The Blood Red Line (A Warren & Jimbo novel)

by Alfie Robins

  The seed had been sown, if things went how he hoped they would, Warren would be dead and if Conway did survive he would be locked up for a very long time leaving behind him a void that Powers himself would fill.

  Powers stood up. ‘So, Patrick, do you think we might be able to do business? I do. Think it over and call me - sooner rather than later. Talk soon, Patrick.’

  He climbed out of Conway’s Range Rover and walked away. Since becoming embroiled in the seedier side of things, Lieutenant Neil Powers had become accustomed to the finer things of life, the things that were not affordable on Regular Army pay, definitely not on what a Lieutenant earned, he wasn’t prepared to give up the money, the car and above all the status. What difference would it make, it was all power for the cause - wasn’t it? He saw taking over Conway’s already established business as a way of securing his future, once Conway and DS Warren were out of the picture.

  Standing facing the Humber he took out his mobile and dialled. There was one last loose end he had to tie up.

  ‘Listen,’ he said into the receiver, ‘I’m sending you a photograph and an address, it’s time he was removed.’

  One hour and thirty minutes later, as Philips stepped out of his front door, joyriders in a stolen Vauxhall Vectra mounted the pavement and ended the career and life of Bernie Philips.

  Chapter 34

  Warren stood up and walked across to Jimbo. ‘I’ve just had a strange conversation with Pat.’

  ‘How do you mean, strange?’

  ‘He wants a meet.’

  ‘What’s unusual in that?’

  ‘Where does he have all his meetings?’

  ‘The flat.’

  ‘Precisely, he wants a meet in the old town, some place down Scale Lane, tonight.’

  ‘I wouldn’t read too much into it, knowing Pat he’ll have a good reason.’

  ‘Hmm, we’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘You want me to tag along?’

  ‘No, it’ll be fine, you go and have a pint and I’ll fill you in when it’s over.’

  Warren parked the Ford Escort close to Silver Street in the old town. Rain had been falling steadily for the past hour, making the cobble road surface of Scale Lane slick underfoot. Scale Lane still retained the character of days gone by when the area had been a hive of activity for the ship’s merchants and chandlers.

  As usual Warren arrived early and did a recce of the nearby streets and buildings, everything looked to be okay. The address Conway had given him turned out to be a disused shop, the previous owners a high-class milliner was long gone. The place looked as if it hadn’t been occupied in decades. Warren put his hand on the front door knob and turned, the door was unlocked and opened, he cautiously stepped inside. The street light directly outside the shop cast a gloomy pale glow through the dirty glass window, enough to illuminate the interior. Conway was already there waiting.

  ‘Evening, Pat,’ Warren said, as he walked across the empty room and stood in front of the old wooden counter, his hands behind on the warm timber as he gave out the appearance of being relaxed. Conway didn’t speak as they stood facing each other in the half light, almost as if in a kind of pissing contest, waiting for the other to falter.

  ‘So, Pat, what’s this all about, secret meetings at the dead of night, all seems a bit sinister?’

  ‘All in good time, Ray.’

  ‘Why here?’ He had an uneasy feeling.

  ‘Just bought the place as an investment.’

  ‘Very nice, I like what you’ve done with the place,’ he said looking around.

  Conway smiled. ‘The jobs off, me and you we’re finished.’

  ‘What’s brought this about?’ He said watching for any sudden movements.

  ‘Well, if you don’t know Detective Sergeant Greg Warren why should I enlighten you?’ It had been totally unexpected, Warren was caught off guard. That was when Conway stooped slightly and picked up a two-foot length of scaffolding pole from the debris.

  Warren had heard the words but didn’t believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Like fuck I am, who’s been filling your head with this shit?’

  ‘I’ve got it on good authority, no point trying to deny it. Ever since your so-called prison break you’ve been playing me, oh, yeah, I know everything about you, Detective, everything and not forgetting the little shit Jimbo.’ Holding the cold metal in his right hand he playfully tapped it in the palm of his left hand. ‘Tell me, did you top the real Cole yourself?’

  Warren didn’t answer. He had questions of his own.

  ‘So, let’s cut to the chase, Pat, when did you decide to get into the arms trade?’

  ‘Sort of fell into it, it was never planned. There was a market and I saw the opportunity.’

  ‘You know, I always thought of you as a decent villain, not someone who’d sell third rate converted guns to kids and pyschos.’

  ‘Don’t go pointing the finger, I always had you down as a crook, murderer and nasty piece of shit, and I was right, the only difference between you and me is that you do it legally.’

  ‘That’s it then, a parting of the ways, you go back to which ever rock you’ve crawled out from under and me, I disappear from your life forever, is that how you see it? Well it isn’t gonna happen, Pat, I can’t let it.’

  ‘You’re right there, that’s not what’s going to happen.’ Conway lunged forward, the metal pole held in both hands high above his head like a club. The counter to his back restricting his escape, Warren lifted his arm to fend off the blow, he not only felt the bone shatter, he heard it. He tried to shift position when the pole stuck again, missing the side of his head and landed heavily on his shoulder shattering more bones.

  Conway stepped back dropping the pole to the floor, this was not how it was going to end. He was enjoying seeing his onetime friend squirm in agony, he took pleasure in Warren’s pain.

  Warren watched through tear filled eyes as Conway put his hand in his pocket and produced a handgun. Although the pain was excruciating Warren managed to get to his knees, his right arm hung by his side totally knackered, it probably would have hurt less if Conway had shot him, instead of pulverising him with a length of scaffolding pole. He shuffled backward, and struggled to his feet, leaning back against the shop counter. The Smith & Wesson was pointing directly at him.

  ‘You do realise if you blow my brains out with that fucking thing,’ he managed to say, nodding towards the Smith &Wesson, ‘there’s no coming back, not when you’ve topped a copper.’

  ‘That’s a chance I’ll have to take.’ The gun was still pointing towards Warren. ‘You know, I much preferred it when you were Ray Cole. So, it ends here.’

  He took a step nearer and raised the weapon.

  ‘You haven’t got the balls to pull the trigger,’ Warren said, although he knew Conway did have the balls. He knew he was only a matter of seconds from death.

  The fat man levelled the weapon in a direct line with Warren’s head and released the safety catch.

  BANG.

  A single shot. The closeness of the blast obliterated the back of his head, grey brain matter sprayed through the expanded wound where his forehead used to be. His arms flew out, his feet lifted of the ground as the force pushed him forward. Warren slid down to the floor.

  Tears rolled down Jimbo’s cheeks, he’d never killed before, now he had ended the life of the man who, had at one time been a surrogate father to him. Pat Conway was dead.

  ‘You are such a bastard,’ Jimbo said as he lets his Glock fall to the floor, then close to sobbing he dropped to his knees.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘The GPS tracker I took off Neil’s car, I put it on the Escort. I wasn’t going to let you come alone, you mad fucker.’ He looked towards Conway’s body. ‘How did he find out?’

  ‘Don’t know Jimbo, don’t know but I intend to find out. Look I don’t want you mixed up in this shit, get out of here, take the Glock and get rid of it. Before you do go, use Pat’s
mobile and call it in, I could do with an ambulance myself.’ Warren reached out with his good arm and pulled Jimbo close in a man-hug. ‘Thanks,’ was all he said before he passed out.

  Neil Powers was expecting a call. The clock ticked around as he sat, patiently staring through the picture window as the rain ran in rivulets down the glass. He was on his second glass of malt whiskey when his mobile rang. The caller ID showed an unlisted number, he knew who it belonged to. He listened to the short message and hung up. It was not what he wanted to hear. Greg Warren was still alive. Powers swapped his mobile for the glass of malt. ‘Until the next time Greg, until the next time.’

  The End

  Also by Alfie Robins

  DCI Marlowe novels

  Reprisal

  Snakes and Losers

  A Winning Hand Loses

  Harry Blackburn novels

  Just Whistle

  Funeral Rites

  Short Stories

  Why Won’t You Stay Dead.

  Coming soon,

  Heads She Loses – Tails She Loses. A DCI Marlowe novel.

  www.alfierobins.co.uk

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