Celt_The Journey of Kyle Gibbs

by Wayne Marinovich

  ‘You’re one sad little fuck, Kirkwood, do you know that?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘And you are a hot-headed and predictable idiot, Gibbs. I knew that you would go over my head and want speak to Mason directly. I just had to ignore you for a few days, let you reach boiling point then watch you storm off to see him. John and his team were already in place to take you and Mason out.’

  ‘If Mason employed and tasked you to put the teams together, what was there to gain by killing him?’ Gibbs asked.

  ‘Mason gave me orders, but I did not work for him. You and Mason were just pawns in a much bigger global game, just simple expendable pawns,’ David said. ‘When John Warren called to say he had dealt with you and Mason, but that you had survived the shooting, I decided to set you up for killing Mason right there and then. Pretty clever, don’t you think?’

  ‘You murdering little toad. Terry was twice the man you will ever be,’ Killey said.

  ‘While you were lying in a coma in the hospital, I tipped these two loyal lapdogs of yours that John Warren had killed you, and how he had boasted how easy it had been. They dutifully obliged and murdered him and two of his men, unaware that I had already tipped off my contact at the police about the planned attack, and well, here you three idiots sit.’

  Killey, who was shackled at the end of the table, made a desperate lunge at Kirkwood who quickly slid his chair backwards, smiling at him.

  ‘Down boy, you might hurt yourself,’ David said, pointing to Killey. ‘Your blind loyalty to Gibbs has cost you your freedom in the same way my brother’s blind loyalty cost him his life. Your misguided sense of loyalty is of no consequence anymore because, with the help of some very influential people, I have managed to avenge my brother. He can now rest in peace in the knowledge that you were all found guilty and that you are guaranteed to rot in some distant cage for a very long time.’

  ‘Someday I will make you pay for this, Kirkwood, you and these so-called influential people. Someday very soon, I will make you all pay for this injustice,’ Gibbs said, through gritted teeth. ‘Watch your back because I promise you that you will not see me coming. You will not get away with this, Kirkwood.’

  ‘My dear Gibbs, don’t you see. I have already gotten away with it,’ David said, leaning forward. ‘I will now disappear with my new identity to some faraway land to live off all of your money.’

  Even though his hands were still bound to the table, Gibbs lunged at the little man and managed to whip his leg out from under the table. With a roundhouse kick, his boot hit David’s head with a sickening thud and sent him sprawling across the dirty floor into the corner of the room.

  He staggered to his feet, shaking his head, blood seeping from a small cut near his temple. Stumbling to the door, looking at the blood pooling in his hand, he started smiling. ‘One last thing, Gibbs. Have you had any news from the lovely Captain Matthews recently?’

  ‘You better not have hurt her, Kirkwood,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll kill you if you have.’

  ‘She was meddling in very dangerous intelligence affairs, Gibbs. Getting way too close to the men who sanctioned all this, so she had to be disposed of,’ Kirkwood said, opening the door. ‘We threw her body in the Thames for the eels to feed off.’

  Gibbs screamed and pulled at the chains with all his might. David Kirkwood gave him one last look and slammed the door behind him.

  Chapter 34

  HM Prison, Wandsworth, London, UK - 2019

  The recreational floor of B-wing was overcrowded, the atmosphere on a knife’s edge. Most of the gangs of London who were mortal enemies outside the stone prison walls had representatives doing time in Wandsworth prison. Someone was always spoiling for a fight.

  Gibbs was sitting on a plastic bench consumed by loss. Memories of their short time together tore through him, but the regret of being too stubborn to tell her how he felt about her ripped at his soul. She was the first person he had ever loved other than his mother, and now he would never get the chance to tell her.

  ‘Hey, boss, you want to play a game of pool?’ Shredder said, trying to lift the mood.

  Gibbs shook his head. ‘No thanks, mate.’

  ‘You’re thinking about Sharon again, weren’t you?’

  Suddenly across the room, a ruckus broke out as a shiv-wielding member of the Peckham Collective wrestled with a smaller member of the Baghdad Reds. The blue scarf wrapped around the Peckham member’s arm was ripped off during the struggle just as he suddenly freed his arm from the smaller opponent’s grip, and repeatedly stabbed the other gang member in the chest and abdomen with a sharpened spoon handle. As his opponent went limp, he stood up and raised his arms above his head for all the other gangs to see. Loud cheers broke out.

  On the metal gangway above them, a group of prison guards walked in, all dressed in black riot gear with helmets, shields and batons. One of them, armed with a shock shotgun, fired the non-lethal shock shell into the back of the victorious gang member, and the tasered young man started to shake violently then fell forwards, writhing on the shiny blue linoleum floor.

  The rest of the riot officers moved down the metal staircase, guns at the ready, taking up positions around the two wounded men.

  ‘Everyone back to your business!’ one of the men shouted.

  Shredder turned to Gibbs. ‘What I’m trying to say is that busy hands and a busy mind might help with the grieving process, boss.’

  ‘Are you suddenly bloody Aristotle, oh wise guru?’ Gibbs said. ‘Thanks, but I attended the same psych training as you did about dealing with grief.’

  ‘Heads up, boys,’ Killey said under his breath.

  The lone figure of a young man dressed in a red tracksuit top and low cut jeans swaggered over to them from where one of the other gangs were seated. His shaven head and scowl added menace to his appearance as he glanced around the wing suspiciously.

  Two servicemen who happened to be doing time in the same prison and had latched onto Gibbs and his men stood up to intercept the young man before he got to Gibbs. They stood shoulder to shoulder and folded their arms as he got near.

  ‘I am looking for Mr Gibbs,’ he said, peering around the men.

  ‘What could you possibly want with Mr Gibbs?’ one of the soldiers said, taking a step towards the young man.

  ‘I have just been reassigned from H-wing and have something to give him.’

  ‘Give it to us and we will see that he gets it,’ one of the servicemen said.

  ‘That’s okay, boys, let him through. I don’t think he will try anything stupid. Will you, sonny?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, scanning the rest of recreation floor. ‘My name is James, and I am a member of the Richmond Green Vikings. I am told you know who they are? I was transferred here to give you something from a mutual friend.’

  Gibbs nodded.

  The young man gingerly took out a small square-shaped object wrapped in a dirty white cloth and handed it across to Gibbs. ‘You will receive a call later this evening from a mutual friend.’

  ***

  The narrow confines of the prison cell made for cosy relationships between cellmates as they were forced to bond with each other. Gibbs and Killey had been assigned together and were sitting on the lower bunk of their two-tier bunk bed, playing poker on the rough blue blanket that covered the mattress, roasted peanuts being the currency for wager.

  ‘I remember when I lost my fiancée to a drug overdose, boss. It took me a long time to make peace with what happened,’ Killey said. ‘This won’t help you now, but time will make it easier.’

  ‘I know, mate, I just keep wishing I had told her what she meant to me, especially knowing that she died to help us.’

  ‘What I did when my fiancée died was to tell her how I felt every night in my prayers for a year. It helped,’ Killey said.

  ‘I always forget that you believe in the Big Man,’ Gibbs murmured.

  ‘Just try and focus on getting us out of here and then you can wring tha
t little arse’s neck.’

  The small phone that had been smuggled in for Gibbs vibrated in his pocket. ‘Exactly right, my religious friend.’

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, lover,’ Sheila said.

  ‘What would Martin say if he knew that you called me that?’ Gibbs replied.

  ‘He is lying next to me in bed as we speak, so the jig is up,’ she said. ‘How are things in prison?’

  ‘Peachy,’ Gibbs replied.

  ‘We received all the email documents, and there is some incriminating stuff. Strong enough to get you out of that place.’

  ‘That’s good to hear, Sheila, although that would still leave Shredder and Killey in here, and I couldn’t let them stay behind, not after they sorted out that prick Warren on my behalf.’

  ‘That’s what we thought,’ she replied.

  ‘Not sure if you have heard but apparently they got to Sharon,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘I am so sorry, pet,’ Sheila said.

  ‘Thanks, but I need you to make sure that it’s true. Can Martin get one of his men to go around to her place and have a look around inside? You know, just to make sure that I am not being lied to, and they have got her captive somewhere.’

  ‘Of course, Gibbs. We’ll scope the place out for a week or two,’ she said.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘The reason for my call was to let you know the plans that you and I made are near to fruition, so be prepared and alert for the opportunity,’ she told him.

  ‘Thanks, Sheila. So are you the newest recruit to the Richmond Green Vikings now?’

  ‘No, lover,’ she said and laughed. ‘I'm the one who started it all.’

  ‘What? I thought you were always joking about that.’

  ‘No, lover. I was all my idea. I will tell you all about it when you and your boys are safe and free.’

  ‘How will I ever repay you?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Just don’t go getting killed.'

  ***

  The clean-shaven man walked towards the large white Eagle Security van and adjusted his black leather belt that held the standard ’38 revolver issued to all security guards. He tucked his dark brown shirt into the dark brown pants that he so despised. He knew it was a good job and he had a family to feed, but the outfit made him look like a parcel delivery man.

  The van had been reversed down the side of the prison as it had done on many occasions when they transferred prisoners to other institutions. He could see both security guards smoking inside the cab of the van, watching him cautiously as he approached.

  ‘Hello, gents,’ he said.

  The men nodded with suspicion.

  ‘You’re Chris White, correct?’ he asked the driver.

  ‘Yes, and you are?’

  ‘I am the bearer of bad news, I am afraid. HQ sent me to relieve you as your wife, Carol, was injured in a hit and run incident. She is on her way to the hospital right now. Charing Cross Memorial, I am told.’

  ‘Oh shit!’ the man said, his face turning pale.

  ‘Here are the official orders from the sector leader switching you and me as drivers. I would hurry, Chris,’ the tall man said.

  Chris White hesitated for a few seconds before handing over the transfer clipboard and cell keys, then slid down from the driver’s seat.

  The tall man climbed into the cab, unclipping his holster as he pulled himself up. He turned to the passenger and introduced himself. ‘Dave McLaren.’

  The passenger kept smoking and blew smoke through the open window. He flicked the remainder of the cigarette out of the window and leant across to shake the new driver’s hand. ‘Bill King.’

  'Good to meet you.'

  ‘Isn’t it normal protocol to switch the whole team out, rather than split the team up?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Usually, it is, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Guess you’ll have to ask them. Get them on the radio if you want. I would rather be watching the big cage fight anyway,’ Dave replied, hoping to get the banter going.

  A look of suspicion came across Bill's face, and he reached for the radio handset.

  ‘And I had bloody tickets to the fight, you know,’ Dave said, shaking his head.

  Bill leant back, holding the handset on his lap. ‘Was that the Tommy Smith and Carlton Reeves cage fight?’

  Dave exhaled, his information had been correct. ‘Yeah. I take it you're a fan then?

  ‘I sure am. I was at Tommy Smith’s last fight at the Kingston Odeon. What a fighter he is proving to be,’ Bill said. ‘A bloody animal.’

  ‘Nah…Carlton will get a KO in the third.’

  ‘What! You have got to be kidding. Want to put a wager on that, mate?’

  Chapter 35

  Wandsworth, London, England, UK - 2019

  A gentle rain had been falling all day, and the road glistened in the sunset as the white prisoner transport van drove around the old Wandsworth Town one-way system. The odd rebellious teenager ran out and threw a stone or brick at the old symbol of government, but it failed to alter the truck’s course. Once clear of Wandsworth, the truck accelerated towards Wimbledon before they were scheduled to turn onto the motorway that led out of London.

  ‘Jesus, who is driving this bloody death trap?’ Shredder said as he sat in the cramped confines of the prison van. Each convict was handcuffed inside their own cubicle, so they had no direct contact with each other, but after years of neglect, most of the cubicle doors had been torn off and discarded.

  ‘Must be a blind guy,’ Killey replied, as the truck dropped into another pothole.

  ‘It feels like we’re sitting in our own bloody toilets in these things.’ Shredder replied, looking across the narrow corridor at Gibbs, who was sitting on the small bench in his cubicle. ‘So, boss, when do you think they will try and spring us?’

  ‘Not bloody soon enough. We might just die in this death trap before we get the chance though,’ Gibbs replied. ‘We are losing valuable time on Kirkwood the longer we stay here. I hope they don’t wait until we get to the prison ship in Wales to put their plan into motion.’

  Suddenly the van lurched violently to the left and crashed into something, which caused the inmates to be thrown against the sides of their cubicles.

  ‘Bloody moron!’ Killey shouted, and kicked the side of his cubicle.

  ‘Shut it for a minute, Killey,’ Gibbs snapped, cocking his ear up to the small window behind him.’ Did anyone else just hear a gunshot?’

  ***

  Bill King was looking out the window when the van lurched to the left and crashed up onto the concrete pavement. He was flung to his right and dropped the thermos of coffee he was holding all over the floor in front of him.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted as the van stopped just short of a six-foot stone wall that ran parallel to the road. ‘What the fuck happened?’

  Dave vigorously turned the steering wheel from side to side. ‘Feels like the steering column has bloody snapped or something, it could also just be a puncture from those potholes I hit back there.’

  ‘I didn’t feel any blowout, though,’ Bill said, unhooking his revolver. ‘It could be a trap, so stay sharp. Can you see anything in the side mirrors?’

  Dave feigned looking out of his window and dropped his hand down to his revolver. ‘Why don’t you radio it in before we look at the tyres?’

  ‘Protocol dictates that we stay inside the front of the cab. I’ll radio HQ anyway,’ Bill said, and switched his revolver to his other hand to reach for the radio. He grabbed the black handset hanging from the dashboard just as the bullet hit him under the arm. A second, then third hit him in the midriff as Dave fired sideways, his revolver resting on his lap.

  Bill dropped his gun in shock then tried to reach for it as it fell into the footwell but it was too late, a gurgling sound was coming from his punctured lung as it rapidly filling with blood. Dave picked up the revolver and placed it on the dashboard before reaching across the dying man and opening the passenger door. Bill grabbed
the killer’s shirtsleeve and stared into his eyes.

  ‘Sorry, Bill, but Tommy is going to get his arse kicked tonight,’ Dave said, and pushed Bill out into the street. He closed the door and locked it again before placing the van into gear and driving off the pavement and back onto the street.

  He followed the prescribed driver’s route on the transfer manifest and knew that HQ was monitoring his movements with an inbuilt tracking system. He smiled as the radio on the dashboard remained silent.

  A mangy fox ran across the road, and he slowed down as ahead of him loomed the Tibbett’s Corner roundabout where he was supposed to join the motorway. Instead, he took the first left exit and accelerated towards Wimbledon Village with the vast expanse of Wimbledon Common whizzing by on his right. Hundreds of wooden squatters’ shacks had sprung up throughout the green area over the past few years, and grey smoke drifting across the road from all the wood and coal fires usually meant it was getting late as families sat down to dinner.

  He looked at the watch on the dashboard and felt the tension lift, they were still on schedule for the meeting. He took the next major tarred road right and then drove towards the abandoned Wimbledon Windmill Museum building. The ragged blades of the windmill stood motionless and silhouetted against the darkening sky.

  ‘Charlie four three one, come in, Charlie four three one,’ the radio suddenly shrieked.

  ‘Oh do shut up,’ Dave said.

  He pulled into the overgrown parking lot and parked at the parking bay furthest from the entrance, aware of teenagers standing nearby smoking some or other drug. Climbing down from the cab, he withdrew his revolver as he walked around the front of the cab and through the beams of the headlights, towards the group of kids. As one, they all took a few steps away from him, their hands lifted in resignation, then turned to melt away into the wooded area.