by Conrad Jones
“Yes.”
Jacob Graff looked down at the car park and watched a man staring up at the hospital through binoculars. He scanned left and right along the windows until he was looking right at him. Jacob could see that he was smartly dressed, dark leather coat over a grey suit. His hair was shaven at the sides with cropped dark fuzz on top, military style. He had seen enough mobsters in his time in courtrooms to be able to spot one when he saw one. Concern gripped him. The man waved a gloved hand and lowered the binoculars; he reached for something and an icy grin crossed his face. Instinctively, Jacob stepped backwards as the window exploded into a maelstrom of fractured glass. Bryn closed his eyes as his face was sprayed with a bloody gloop that was once inside Jacob Graff.
CHAPTER 7
Barbara Evans lit another cigarette, her tenth since the police arrived. She was sitting on the arm of the settee, staring out of the window, one eye on the road, the other on the phone. Her husband Robert had promised to call as soon as there was news. The police had taken him and Mark to the hospital. He said that he would get a taxi home later on and let her know if there were any problems in the meantime. Since then, an hour or so had ticked by, feeling more like six. She wanted Robert to call and say it was all a big mistake that it wasn’t Bryn but the longer it went on, the less likely that was. At least her heartbeat had settled down, the doctor satisfied that she wasn’t having an arrest; although he left her with a flea in her ear about not cutting down on her smoking. It was times like this when the stress and pressure of life peaked, that she smoked more than ever.
“Have you ever had any problems with, Bryn, Mrs Evans?” a female liaison officer called Ying asked. Her genetic mixture of east and west made her pleasing on the eye. “You know what I mean, problems with schoolwork or homework and the like?”
“No. Nothing like that.” Barbara wiped her nose with a tissue, sniffled loudly and turned towards her. “Never a minute’s trouble.” She shook her head and turned back to the window. Ying’s pen was poised over a blank page of her notebook.
“What about his friends, any bad apples that he hangs around with?”
“No.”
“Any single mums, broken homes or troubled childhoods that you know about?” Ying asked scraping the barrel.
“Have you done a psychology degree?” Barbara scoffed. She took a deep drag on her cigarette. “If that’s the best that you can do, you want to get your money back.” Ying looked offended. “He’s fourteen for God’s sake, single mums? He doesn’t know what a woman is yet,” she chuckled dryly. “My Bryn doesn’t hang around with anyone,” Barbara said blowing her nose. Her eyes were red from crying. She stubbed out her cigarette and immediately reached for another one. Lighting it, she stood up and then lowered herself awkwardly into an armchair. “He’s never been an ounce of trouble since he was born. He goes to school, very clever he is too, and he spends his evenings at the boxing gym with Mark. He goes to the football with his elder brother, Simon whenever they’re playing at home. He doesn’t have many friends outside of that, good or bad.” Ying waggled her pen over her pad, the page still blank. “Did you write that down or do you only write down the bad stuff?”
Ying made a few notes, embarrassed but not defeated. “Did you hear about the two men found dead near the shops this morning?” Ying changed tack.
“I heard something about it on the news.”
“They were local men from the estate,” Ying said nonchalantly. Her sergeant had warned her to be subtle. “Did you recognise their names?”
“I mustn’t have because I don’t remember them.”
“David and Mathew Johnson, does that ring any bells?”
“No. Why are you asking about them,” Barbara frowned behind a cloud of swirling blue smoke.
“In case there’s a connection,” Ying bit her bottom lip, knowing she had put her foot in it. “Between the cases,” she added with a shrug.
“A connection my arse, young lady,” Barbara said angrily, “No. I don’t know them and neither does Bryn,” Barbara snapped. “I don’t know why you’re digging for dirt, young lady because you won’t find any.” She took another deep pull on her cigarette. “Whatever happened in that alleyway had nothing to do with him. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I suggest you put your pen away and leave it at that.” She glared at the police officer long enough to allow the tension to dissipate a little and then looked out of the window again.
“I’m not insinuating anything, Barbara,” Ying said. “Can I call you Barbara?” she added with a patronising smile. Barbara nodded that she could. “Someone saw him in the alleyway this morning where they were found,” Ying probed, “he was walking Alice so he must have been on his way to the park.” Alice recognised her name and wagged her tail. “Is that the way he would normally go to the park?”
“Behind the shops? Probably, I wouldn’t know.” Barbara rolled her eyes skyward and struggled to stand up. “I can’t move about as much as I used to,” she sighed, ignoring the question for now. She ambled towards the kitchen using the walls for support. “Do you want tea?”
“Yes please,” Ying said deflated. Her questioning was going nowhere. It seemed that the Evans family was about as normal and law abiding as a family could be. She folded her notebook into her pocket and slipped her pen inside it. As she buttoned the flap, she noticed a van pulling up in the street outside. She didn’t recognise the logo on the side but it advertised a local fruit and veg and flower shop. The phone number was in a suburb nearby, the same dialling code as the estate. “Do you have any green tea, Barbara?”
“Only when the milk is off.”
“Pardon?”
“Do I look like I drink green tea?”
“Black, no sugar then, please,” Ying replied diplomatically avoiding the question. “Are you expecting a delivery?” she asked as the driver got out and began searching in the back of the van. He glanced at his delivery notes and then at the house.
“Delivery?” Barbara called from the kitchen. “No...At least I don’t think so why?”
“There’s a delivery van outside,” Ying stood up as the man opened the gate and walked up the path. She looked at what he was carrying but it didn’t register immediately. When its significance struck her, she rushed into the hallway.
“I’ll go and see what it is, wrong address probably,” Barbara moaned.
“No!” Ying replied a little too loud. “I’ll go. You make the tea,” Ying cut her off before she left the kitchen. “Leave it to me,” she said to a confused Barbara. “Nothing to worry about.” Ying opened the front door and pulled it closed behind her. She met the deliveryman on the path.
“Hello, officer. I have a delivery for Mrs Evans,” he said very quietly. “Never nice delivering these things; is she in?”
“I’ll take it,” Ying said taking the wreath. “And I’ll need the details of who sent it.” The open card attached read. RIP Bryn Evans.
CHAPTER 8
Ray and Liam Johnson watched nervously as the service doors opened to reveal several shiny Mercedes saloons in various states of being resprayed. Ray whistled through his teeth as he totted up the sum total of their worth in his head but his brain couldn’t work with so many noughts. Liam steered the lorry inside the cavernous garage, guided by three men in overalls. The atmosphere in the cab was tense, both men soaked in sweat. It had been a long emotional night; news of their cousin’s demise had terrified them. They knew they were in above their heads but it was too late to stop the ride and get off. As the doors closed behind them shutting out the sunlight, Liam felt sick to the core.
“I really don’t want to be here,” Liam said turning the engine off. “We never should have listened to Mathew.”
“If I had known it was anything to do with this lunatic, I would have told Mathew to fuck off. Always full of big ideas, wasn’t he?” Ray agreed. “Well this one was a fucking cracker, best of the lot. Look where they are now.”
“What’s in this cra
te that makes it worth all this shit?”
“I don’t know, but I would love to know if Dave and Mathew did.”
“We’ll never know and I don’t care. We’re going to have to wing it,” Liam said opening the door. “Whatever this prick says, we agree, right.”
Ray nodded and followed suit, jumping down from the cab. He half smiled at one of the men but was greeted with a cold stare.
“Put your hands against the van and spread your legs.”
“Just like the telly, eh?” Ray joked nervously but no one shared it.
“Shut up. Search them,” the man said. They were patted down roughly from head to toe. When they were deemed to be unarmed, he gestured to an open metal staircase that hugged the garage wall. “The boss is up there. He wants to talk to you.”
Liam looked up at the office that was built on a mezzanine floor. A man stood in the window, his hands pushed into the pockets of his Italian suit. His expression was one of curious caution, scrutinising the new arrivals. The Johnsons exchanged glances, both recognising the man instantly.
“Whatever shit we’re in, just got deeper,” Ray muttered.
“Leave the talking to me,” Liam whispered nervously. Reluctantly, Liam and Ray climbed the steps to the office, every move they made watched by many eyes, no chance of escape. As they reached the landing, the door was opened by a man built like a truck. He ushered them in with a nod of his head and closed the door behind them.
“Take a seat,” Nicolai Karpov said without looking at them. He continued to watch through the window. “We need to check the container for a few things, then you can leave.”
“We wanted to have a word about that,” Ray said nervously. Nicolai turned to face them, a frown creased his face. “Whatever is in that crate got our cousins killed.”
“So I heard,” the Russian said calmly. “They knew that there was a risk involved, there’s always a risk.”
“Some people might be inclined to offer a little compensation payment.”
“We had a deal. It is what it is. When things don’t go my way, nobody offers me compensation. If you want compensation, get a proper job and join a union.”
“We understand how things work, like you said, it is what it is,” Liam stepped in. He nudged Ray with his elbow and gave him his best ‘shut-the-fuck-up’ glare. “Obviously it’s been a bit of a shock for us. We work containers month in month out and nothing like this has ever happened.”
“Losing family is never good, obviously.” The sound of grinders cutting into metal drifted to them. “I offered them twenty thousand pounds to steal a container. A very specific container granted, but for that kind of money they knew the risks involved,” he paused and stared at Ray. Ray looked away nervously. “And so do you, don’t you?”
“Yes we do,” Liam said. “A deal is a deal. It is what it is.”
“Good, twenty thousand is a lot of money.”
“I don’t think it’s enough for what happened to them,” Ray mumbled. “Whatever is in that van is worth a shit load more than twenty grand.”
“Of course it is, but business is business,” Nicolai shrugged.
“Ray wanted to ask what the cargo was but he also wanted to live, “Did you hear what the Tuckers did to them? I’m surprised you’re going to let the Tuckers get away with that.” Ray was nervous and upset, rambling. He didn’t know when to shut up. “Did you see what they did?”
“I did see it, yes,” Nicolai sat on the edge of the desk. He picked up a gold plated Parker pen and tapped his teeth with it. “Tucker is getting...how do you say...too big for his boots.”
“You’re not kidding,” Ray agreed. “His outfit is becoming a nuisance. He’ll be knocking on your door if you’re not careful. You should do something about him before it’s too late.”
Nicolai sighed. Ray Johnson was clever enough to spot a rising threat but not clever enough to see the solution in front of his nose. “Why do you think we’ve gone to all this trouble, taking his container from him?”
Ray shrugged and looked at Liam. “I wish you would shut up,” Liam hissed.
“Your brother is right in what he says,” Nicolai said raising his hand to quieten them. “Tucker has grown too big and become unpredictable,” he paused and put his pen down as if he had made a decision. “And that is my dilemma; you see they will do the same to you as they did to your cousins to find that container.” Liam and Ray looked at each other. Fear snatched any further arguments from them. “I can’t take the risk that Joseph Tucker and his brother will find out who has their container. It would lead to a war and that would be bad for business.” Liam’s blood turned to ice. His hands trembled physically and beads of sweat trickled down his spine. “I’m sure that you can understand that, can’t you?” the Russian asked as if talking to a child.
“We’ve fulfilled our part of the deal,” Liam said as assertively as he could. “We’re not the type of men who grass, no matter what happens. We’ll take our chances out there.”
“I’m sure that you can hold your own, family connections and the like but do you think that you could hold your tongue while someone set fire to your feet?” Nicolai scoffed and shook his head. “Tucker’s younger brother has a talent for inflicting pain. No man could withstand that man questioning him for any length of time.”
“Mathew and David didn’t grass,” Ray said quietly. “And neither would we.”
“Your cousins didn’t tell Tucker where the container was because they didn’t know. Had they known, you would be dead and the truck would be in Tucker’s hands.”
“How do you work that one out?” Ray asked, offended.
“You always do the same thing. They take it from the docks, you hide it in a different location every time,” he said with a thin smile. “You’ve never used the same place twice, have you?” The Johnsons shook their heads, part proud, part surprised that he knew so much. “So they could never spill the beans because they didn’t know where the container was. Only you and I did. We made sure of that.”
“What? How could you do that?” Ray was staggered.
“Simple, by hiring you to steal it from Tucker,” Nicolai shrugged. “We have tracked that container from Amsterdam. It never left our sight. The safest way to smuggle drugs into this country is to get someone else to do it.”
“Why not just take it from Tucker yourself?” Ray asked, baffled by the process.
“Because we never know who else is tracking a shipment. If customs or the drug squad were following it they would have pounced when you took it. You follow a different routine every time.” The door opened and one of the mechanics peered in. He put his thumb up and spoke in Russian. Nicolai nodded and turned back to the Johnsons. “Everything is as it should be, gentlemen.” The clicking sound of bullets being chambered came from behind them. “My men will escort you out. Our deal is completed, permanently.”
“What about our money?”
Liam felt a barrel above his ear, its metal cold and hard. They had stayed away from guns, choosing not to work with the outfits that used them. He felt helpless and angry. “Stand up and put your hands behind your back,” a guttural voice growled from behind them. He heard Ray swearing as they fastened plasticuffs tightly around his wrists. Liam knew that once they were on, it was game over.
“You doublecrossing bastards!” Ray shouted. A heavy blow to the back of the head silenced him, dropping him to the floor with a thump. Liam knew that they were as good as dead. Karpov couldn’t risk the Tuckers finding out who had set them up, being made to dig his own grave in the woods at gunpoint wasn’t how it was going to end. If Karpov was going to kill them then he needed to do it right there and then because Liam wasn’t going to wait. He knew that there was no time left. In a split second, he decided that he wasn’t going to die without putting up a fight. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and ran full pelt at the window.
CHAPTER 9
Ward five had descended into chaos. The wind and rain was blowing
into the room unchecked, curtains flailing almost horizontally. Bryn was whisked out of his room, the bed pushed down the corridor and into another anteroom that had no windows. A nurse dabbed at superficial cuts on his face caused by flying glass. Most of the blood on his skin belonged to Jacob Graff. His father and brother were ushered into the room, normal protocol broken for their own protection. Uniformed backup and an armed response unit had been summoned, their sirens audible in the distance.
“Are you okay, son?” Robert Evans asked, while thinking that he had never seen Bryn looking worse. He hugged his son and held him tightly for the first time in a long time. The bruises from the beating were blackening, the swellings deforming his handsome features. He resembled a car crash victim.
“I’m okay,” Bryn said, recoiling slightly from the smell of stale smoke but enjoying the rare show of affection. Sometimes he felt older than his years but now he felt like a child again, vulnerable and in need of a parent’s protection. “How is Jacob?”
“We don’t know anything,” his dad said running a hand over his son’s scalp. “This is a nightmare, son. What the hell have you got yourself into?”
“I honestly don’t know, dad,” Bryn sighed. “I wish I’d never gone to the park.”
“How can things get so out of hand walking the dog to the park?”
“Someone is dead, dad. Take it easy on him.” Mark said.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Bryn said defensively to his father. His face reddened and his eyes became moist again. He was frightened and confused by what had happened. Remorse was pulling at his soul. “The bloke attacked me for nothing. He was going to stab Alice.”
“Better if he had done than all this,” Robert said shaking his head. “What did you think would happen if you hit someone on the head with a house brick?”