Divide and Rule

by Solomon Carter

  “I won’t be long…”

  “Look after the lady, Wes. She’s a customer, understand?” said the moustache. A sulking look came upon the youth’s face.

  “This way,” said the young man.

  “Great. That’s very helpful of you,” said Eva with a deliberately soft voice. Eva knew how to play the game. Never proud of flirting, she still knew how it was done, and right now it was required. Jess would have been proud of her. In fact maybe Jess should have come here instead of Dan. As a female double act, they would have cleaned up in this place.

  The young man slowed his pace a little, maybe hoping he was going to enjoy this little stroll with the good looking lady. “What makes you want to buy any of the pies here? Or the sausages or anything else? I mean, you know they’re shit right? This whole place is shit. Can’t you tell?”

  “You’re not the best salesman I’ve ever met, that’s for sure.”

  The boy laughed.

  It was more candid than she was expecting, but the young man seemed much more a teenager than a man. He was tall and muscular-big, like someone who used a gym regularly. But his attitude was dumb, self-conscious and immature. He glanced at her from the side, like a boy with a crush.

  “That’s a little too honest for an employee. Is it true, or have you got some kind of an axe to grind with Curlon’s,” Eva slowed again. The young man looked around, and drew to a stop. They were out of sight, around a corner from the main body of the room. Now, Eva gave him the lingering eyes. The boy got trapped in them, and shuffled his feet.

  “I was just saying. I thought you looked like you wouldn’t want to waste money on shit like this, that’s all. I was doing you a favour. I haven’t go no axe to grind. They pay me. I like some of ‘em here and some of ’em are wankers, like Captain Tash over there. I was just thinking someone classy like you doesn’t want anything to do with this place, believe me.”

  “Ahhh. That’s sweet of you to say. Why don’t I want anything to do with it?”

  “The joint is filthy. Look at it. Classy lady like you should go upmarket, right. I’m just saying, that’s all. But it’s up to you what you do with your money.”

  Eva nodded and smiled, threading her hair behind her ear. She let him trace her face, her jaw, her neck with his eyes. She needed to change tack.

  “You do need to go to the toilet, right?”

  “In a minute. You’ve got me interested now.”

  Suddenly the boy looked hopeful, tense even. Eva moved on quickly.

  “Someone I know called Joe, a friend of a friend, recommended this place to us. He’s a shift manager here, apparently.”

  “Joe Merton. Yeah, he’s alright. He’s one of the top boys, Joe is.”

  “Right. Does Joe bring new staff into this place? People like you?”

  “Joe brought me in, yeah. He said it’s a wage, right? And I wasn’t earning before so I took it. But this ain’t a job, man. This place is grim.”

  Eva nodded.

  “So Joe brings in new recruits. Are all the staff here as young as you?”

  “I’m not that young. But a lot of ‘em are, yeah. Youth is cheap, innit? Lower minimum wage and everything. Mind you, I’ve got some money. I could afford to show you a good time.”

  Eva ignored the remark. It was too early to close this down. She needed more information, so she had to play against the risks.

  “I see a lot of people here are into their politics.”

  “Yeah, it’s a big time for this place.”

  Eva had to be careful. If she pushed too far the boy would sense something, and clam up, or maybe even sound the alarm. A big time for this place. The whole firm was in on it, then. Or at least the main players were all UKFirst, from what the boy said, it had to be. Best not push that line, but change tack again.

  “So. This Joe Merton sounds like a great guy. You say he’s a top man, and here he is helping all these young guys get work. Does he offer you guys any training at all? I mean, is he training some at the moment.”

  There was a glint of confusion in his eye. Eva was pushing it. She waited and let the moment pass.

  “Joe has his favourite boys. I used to be one, now he leaves me stuck here in the factory. I preferred being out with him, where all the action is. Hey, why are you so interested in Joe?”

  “Like I said, he’s a friend of a friend. I am going to go home and call her, and tell her all the great things you’ve been saying about him. You must feel a bit left out now. That’s a shame. Did you do anything interesting or cool with Joe?”

  Now the young man bit his lip, hesitating. He looked confused, but he carried on. “We all used to go out and do stuff, man. He used to train us down at the farm. The training was cool, very cool.”

  “What training?”

  “It was top secret, man. Look, I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” said the boy, striking a pose with a smirk. “Now, tell me. You spent all this time over here talking to me. It wasn’t because you needed the toilet was it. It’s because you like me. You like what you see?”

  Eva’s face froze. Yuck. She maintained a smile and kept composure. Young skinhead boys were definitely not her style.

  “Um. Where was the farm?”

  Again, the boy looked thrown, but he answered “Corringham. Now you want my number or you want to kiss me now?”

  “Uh. Where’s the toilet?”

  The boy hissed and shook his head. “It’s over there at the back, turn left outside the door. Don’t snitch on me. I was only talking.”

  Eva nodded, sighed and walked to the toilet. On her way she walked calmly, but kept her wits in case the young gun wanted to take his chances and attack her. He didn’t. Then in a public toilet like the cold dank school toilets of her youth, Eva began to process all the horny little skinhead had shared with her.

  The factory was full of young men. Joe Merton, whoever he was, was one of the top boys, presumably in Burton and Serge’s local UKFirst mob. Joe Merton was responsible for training the young men in a non-specific field, but whatever the field, it sounded ominous. Skinheads training young men on a farm left only a few possibilities in mind. It wasn’t going to be a ballet class. It wasn’t going to be art history either. They were building an army, had to be. Maybe not a terrorist army, but an army to carry out missions, to deal with problems… maybe even problems like Will Burton. Which begged the question why would Will Burton be a problem to people in his own party? And what was this training really all about? As she considered these things, Eva ran the tap and put some cold water on her temples, avoiding the fine layer of make up on her cheeks. She was tense. Time was against her, and now she was afraid of what she was uncovering to boot. The way she saw it, she’d only been hired to confuse the issue, to make a show that UKFirst was looking after its own. Then when they saw she was serious about the task, Peter Serge and his boys tried to intimidate her into dropping the case. In using intimidation tactics Serge had broken the veneer of respectability UKFirst had tried to create. And now Eva had broken through it, there was no way back. She was duty bound to press on until the end, until they discovered just exactly what was going on. Whether they had wanted her to fail or not, they had hired her to win. And win was what she was going to do.

  As Eva was taking a deep breath ready to press on into the factory with Dan and her new suitor, her mobile phone buzzed. It was a text message. She picked her phone out of the bag, and read the text.

  PETER SERGE IS HEADING TO CURLON’S FOOD FACTORY. LEAVE NOW.

  The text was from Jess, who had undertaken surveillance on Will Burton and his family. How did she know? Maybe Serge had spoken with Burton and she’d caught it. It was time to leave and leave quickly. Before she put her phone back in her bag, she took the precaution of scrolling down to look at the message details. The message was sent from Jess’s phone. But the time was wrong. The message had been sent seventeen minutes ago, and had only just arrived.

  “Damn!” said Eva, hearing the fri
ght and shock in her own voice. Her shoes echoed on the toilet tiles as she ran for the door. As ever, Serge was always with them. Even now, when fate was playing a hand, he had played it for Serge. Eva had no idea how they were going to get out of this if Serge arrived before they left Curlon’s.

  Eva moved quickly, checking the doorway from reception and then flicking her eyes towards the few factory windows she could see. Nothing as yet - no evidence of Serge. She caught up with the Dan and the touring party. Dan raised an eyebrow, maybe about the time she had taken with the young man chatting her up. The young man who tried it on arrived and ignored her completely. The other young skinhead was wearing a knowing smirk at his friend’s expense. Dan looked back at Eva as the moustached manager began to walk away from the meat chopping towards the next point of interest on his tour. Eva’s eyes flicked down to her phone. She tried to be unobtrusive but the smirking boy caught their furtive glances, but said nothing. A couple exchanging a secret message, what was wrong with that? Couples did that kind of thing all the time. She lifted the phone to show Dan the message, and then dropped it immediately into her bag. Dan’s face changed in an instant. His eyes widened, he was paler, and his body stiffened noticeably.

  “We’ve got to go,” said Dan. The moustache looked confused, and looked round to check if he’d heard Dan right. Eva nodded. “I’m sorry, I’ve had a message from the shop. There’s water pouring in from the ceiling. Must be the upstairs pipes again. I’m really sorry, but we have to go right now. Can we finish the tour next time?”

  The moustachioed man stammered and didn’t seem to know whether to be angry or remain in friendly mode. Dan wasn’t going to give him the time to decide.

  “We’re going. Thanks for the tour, boys. It’s been… strange.”

  Dan turned and walked away. Eva smiled a thin painful smile and followed suit.

  “What about your order?” called the moustache.

  “I’ll be in touch,” said Eva without looking back.

  She caught up with Dan. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You’re not acting like it, Dan.”

  “I’m okay, damn it. Now let’s go.” He didn’t look at her. He was focussed dead ahead.

  She could hear his breath – rapid and tense.

  “You’re not okay. Give me the keys, I’ll drive.”

  “Stop it, Eva.”

  They made it past reception.

  “Come on. We’ve known each other long enough…”

  “I said STOP.”

  Eva stopped, but she wasn’t happy, not happy at all.

  They ignored the receptionist and pushed on into the outside world. The grey clouds had pushed in from one side of the big sky, and now the seemed to weigh down on the world. They looked ready to pour any moment. They both heard the distant growl of engines, and saw two cars bearing down the road between the fields. The cars were dark, maybe navy, charcoal or black. They were saloons. They had to contain Serge and his entourage.

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  The cars were less than thirty seconds away so they both jogged to the Jag, and clambered in. Dan started the engine in a real hurry, it stalled, and then he started it up again as the cars made it through the open gates, and streamed passed them to a nearby side space. As their cars drew to a halt and parked, Dan backed the Jag out quickly, and span it round with a screech of the tyres, drawing the heads of the men as they got out. There was Peter Serge. He reminded Dan of the French villain from the Bond Film Casino Royale. Dan told himself his imagination was playing tricks on him. The Jag passed him, Serge’s face momentarily a freeze frame. And then Peter Serge smiled, lifting his arm and waving at them mockingly. Dan gripped the steering wheel tight, and Eva saw his eyes flick back and forth from the front to the rear view mirror. She let Dan settle for a minute or two, watched his fingers loosen around the steering wheel, saw tight-packed shoulders un-hunch. Dan had always been a risk as a partner. But right now Eva understood he was a complete liability. Dan was in a bad way. She felt bad because a part of her felt Dan’s time was up. From a case point of view, from a business point of view, from a survival point of view, Eva needed Dan out of the way more than ever before.

  Fifteen

  They were driving too fast because Dan was jittery. Eva had him drive her to the office and told him she needed a break, but she didn’t dismiss Jess from the office, which served as a pretty blunt message for Dan. Now Dan could draw his own conclusions. His eyes looked hollow and sad as he left and he drove off as quickly as he’d arrived. Eva called Will Burton and insisted they meet, away from the eyes of UKFirst and the papers. With the Election Day looming, it was a big ask, but Burton had agreed to meet her in a place called Rochford. Rochford was just a few miles out of town, and was away from the national press hubbub and the protests going on in Southend.

  They met inside a bakery coffee shop which smelt strongly of sausage rolls and coffee. The bakery was hidden off to one side of the town’s little square and in the mid-afternoon the bakery was empty both of bread and customers. Eva arrived first and ordered a coffee. There was plenty of processed food around, but Curlon’s ended any desire for sausage rolls. Eva had enough time to drink the whole coffee just as Will Burton arrived. He was casual looking, his suit jacket draped over his arm and tie undone. The baker woman gave him a long starry-eyed look, probably because she’d seen on him TV along with everybody else. Eva ordered two more coffees and then got down to business.

  “I haven’t got a lot of time,” he said.

  “I think you’re right about that.” She left her words hanging for Burton to chew on a while.

  “What do you know about Corringham?” she continued.

  “It’s a rough old place. The old oil refinery is over there. It’s not my patch. That’s what I know.”

  “Fine. So what do you know about Curlon’s Food?”

  Burton shifted in his chair and sipped his coffee. His face screwed up at the taste.

  “You’ve been digging, then.”

  “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

  Eva looked over Burton’s shoulder through the alley outside and across to the small square. There were people around, but no one worth worrying about. Not yet anyway.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he said.

  “This is getting serious. When you hired me, did you know just how much shit was surrounding this situation? Do you know how many people don’t like you?”

  “Of course I know. I’m a politician for UKFirst. Someone attacked my son, for God’s sake… ”

  “But were you sure your political enemies carried out that attack? Or did you already know they were closer to home than you led me to believe…?”

  He caught her glancing out of the window again.

  “You’re paranoid,” he said.

  “Not as much as you should be. Either that, or you are paranoid, and you’re just a very good actor. They call you Tony, don’t they? Named after Tony Blair, because you’re a sharp operator, good at spinning your way through anything and capable of leading a party you don’t even believe in.”

  “Ha. That’s funny. Its crap but it’s still funny. Who the hell have you been speaking to? Are you on my side, because right now, it doesn’t sound like you are?”

  “You’re my client. But I have to know where the ground lies in order to win through for you. Do you understand what I’m saying here?”

  The man nodded slowly. “I am UKFirst through and through. We are not a racist party. We are the party of the people, the party who will get the things done that the people really want done. And we are going to start the process in two days’ time when I win that election.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t want your sound bites, Mr Burton. Save it for the press. And I already told you, I’m going to vote for whoever stands against you. But right now, if you want my help, you need to level with me. Big time.”

  “But I am UKFirst through and thr
ough.”

  “Whatever you say… but I’m not convinced.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not the only one. Peter Serge isn’t convinced either. I think they are after you, Mr Burton. And I suspect - but can’t prove- that they attacked your son. Did they make you any threats? Tell me - Did they tell you to stand aside and let Peter Serge run instead?”

  “Stop, this is preposterous. Listen to yourself. We are a modern political party, not the bloody Cosa Nostra.”

  “I’m listening to you, Mr Burton.”

  “Look. Peter and I are not cut from the same cloth, you’ve got that part right, but he wouldn’t attack me, not like that, would he? I mean, it would be political suicide for the both of us – for the whole party too.”

  “Yes, but you are a party man, right. Not that you believe in this party. This party is just another bus for you to ride on, as good as any other old bus, which can take you towards Westminster. But you’re still a strategist. You would never do anything as insane as to attack your colleague’s son, but so far what I’m seeing from Councillor Serge does not smack of a rational, centre ground politician. And after what I saw at Curlon’s today, I’m now wondering how much you are turning a blind eye on within your own set up.”

  “Turning a blind eye?”

  “Come on. Do you know about the youth recruitment policy? Do you know about their so called training?”

  Now Will Burton’s turn to look around. He ducked lower to the table and whispered hoarsely.

  “What do you think those I.S. and Al Qaeda bastards are doing in the UK? Preparing for multi-cultural street parties? Don’t be so bloody naïve. It doesn’t suit you, Miss Roberts. At least what Peter and Joe are organising is in our favour. Think of what is going on in the north and the midlands, where these radicalised haters are meeting up, talking, trading mutilation tips, abusing children”

  “You’re trying hard to justify it, Mr Burton. But it can’t be justified. I don’t think it’s happening by your design, but now you’ve told me you know about it.”