by Matt Drabble
McGinnis gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white with tension, “I hate those fucking animals” he growled.
Langstrom nodded in soundless agreement.
“I don’t know why Jimmy insists on using them” McGinnis continued, “Every time he unleashes them, someone else has to clean up the bloody mess, every damn time”
Langstrom nodded in soundless agreement.
“Jimmy told us to manage those freaks and control them, CONTROL THEM! We should put a bullet behind that fucking scumbag’s ear and bury the lot of them”
Langstrom nodded in soundless agreement.
“You know what Eric, you talk too much” McGinnis smiled in spite of himself.
Like rabid rats, the pack skirted the rusty chain link fence; one produced a wire cutter and deftly plucked an opening without a sound. They slipped through the gap one by one and approached the large brick building. There were two large windows at ground level and a large metal retractable roller door large enough for delivery trucks to fit through. The brickwork was crumbling and stained, the slate roof was missing some, and the guttering hung loose in several places. The whole building gave off a disused and deserted vibe.
Kofi noted in a rare moment of clarity, which he was not without, that such a front should be better maintained for illusionary purposes. Kofi wore a long heavy black overcoat; it draped past his knees and fluttered behind him as he ran nimbly for the shelter of the gloom of the buildings walls. He peered cautiously into a grimy window, the room beyond was dark and empty, mouldy crates littered the space long since abandoned. His boys immediately lined up behind him single file; he could feel their gnawing eagerness creeping towards a dangerous boiling point. Kofi scanned the window frame, he found no tell tale signs of alarm mechanisms, there were no silver strips and no contacts between the window base and frame. Kofi pulled a switchblade from his inside pocket and slid the thin blade along the glasses aging putty edge, the window pane slid smoothly out of its moorings. Kofi placed the glass gently on the ground and reached into the gap lift the latch and eased the window open, mindful of giveaway squeaks. With the large window open Kofi signalled to one of his followers who crouched beneath him, he stood on the skinny spine and gracefully slithered inside the warehouse. His boys followed suit with the penultimate pulling the crouched up and in. The room was dark, but a shaft of light illuminated around the door at the far side. Kofi held up a clenched fist, and the boys took a knee silently behind him, he edged to the door and eased it open a crack. The lit room beyond was massive; the cavernous expanse housed a track of conveyor belts that encircled the room on two levels. Metallic staircases ran to the upper level and a walkway beyond. The ceiling disappeared into the blackness above the hanging fluorescent lights. The machinery looked in working order and well maintained as the lights bounced off of the greased cogs. The room appeared deserted although it was large enough to hide a small army and there were splintery crates stacked in two of the four corners.
Kofi pushed open the door and waved his boys in behind him, he spread them out over the ground floor searching for people or product. This was supposed to be one of the largest of the Parker’s processing operations and Kofi had thought that they would be able to satisfy both of their desires for violence and drugs in one joyous shopping experience. Kofi first checked some of the wooden crates for bounty; he used a claw hammer lying nearby that had been used to seal them in the first place. He pried opened the first lid and peered into the dusty innards brushing the packaging polystyrene aside. Expecting to see the interior awash with beautiful white packets ready for plucking and harvesting he was perplexed to find large clear plastic pouches filled with a dark liquid. Annoyed he headed upwards, scaling the metal stairs and careful not to let his boots announce his arrival. On the upper level there was a smallish room that housed the machinery controls. Kofi slipped his left arm into his long coat and brushed it aside back over his hip, a Mossberg 12g 590 pump vented muzzle hung over his shoulder on a custom strap. With his right hand he swung the impressive weapon out for use, there was a song lyric from a Machine Head song that said, “Let freedom reign with a shotgun blast”, he had always loved this weapon and the quote fitted perfectly. Tired of clandestine approaches Kofi roared his favourite quote and fired the shotgun into the closed door. The echoing blast of the Mossberg was deafening even in the huge warehouse, the wooden door exploded on impact sending shards of splintered wood inward. Kofi kicked open the remains viciously and jumped inside, the room like the rest of the building appeared empty. The control panels were dark and lifeless, the collared lights lay dormant and unused, and a swivel chair sat deserted preserving a lonely vigil. Kofi kicked the chair furiously sending it spinning across the room; the whole thing was a bust, no bodies, no blow, and no fun to be had. He quickly began ascending the stairs, his irritability taking them two at a time; he was only half way down when the lights went out. The room was plunged into total darkness, a hand suddenly grabbed his face, the grip was icy, and iron and a voice whispered out of the black.
“Welcome Kofi” it grated.
Kofi was frozen to the spot, his legs numb and immobile, screams of horror burst forth from his boys as ravenous solid shadows landed on their backs and death fell from the rafters above.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
November 1993
It took less than a week for them to get the call, the body, or what was left of Chris Rustler, had been discovered the day after Jimmy had finished with it at the lockup. Ghost and Jimmy had both agreed that the condition of the corpse must be both extreme and tales of such must spread organically. Rustler had been Drake’s strong right hand, the gauntlet to his king’s whim; he had run the streets for his master with a peerless reputation for brutality. Both Jimmy and Ghost made sure to maintain a presence on the street, for she was always watching. Her beady eyes saw everything; there were no holes deep enough and no shadows long enough to hide from her eternal gaze. They drank in the same bars, ate in the same cafes, and slept in the same beds as they both knew that this would be a turning point in their lives and careers. If Bennett Drake decided to kill them, then it would not matter how smart Ghost was, or how crazy Jimmy was. They would take as many with them as they could, but they would still fall just the same.
The Rock ‘n’ Rolla was a small restaurant situated right in the centre of Fresh Haven; the proprietor had deemed it necessary to spring for top line air conditioning. This meant that even in the heat of the heart of summer he was able to close his doors against the stench of the port. The fusion of the industrial waste from the tankers and the more human waste that was pumped out into the water from outlet pipes would keep the more discerning noses out of the area.
Giancarlo Busgetti ran the Rock ‘n’ Rolla for more than twenty years; his doors were open to all sides of the divide, police and criminal alike. A large gregarious man of girth and wit, his establishment was respected as it was neutral ground, and that, was beyond question. Ghost was always dragged here whenever their wallets would allow, for him it was an extravagance that he felt they could ill afford, but for Jimmy, it was essential. Ghost knew that Jimmy revelled in the setting, to Jimmy the Rock ‘N’ Rolla was the benchmark for success. Once Giancarlo knew your name and gave you your own booth, then you were a somebody in the industry. They were both on a nodding greeting at this point with the large Italian. They would get the occasional “Boys”, when they entered, and Jimmy felt that this was making progress, slow, but progress.
Jimmy got the call at their apartment; surprisingly it was from Giancarlo himself.
“Dat chu Jimmy” he asked in his heavily accented manner that Ghost had always suspected was exaggerated for effect.
“You got both of us here big man” Ghost cringed at Jimmy’s flippant response.
“You got a sit down with the main man, tonight at 10 smart guy and bring yur smart mouth wit chu” the sharp disconnected sound of the dial tone was deafening.
“Every time
Jimmy, every time?” Ghost snapped irritably.
“Ah cheer up Ghost, tonight’s the night; tonight’s the night that we step up in the world. No more shitty apartments like this” Jimmy kicked the metal bucket that sat in the middle of the room catching the falling rain leaks that dribbled through the poor roof.
“We’re either moving up Jimmy or going down; my guess is that the odds are running about even at this point” Ghost answered depressingly.
They reached the Rock ‘n’ Rolla at about 9.25pm; Ghost was not surprised to see Drakes dominant black SUV parked arrogantly on the double yellow lines right outside of the restaurant. If Drake was planning on putting them in the ground tonight, it was going to be for the whole world to see.
They entered the restaurant, the door swung open with barely a whisper, and Ghost entered ahead of Jimmy; it was a subconscious protective measure.
Since their days together in the orphanage a strange but balanced relationship had developed, it was an unconventional brotherly love. Because they had ever known a stable or healthy home environment, neither was equipped with what would be considered standard operating procedures for family life. This was complicated further by their chosen industry, surrounded as they were by violence and treachery on all sides, all they ever knew was the trust and loyalty that existed between them. It was a bond that had forged over time a sole reliance that became steel in the darkness. Neither man understood the concept of love, nor affection, only pleasure and pain. Jimmy saw women as conquest trophies and men as competition to be vanquished, while Ghost saw women as complicated emotional puzzles that he lacked the knowledge to unlock and men were always potential betrayers. If asked to articulate their relationship Ghost would have been unable to quantify, at times they laughed together and at times they struggled. Sometimes he hated Jimmy, sometimes he was indifferent. Jimmy could be cruel, but he could also be charm itself. At times he could not stand the sight of Jimmy, but he knew that they two halves of the same soul who did not work apart. They had fought bloody battles side by side and for whatever reason, Ghost thought, they were bound by stone until the bitter end.
The restaurant looked on the surface to be genuinely busy, but Ghost noticed the untouched food, he noticed the melted ice in the intact glasses and the all too casual glances in their direction. If Jimmy noticed, then he did not care Ghost observed. Jimmy was in his element now; this was a situation that called for bluff and bluster.
Jimmy swaggered past him and waltzed through the audience like a maid in the meadow. He pushed past the welcoming Giancarlo and headed straight for the small private room at the rear of the eatery. Ghost watched as Jimmy paused for the briefest of seconds at the door and looked back at him. Whilst Ghost felt the gravity of their situation, Jimmy’s eyes flashed with amused excitement. Ghost cringed as Jimmy did not pause to knock, and simply flung open the door, but he knew that he would have to trust Jimmy now. However things would turn in the small dark room; Ghost knew that they would face this together. He tensed himself in case of attack, his eyes flicked from side to side as they entered preparing for danger on any side.
Inside was a stripped poker table, a bottle of champagne sat slowly dripping in condensation inside a metallic ice bucket, Ghost felt every running droplets ascent in slow motion. The man sat theatrically framed in the shadows, one leg draped across the other, razor sharp creases in a pinstriped Savile Row suit. Ghost let the tension ease from his frame, Bennett Drake was a legend in the industry, he was the apex predator, and he was somewhat of a disappointment. The legend was a thick set forty seven year old business man, his girth strained at the waistcoat despite the expert camouflage tailoring. His face was turning to jowls, his goatee was white and trimmed, and his tan looked Algarve made. His fingernails were expensively manicured and long since devoid of hard labour. The theatrics of the setting gave Ghost reason for calm and Jimmy it would appear reason for confidence. Ghost only prayed that he would not overplay the hand. As soon as Drake said,
“Gentlemen, welcome” Ghost knew they had him.
The rest of the evening went like a dream; Jimmy was at his effervescent best. He charmed and flattered, and he played to Drake’s ego like a master Rachmaninov reciter. By the end of the evening the table lay heavy with drained champagne bottles. Jimmy was like a second son to the great Bennett Drake relaying battle stories of the great mans rise to power. Whilst they shared in the blood of thunder and of conquest, Ghost spoke at length of plans and projections. He spoke of expansions in the streets, of streamlining and corporate management. Half-way through the evening Giancarlo brought steaming plates of house specialties. Fresh lobsters and mussels, clams smothered in garlic, steak’s sizzling in peppers and onions. Drake ate heartily and drank merrily; Ghost had never seen Jimmy so articulate and charismatic. By the end of the night Drake seemed to have convinced himself that their alliance was all at his own hand and plan.
As they left the rear room, Drake was hanging off of Jimmy’s shoulder, his knees weak from the alcohol consumed, and his head buzzing from tales of war. Ghost had entered the restaurant not knowing if they were to leave again, only to find themselves departing with the seal of the king. From this moment on, they were made, now no one could touch them, and they answered only to Drake, much to the obvious consternation of several Drake lieutenants parked outside.
“It’s a great day boys” Drake announced a little too loudly to his waiting court, “And a brave new one to boot”. He stumbled on a chair leg, Jimmy caught him before any embarrassment ensued and led the great man out into the darkness. They passed through the front door and onto the street ahead of Drakes disgruntled crew, two best friends as the employees followed.
Suddenly a screaming peal of tires electrocuted the night air and a black tinted Range Rover leapt towards them like a scalded cat. Ghost found himself behind the departing lieutenants and bodyguards, most of whom had frozen towards the rapidly approaching sounds. He shouldered himself past the passive statues whilst most were staring blankly. He just made it in time to see Jimmy wrap himself around Drake. The Range Rover’s passenger window rolled down, and gunfire spat wickedly from within. He saw the small puffs of impact as several bullets hit Jimmy in the back; Ghost ripped a handgun from one of the bodyguards shoulder holster as it hung there impotent. Whilst Jimmy and Drake fell to the ground, and the rest of Drake’s crew stood stationary, attempting to process just what had happened Ghost was lightening. He vaulted over the two fallen figures and was in the road, he brought the gun up in a slow controlled arc, his shoulder braced and his sights adjusted. The 4x4 was accelerating away; Ghost flipped off the safety and squeezed the trigger methodically. The first two bullets went wide, but he was adjusting as he fired. The third bullet hit the rear driver’s tire exploding it on impact and a steady line of bullet holes then wormed their way up across the bumper. The bullets punctured the trunk before smashing the rear window and shattering the glass inward. The car swerved erratically as the next few bullets entered the vehicle. The Range Rover jerked viciously and crashed into a row of parked cars before hitting a large lamppost and coming to a violent halt. Ghost did a quick mental calculation as he ran which revealed that he had one shot left, he approached the car crouched carefully. The engine was still roaring, and he surmised that the driver was hit and slumped with a heavy foot on the accelerator. He came up on the passenger door which was struggling to open. He eased the door open and found a stocky man dressed in black and wearing a balaclava obscuring his face. Blood ran red from his mouth through the woollen mask and the man’s chest hitched with a desperate struggle for breath. Ghost lifted the man’s mask, but this was no Scooby Doo reveal, he did not know the man. He looked over his shoulder and saw Drake and a limping Jimmy hobble towards him, Drake reached him first panting with the effort and the shock.
“Who the fuck is it” he demanded.
“Perhaps you know, because I don’t recognize him” answered Ghost stepping aside.
The wounded man str
uggled for the energy to speak, his lungs filled with fluid and the pain was evident, his eyes widened as Jimmy reached the car and Ghost knew. Jimmy snatched the Glock automatic from his hand and fired point blank into the man’s face spraying a crimson pattern of blood and gore across the inside of the cracked windscreen.
“Doesn’t fucking matter who he is, bastard’s dead now” Jimmy spat.
Drake shooed them away professing his undying gratitude whilst his disgraced men sheepishly began making calls to clean up the mess, their eyes unwilling to meet their boss. They left willingly, neither of them at this point had the sort of police connections that would allow them to feel confident about being extricated from the investigation even with Drake’s assistance. They made their way swiftly back to their car, where Eddie was waiting inside patient as always, his face was immediately concerned at Jimmy’s discomfort.
“Jimmy, Jimmy” he fussed.
“Easy Eddie, I’m fine” Jimmy struggled out of the bullet proof vest that he had apparently worn for the evening. “Not bad huh” he said as he fingered the holes.
“And why exactly didn’t you tell me?” Ghost asked.
“Tell you what” Jimmy answered impishly.
“That you set the whole thing up, Jesus Jimmy, what if you’d caught one in the head instead of the vest?”
“That’s all part of the fun Ghost, besides I thought that you’d be faster than you were, you need some practice” he teased.
“Who the hell were those guys?”
“A couple of mugs that I hired from outside the area, told ‘em it was hit on Drake and the guy he’d be with”