by Alfie Robins
‘No, not me, I’ve just had a run-in with the numpty I told you about, Billybob the hillbilly, he needs medical attention ASAP.’
‘I do hope this won’t jeopardise the operation?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, anyway, send it to the old Pharmacy opposite the Hull Royal, at least they won’t have far to go.’
‘Anything further to report?’
‘No, still waiting. I’ll be in touch, sending a picture,’ he hung up the call.
Back in the flat, Warren went through to the kitchen, took a glass tumbler out of the cupboard and poured himself a large measure of tequila, and downed it in one, swiftly followed by a very large tequila. He then went back through to the lounge, the bottle of firewater went with him, and feeling drained he dropped down onto the sofa.
Violence he thought was a thing of the past – so did the police counsellor, these days he would sooner try and talk himself out of a turbulent situation. He couldn’t explain why he had done what he did, he knew it had been over the top when a slap or two would have done the job. He was wired and feeling remorse for his actions, he knew he wouldn’t sleep and poured himself another, not before checking the Sig was still where it should be.
Chapter 15
As promised, Bob had alerted the emergency services. Ten minutes later the hillbilly was wheeled into the Accident and Emergency department of Hull Royal Infirmary. As in all cases of assault or suspected assault the police were notified.
‘The damage is what you might expect if he’d been run-over by a ten ton truck,’ the charge nurse told PC Brian Scott.
‘The tone of your voice tells me you think otherwise,’ Scott said.
‘The evidence speaks for itself, the boot print on his leg was a big giveaway,’ she replied sarcastically, ‘and the finger marks around his wrist.’
‘What happened to his wrist?’ asked Scott.
‘Someone snapped it in half.’
‘Ouch!’
‘Ouch is putting it very mildly, poor man must have been in agony.’
‘Where is he now, can I have a word with him?’
‘Sorry he’s already in the operating theatre; trying to sort him out, with any chance they’ll be able to save the knee and lower leg.’
‘Did he say anything when he was brought in?’ Scott asked as he scribbled in his notebook.
‘He was delirious on the morphine the paramedics had given him, he kept saying, “tell Jim… Bo”, or something like that.’
‘Are these his personal belongings?’
Scott inclined his head towards a green plastic bag with the logo NHS.
‘Yes, the clothes he was wearing and everything that what was in the pockets.’
PC Scott put on a pair of latex gloves and tipped the contents onto a vacant trolley. He began to look through the contents of the bag.
‘Here we go,’ he said as he found the wallet and opened it. Inside he found Billybob’s driving licence. ‘Oh this is good,’ he said, ‘this has really made my day.’ The nurse looked on horrified at the comment. ‘He’s William Boland, AKA, Billybob. Wait ’til the lads back at the nick hear about this! It will probably be free teas all round in the canteen. He’s well known to us, a right vicious little bastard – pardon my language. My reckoning is this Jim bloke he mentions is his cousin, James Boland – AKA, Jimbo, another one with a silly nickname. Think I’ll give James a call and let him know what’s happened.’
Chapter 16
Jimbo walked down the garden path to Conway’s front door and rang the bell. Two minutes later the bolts were drawn and the door opened and Jimbo barged past.
‘And good morning to you, just come marching in while I’m in the middle of my breakfast why don’t you,’ said Conway, still wearing his dressing gown, as Jimbo pushed passed him without wiping his muddy shoes, trampling mud along the highly polished solid oak flooring. ‘Take your boots off before you go in there,’ he shouted as he reached the lounge. Jimbo kicked off his trainer-boots and started pacing up and down the lounge carpet. ‘What’s got into you?’ Conway demanded to know.
‘Cole, that’s who. What did I tell you Mick? You’ve got to rein him in, fuck him off,’ Jimbo spluttered.
‘What you going on about Jimbo?’ Conway asked, quizzically.
‘Billybob, Cole’s only gone and put him in hospital hasn’t he!’
‘Calm yourself lad, sit your arse down.’
He ignored him and continued the pacing.
‘He’s wrecked Mick, fucking wrecked – crippled.’
Jimbo wasn’t particularly over fond of his cousin, but he was family after all.
‘Probably deserved all that he got, told him didn’t I – leave off Cole. And will you STOP wearing a hole in my carpet? For fuck’s sake sit down will you?’
Jimbo did as he was told and dropped down into one of the luxurious, soft leather chairs.
‘Yeah but Mick, he did a proper job on Billybob, snapped his wrist in two and shattered his kneecap into fuck knows how many pieces. A gloating copper rang me last night, told me Billybob’s leg was hanging in half when he was brought in – he’s gonna be on crutches for months, if he’s lucky. I could hear the copper sniggering at the other end of the phone, as he told me he might even lose the fucking thing.’
‘So he’ll have a wooden leg and walk with a limp, just means we’ll have to find someone to replace him. I know he was your cousin but he’s a little shit. Go and put the kettle on and make a brew.’
‘Bet you wouldn’t ask Cole to put the kettle on,’ Jimbo mumbled to himself as he went through to the kitchen.
‘What was that Jimbo?’ Conway asked smiling to himself, knowing quite well what the scally had said.
‘Nowt!’ Jimbo called back.
‘We’ll have a coffee and then we’re going to see your man.’
‘Billybob?’
‘Don’t be fucking daft, what would I want to go and see him for?’
‘I just thought…’ He let it trail to a natural finish.
‘Cole, you forgot I owe him some money?’
Jimbo tut tutted and shrugged his shoulders.
Warren woke on the sofa: he hadn’t made it to the bedroom. ‘Jesus,’ he said out loud as he tried sitting up, only to collapse back in a heap. The result of too much tequila. He remembered why he didn’t like the stuff. He eventually managed to heave himself off the sofa and make it as far as the bathroom where he threw up all he’d drank the night before into the toilet pan. More memories returned, he remembered what he’d done to Billybob and went back into the bathroom where he heaved again. He turned on the tap, filled the washbasin and plunged his head into the cold water, the shock made him gasp. Peering in the mirror through bloodshot eyes, his dark skin looked pale. He plunged his head again. With his face still dripping he went through to the bedroom and stripped off yesterday’s clothes and collapsed onto the bed, his head spinning.
Once his head stopped doing somersaults, he eased himself off the bed, put on a pair of chinos and pulled a black T-shirt over his head. Then went through to the kitchen and started rummaging around in the drawers; he found what he was looking for – a pack of paracetamol. He popped two painkillers from the plastic blister pack and swallowed them dry. With a throbbing head he made himself a mug of strong instant coffee – black, in the lounge he sat and pondered. Warren even felt sorry for Billybob – a little, a twinge of guilt set in, he thought perhaps he should ring the infirmary to see how the hillbilly was.
He never made the call.
The mobile rang twice and then there was a hammering on the door.
‘Come on Ray, open the bleedin’ door,’ Conway was out in the hall way banging on the steel plate.
Warren looked through the door viewer, Conway was alone. He unfastened the locks and slid the grating bolts free and opened the door.
‘And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’
‘You smooth talking bastard,’ he said and pushed passed. ‘Hell pal, to say you l
ook rough would be understating it, what the fuck was you drinking last night?’ Warren stood aside to let the fat man past.
‘Yeah well, just keep the volume down a little will you, I’m feeling a bit fragile,’ he said as he shut the door and followed Conway into the living room.
‘Heard you had a bit of a run-in with Billybob last night?’ He dropped into the leather armchair.
‘Only gave him what he was asking for,’ Warren snapped back, defensively.
‘Whoa, hang on matey, did I say anything different?’
‘Sorry Mick, had too much of the Mexican stuff when I got back. The little shit must have been keeping tabs on me. I went down The Eagle for a pint and he was following me, so I collared him. When the little twat pulled a Stanley knife on me, well, that was the last straw, I just saw red.’
‘I don’t dispute that Ray, but according to Jimbo you made a right fucking mess of him. Did you have to go so heavy on him, he’s only a kid?’
‘Yeah one seriously fucked up kid. If it hadn’t been me it would have been someone else, some poor fucker who couldn’t defend themselves. Anyway, what can I do for you?’
‘Thought I’d drop this over,’ Conway took a roll of banknotes from his pocket and handed it over.
‘Cheers,’ Warren said as he opened the bundle and flicked through the notes. ‘And what else has that lad of yours been telling you?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about. I told him you must have had a good reason to show yourself at the meet.’
Warren smiled – it looked like he hadn’t blown it after all.
‘Where’s the lad now?’
‘When I told him I was coming to see you he decided he had to be somewhere. Not to worry, he’s gonna turn up later.’
‘Probably still smarting over the hillbilly.’
‘Hillbilly!’ Conway laughed, ‘classic, fucking classic I’ll remember that one.’
‘You want a coffee, tea anything?
Warren walked through to the kitchen and turned on the kettle.
‘No thanks, the other reason I came is to see if you fancy a bit more work?’
‘Got to be better than sitting here on my arse all day,’ Warren called out from the kitchen. ‘What have you got in mind?’
‘Remember a while back when I mentioned the cash van?’
Warren nodded. It was the thing he had be dreading. ‘Yeah, you put something together?’
‘As it happens I have, I take it you’re still up for it?’
‘Like I said at the time, if it’s a workable plan, I’m in.’
‘Good, it’s tomorrow.’
‘Bleedin’ hell Mick, could have done with a bit more notice.’
‘You haven’t gone and booked a holiday to the Costas have you?’
‘No, but all the same a bit more notice would have been good.’
‘It’s not a spur of the moment thing Ray, I got it sorted. I always like to work on short notice once I have the details ironed out, that way the team don’t get time to blab about what’s going down. So, this is how it’s gonna work…’ Conway spent the next half an hour going over his plan with Warren, surprisingly he was impressed, it looked like it could actually work as long as there was no interference from other sources.
Then there was another knock at the door, Warren reckoned on it being Jimbo. It was but he wasn’t alone.
Warren went to the door and looked through the viewer.
‘Who are this lot?’ he asked nodding towards the door.
‘Your team for tomorrow.’
Five dubious-looking individuals filed into the flat. Jimbo was last man in – he was carrying two plastic bags full of cans of lager. The team spread about the small sitting room and Jimbo distributed the booze. It appeared lager was the staple diet in certain quarters, along with chips.
‘No thanks,’ said Warren when offered a can.
‘Please yourself,’ Jimbo retorted and stood by the kitchen door.
‘Hope you don’t mind us using the flat for a little get-together, Ray?’ Warren knew he had no say in the matter. ‘Everybody got a drink? Ok, then I’ll make the introductions, this is a good friend of mine you can call him Ray.’
Warren looked around the faces.
‘Ray, what?’ a suspicious, hard looking bald bloke wearing a leather bomber jacket asked.
‘Doesn’t matter, Russ,’ Conway told him.
‘Yeah, well, I like to know who I’m working with.’
‘Leave it out Russ, he’s a top bloke that’s all that matters.’
Russ looked hard at Warren and tried to stare him out – Warren won that one.
‘As you see, Russ is the gobby one. This bloke over here is Terry, most people just call him Tel.’ Terry looked to be in his mid thirties, heavy set and tough as if he could be handy with his fists. ‘Next up is Barry, he might look skinny but he’s the best driver in the city.’
Barry and Warren exchanged nods.
Next in line was a short, grey haired, wiry bloke. ‘This bloke here is Tony, bit of a wanker but he’s good with the burning gear. That right Tone?’
‘If you say so Mick.’
When Conway had finished making the introductions, Warren studied the faces in the room, trying to suss out who he was most likely to have bother with and came to the conclusion it would be the gobby Russ.
‘Raymondo here has recently been involved with a hit similar to the one we are going to carry out. The difference being it was carried out by a highly skilled team from Ireland… not a team of wankers from Hull.’
‘Fucking Paddies, I’ve shit ’em,’ Russ interrupted.
‘As I was saying, there is one other difference Ray was inside the van being hit, get my drift or do I have to draw you a picture? Obviously the hit was successful or Ray wouldn’t be here with us now. And the bloke who organised the hit was Ray himself, so as he’ll be running the operation he can tell you how this is going to work. And I don’t want any shit.’
Warren stood up, straight and tall to emphasise his six foot two inches. There was a pronounced silence as all eyes turned on Warren. He stood and looked at each man in turn, holding their stares.
‘Just in case you’re wondering about me, I’ve known Mick for quite a while, but this is the first opportunity we’ve had to work together proper. Here’s hoping it’s profitable,’ he said as he picked up a can of the coffee table.’ Cheers,’ he said holding his can high.
‘Cheers,’ they responded with the exception of Russ.
Mick laid a map of East Yorkshire on the living room floor and Warren took over the narrative as the small team looked and listened.
‘Ok, as you know we’re doing a hit on a Securicash armoured vehicle – you did know that didn’t you?’ Not everyone nodded, Russ just tried to stare Warren down. ‘Just give me a minute will you,’ he said to the group. ‘Mick can I have a word,’ he nodded towards the bedroom.
‘He’s pissing himself already,’ he heard Russ say to the other.
‘What’s the problem?’ Conway asked as he closed the door behind him.
‘Don’t think I can work with this Russ fella, can’t see me getting any respect out of him.’
‘That’s ok, just sort him out,’ Conway said casually, as if breaking someone’s legs was something you did everyday as a matter of course.
‘If I do we’ll need a replacement.’
‘Look Ray, if you think you need to earn some respect from the rest of the team just sort the fucker, he’s a bit of a wanker anyway. Jimbo can always step in.’
‘As long as you’re ok with it?’
‘Said so haven’t I?’ Conway was gradually losing his patience. ‘Just bloody get it done with, I don’t want to be here all bleedin’ night.’
Warren knew he had to do something fast and serious, Russ looked as if he could be more than a match if he had a half a chance and Warren didn’t intend to give him any chance at all. Both men walked back into Warren’s lounge, Conway stood by the bedroom door. R
uss was still sitting on the sofa, he looked to Tone who was sitting next to him and whispered something in his ear and then sniggered, it was obviously something derogatory aimed at Warren. Russ didn’t try to hide the look of contempt that was showing on his face.
Before Russ knew what was happening, Warren reached down and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, pulled him to his feet and gave him an almighty ‘Glasgow Kiss’. The attack took Russ completely by surprise, as the well-aimed head butt split his nose in two and spread mucus and blood across his face. Warren let go of the jacket and Russ fell to the floor, prostrate. Not wanting another ‘hillbilly’ coming after him with a trimming knife, Warren moved swiftly before Russ had a chance to recover. He grabbed the gobby man’s arms, straightened them in front of him and stamped down as hard as he could with heel of his boot on each hand in turn. The finger bones crushed underfoot. It was all over in three minutes. The faces in the room sat in shock horror; no one said a word wondering if it was their turn next. Warren speculated what his counsellor back in London would have to say if he knew.
‘Barry, Tel, go chuck the fucker out,’ Conway ordered.
Blood and snot poured down Russ’s face, his hands weren’t in much better shape, the big hard-man actually had tears streaming from his eyes, not so much crying, but due to the fact his nose was spread across his face as Barry and Tone hoisted him up and dragged him out the door. ‘Leave him in the car park,’ Warren yelled after them.
‘Drink up lads,’ said Conway. ‘That’s the show over for tonight.’
It didn’t take long for Barry and Tone to deposit Russ amongst the beer cans in the car park. ‘Looks in a bad way,’ Barry said to no one in particular as they came back into the lounge.
‘Fuck him, let’s get on with this.’
Warren laid out the plan – the hit was to take place on a quiet country road that cut through the common land of the Beverley Westwood. Barry would obviously be the getaway driver, Tone would ram the Securicash van with the skip truck and also use the burning gear. Jimbo was assigned the job of driving the lead vehicle and slowing down the van and Warren himself would be following behind. The job was to take place the next day.