by Alfie Robins
As the first bullet smashed into the rear screen Jimbo was up on his feet and running, running to see what help he could be.
‘Jimbo, get his car keys and check for a weapon.’
The lad was a bag of nerves as he opened the rear door of the Range Rover. The metallic smell of blood invaded his nostrils. He was tough, but even so his stomach heaved as he struggled to pull the dead weight of Staples’s corpse towards him. He fumbled in Staples’s trouser pockets for the BMW keys. He couldn’t help but retch he reached inside the bloodied jacket and found the holstered weapon along with a silencing suppressor.
‘Got it.’
‘Take the safety off and get around the other side and watch my mate Bob,’ Warren told him. The younger man took in a lungful of fresh night air. Jimbo wiped the bloody gunge from his hands on the car upholstery. He was in awe; he didn’t think Warren had it in him to commit cold-blooded murder. He saw him in a new light – a dangerous one. He opened the nearside door, took a pace back and pointed the weapon at Bob’s head. ‘It would be wise not to make any sudden movements Bob, nothing worse than a nervous man with a gun,’ Warren warned.
‘Greg, to say we weren’t expecting you would be an understatement, you obviously put two and two together,’ John said as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Bit of an extreme entrance don’t you think?’ John was hoping the show of bravado would unsettle Warren.
It didn’t.
‘Just put your hands on the steering wheel where I can keep an eye on them.’ John placed his hand amongst the blood and brain tissue that had been sprayed over the dashboard and steering wheel. ‘Don’t take your eyes off Bob, Jimbo while I have a little chat with our friend here. First of all gentlemen, are you carrying any weapons?’ Both men shook their heads. ‘Then I’ll trust you – but if I see your hands move an inch Jimbo will blow Bob’s fucking brains all over you. Right Jimbo?’ Bob’s face visibly paled beneath the crimson splashes. Warren was sure, almost, that if it came to such a situation Jimbo wouldn’t hesitate. ‘One question, well two, why, and where are the diamonds?’
‘What can I say Greg? Other than it was too good an opportunity not to take advantage of, it’s not often one and half million pounds worth of untraceable diamond come within your reach.’
Bob just sat there not saying anything, hoping John could talk them out of the situation.
‘Why me, why put the hit on me?’ Warren’s hands trembled, the Sig was getting heavy.
‘We knew you would add up the numbers eventually, in all honesty we didn’t expect the situation to escalate so quickly. Initially we just required you to gather information, but, well… things happen that we cannot always predict – don’t they?’
‘Well John, this is something else that you didn’t predict. Ok Jimbo.’ John, keeping his hands on the steering wheel turned his head and watched as Jimbo took a step forward and grabbed Bob by the collar of his jacket and heaved him from the vehicle. Bob tried to make his body a dead weight as he was dragged and forced to his knees.
Jimbo was getting into character, to his surprise his voice was steady, not showing any sign of nerves. ‘Hands on your head, stand up slowly.’
Bob looked at John then across to Warren.
‘I should do as he tells you Bob, remember what I said about a nervous man with a gun.’
‘Now walk slowly to the back of the BMW.’ Jimbo liked it, he prodded Bob hard in the centre of the back with Staples’s 9mm Glock, at the same time pressing the remote locking on the BMW key fob with his free hand. The boot lid rose slowly. Unceremoniously, Jimbo pushed Bob forward. ‘In you get.’ Bob tried to turn to protest. ‘Just fucking get in,’ and Jimbo gave him a hand, by shoving him into the boot. Jimbo made a pretend motion of aiming the Glock and shooting, smiled and reached up to the boot lid and sent it down, catching Bob’s head on the way.
Done. Feeling pleased with himself, Jimbo stood by the BMW, trembling.
‘Now, John, very slowly with your left hand pass me your mobile – keep your other hand where it is.’ John struggled, as he reached inside his right hand coat pocket for his mobile and passed it through the open window. ‘The rest is very simple. I assume you want Bob back and I want the diamonds and the cash from the Seabird. Simple as that, oh yes and the class “A”. One more thing, I want a written statement that I was in your employment, it clears me of any involvement in terrorism or any other crap you’ve tarnished me with. We meet in forty-eight hours and clear this misunderstanding up once and for all.’ Warren keyed in the number of his pay-as-you-go into John’s mobile and passed the phone back. ‘You call me on this number. Because if you don’t, Bob will end up the same way as Staples, and I swear I will find you and kill you. I’ve got nothing to lose, remember, you saw to that.’
‘And you can add James Boland to that statement as well,’ Jimbo said, proudly. Warren smiled at the lad’s cheek.
‘Surely we can discuss this…’
‘No more discussions,’ Warren said cutting him off. ‘One more thing.’ Warren opened the Range Rover door and lifted his right hand high and with the butt of the Sig he brought it down fast and hard, crunching the fingers of John’s left hand against the steering wheel. John didn’t make a sound as the pain shot up his hand and arm, it was excruciating. He had an act to keep up. ‘Good job you drive an automatic. Twenty-four hours.’
Warren slammed shut the Range Rover door and walked over to where Jimbo was waiting. He didn’t look back as he opened the driver’s side door of the BMW, dropped into the seat and sighed heavily. ‘Fuck,’ he said as Jimbo sat beside him. ‘Look at me,’ he held out his arms, ‘I’m shaking like a fucking leaf.’
‘Well leave the shaking until we get out of here,’ said Jimbo.’
‘What about Staples?’
‘Not our problem Jimbo, they have people to take care of that sort of thing. I’ll drop you off at the motor and follow you back to the lock-up. Think we’d better ditch the Fiesta when we get back.’
‘Shame I was just getting used to it.’
Chapter 32
The journey back through the city called for a careful but swift drive. Warren knew John would have already put out a report of a stolen BMW, of course he would omit to tell the authorities Bob was in the boot, it would be an ‘identify, do not apprehend’ report. Both vehicles kept to speed limits and made sure they obeyed the traffic signals, no jumping amber lights. Warren also kept one eye on the rear view mirror for flashing blue lights.
Conway’s lock-up was a single-storey brick built unit at the bottom of a cul-de-sac on Dairycoates Industrial Estate down Hawthorne Avenue, close to Hessle Road. CCTV cameras covered every entrance and exit. Fortunately, Conway had made it his business to make sure that none of them worked. The same could be said of the on-site security team, a team of wankers who for the occasional back-hander turned a blind eye to his dealings. Warren could only praise Conway for his astuteness.
Jimbo stood by the car smoking a rollie. Warren pulled the BMW up close to the unit doors.
‘Any bother?’ asked Jimbo.
‘No probs, no tails, nothing.’
‘What about him in the boot?’
‘The way you slammed the lid down he’s probably dead.’
‘Come on Greg, don’t say things like that, I feel like a bag of crap as it is.’
‘Greg? Did you call me Greg?’ Warren reiterated surprised.
‘Well that’s your name init?’
‘So we’re pals again?’ Warren laughed, this was what he’d been waiting for.
‘Fuck off! Anyway, what’s the next part of your master plan?’
‘Well if he is dead…’
‘I told you, don’t make jokes like that!’ He laughed, the tension was well and truly lifted.
‘We get him inside out the way, make sure he’s secure and have a word with him.’ Jimbo raised his eyebrows. That night he’d seen Warren in different light. He didn’t fancy being in Bob’s shoes when Warren had ‘a
word’ with him. ‘Can you get rid of the motors and fix us up with another?’
‘A bloke I know has a scrapyard just over the flyover, I’ll give him a call to meet me there, he’ll do owt for a few quid.’
Jimbo walked to the rollover door, unlocked the padlock and pushed up the door enough for them to get inside. Warren was surprised, it was like an alcoholic’s paradise, knock-off imported beer, wine and spirits, cardboard cartons were piled high to the roof. ‘Reckon we might get pissed when you come back. Got any tape?’ Jimbo went through to the office and returned with two rolls of sticky tape. ‘That will do nicely. Let’s have him in.’
Much to Jimbo’s pleasure, Bob was alive and almost kicking when the boot lid was popped, bleeding a little from a cut on the head – but still alive.
‘Out, and don’t try anything, Bobby,’ Jimbo said, cockily, pointing his newly-claimed Glock at the man. Bob struggled, he could hardly move, he was battered and bruised from bouncing about in the confined space. ‘Don’t be such a tart,’ said Jimbo, ‘think yourself lucky it wasn’t a Mini,’ he told him as he eased his legs over the boot lip. Bob rocked on unsure legs that trembled as he put his full weight down. Jimbo was back into his new-found persona of ‘gangsta’ as he took a step back and gestured, waving with the Glock for Bob to enter the lock-up. He looked to Warren hoping for some kind of support, it didn’t come.
‘Don’t look at me, just do as he tells you.’ Jimbo paced up and down, waving his new toy.
‘Well Bob, I never expected this situation to arise when I signed up – keep moving.’ Bob limped his way through the cardboard cartons, ‘Ok, that’s far enough. Sit on the box.’
‘What are you expecting to gain from abducting me, Greg?’
‘Clear my name, get my job back, get the goods back, to be honest, I’m not sure that I care anymore.’ He turned to Jimbo. ‘Reckon I could get a job with Mick Conway, what do you reckon? Pass me the tape mate.’ Warren commenced to tape their hostage’s ankles together. ‘Don’t do anything silly Bob, just sit still. Hands down by your side.’ Bob did as he was told. Warren bound his arms straight down to the side of his body, round and round with the parcel tape.
Jimbo grunted as he did what he’d seen Warren do, conceal the Glock in the rear waistband of his jeans. ‘You’re right,’ he said wincing.
‘Right about what?’
‘It’s bloody uncomfortable with a gun down your pants.’
Warren grinned. ‘I think it would be wise if you didn’t take it with you, there’s a good chance they have the police looking for the Fiesta. Wouldn’t look good for you to be picked up with a concealed weapon.’
‘Good point,’ he replied as he handed the Glock over. ‘Right, I’ll see you when I get back.’
‘And you’d better get some bottles of water for our guest. Lock us in, need to get my head down for a few minutes.’
‘It’s alright for some,’ he said, as he lifted the roller door just enough to duck under, then once outside he pulled the door back down and locked it.’
Warren heard the motor start and drive away.
‘Now Bob, there’s one way in and out – and it’s locked, Jimbo has the only key. So just sit there like a good bloke.’ Bob couldn’t do anything even if he’d wanted to, trussed up like the proverbial Christmas turkey. ‘We’ll have our little chat later.’
Warren was shattered and wired at the same time, he was puzzled as to why he wasn’t disturbed about earlier events.
His first kill.
The thing that bothered him was that he’d found it easy, too easy and he shouldn’t have. He’d felt the same buzz when he’d shattered Billybob’s leg. He looked around the lock-up; a case of Glen’s Finest Single Malt caught his eye. He ripped the cardboard carton open, pulled out a bottle and held it high. ‘Looks good Bob, fancy one?’ He walked over to where Bob was trussed up, took the cap off the bottle and held the neck to Bob’s lips.
Not being able to control the flow Bob spluttered, a little whisky running down his chin. ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem mate,’ Warren said as he put down the bottle and picked up the roll of tape. ‘Nothing personal,’ he said as he wrapped the tape around Bob’s head and mouth.
Once he was sure Bob couldn’t pose a problem he sat down on the floor, lay his back against the cardboard and lifted the bottle high. ‘Cheers,’ he saluted and took a deep swallow, put the bottle on the floor beside him and closed his eyes.
He didn’t even hear Jimbo coming back for the second vehicle. It was an hour later he was woken by the sound of the roller door being opened.
‘Bloody hell, it’s alright for some,’ Jimbo headed straight for the bottle of whisky at Warren’s side. ‘Get anything out of him?’ He inclined his head towards Bob as he brought the bottle to his lips.
‘Couldn’t be arsed, thought I’d let him stew a little.’ Jimbo passed back the bottle. ‘Get any water?’
Jimbo produced a plastic carrier bag. ‘Got you a Big Mac as well.’
‘Cheers pal, I’m starving, what about Bob here, got anything for him?’
‘He can fucking wait till we get the gear back.’
‘You’re a hard man Jimbo, begrudging a man a burger.’
‘Whatever. Fancy a brew?’ Jimbo went through to the office and brewed up.
Jimbo lay on a crumpled heap of cardboard boxes and dozed, his mug still full beside him. It had been a long and eventful night. Warren had made short work of his burger and sat nursing a mug of strong instant coffee.
‘Bob,’ his head lifted, ‘if I take the tape off are you going to behave?’ Bob nodded agreement. ‘Thought you might.’ He put the mug on the floor, stood up and crossed over to Bob. ‘You might want to grit your teeth,’ he suggested as his hands found the edge of the tape and began to pull. Bob groaned loudly through the tape as it was pulled from around his head. ‘Fucking hell Bob sorry about that,’ he said as he held up the freed tape that now resembled a piece of coconut matting.
Bob’s face was almost red raw where the adhesive had taken a good hold. ‘I suppose I should thank you for that. Any chance of some of that water?’ Warren picked up the plastic bottle and removed the cap then held the neck to Bob’s lips. ‘Thanks for that.’ Water ran down his chin.
‘I need to know a few things… what changed?’
‘Needs, money, whatever – take your pick.’
Warren stood before Bob and drew back his fist.
Bob closed his eyes. ‘No need for more violence Greg,’ he said as he closed his eyes expecting the worst.
‘You’re right, you’re not fucking worth it.’ His arm dropped to his side.
‘Ok, I’ll tell you. As you know we needed someone on the inside of Conway’s operation, someone who could garner information. Perhaps eventually creating themselves an opportunity to become indispensable. Then along came the diamonds. One point five million pounds worth of untraceable Blood Diamonds within our grasp, how often does an opportunity like that arise?’
‘And Staples, why the hit on me?’
‘It was never supposed to happen. Staples was to be long gone before you arrived on the scene. It was just unfortunate your paths crossed, one could say you were collateral damage.’
‘I knew too much?’
‘We knew you would do the maths and come up with the correct number, it was something we couldn’t risk. You had to be removed.’
‘You mercenary bastards,’ said Warren.
‘That may be so, the authorities were informed that Raymond Cole was not who he was alleged to be, he was a rogue police officer who had gone over to the dark side, with tenuous links to the Islamic State.’
‘Because I’m black! That makes me a terrorist?’
‘No, not on its own, but it helped. The photographs of you leaving a clandestine meeting in North London, with two prominent supporters of Isis went a long way in convincing the local police force.’ Bob smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Subsequently, if you were not arrested yo
u had to be eliminated and that’s where Staples entered the equation. Staples had been with us for a number of years working both legitimately and on operations that were “off the books”, I might add it proved to be lucrative for all parties. Staples had become a wealthy man. Unfortunately, he was coming to the end of his usefulness and if things should go awry as they did, he was expendable. And there you have it, do with it what you will.’
‘Can I assume the police are still looking for me?’
‘Of course, and your young colleague.’
‘You’re a pair of bastards – you know that?’
‘It has been said. I don’t suppose there is any chance you might take the rest of this tape off and make me a coffee?’
‘You suppose correctly,’ Warren said as he bound Bob’s face none too gently with the parcel tape.
Chapter 33
‘How much fucking longer do you reckon we’ll be cooped up in here? I’m starving.’ Jimbo was bored, they had been stuck in the lock-up all night and it was now mid-morning.
‘Until we get the call from John, stop whinging and put the kettle on.’ Warren’s mobile signalled an incoming text message, he took out the mobile and checked the screen. It was from Grimes. ‘They know where you are, leave now’. ‘Shit,’ Warren said under his breath. He stood up and went through to the office where Jimbo was making yet another coffee. He passed over the mobile for Jimbo to read the message.
‘How did they find out about this place?’
‘They put two and two together or should I say three, you, Conway and me. This place would have already been known to the local intelligence, it will have been a process of simple elimination.
‘So what now?’
‘We get out of the place.’
‘And him?’ Jimbo nodded to Bob.
‘He’s our insurance, we’ll have to take him with us. But we can hardly walk out the front door, we’re probably already under surveillance. Any ideas?’