by Alfie Robins
‘Don’t suppose there’s any harm in me coming with you, just make it quick I’ve got things to do.’
‘Not our problem, mate, it takes as long as it takes,’ he said, as he held Mouse by the bicep and led him to the patrol car.
Chapter 17
Jimbo was once more taking up his position of ‘watcher’. The team’s Civilian Advisor, scrabbled through the bushes at the Humber Bridge Country Park, seeking out a suitable viewing point over the parking area approaches and the Humber View Café exits.
‘Oh, for fucks sake,’ Jimbo swore out loud as he felt his hand sink into a pile of fresh dog shit. He almost retched as he lifted his hand clear of the ground. ‘It’s your bleedin fault, Greg, why can’t you have meetings in offices like normal peoples?’ he said into the covert microphone attached to his denim jacket. Silence. ‘Don’t ignore me Greg, I know you can hear me.’
‘What the hell are you whinging about now?’ a voice replied in his ear piece.
‘Bloody dog shit, that’s what, and I’ve just put my hand in a bloody great turd.’ Jimbo said, as he tried to scrape his hand through the long grass to clean off the mess. He could hear laughter at the other end. ‘Not funny.’
‘Just stop pissing about. Are you in position yet?’
‘Give us a minute,’ keeping himself concealed, he stuck his head through the foliage and did a sweep of the car park and around the café. ‘Yep, got you,’ he said, as he still tried to clean his hand on an empty crisp packet he’d found in the grass
‘Never mind me, anything suspicious, or anybody hanging around?’
‘Nope and nope. Ahh, this shit stinks!’
Warren smiled to himself. ‘Okay, keep your eyes peeled,’ he said into the concealed microphone. Warren locked the car and walked across to the café, his eyes scanning constantly. So far so good, he pushed open the café door. A few tables in the café were occupied, as before, mostly families enjoying a snack before or after venturing into the country park. He looked around; Powers was already there, sitting at the same table as before. ‘Tea, please love,’ he said to the waitress, as he walked over doing the ‘Cole’ swagger.
Warren offered his hand across the table, this time Powers did respond and shook the offered hand. Warren sat down, looked expressionlessly into Powers eyes, then smiled a beaming smile. The waitress brought over Warren’s tea and placed it on the table. ‘Thanks, love.’
Powers as ever, was dressed in a well-tailored business suit, hand-made shirt and matching tie. The arms trade pays well, thought Warren.
The Civilian Advisor had devised a plan of his own. Despite still being blathered in dog shit, he double checked that nothing looked untoward in the car park, then he moved quickly through the shrubs until he was a comfortable distance away, making sure he wouldn’t be seen he then slid down the grass bank into the carpark. He sauntered casually towards Powers motor, paused as if he was fastening his shoe lace, reached into his pocket and took out a metallic rectangle smaller than a match box, a tracker, and swiftly attached it under the wheel arch of the BMW. Job done he retraced his footsteps back to his watching position.
‘So, Cole, how can we make this work?’ Powers asked, as he watched Warren add a dash of milk into his cup of tea.
Warren smiled again. ‘So, we are going to do some business?’
‘Let’s say this is a kind of get to know each other meeting.’
‘Not into the bonding thing myself,’ he gave a short laugh, then put the serious face back on. ‘Look, let’s not piss about, are we doing business or not?’
‘As I asked, how can we make this work?
‘The way I see it, it’s simple, a straight forward transaction. You have what I need and I’ve got the money, simple as that.’
Powers sat back in his seat, arms outstretched he placed his hands on the table palm down. ‘In principle, it sounds easy, but before we actually do any business I want the details ironed out. I need guarantees.’
‘Guarantees? You know as well as I do there are no guarantees in this job? I’m sure you must be happy with my credentials otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.’ He picked up his cup and sipped.
Powers smiled. ‘Fair enough, I need to know what it is you need, quantities and how the payments will be made.’
‘Look, Neil,’ Powers didn’t object to Warren using his Christian name. He took that as a good sign. ‘I think we should start small, see how things go between us, stick to something simple. If I was to ask for say, a dozen hand held. What could you let me have and how soon?’
‘Cash on delivery?
‘Of course - if we can agree on the price.’
‘Would 9mm Baikals complete with suppressors be any good to you? If so delivery could be…’ he checked his watch, ‘this time tomorrow?’
Warren poured himself another cup, added a dash if milk. ‘Sounds interesting and the price?’
‘£650 each.’
Warren shook his head. He pushed his cup and saucer into the middle of the table and stood up. ‘Nice meeting you, Neil, but no thanks, maybe another time.’ He made a pretence of leaving.
‘Sit down, Ray, don’t be hasty, just testing the water, we have to start somewhere.’
Warren once again took his seat and called over to the waitress. ‘Excuse me, love, can we have another couple of teas, please.’ Things were going as he hoped.
‘You do realise the Baikal can demand a price of a grand, even more?’
‘That’s as maybe, but you forget I’m in the business and represent people who can make you rich, and I mean seriously rich, Neil.’ Warren could almost see the pound signs in Powers’ eyes.
Powers appeared to do some quick calculations, as if he didn’t want to lose an opportunity or appear too eager. ‘Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, as a goodwill gesture I’ll let you have the first dozen for say, £500 per unit.’
Warren smiled. ‘How about £200?’ He knew he was pushing it.
‘Ray, Ray, I’ll barely make beer money out of a deal like that. The way I see it you’re wasting my time.’
‘Let’s not turn this into a pissing contest, Neil, last time offer £250, if things all go according to plan with no hitches on either side, this could be the start of a very lucrative opportunity for you, and my backers. I tell you what, no need to commit to anything now, sleep on it before you decide. Give me a bell tomorrow. Can’t be any fairer than that, can I?’
Powers didn’t answer. He pushed back his chair and stood up, reached across the table and offered his hand. Warren smiled as he shook the offered hand. Powers took a ten-pound note from his wallet and dropped it on the table. Warren took it as a good sign.
‘Call you tomorrow,’ he said and left.
Warren was pleased with the way things had turned out, he’d been sure Powers would tell him to piss off. But if things went according to plan, where the hell he was going to get the money to pay for the firearms, without bankrupting his new boss’s budget? Warren remained sitting at the table and finished his cuppa as he watched Powers drive away in his BMW. Then he saw a figure appear from the bushes and walk towards the café.
‘Jimbo, you can’t be serious coming in here, I could smell you as soon as you opened the door,’ Warren lied.
‘It’s not that bad, is it?’ The lad said as he sat down.
‘Worse, mate, worse.’
Jimbo, detoured to the gents, returning five minutes holding his hands to his face sniffing. Warren sat smiling to himself.
‘Well?’ he said as he sat down.
‘Better, Jimbo, much better.’
‘I don’t mean the smell; how did the meet go?’
‘Got you a brew, one of your herbal teas,’ gesturing to the additional cup and saucer. ‘Spicy Lemon, okay?’
‘Thanks,’ he said and started dunking the tea bag up and down. ‘How did it go?’
‘Couldn’t have gone any better.’
‘You haven’t committed to anything, have you?’
; ‘Me?’
‘You have been known in the past to commit to something that’s gonna cost us money.’ He dropped the tea bag on the saucer, picked up his cup, ‘Cheers,’ and sipped.
‘The price I negotiated just stopped short of Powers thinking he’d been mugged off.’
‘By the way,’ said Jimbo, ‘while you were enjoying your cup of tea I used a bit of initiative.’
‘You did?’ Warren replied in faux surprise. ‘And just exactly what was this initiative you showed?’
‘Only put a tracker on the BMW, didn’t I,’ he grinned from ear to ear.
‘Bloody hell, Jimbo, you don’t get paid enough to take risks - but a bloody good idea all the same.’
‘Had a good teacher, didn’t I? Give us your mobile and I’ll put the App on.’
‘This could be good, might lead us to whoever does his conversions.’
‘That’s what I was thinking.’
‘Good move mate, good move.’
Chapter 18
Trish stood deep in thought, with her back to the window, hands behind her resting on the sill. ‘Has your mate in BTP come up with anything on Conway’s daughter?’ she asked Warren, who stood beside the whiteboard adding details.
‘Not the result we hoped for,’ he replied turning to face her. ‘As we know already, the Liverpool Street Station CCTV cameras picked up her and the lad going through the exit, they got on a bus to Earls Court. The bus CCTV shows them getting off one stop from the exhibition centre and that’s where it gets a bit iffy ...’ Greg replied
‘Define iffy?’
‘They lose them.’
‘Oh, bloody hell, Greg, that’s all we need,’ Jimbo chipped in. ‘Conway isn’t going to be very chuffed when you tell him.’
‘Calm down, Jimbo, it’s not as bad as it sounds.’
‘Why’s that then, oh wise one?’’ he asked sarcastically.
‘It means my mate also called in a favour and she was spotted with the lad leaving a flat not far from the bus stop. Turns out the kid is a music student and plays lead guitar in a band.’
‘You have an address?’
‘I do indeed.’
‘So, looks like she’s fallen for a musician, can’t see Conway being too pleased about that either. You going to tell him?’
‘All in good time.’
‘Who’s for a coffee?’ asked Trish.
‘If you’re buying I’ll have a fruit tea,’ Jimbo replied.
‘No thanks,’ Warren smiled to himself at the transformation in Jimbo, who, at one time would have preferred a can of lager.
‘Greg,’ said Jimbo as Trish left and closed the door behind her. ‘About the money, have you given it anymore thought?’
‘Nope.’
‘You mean you’ve bottled it?’
‘You could say that,’ he said as he walked across the squad room and sat facing Jimbo. ‘I was thinking maybe we could self-finance the operation.’
Jimbo pushed back in his seat. ‘Oh no, definitely not, you’re not getting your hands on any of my cash.’
‘You tight fisted git, I was thinking maybe I could finance the deal with the money I made from Conway.’
‘You got enough?’
‘I reckon so, just. And let’s face it, if push does come to shove we can always move them on.’
‘Seriously Greg, you are kidding?’
‘’Course I bloody am you div, if, and I say if, we have to actually buy them, we can always rob the money back, with a little interest of course. What do you reckon?’
‘Sounds like a plan to me, a bloody good one. I like to keep my hand in. Not that I have been you understand?’
‘Of course, Jimbo - as if.’
Chapter 19
London wasn’t best pleased, the last thing he had expected was to be accosted on his own front doorstep by two burly coppers. Speck and his mate had been instructed to inform Trish as soon as they arrived back at the station, and to keep Sebastian ‘Mouse’ London in the custody area.
‘Jimbo, under no circumstances are you to leave the office until Mouse is back on the street,’ Trish warned him.
‘And what if I need a pee?’ he asked sarcastically.
Trish threw him a paper cup. ‘Make do with this and stop moaning. You ready, Bernie?’
‘When you are, boss,’ he said as he stood up, smiling at Jimbo.
Trish raised an eyebrow. ‘Do not leave the office,’ she cautioned as they left.
London had been put in a side room in the booking in area, he waited patiently flicking through a magazine while he waited, confident they were only fishing, nothing could be traced back to him, or so he hoped.
‘Mr London, thanks very much for coming in,’ Trish said as she held open the reception door, and led him to an interview room.
Trish smiled at the rat face as she opened the door to room one. ‘Please, take a seat.’
‘Didn’t have much choice did I,’ London grumbled as he was directed to a seat and slunk down, arms folded across his chest.
‘I’m Detective Constable James, this is my colleague Detective Constable Philips.’
Trish lifted her eyes from the folder that lay opened before her on the table. Your mug shot doesn’t do you justice she thought, as she looked across the table, suppressing a smile.
‘What’s this about?’ asked London, looking from one to the other.
‘What’s your occupation, Mr London?’
‘Please, call me Sebastian.’
‘So, Sebastian what do you do to earn a crust?’
‘Anything really, buying and selling.’
‘Like what, drugs, counterfeit cigarettes and stolen goods?’ Trish said as she read from his file. ‘And that’s only the tip of it.’
‘That’s all in my past, I’ve changed.’
Yeah, like hell you have, Trish thought, as she looked at the prison tats on his hands.
‘So, what do you really do?’ Bernie asked as he leaned forward resting his elbows on the desk.
‘Anything I can to make a few quid on, I buy and sell the odd car on eBay, like I said, anything.’
‘And where does Neil Powers fit into this?’
‘Mr Powers, I do the odd job for him don’t I?’
‘Like what?’
‘Usually it’s a bit of decorating around his flat, that’s what I am a decorator by trade, a bit of diy, anything really.’
‘Does the delivering and collecting of firearms fall in the remit?’
‘WHAT? You’re having a laugh surely?’ he replied with a brimming smile on his face. ‘Firearms, don’t know anything about that.’
‘How do you know Robert Dooley?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Really? What about a young lad by the name of Joey Smale?’
London rocked back on his chair. ‘Same, never heard of him.’
‘Maybe you recognise him from this photograph.’ Trish took an 8inch by 10inch colour photograph from the folder. The picture was taken on the lad’s arrival at the hospital, his face contorted with pain - the remains of his hand hanging in shreds.
With no trace of emotion whatsoever, London denied ever meeting the lad. ‘Looks in a bad way, what happened to him?’
The comment wasn’t worth responding to. ‘So, you’ve never seen him before?’
‘Not that I can remember.’ London was confident, he knew they had nothing on him or he would have been charged before now. He was right, so far, they only had Joey’s word.
The interview was over before it had hardly begun. ‘That it, can I go now?’
‘For now, we will probably need to speak with you further,’ Trish told him as she closed her folder and stood.
London followed her lead. ‘Anytime,’ he pushed back his chair, stood up and started towards the door.
‘Just one more question before you go, what kind of car do you drive?’
He turned and smiled. ‘I don’t, ain’t got one.’
Bernie held open the door. �
��I’ll show you out,’ he said, moving aside to let London pass.
‘Be seeing ya,’ London sneered as he left the station.
‘Cocky little bugger,’ said Trish when Bernie returned.
‘Tell me about it.’
Sebastian London walked away from the police station with a spring in his step. They had bugger all on him, however, he did have one worry, Albie, had they got wind of him? Na, he decided, otherwise he was sure he would have been given a tug. A little further down the road, away from the nick, he took out his mobile and dialled.
‘Boss, it’s me,’ he said, when the call was picked up. ‘Me, Seb, thought I’d best let you know the cops have just had me in asking about Dooley …na, they don’t know fuck all …just fishing …yeah, I’ll keep you in the loop.’
Chapter 20
The lunch time trade was starting to die off, but The Halfway Hotel public house could always rely on its hardcore regulars. The flat capped former fishermen, who sat playing dominoes, their pints lasting as long as possible. It was the company they craved more than alcohol. Then there was the out of workers gathered in groups at the bar, staring up occasionally at the television high on the wall, in-between nipping back and forward to the nearby betting shop. At the far end of the long bar two men sat in a semi-private booth.
‘So, why am I here? You’d better not be wasting my bloody time,’ Powers told the man sitting opposite.
‘Oh, I think you’ll be interested in what I’ve got to tell you.’
‘Well you’d better get the drinks in then, mine’s a malt.’ The man gave a reluctant smile, shook his head and headed towards the bar. ‘Make it a double,’ he called out.
Neil Powers watched as Police Constable Bernard Philips went to the bar. When all was said and done, Philips was nothing more than a glorified confidential informant, a snout. Powers didn’t like snouts. Once upon a time, in what seemed a lifetime ago, in desperation, Philips had borrowed two grand from a money lender, a debt that he never had a hope of paying back, due to the constant rises in the interest charges. Eventually the two-grand escalated into five and showed no sign of decreasing anytime soon. That was when the money-lender made a deal with Powers. PC Bernie Philips had no other choice than becoming the copper in Powers ‘pocket’. The debt was put on hold in return for information. Philips even made money from the situation. Philips duly returned from the bar, placed the drinks on the solid wood table top and sat down facing Powers.