The Godfathers of London

by M. C. Dutton

  Mad Pete started with a whine. ‘I ain’t never any problem to no one. I don’t know why I am always in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was on my rounds. I was in the Cherry Tree Pub just dropping off a little something for someone and there was this fella in the pub I didn’t know but he was giving it large and waltzing around. I just hid in the toilets cos I could see he was trouble and I didn’t like the look of what was going on. Someone called him Vinnie – not Vinnie Jones the actor, Mr Singh, but Vinnie James. The only Vinnie James I know of comes from the South London gang run by Eddie Grimshaw and his Grimshaw Boys. They are a vicious lot. Eddie Grimshaw rules from the Thamesmead Estate through Kidbrooke to Eltham. It’s tough there; no one moves in that place without guns and knives and it’s full of psychopaths. That’s why I hid in the toilet. I left when it was safe and went to The Pig and Poke. I was taking a little smack for Freddie Link but he wasn’t there, nor was George.’

  ‘So, what does that mean?’ asked Jazz.

  ‘I dunno, Mr Singh. After a while I left,’ Mad Pete said, but Jazz knew he was lying. God, why has it always got to be such a long, hard, fucking difficult road getting information out of Mad Pete, he asked himself. He got up and slapped Mad Pete around the head. Mad Pete grabbed his head and moaned that he didn’t deserve it. ‘Tell me the truth, otherwise there is trouble,’ Jazz threatened him.

  Mad Pete knew he would never get away with staying quiet, and it was getting a bit dodgy being so close to so many dangerous people. He got a bottle of Coke and offered Jazz a swig, which was readily declined with the comment, ‘No thanks, I haven’t had a tetanus update yet.’ Mad Pete gave him a look and swigged from the bottle. Jazz took out one of his hip flasks and took a swig from that. Mad Pete was about to say something catty like so you have a bad habit too but he caught the warning glint in Jazz’s eye and backed off.

  ‘Freddie Link and George bundled someone out of the pub the back way late that night. Now I come to think of it, it could have been your DC Kumar. I watched and guess what? When I looked outside I saw Vinnie James was watching from his car. When Freddie Link and George and the fella they grabbed left in the car, Vinnie James followed them. That’s all I know, Mr Singh. I thought it looked strange.’

  Jazz asked why he hadn’t told him about seeing what was surely DC Kumar and Mad Pete shrugged his shoulders; he said that he didn’t know there was anything wrong and maybe it wasn’t him. That was a lie too, but Jazz let it go for the moment. ‘Vinnie James from South London followed Freddie Link and George. Why?’ He turned to Mad Pete and asked incredulously, ‘How the fuck are you always in the right place at the right time? I suppose no one saw you either, did they?’

  Proudly, Mad Pete said, ‘No, Mr Singh, I am invisible. It’s just a talent of mine.’

  Jazz thought they might not have seen him but, boy, they should have been able to smell him. He sniffed at Mad Pete. ‘’Bout time you took a bath, don’t you think?’

  Mad Pete, affronted by such a comment, said, ‘That’s not necessary, Mr Singh. No one else complains.’

  This made Jazz laugh but his face turned sour when he remembered that Mad Pete maybe knew about Ash and hadn’t told him. He had to ask the right question to get an answer. He didn’t want Mad Pete to go into one of his druggy fits so sorting him out would wait for now. ‘Do you know anything else? Do you know where they took the person who must have been DC Kumar?’

  Mad Pete shook his head.

  ‘Okay,’ thought Jazz: another question. ‘Do you know where someone would be kept? Does The Bird Man have safe houses locally?’

  Mad Pete said the only one he knew was a place above his storage unit in Bow. It was on the Industrial Estate there and it was a quiet place to keep someone. Again Jazz looked at him. ‘How the fuck do you know this, when the Met Police haven’t got a clue about this place?’

  Mad Pete looked smug. ‘I’m brilliant, that’s why.’

  Jazz gave him a playful slap but told Mad Pete in no uncertain terms, ‘You ain’t as clever as you think. Don’t leave out information in future. If anything has happened to DC Kumar I will hold you responsible.’ Mad Pete protested how unfair that was but Jazz just told him, ‘Life isn’t fair, arse-wipe! Remember that in future.’

  He made his way to the car where Tom was sitting, bored and almost nodding off. He told him about Vinnie James and the storage unit. Tom put out a search for Vinnie James and made it urgent. They talked it through and wondered why Vinnie James was in the East End of London. There hadn’t been any intelligence that he was in the area. It was quite brazen of him to be in East London, and Jazz wondered aloud why Freddie Link wasn’t aware of him being there, and why he hadn’t fronted up to him. What the fuck was going on?

  They made their way to Bow which took a very short time. By now it was 1 a.m. and although there was traffic on the road they passed it easily with the blue light on. Jazz was getting very tired but the adrenalin was keeping him going. They received an update from officers to say there was no sighting of DC Kumar. Another call confirmed that no one had seen Freddie Link.

  They got a call to say that George had been found in the local morgue. He had been killed by a runaway car in an area that had no CCTV and the car hadn’t stopped. They both knew that was a big coincidence. Again, they asked what the hell was going on. If Freddie Link was missing and George was dead, they knew The Bird Man was behind it. As he said, nothing happened in his town without his permission. But the rub was DC Ashiv Kumar was missing and The Bird Man didn’t know where he was. Jazz was beginning to go into a deep depression. It was after midnight and he had a meeting at 1 p.m. with DCI Radley; he wanted to go there with DC Ashiv Kumar and tell Radley how they had made a big arrest. At the moment it felt chance would be a fine thing! He needed to find Ash and there was only going to be one way to do that. He was going to work with The Bird Man.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Help cometh

  The Bird Man was beside himself with fury and frustration. Something had gone very wrong in his town. Where was Lionel Wood, for God’s sake? He promised he would do something creative with him when he found him. His men reported in every ten minutes as requested but they had nothing to tell.

  Jazz had a number for The Bird Man on his phone. He just looked up incoming calls and The Bird Man had rung him. He dialled the number, which startled The Bird Man, who wondered where the hell Jazz had got his number. The Bird Man wasn’t at ease with being in this position. Jazz told him that Vinnie James was in the area and that he had followed Freddie Link and George when they took DC Kumar. He added that he hadn’t got a clue where Vinnie James was.

  The Bird Man put the phone down and thought for a second. His roar of Get me Ian Long now! rang through the room. It took thirty minutes for Ian Long to appear. Although He had dressed quickly, there was no sense of rush about him. He walked into the room surrounded by an aura of calm, dressed immaculately in a dark suit. His demeanour was sophisticated and his appearance was that of a male model: tall, straight, slim, with a light elegant walk. Some had wondered if he was gay but Ian Long never gave anyone the opportunity of asking such a personal question. He had a cruel look with thin lips, piercing light-blue eyes, and jet black hair, which was dramatically slicked back in a forties style with a sharp widow’s peak. He smoked long black cigarettes and viewed from a distance he looked upper class, even like a foreign prince. Then he would open his mouth and all would be revealed. ‘I presume this is fucking urgent, guv?’ He was Hackney-born and bred, and he was born without a conscience; any self-respecting psychiatrist would have him diagnosed as a psychopath.

  ‘I need you to find Vinnie James from the South London mob. He’s pinched a DC Ashiv Kumar from me. I was going to give him back alive and kicking to the police and he’s been stolen. I want to know where, why, and how, and I want to ask him in person. I want this fucking DC to be found alive so I can give him back to the police and get on with my sodding work. This is all pissing me off and I want it
done.’

  Ian Long understood and said he would be back soon. He was used sparingly, as The Bird Man of Barking’s Exocet missile. He was paid huge amounts of money for his services. Ordinary killings or little threats were dealt with by his lads but anything that required that extra-special expertise and skill was given to Ian Long. He was feared by many and was commissioned to work for The Bird Man only in London. They had a history from the early days and The Bird Man was intelligent enough to know that if he didn’t pay Ian Long a good retainer, he could be on the receiving end of Long’s skills.

  Ian Long knew everything there was to know about the gangs in London. He had studied them, been approached by them, and killed some of them. Many gangs would like to see him topped but he was too clever for them and kept a low profile when it suited him. The police had no idea of who he was and he intended to keep it that way. He was an ice cold killer and took no prisoners. He was greatly feared by those in the know in London. He was perfect for finding Vinnie James and hopefully DC Kumar.

  The Bird Man knew DC Kumar had to have been kidnapped by Vinnie James. He wanted to know what had stirred up Eddie Grimshaw to have the nerve to send someone to his area, and the audacity to pinch a Police Detective from under their noses. Someone was going to pay dearly for this dishonour. It was an unwritten rule that South and East had their own manors and each would never intrude without permission. It was all about respect but it was also all about keeping turf wars to a minimum. Both were businessmen and both didn’t want the mess and time and loss of money that turf wars created. The Metropolitan Police was the bane of their lives and they kept them as far away from them as possible. Any fights going on would bring them more to the attention of the police and that wasn’t going to happen. For years they had made sure that any work was carved up so that South and East didn’t overlap. It had worked well and there had been a relative calm between them.

  Now the Bird Man knew it would get sorted. Ian Long would never let him down and soon he would know what the fucking hell was going on. He relaxed a little for the first time that day. He rang Jazz and told him all was good. He told Jazz to wait and he would come back to him in a short time with his DC Kumar. The Birdman was tired now. London should be sleeping at this hour but whilst they slept things were happening out there that would have repercussions later.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The baying hound

  When you took on Ian Long, you didn’t have to wait for the action. Long didn’t mess around. He left The Bird Man and went straight to South London in his black Mercedes-Benz S 600 Guard limo. It looked immaculate and classy, but was discreet enough not to come to the attention of either police or scumbags.

  Its armour resisted military-standard small-arms projectiles and provided protection against fragments from hand grenades and other explosive devices. Additional safety features included run-flat tyres, a self-sealing fuel tank and a fire-extinguishing system. When buying cars, Ian Long didn’t deal with salesmen; he went straight to the top and spoke only to a director. He was told quite proudly that the Mercedes-Benz S600 Guard was the car of choice for up and coming dictators of small African countries. He told the Director that if it was good enough for those bastards, it would serve his needs.

  The car had cost him an arm and a leg but it was so worth it, and besides he could afford it. Once inside his car nothing could touch him. The smell of leather, the feel of the steering wheel, the car purred. He loved his Mercedes-Benz and took pride in the elegant lines and the luxury and safety it afforded. It was a mans’ car and he was a mans’ man. He relaxed back into a seat that could have been moulded for his shape only.

  Before he got to the Blackwall tunnel he made a few phone calls and got the information he needed. He knew the gang Vinnie James belonged to. Mr Eddie Grimshaw was the boss.

  Eddie had a family name of Grimshaw that used to resonate with a good, wholesome honest business history. Many years ago the Grimshaws were big in the Midlands, near Barnsley. When Eddie’s great-grandfather came to London in the 1930s as the black sheep of the family, the South London dynasty started. They started in the scrap yards and made a fortune during the Second World War when metals were needed. They were used car salesmen and in their spare time they funded bank raids and attacks on Securicor vans. They were proud to be known as the first gang to rip out an ATM machine, affectionately known as a hole in the wall machine, from a bank in Greenwich High Street and they took the money. They were a hard, tough gang in an area that was lawless but such was their reputation, no one would touch them in South London.

  Ian Long arrived in a short time in a street on the Thames Mead Estate. Sitting in his car, he felt inside his jacket to where his holster snuggled neatly. It held his Glock 22 handgun. It was his preferred weapon: light, comfortable to hold, and accurate, and with a fifteen-round clip and one up the spout he was always ready for action. He was in good company; it was the gun issued to American police and allegedly to MI5 personnel in England. Ian Long was a professional and only the best would do. He was paid a small fortune for his talent and his brains.

  He looked in his mirrors before getting out of his car. The street was empty and quiet. Most were sleeping at this unearthly hour. He locked his car and quickly went on his way.

  Vinnie James was asleep in an armchair in a flat in a high-rise block on the Thames Mead Estate. The TV was on and all that could be heard was pre- recorded laughter at some antics going on in a programme not worthy of daytime TV. The lights in the room were dim and all that could be seen was the flashing light from the TV onto Vinnie’s sleeping face. It was peaceful for the moment.

  Ian Long stood outside the door and listened to Vinnie’s snoring. He had no time for words. It was like a whirlwind. The door was knocked down, a punch to the face stunned Vinnie, and his arms were pulled behind him and handcuffs smartly put on. Then his feet were tied. In a matter of what felt like seconds, Vinnie James went from comfortably snoozing to being punched, thrown on the floor and trussed up like a turkey. It took Ian a matter of moments to find out that DC Ashiv Kumar was in another room, waiting to be processed by the Grim Brothers who were arriving first thing in the morning. This information caused Vinnie James to lose one ear and three front teeth. He literally didn’t know what had hit him and the pain left him breathless and frightened. He had never experienced anyone as coldly focused as this man. He knew he would do whatever he had to do to get information, and Vinnie James was not that brave.

  DC Kumar was awake and, hearing the commotion, lay shaking with fear. He had gone from ice-cold certainty that he would be killed to being led to a car and brought to this place. He didn’t know where he was and he still had the sack over his head so he could see nothing; he just knew he was still alive and being kept for something. His nerves were shot and it was just the adrenalin of it all that had kept him a fraction above going raving mad.

  Ian Long grabbed DC Kumar, kicked Vinnie James into a standing position, and shuffled them both down to the lift and out to his car. He put them in the back seat and checked they couldn’t move. He blindfolded Vinnie James and gagged him quickly. Once inside his car with the doors locked, he knew they were safe and no one could get to them. Relaxing, he put some music on; he had a CD of Bill Withers which was his favourite. Mindful of police looking out for drunk drivers at this hour of the morning, Ian Long drove carefully and legally back to East London and to The Bird Man of Barking. His mission had been accomplished with little fuss or trouble. Daylight would bring its own problems but for now he had done his job.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Dog tired

  Jazz, tired by now and not able to do anything else, dropped Tom Black at his home in Chadwell Heath and went home for a couple of hours sleep. He crawled quietly into De Vere Gardens. The house was dark and quiet. He checked his watch and saw it was 3 a.m. He knew he wouldn’t get long. He took an urgent swig of vodka from the bottle and settled down on his bed. No time to get undressed: he fell imm
ediately asleep.

  Something was annoying him in his sleep. It was a bleep, a buzz or something, and it lived on the periphery of his dream of a stormy sea, where he was being tossed about in a small boat. He was urgently trying to reach someone shouting for help but every time he rowed towards the person a wave pushed him further away. He was stressed and frustrated, and all he could hear was a sodding bleep. Suddenly he woke up and looked towards the noise. His phone was buzzing and bleeping. It was the alarm clock on his phone telling him it was 7.30 a.m. and time to get up. He phoned Tom and told him he would be with him in half an hour. With that he brushed his teeth, brushed himself down trying to pull out the creases he had caused by sleeping in his clothes, and took himself off to Tom’s pad.

  He reminded Tom that he had a meeting with DCI Radley at 1 p.m. and he badly needed news of Ash. Tom looked at the man in front of him, bedraggled, tired, worried and worn down by the guilt of being responsible for Ash being in this position. It was difficult to be upbeat, but Tom tried cajoling Jazz into a more optimistic way; he was too far down the path of the damned, however, to appreciate any help. Jazz checked his phone for any messages but at that moment there were none.

  Tom checked his phone and he had a message to ring the station. One of his men had updated news on Vinnie James. He left Jazz to make a cup of coffee for them both while he went into another room to ring in. His men had found out where Vinnie James lived and sent surveillance there this morning. They had been in place since 6 a.m. and reported nothing until just now. The Brothers Grim, all three of them, appeared about 8 a.m. and after a short while all hell seemed to let loose. They ran out of the flats, looked around, jumped into their car and took off like bats out of hell. Just then three large and suspicious-looking men had appeared in a big van and walked into the flats. The officers were waiting to see what happened next. No one had seen Vinnie James or Ashiv Kumar.