Top Hard

by Stephen Booth

  "Worth it? Was he worth your job? Because you've gone too bloody far this time, Stones."

  I could hear shouts in the house, and a car engine revving up in the garage. We were helpless while the bloke at the window had us pinned down. It looked as though our targets were about to make a getaway. Frank Moxon was spitting with rage.

  "You've turned a blind eye once too often, and this time you nearly got me killed. That's way out of order."

  "Frank - "

  "Why do you always think you can do things by your own rules? Just because some kid comes from the same estate as you, you think he deserves special treatment. You'd be a good cop if you weren't so bloody soft-hearted about these low-life wasters. Deep down, you're still just one of them yourself, aren't you? You're just a thieving dosser's kid off the Forest Estate who's had a bit too much education for his own good."

  "Let's talk about it later, Frank."

  "Later? When we get out of this, McClure, I'm going to see you shafted."

  "Thanks, partner."

  Moxon knew more than enough about me to do it, too. I wondered whether to walk out into the open and let the bloke at the window kill me there and then. In view of what happened later, I might as well have.

  * * * *

  Probably Cavendish, too, could have finished me off as I lay in the cab of the JCB. But he must have seen the police appearing over the slope, because when I dared to look over the dashboard he'd turned his attention away from me and was pointing his gun at something off to the left. It looked remarkably like the gun I'd left in the drawer in the house at West Laneton. It was fully loaded, too, unless he'd used it since then. I'd checked it myself.

  Through a crack in the side window I could see the cops had stopped where they were and got busy looking for cover. I knew exactly what would happen now. They'd be straight on the radio shouting for armed support, and they'd be holding off until the lads in the fancy body armour arrived - which might not be for the next half hour.

  Meanwhile, there was just me out here, with no standard operational procedures and no Police Manual regulations to hold me back. It looked as though it was up to me again, and there would only be Stones McClure to blame when it all went wrong. Story of my life.

  I dropped out of the driver's door of the cab and nearly made it round the back of the abandoned boiler before Cavendish noticed me and decided to come after me. Suddenly I was the hunted instead of the hunter, and it didn't feel too comfortable.

  I pushed the debris aside and shinned up onto a skip full of rubbish. From there I reached for one of the open arches into the engine house. I could hear Cavendish coming after me, but he was being cautious. Maybe he thought I was armed too, in some way. If so, he'd badly overestimated my resourcefulness. I didn't even have a spare sock to throw at him. Maybe I could frighten him to death by pulling faces, but my gut feeling told me I was at a slight disadvantage, like a ladybird on a stalk of grass that's about to be eaten by a cow.

  I jumped down from the arch onto the floor of the building and made for the wooden stairs to the top floor. I wasn't halfway there when I heard Cavendish walk through the door. I hadn't even bothered to check whether it was unlocked. People are so lax with their security.

  "Just stop there, McClure."

  Even without looking round, I could feel the gun pointing at me. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned. Cavendish looked nervous. His coat was covered in coal dust and his brogues were unrecognisable. He was breathing hard, and his eyes flickered round the building as if he expected company at any moment. With a bit of luck, we might get it too. But would they be too late?

  "The police are outside," I pointed out. "You haven't a hope."

  "Yes, I have," he said. "I've got you."

  "Well, I'm delighted to bring hope into someone's life. What exactly did you have in mind?"

  "You're going to be my hostage."

  "Wow. My dream. Do we get the TV cameras and all that? Global coverage by CNN, and the SAS coming in with smoke grenades? This could be my moment of fame."

  "Damn well shut up, McClure."

  "By the way, is your name really Cavendish? Or is it Perella? I need to know for the interviews afterwards. I don't want to get my facts wrong."

  "It doesn't matter to you."

  "Oh, yes it does. I like to know who's been trying to wreck my business, and why."

  The hand holding the gun was shaking, and it wasn't just from the exertion. Cavendish was scared stiff. That was risky - he might be trigger happy in an agitated state. But it also gave me my best chance. I didn't want to be still standing there when the cops came clumping up and made him even more nervous. There wasn't much near me that I could use as a weapon. The interior of the engine house was practically bare - just a bit of rubbish lying about on the floor, and a few lumps of coal. Above me, pigeons were shuffling on the ledges of the windows, dropping their sarcastic comments down the wall and wishing we'd all go away.

  "You were just incidental, McClure. I wouldn't have bothered with the likes of you, but you went out of your way to annoy me. I don't forget things like that."

  "Oh, I can be such an embarrassment, can't I? 'Course, I haven't had your upbringing. No couth, that's me."

  "Was it you that broke into my house?"

  "Of course. Shame about the dovecote."

  "The jewellery was in there. I lost the lot."

  "Not all of it. Some of it is in your car, under the seat. No doubt the police have found it by now. It came from the job you did on the Jewellery Box in Medensworth."

  "I thought so. I knew you'd set me up. You've been a big nuisance to me, McClure."

  "That's what everybody says."

  "First you started muscling in on my territory."

  "Your territory? I was here first, mate."

  "You're just a council estate yob. My ancestors owned this area."

  "Oh, still on that line? I bet your most famous ancestor was just some younger son's bastard by a servant girl, if the truth were known."

  His face went red and the tendons stood out on his neck as he snarled at me. Damn, I seemed to have hit a nerve there.

  "You're going to pay for that, McClure."

  "No!"

  I shouted the word as loud as I could, kicking up a great echo against the high walls of the engine house. Above us, the flock of pigeons took off, startled. The immense clattering of wings was like a thunderflash going off. Cavendish reacted instantly, whipping round and firing up towards the unexpected noise. I bent and hefted a lump of rusty metal from the floor and heaved it towards him. It caught his arm and sent the gun spinning across the floor. He was too surprised to move, and I got to the gun first to kick away into the far corner.

  Cavendish read my intention. Since I was between him and the door, he had only one place to go. He ran up the stairs, with me at his heels, and leaped for the arched entrance on the first floor of the building. He'd gone several steps out into the open air before he realised he was running up the metal walkway towards the winding gear headstocks. He looked down at the ground and began to wobble. I stood in the opening and smiled at him.

  "That's what I like to see. Somebody going out on a limb. Like to feel you're up there above the rest of us, do you, Cavendish? Well, tough, because I'm coming after you."

  "Stay away, McClure."

  "No chance."

  Cavendish backed further up the walkway, slipping and stumbling until he reached the maintenance platform running round the twin wheels of the headgear. Somehow the sight of him up there in his Hugo Boss suit made me grit me teeth with anger. At that moment I probably hated him more than ever. What right had he even to go near the last reminder of the pit where my dad and all those thousands of other men had worked and sweated and died?

  At last the police were coming, cars and an armoured van throwing up the dust as they raced towards the engine house. Cavendish saw them coming too. But he must also have recognised the look in my eye as I began to move up the walkwa
y towards him. In a panic, he turned to go round the platform. His muddy brogues slipped and he toppled forward, grabbing at the nearest spoke of a wheel for support.

  But the wheel wasn't as rusted up as it looked. As Cavendish hit it with all his weight, it began to move, throwing him off balance and carrying him over the edge of the platform. He screamed as he bounced off the blue spokes and cartwheeled in the air. Then he hit the ground below with a horrible, meaty thud.

  A moment of silence. I hung on tightly to the rail as I looked down at the spreadeagled body. I'd never seen anyone look quite so dead. His shape was imprinted deep into the coal dust, which hung around him like a fog until it began to settle again, slowly covering his face. I tried to summon a respectful thought into my head, but couldn't manage it.

  So instead I rattled back down the walkway and into the engine house. When I emerged into the light I'd hardly turned round when there were more guns aimed on me.

  "Stop! Armed police!"

  I put my hands up, innocent as the day, and waited nervously while a couple of cops came over in their body armour and frisked me, none too gently. Then they cuffed me, and I had the pleasure of seeing my best mate walk over to stare at me. DI Frank Moxon. Well, I was almost pleased to see him.

  "That's the bloke you want, Frank. The one doing the pancake impression over there."

  A small group of officers had gathered round Cavendish. An ambulance with its lights flashing was already bouncing across the rubbish-strewn plateau.

  "What are you doing here, McClure?" demanded Moxon. "What's your connection?"

  "Hey, guv, I was just passing. I thought you blokes might need some help."

  "Ah, an honest citizen. A have a go hero, in fact. Is that the idea? Expect your picture to be in the paper, do you? Want a certificate from the Chief Constable?"

  "Oh no, you know me. Modest."

  "I know you all right, McClure. I've got your job now, remember? You're nothing any more, just shit like all the rest. So keep your nose out of my business."

  I held up my wrists with the cuffs on. "Am I under arrest then? I hope you've got some evidence, because you're letting your personal prejudices show, inspector."

  "Get in the car."

  We got in, leaving the heavy mob and the ambulance to look after Cavendish. Back in the village the crowd in Birch Road had grown much bigger. Uniformed police were trying to keep them back from the damaged cars, but there was a sort of carnival atmosphere. People hadn't seen this much fun in Medensworth since the war.

  Blokes in overalls were pulling the blue German car apart, and had even taken the seats out of the Morris Traveller. Metal Jacket was going to be pissed off with me about that. There was no sign of Slow Kid, but there was a large figure sitting on a garden wall eating a bag of chips. I hoped Rawlings and Lee had been taken away in one of those nice black vans.

  And here was Lisa too, practically pushing Moxon aside to get at me.

  "What happened, Stones? Where's Michael Cavendish?"

  I explained as best I could, playing down my heroic role, of course.

  "That's terrible," she said. "And do you know those youngsters have stolen almost everything out of the car that had the accident."

  "You mean the blue car? The one with a wheel missing?"

  "Yes, they'd even taken the wheel as well before the police got here."

  "It's a disgrace."

  "The awful thing is, I heard a policeman say they were expecting to find some stolen jewellery in the car. But that's gone too."

  "Shit. That's terrible."

  And this time I meant it. That was supposed to be evidence. For heaven's sake, some people will nick anything.

  "Why do the police think you've got something to do with the stolen jewellery, Stones?"

  "It's a mistake," I said. "I was just helping out."

  "This is why you got me to tell Michael Cavendish you'd given me some jewellery, isn't it? You knew about this?"

  "I've got contacts, you know."

  "There's more going on than you're saying. I'm sure there is."

  "Just things I hear. Through business, you know."

  "You wouldn't know anything about stealing things, would you? Because I really hate stealing."

  "It can't be me who nicked anything, love, can it? Not with these on." I held up the handcuffs, hoping for sympathy.

  "Quite honestly, they suit you."

  "Oh, come on, love."

  "And then there's all that money you've got stashed at my cottage. Is that the right word - stashed? Yes, I've seen it. I was going to do your dirty washing for you, and I found it. There seems to be an awful lot of it, Stones. What is it all for? Where is that going? To finance some other shady venture?"

  "Bleedin' hell, Lisa."

  "Let him go! He's innocent!"

  Even while I was struggling to defend myself, the distant shout caught my notice. I looked round to see a familiar redhead with big tits coming across the road. The police fell back in front of her, the way a lot of blokes do.

  "Anyway, about that money, Lisa," I said hastily, desperate to distract her attention. "No need to worry about that - it's going to my Uncle Willis's Trust Fund."

  "Really?" Lisa looked surprised, as if she'd actually thought I was a crook. Women can be very hurtful.

  "Yeah, I promised him. It'll go to a new youth centre."

  "Well, that's wonderful. I'm very proud of you." She paused. "If it's true."

  "Well, of course it's true. I - "

  "Stones! Are you all right?" Nuala was right in front of me now, her breasts practically poking my eyes out as she threw her arms round my shoulders. She looked really concerned for me. It made a refreshing change.

  "Fine, love. Fine."

  Oh yeah, just fine. What, with the real shit about to hit the fan? Unable to push Nuala away because of the handcuffs, I looked about me for inspiration. But all I saw was Frank Moxon's satisfied smirk.

  "Stones," said Lisa.

  Her voice was flat and hard, like the sound of a judge just before he sentences you to be removed from this place and hanged by the neck until dead.

  "Stones," she said again, "who exactly is this woman?"

  It seemed things were about to turn runny again. So I smiled, scraped some dust off my boots, and reminded myself of the Top Hard Rule. You can't trust anyone these days.

  Not even me.

  * * * * THE END * * * *

  Author's note:

  All the titles in my Cooper & Fry series are set in Derbyshire, and I'm often asked by readers why I've never written a novel set in my home county of Nottinghamshire. The answer is - I have! About a year before I created my two young Derbyshire police detectives, Ben Cooper and Diane Fry, I wrote TOP HARD. This book reflects the situation existing in Nottinghamshire coalfield villages in the 1990s, and the characters give voice to some of the views being expressed at the time. In 1998, TOP HARD was shortlisted for the first ever New Writing Award, presented by the UK Crime Writers' Association (now known as the Debut Dagger). A short story adapted from the first chapter appeared in the 'Criminal Tendencies' anthology, a fund raiser for breast cancer research, and was later chosen for publication in 'The Mammoth Book of British British Crime 8', released in 2011. TOP HARD has never been published in its full-length novel form, until now. I hope you enjoy it!

  If you enjoyed TOP HARD, why not try a novel in the Cooper & Fry series by the same author?

  BLACK DOG

  DANCING WITH THE VIRGINS

  BLOOD ON THE TONGUE

  BLIND TO THE BONES

  ONE LAST BREATH

  THE DEAD PLACE

  SCARED TO LIVE

  DYING TO SIN

  THE KILL CALL

  LOST RIVER

  THE DEVIL'S EDGE

  DEAD AND BURIED

  ALREADY DEAD

  THE CORPSE BRIDGE

  THE MURDER ROAD

  SECRETS OF DEATH

  And a Ben Cooper novella:

  CLAWS


  The most recent title in the series is THE MURDER ROAD:

  For the Peak District hamlet of Shawhead, there’s only one road in and one road out. Its handful of residents are accustomed to being cut off from the world by snow or floods. But when a lorry delivering animal feed is found jammed in the narrow lane, with no sign of the driver except for a blood-stained cab, it’s the beginning of something much more sinister.

  The mystery brings Acting Detective Inspector Ben Cooper and his team from Derbyshire Constabulary’s E Division to the scene, but they find themselves faced with more and more questions.

  In the nearby town of New Mills, one man may have known some of the answers. But it’s too late to ask him, since his body is found hanging from a walkway high above the river gorge. Festering wounds and a longing for vengeance are waiting to be exposed in the local community as the police begin to unearth buried connections.

  Back in E Division, things have been moving on. A new sergeant has arrived, old-school DC Gavin Murfin has embarked on a dubious second career, and even Diane Fry has finally moved away from Derbyshire. But for Ben Cooper, torn by mixed emotions over new and old relationships, the past turns out to be a country where things weren’t quite so different after all…

  Here's a sample to give you a taste:

  THE MURDER ROAD

  Stephen Booth

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eight years ago

  The road was wet that night, as it always was when the worst things happened. Rain had turned the tarmac into a slick, dark ribbon as black as any nightmare. A wave of spray splattered his windscreen from the tyres of a Tesco Scania as it ploughed through the downpour fifty yards ahead.

  By now, the steering wheel felt slippery in his hands and the rumble of the diesel engine had become a monotonous drone inside his head. The nose of his massive Iveco Stralis veered towards the white line as his concentration faltered for a second. He screwed up his eyes against the dazzle of headlights from cars on the southbound carriageway as they glared and flickered through a smear of water beneath his wipers.