon cleared immigration, then Customs before walking through the arrival area and finding a telephone. Closing the booth door behind him, Regan dialled Green’s private number.
“Hi boss. It’s me. I’m back.”
“Good to hear. All okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow for a full briefing.”
Regan thought - As full as I want it to be. “How’s the country boy?”
“Red’s doing as well as can be expected after a setback or two.”
“Right. See you soon.”
Chapter Fifteen
RED WAS TREATED AT Gloucester Royal Infirmary. He had undergone ten hours of surgery to re-attach his severed arm. The surgeons had to reconnect tissue, muscle, bone, tendons and blood vessels. They had done their bit, now it was a question of time and the healing process. Red was in post-operative pain and shock and heavily sedated. He had no idea who had visited him, no idea of the hour or day of the week. Red didn’t know how long he had been in hospital or what had happened to put him next to death’s door.
Red certainly had no idea who was talking to him. He tried to open his eyes but all was a blur. He was unable to focus. But, he heard the voice.
“Red. You maybe cannot hear me but I’m going to tell you this anyway. Your buddy Regan is in trouble. He may not think so yet but he will be in great danger. He may even get himself killed.”
Red could not see but he could still think. Was it a person? Was it sixth sense? As Red recovered, he thought more about this warning. It frustrated him that he was still hospitalised and unable to do much at all. Red was in and out of full consciousness because of the morphine. He began to wonder if the warning was drug induced, merely a figment of his imagination. Then like a shaft of light in a dark tunnel, Red recalled something else.
The voice had said, “Bill and Blue aren’t who they say they are. They are undercover Customs.”
Red was one of the few people who knew how to contact Regan in an emergency. He was groggy but insisted the nurse bring him a portable telephone.
“Thank you. Thank you so much, Red. You are such a good friend to my son. God Bless you ...”
“Make sure he gets the message, Missus R.”
Red had always called her Mrs. R for Regan as a security measure.
Regan made a routine call to his mother. He tried to do that at least once a week. Regan’s blood ran cold when he listened to his mother tell the tale of Red’s phone call and message.
“Yes, Mum. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry... yes, God Bless you too, Ma.”
REGAN CALLED BILL TO set up the next meeting. He had to wait for three days for Bill to arrive in London from Miami, having stayed longer than Regan, in part to avoid travelling together.
“Hi, Bill. Good flight?”
“Yeah, Steve. All okay with you?
“Never better. Let’s do this thing.”
“How’s Red?”
“Fine. He’ll live, the tough bastard.”
“Let’s meet in Wales. What about Blue’s place?”
“Fine by me. Saturday at midday?”
“Cool,” affirmed Bill and the phone went dead.
The drive to Wales seemed strange without Red at his side. Without Red, Regan had all the time in the world to think about what happened next. For one, his new found freedom without his sidekick had taken on a new complexion with the message passed on to him that Bill and Blue were also undercover, but with Customs and not the cops. This news was a game-changer. Regan hadn’t a clue as to how it was all going to pan out as he left Lampeter on the drive to Tregaron and Blue’s home.
Bill’s car, the same one he had driven at Epsom, was parked outside when Regan arrived. It was the only car as Blue did not own one. Regan parked the van behind Bill’s car and walked straight through the open front door of the stone two-storey cottage.
Bill and Blue were seated at the large pine dining table in the kitchen. This was the same table Red, Blue and Regan had sat at only a few months ago. Regan pulled out a chair from under the table and joined them.
“Tea, Steve?”
“Nope, I’m all tea’d out. Must have drunk a gallon between London and here and I stopped in Lampeter and had a cuppa. Tempting, though. It has to be better than the piss served up in Miami,” Regan laughed.
“Where’s the good lady, Blue?” inquired Regan.
“Gone to her mother’s for a few days with the kiddie. Her mum has been sick.”
Bill was fidgeting with his car keys and announced, “Guys, enough chit chat. Shall we get down to business?”
Both Blue and Regan nodded in agreement an
d waited for Bill to speak again.
“Steve, Blue knows all about Miami so I’m not gonna go through all that again. The important thing is for you two to work together and make sure everything runs smoothly at the UK end.”
Regan said, “Yeah, I know ... we are facilitators. Don’t go near the product or the money. Make sure everyone does as they should and if they don’t... we step in. Blue keeps an eye on me and me on him. Simple as that, really.”
“Simple, yes. As long as you both do your jobs. Let me remind you. All pay phones. No landlines. You use different pay phones each time. You make sure you’re never followed. Use dead end streets, roundabouts, to make sure there’re no following cops or bad guys. Be wary of your own shadow and stay cool. If you think you are under surveillance drive the wrong way down a one-way street. Fuck the ticket! Better pay a fine than be dead or busted.”
“Strange you use the word surveillance, Bill,” snorted Regan.
“Why so?”
“It’s a cop word.”
“It’s also in the fucking English dictionary. You should look it up some time,” Bill snapped.
Regan banged the table with his fist.
“Time to stop playing fucking games, Bill. And you, Blue. I know you are both undercover.”
“What!” Bill shouted. Blue just laughed.
Regan continued, “Try this for size. My boss, Green, asked your boss to gee us along on a cocaine deal to suss out if we were bent. Gone rogue. I know that’s true. I also know you both work for Customs. Bill, your boss, Marks, works at Tintagel House. Blue, you are ex-Met, one of those secret squirrel twats with a dead kiddo’s identity. By the way, I’m curious. Does your missus know?”
Blue flew at Regan with his fist drawn back and shouted, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Regan stooped to his ankle and pulled out the .38 revolver, at the same time knocking off the safety.
“Sit down! Both of you, and put your fucking hands on the table in front of you, palms on the table, flat on the table!”
Bill and Blue sat down on the opposite side of the table from where Regan stood. Both placed their arms out in front of them on the table with the palms of the hands facing down.
“Good. Now don’t fucking move unless I tell you.”
“Steve, calm down man. Let me explain. We still got a great deal here if you use your brains,” Bill said in a soothing tone.
“I’m a good listener but this had better be real good.”
Bill explained, “Okay, we are all the same crew. I never asked for this and neither did Blue. Your boss asked our boss to find out if you had gone rogue. He was worried you had. Maybe liking the product too much or something like that? I set up the meeting with you, Red, and Blue in Wales that led to you meeting me in Liverpool. So far so good as this was all part of finding out if you were still on the side of the good guys. Then Miami called. Not DEA, not Customs, and not ‘old bill.’ It was my old contacts. You met them... you don’t fuck with them at all. They know who I am. They don’t know who you are, if they did you would be dead now. You would have died in that pool. Carlo wanted to. He dislikes you with a vengeance.”
Regan said, “Well, how the fuck do you get away with it?”
“Easy, but not so easy if you know what I mean. Customs is more up its arse with paperwork than the police. We grow forests to keep us going in paperwork and sodding bureaucracy. The bosses aren’t field wise. Not savvy at all. As long as you show some results they leave you alone.”
“Sounds a familiar story. Pray continue ... I am interested.”
Bill continued, “Enrico allows me to throw some small fry to the piranhas every now and then. Either people he hates or who fuck up. As long as I am on board with the main thing he is happy. It keeps everyone happy, Enrico and my bosses at Customs.”
“This doesn’t make sense. Why would Enrico let you operate like that on both sides of the fence?”
Bill threw his hands to his forehead and sighed.
Regan responded to the movement, “Don’t do that again. Don’t move your hands.”
Bill said, “Okay, from the beginning. You might want to sit down. This is going to take some time. My mother is Sicilian. My real name is Di Maria. Guglielmo Di Maria. Guglielmo is Italian for William.”
“I do know that, and Bill is short for William. So far this doesn’t help.”
“My mother was not married. I never knew who my real father was until recently. She fled Sicily with some of her family and they made their way through Europe, ending up in Liverpool where they managed to get tickets to sail to New York. This was way back.”
“So she scarpered because she had you out of wedlock, so to speak?”
“No not entirely, although being a pregnant single girl back in the village was a big scandal. It brought shame on the family and as you surely know Sicilians are big on family. But that was only part of the reason for leaving. Her brother, my uncle, informed on some paisanos involved in smuggling. A contract was put out so they all packed a bag and got out of there real quick.”
“So you were born in Sicily?”
“Correct, but I was brought up in New York, and then Canada, Vancouver to be exact.”
“How did you end up working for British Customs?”
“I was on a student exchange scheme and ended up studying in London. I was fed up with no money and saw a job advert. The rest is history.”
Regan’s eyes lit up. The penny was dropping.
“I think I know what’s coming next.”
“Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. Customs knew about my American and Canadian background. My name was changed legally to Morris back in Canada when I was three. I was soon recruited for undercover work, like yourself. My cover name is Bill Mooney. They sent me to Miami to infiltrate the cocaine cartels. At first I was working with the Yanks, but then Customs decided to go freelance. I built up contacts and eventually they led me to Enrico.”
“So how did Enrico find out about you?”
“You are maybe going to find this hard to believe...”
“Try me...”
“Enrico is my half-brother.”
“Fuckin’ get outta here!”
“It’s true.”
“This gets better by the minute. Carry on...”
“Okay, I had been mixing with Enrico and his crew for about two months. He must have had someone search my stuff when we were in the pool one day. They found an old photo....”
“I don’t fucking believe what I’m hearing... you’re undercover and you keep a real photo of the real you. Unfuckingbelievable!”
“Yeah, I know, but it was kind of like a good luck charm. It was a picture of two boys, my mother and her husband, my stepfather. The two boys were me and Enrico.”
“Happy fucking families! Hip Hip Fucking Hooray!”
“The rest you can guess.”
“I don’t want to guess. Tell me! But first tell me why you didn’t recognise each other.”
“My stepfather, Enrico’s father, hated me. He beat the shit out of me when my mother wasn’t around. He used to yell at me stuff like ‘bastard kid’ and ‘your mother was a whore until she knew me.’ All that kind of stuff. Well, she found out and arranged for me to go to live with her friend’s family the other side of Vancouver. I was six. Enrico was eight. We hadn’t seen each other since then until Miami. How the fuck were we supposed to recognise each other?”
“Okay, back to the photograph of happy, or not so happy, families.”
“Enrico and Carlo confronted me about the picture. They threatened me unless I came clean.”
“Threats?”
“Threats and torture. Carlo tortured me.”
“How?”
“Waterboarding, then electric shocks. They stripped me naked, hung me upside down and connected wires to my balls and nipples. I thought I was going to die anyway so I told them all.”
“What do you mean? Die anyway?”
“Either they were g
oing to torture me to death or... look, I would have done anything, said anything to stop the torture. So I told them. I thought, fuck it! A bullet is better than this shit.”
“And...” There was a long pause as Bill composed himself.
“And what? So tell me about all the brotherly love stuff.”
“I had no choice. You must accept that.”
“I don’t have to accept a thing. Just tell me.”
“Enrico kept me a prisoner for three or four days. In the house you came to. I think he was deciding what to do with me. He sat me down and spelled out the deal.”
“What deal?”
“The one we have to this day. I play both sides at once. I help him move the product, setting up deals and finding new markets. I also keep him in the loop if I hear anything about planned busts that affect his operation. At the same time, I keep my bosses happy by throwing them some scraps. Customs thinks they are big fish but they are zero compared to people like Enrico. Customs get, you know... the lower level dealers... the losers, the ones that don’t pay up on time. You know the score. The thing is these people don’t fuck about. Enrico is connected and I mean connected. He’s part of the biggest and oldest family in New York. The word is even Galletti calls him Don Enrico.”
Regan pursed his lips, letting out a low whistle, “Now it is interesting.”
“That’s one word for it. These people are animals. You don’t know the whole story.”
“Keep talking.”
“Enrico needed insurance to make sure I would toe the line. Our mother is still alive and living in California. He will kill his own mother if I rat on him.”
“No ... I don’t buy that.”
“You don’t know him. Not only will he kill her, he will have her gang raped by a bunch of hoodlums before they cut her to pieces to die slowly in horrific pain. He told me what would happen in every tiny graphic detail. I wanted to throw up. He would do it.”
“His own mother?”
“Yes. His own mother, our mother.”
“Fuck me!”
“The thing is he knew I’m divorced and don’t give a shit about my ex. The kids, yes, but they are too far from his reach. And he hasn’t got a clue about Caroline.”
Who the F*ck Am I? Page 7