Who the F*ck Am I?

by Stephen Bentley

  “Maybe it’s better if I sleep on the sofa tonight,” he said in a calm way, disguising his inner turmoil. Caroline ignored him and returned to the bedroom alone. She struggled to find sleep.

  Caroline, for all her crass stupidity and compulsion to disclose all in telling Regan, knew how to survive. Regan was a threat. He could ruin everything she had worked so hard to achieve; her career could be ruined if the truth was out. Both pondered their next moves as they lay apart separated by not only a few yards but also by two different worlds.

  SHE TOSSED AND TURNED in bed. Caroline thought, I must get rid of him, but how? I must kill him. Maybe I can hire a hit-man? There have to be guys in Brixton who will do it for a few scores of smack or cocaine. Too unreliable and could come back to me. I must do it, but how?

  The following morning Regan and Caroline had coffee and toast as if nothing had happened. There was silence between them, not even a goodbye when Caroline left the flat. She collected her many briefs, instructions to defence counsel from an instructing solicitor, and letters from her chambers; one was marked with the official seal of the Lord Chancellor’s Office. She ripped it open pulling out the letter. It was confirmation that she had been appointed a Circuit Judge sitting at the Crown Court at Canterbury. It was one of those days when she had no court work either as a barrister or as a part time judge. “Alright, listen up,” she called out to the clerks, “lunch is on me.”

  It was a heavy drinking lunch finishing up at four in the afternoon. She called Regan, “Darling, great news. I got my confirmation letter. Come join us for more drinks.”

  “Where are you?” And more to the point what state are you in? You sound drunk.”

  “I plan to get even more drunk. Are you coming or not?”

  “Yeah, but where are you?”

  “We will be in the Pegasus Bar at Inner Temple.”

  Regan pondered much as he made his way to meet Caroline. He wondered why he was going at all because he knew things would never be the same again. He thought back to the loss of his wife and child. Regan then knew he had an issue dealing with loss.

  On arrival at the bar, Regan again wondered why he had bothered. Nothing worse than a bunch of drunks when you are sober, he thought on surveying the scene in front of him. He was grateful that after a short time the debauchery was over. “Let’s get a cab,” Caroline slurred. Regan could see now what he was unable to see in the early stages of their relationship. She looked old and haggard when drunk or angry. Gone were the good looks of a woman who once appeared younger than her birth certificate.

  Regan not only had trouble dealing with loss, but was gallant. Regan made sure they got her back to the flat in a taxi despite his change in feelings towards Caroline. “Pour me a night cap, Steve,” mumbled Caroline.

  “Okay but the last. You have had enough already.” Regan was prepared to placate her. He decided tomorrow was the end of their relationship. He was going to leave.

  “Oh, fuck you. We aren’t married and even if we were you don’t give me orders.”

  “It’s not an order. It’s what’s good for yourself. Besides, what about work tomorrow?”

  “No work. I am taking it easy and having a lay in.” Regan thought for a moment she had said ‘shlay inn.’

  Caroline kicked off her shoes and was now relaxed on the sofa. Regan said, “Tell you what, I will go run a bath, then you will be ready for bed.”

  She scowled in response, an ugly scar of a frown, “There you go again. I will go to bed when I’m ready and on my own terms. You can be such a fucking pleb, Regan. Go have your bath and play with yourself in there.”

  “Oh, fuck off Caroline! You are one toffee-nosed prize bitch. Do you know that?”

  A one-finger salute in Regan’s direction was Caroline’s mute reply.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  REGAN WAS SOAKING IN the suds when the bathroom door opened.

  “Is that you? Come to join me now you have calmed down?” Regan wanted to suck those words back right from where they came from. It’s over, he thought. He saw she was holding something. It had an electrical cord attached to it. Regan paled when he realised it was a portable electric space heater.

  “What the fuck...”

  Regan saw the power cord was plugged into an extension cable. He knew that must have been plugged into the mains in the hall. He knew he must leap from the bath but found he was unable to move a muscle. Still holding the heater in her hand Caroline turned to see Callum Colhoun. She also saw the knife he was holding.

  “How the fuck did you get in here?”

  “Simple. I memorised the combo for the punch keypad. You aren’t as clever as you think, Cee. Should have changed it.”

  “Look, put that knife down. Be a good boy.”

  Callum roared like only a cocaine-fuelled crazed person can, “No way! I don’t give a shit what happens to me. I am ruined. One of your dealers gave me up to the cops.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I fucked a tart on the game when I was in Sheffield. I gave her loads of charlie then she cried rape. She knew the dealer you gave me. The one on your list. He made sure the Bar Council knew all about the episode in Sheffield. The Bar Council have disbarred me and I’m looking at a minimum ten years jail time.”

  Regan now sensed the time had arrived. He made his move but Caroline heard the splash. She turned to face Regan who was still in the bath tub, water up to his waist. Both arms were stretched out on top of the sides of the tub ready to leap out. He levered himself up using his arms but one foot slipped on the bottom of the tub. Regan fell back into the soapy water with a shout of “Fuck!”

  Caroline raised back her arm, still armed with the live electric heater as it was still plugged in to the extension cord and the mains. She was about to hurl the heater in the bath water when he struck. She felt a searing in her back right between her shoulder blades, forcing her into dropping the heater to the floor; wide-eyed she turned once more to face her attacker, Callum. It was all over for her within seconds. The Scottish barrister stabbed her time and time again in the chest, face, and neck in a frenzied attack. Caroline’s blood spurted like a fountain from her neck and formed patches on the floor as she fell, first to her knees, then prone on to her face. She was dead.

  Regan leaped out of the bath and ran towards Callum who dropped the knife and ran for the door to the flat. He fled. Regan started to run but slipped once more. He fell on to the slowly expanding greasy pool of blood emanating from the corpse.

  “Shit!” Regan shouted as he looked in the hall mirror. He saw he was covered in Caroline’s blood from his face right down to the soles of his bare feet.

  “Fuck the protocols,” he said to an empty flat. He knew he should have preserved the integrity of the crime scene but he felt both shocked and vulnerable owing to his nakedness. Before he got back in the bath water, he dialled 999.

  “Police, please. Someone has been murdered.”

  THE POLICE ARRIVED first in the form of uniformed officers then the cavalry. The local detectives turned up. Regan found himself being questioned.

  “This isn’t going to be easy for you to understand so first I suggest you call the Chief Superintendent to confirm my identity. I’m an undercover cop and she was a girlfriend.”

  Regan pointed to the prone lifeless body. “No, before you ask it wasn’t me. It was a barrister. A Scottish guy called Callum. You can find out his full details by contacting the Sheffield CID. He raped a prostitute in that city.”

  Regan said no more. He remained tight lipped. The detectives had two options, to do as suggested or arrest Regan as a suspect. One of the brighter detectives saw the sense of making the call. He used the telephone in the flat and dialled a number.

  “Yes, sir. I understand sir. Do nothing and wait but preserve the scene. Roger that, sir.”

  He turned to his colleagues and said, “Well you got the gist. We do nothing and preserve the scene. Apparently, the secret squirrel squad are on the
ir way.”

  An hour passed before there was a buzz on the flat entry system. Five men were given access and walked into the flat.

  Regan looked up on seeing them arrive and he beamed, “Red! How the fuck are you, me old mucker?”

  “I’m fine, even if I am a bit ‘armless’.” Red laughed at his own joke adding a, “Get it? Armless,” and laughed loudly again.

  “But what about you? Obviously, you can’t cope without me.”

  “Me? I’m good. I’m still alive, aren’t I? The crazy woman was gonna kill me before the crazy guy stabbed her to death.”

  Another man spoke. The tall, slender, older man with the close-cropped silver hair giving him the look of Lee Marvin. He had an air of authority, Regan thought.

  “Hello, Steve, I’m Detective Chief Superintendent Graham. I am not at liberty to tell you who or what department I am attached to especially in front of the local guys. Let me deal with them first and I will come back to you. Just wait here.”

  Regan instantly liked him. He was calm and confident. He looked cool too in his black leather jacket.

  Graham walked over to the local detectives huddled up near the front door of the flat. He spoke in hushed tones so Regan was unable to hear a thing. Whatever was said, the huddle disappeared with a collective tut and harrumph accompanied by the upwards ‘whatever’ eye motion.

  The Lee Marvin lookalike with the air of authority walked with a confident gait. He gestured to Regan and Red to sit at the dining room table where he joined them. He spoke first, “Tom.” A stout man with a shaven head turned to look in Graham’s direction. He didn’t reply but sat at the table.

  “This is Tom Garner, he’s a Detective Inspector but take no notice of ranks with us lot. We act as a team, work as a team and through me, we only answer to a senior Ministry of Defence minister, not a bloody civil servant but a politician.”

  Steve Regan sat up and paid attention. He was interested and respected this Graham, whoever he was. He decided to ask one early question because DCS Graham had said something unusual and interesting, “MOD? Why not the Home Office?”

  “Wait, Steve. I will get to that if and when necessary.”

  Regan was again impressed.

  “We are a secret undercover agency. Not just coppers but people drawn from the military and all walks of life. It’s something I have been working on for years and only now have the top brass decided to give it a go. What I am about to say must go no further than these four walls, do you understand?”

  Red said, “Yes, guvnor.”

  “No guvnor, no boss, no sir. Just first names, Okay?”

  Red nodded.

  Regan said, “I understand.”

  “Good. Are both you and Red interested in coming on board?”

  Both men nodded their agreement.

  “Great, because I have heard good things about you both.”

  “What about my arm?” Red asked.

  “Don’t worry about that just yet. Here’s the thing. If you are in then that’s it. You have gone dark. You will be infiltrating some of the most dangerous organised crime gangs in the world. You will become disconnected from your forces, totally and utterly. No one, but no one, will know where you are or what you are doing except me, your handler, the MOD guy - if I choose to tell him, and this guy here or someone like him.” Graham nodded towards a dark suited man who stood out owing to his diminutive, scrawny stature.

  “Come here, please.”

  The tiny man approached, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. It seemed to be a nervous tic.

  “You don’t need to know his name. He and his team supply all the electronic surveillance stuff. They have access to gear you would never believe. Only the CIA and our special forces use it.”

  Tiny man spoke, “My name is unimportant but for the sake of social mores call me Jack. That isn’t my real name.”

  Red and Regan both said, “Hi Jack!” with a smirk as it sounded like a Lebanese terrorist activity.

  Jack solemnly replied, “Hello. I have something to tell you, Red. I know your father. I know him well. I saw him recently and he was telling me how proud he is of you. He went on to tell me about your accident and where you were in the hospital. It was me who told you Steve was in trouble.”

  “How do you know my father?” said Red.

  “We knew each other as teenagers and he saved my life when some kids beat me up for being a scrawny weed. We have been friends ever since.”

  Regan interjected, “Next you will be telling me it was your Bonnie and you were the priest.”

  “Yes, and yes.”

  Red and Regan saw the funny side of the brief reply.

  “You see, I am a frustrated undercover agent. I can’t do what you guys do, but I see it and hear it. I’m watching you with all kinds of sophisticated kit.”

  “So you are the M and we are the 007’s?”

  All laughed until their bellies ached.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  THE LAUGHTER STOPPED as soon as DCS Graham spoke, “Here’s what is going to happen. And it’s a sign of what you are getting into, okay? This crime scene is going to disappear, wiped clean, as if it never happened...”

  Regan’s mouth opened wide but no words would come out, but Red spoke, “And how the hell are you going to do that?”

  “You heard about the CIA and removal teams?”

  In awe, Regan said, “Yes.”

  “We have our own. They are better than anything the CIA has. Once I make my next phone call, this place will not bear witness to any crime, never mind murder.”

  Regan asked, “What about Callum? Is he going to get away Scot free with killing Caroline?”

  “Yes. But why worry? He will end up serving about eight years in jail for the drug dealing, plus another seven for rape. This is the only way you, in particular, Regan, will live to fight crime another day. Not just any old crime but infiltrating the top echelons of organized crime gangs that affect the security of the United Kingdom. You and the other team members will be the cream of the cream. How does that grab you?”

  “It grabs me a lot. I’m your man.”

  “And me,” chimed Red.

  “The best part is you will be paid handsomely.”

  “Now you are really talking my language. What exactly is handsome?” asked Regan.

  “Four times your current salary and pensionable.”

  Red and Regan looked at each other. They high-fived, too excited to speak.

  “I have another question,” said Regan, “Can we recruit John Barnard?”

  “Jack has told me all about him and the answer is ‘yes’.”

  DCS Graham made his phone call to the removal team.

  Regan made his own call to John Barnard and arranged a meeting in the team’s new office in an anonymous suburban house in South West London. It had the latest security gadgets monitoring twenty-four hours a day and also had the advantage of proximity to Heathrow. The team’s brief was wide-ranging and was not restricted to operations on UK soil. If matters affected the security of the United Kingdom, Regan, Red, Barnard and any other future operative would fly to where they were needed anywhere in the world.

  The safe house comprised of five ground floor rooms. One was an ops room with state of the art electronic kit occupied by two personnel who worked a twelve-hour shift. They were then relieved by two other guys. The other rooms were offices and a kitchen cum dining area. There were five bedrooms, all kitted out with bunk beds. The half-acre of garden housed a separate nondescript building. It was a rest house comprising of a TV room, a library and kitted out with luxury leather Chesterfields.

  Regan and Red went to the library after John had been formally inducted into the team. There, they chatted for a full hour.

  Regan started the conversation between these two old friends, “I really can’t believe all this. I am allowed to live to ‘fight crime’ another day, in another place. One time I didn’t think this would ever happen.” His
eyes filled.

  “I know what you are saying. You nearly went rogue, didn’t you?”

  “Red, me old mate, between you and me, yeah I did. How the fuck did you know?”

  “Missus R told me. She knows you better than you know yourself. She said, ‘Red, I am worried about him. I just know he is thinking of doing something terrible. I blame myself because I know he wants me to have the bloody operation.’ I knew she was serious when she swore. Never heard your Mum swear before.”

  Regan’s tears fell, trickling in warm rivulets down his cheeks. He held his hand aloft as if to stay any further conversation. Red took the hint and allowed Regan to regain control before he spoke again.

  “Now for the good news, buddy, if you want some good news that is?”

  “Shoot,” Regan said with a smile.

  “My father died leaving a lot of money to me. Part of it was savings and part from selling his house. Even though it was a tied house at one time, it fetched a lot because of its location in the Forest of Dean. So that means...”

  “Don’t say what I think you are going to say.”

  “I can say what the hell I want. It’s my money. I’m sending you and your Mum to Boston for the operation she needs. Shut up ... that’s not all. I’m coming too because I’m having a bionic arm fitted like the Six Million Dollar Man...”

  “Oh, fuck off! You are teasing me.”

  “Not at all. I’m serious.”

  “Man! I love you,” Regan said hugging Red.

  “Steady fucking on. I’m not queer you know.” Both hugged and laughed as one.

  “Suppose I’d better call Ma and tell her the news.”

  “No need, she’s already got her bags packed.”