Serious People

by Shea, James A.

  “Ok,” Khan replied, desperate to get to the meat of the story.

  “I’d been around the block a bit already by then; knew most the key players. Anyway, back in the eighties, no one had heard of these guys at all. They were just another bunch of names. At the time, we were looking into these strings of armed robberies though. These guys had a real nasty m.o. They would make a point of going in with guns and then beating the shit out of one of the waiting customers, using the back of a weapon or their fists. You know, get people’s attention; get the old fear brewing in people’s minds.”

  “Real nice guys,” Khan replied, now engrossed by Early’s story.

  “Yeah, real clever bastards. You see it got into all the papers—scared the shit out of the public the way they were targeting innocent customers in the banks,” Early continued.

  “I imagine,” Khan nodded.

  “So, naturally, every bank became very sensitive that these guys were beating the shit out of their customers,” Early said.

  “Not good for their customer friendly reputations, I guess,” Khan said, crossing her arms.

  “Yeah, instead of following their normal security protocols, if these guys were to storm in, the banks briefed their staff to deal with them as quickly as possible; you know get them out immediately, before they had a chance to kick in one of their precious customers. It was unbelievable. We didn’t stand a chance to catch the criminals. Do you know—they were turning around a robbery in about two and half minutes in their hay day?”

  “I don’t get it. How did the banks know it was them when they came in?” asked Khan.

  “Oh yeah, I’m forgetting their—what would you call it—branding. The wankers always walked into these places with these Halloween masks and Republic of Ireland football shirts on. So believe me, the banks knew when these guys walked in.” Early said, shaking his head at the memory.

  Khan looked back at the blank computer screen, confounded. “I didn’t see anything about this on the files.”

  “That’s because we had nothing to put on them—not a bloody scrap of evidence. Do you know that one day, these cheeky gits came into our local boozer. They were even wearing bloody Ireland football shirts!” Early chuckled. “Seriously, a boozer full of coppers and those gits sat there supping their pints. It was as if they’d just took the masks off after having done another bank job. Unbelievable!”

  “But why would they do that?” Khan asked. “What did they have to gain?”

  “It’s their world Guv. In the criminal underworld, it’s like a league table sometimes. It’s all about being on top. If you ain’t being chased down by us, you’d be getting chased down by one of your bigger rivals and—let me tell you—that little drink down the pub… that would have moved them right up the table. I’m sure every firm this side of Manchester heard about that one.”

  “How much did they make from the robberies?” Khan asked.

  “Well, by the end the whole situation had turned into a real PR thing for the banks; it became like a competition between them. They were all busy announcing that their customers came first—before any money. They became the ones almost exaggerating the money that they’d lost in the protection of their customers,” Early said, smiling. “These guys were clever. I dunno what they’d really got in all. Maybe a few mill? Who’s to know for sure. But if you listened to the propaganda from the different banks you’d be sure it was much more than that.”

  Early stopped and looked at his watch; it was after five and well past the time that he normally clocked off. He got up, picked up the overcoat that was hanging off the back of his chair, and put it on over his scruffy suit.

  “So? What happened next?” Khan said, almost like a small child would at the premature end to a story.

  “Guv its gone five; have you not got a home to go to? I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow,” Early replied.

  Khan looked back at the computer monitor, trying to hide her disappointment, and on seeing this Early slunk into the chair. Got to keep the world steady, he thought, keep it steady until he gets to the Algarve.

  “OK, well this will be the quick version,” Early conceded. “After the bank robberies, there was nothing. It was like in the movies or something; we thought they must have gone to live in the Bahamas with their suitcases of money. But a few years later, O’Neil &Payne Logistics appeared on the scene. It was a haulage company, specialising in routes to North and Central America. They had a couple of ships and some small planes.”

  “I bet customs were all over them,” Khan questioned.

  “Well you’d think so, but they seemed to be legit. The only reason we even knew about their operations at all, was because one day, after one of their lorries drove past us, we were intrigued and looked into it. Really and truly, we’ve never been able to link them to anything. They’re nothing more than names who get rolled out from time to time. You know how it is. You bring in some scroat and they claim that they work for a guy who works for a guy who reports into the big man Charlie O’Neil,” Early said, looking for an opportunity to make his own exit.

  “You’re telling me, some gangsters have set up a big haulage business that operates in the Americas—and we can’t find anything on them,” Khan asked, exasperated.

  “Trouble is Guv, you’re calling them gangsters, when there is precious evidence backing up that statement. Believe me, we tore their trucks and planes apart for a couple a months about ten years ago, almost on a daily basis, but we found nothing. Less than nothing. They were so apparently clean that some of us got to thinking they had only got into that business together as a big piss take, two fingers to Scotland Yard,” Early said.

  “But they’re still the big names on the street.”

  “That statement there, is complete conjecture Guv.”

  “Well that explains why I can’t find anything worthwhile on the system,” Khan said, annoyed.

  “The only way you’ll hear a decent story about those boys is if you pop into one of the boozers around London. They’re like the modern-day Krays. Every small-time criminal wants to be associated with them and throw their names around; but you’ll find nothing that sticks.”

  “So what, they just get to get on with it? What about all those poor people that you said they beat up in the banks. Do the victims not get any justice?” Khan said, impassioned.

  “Listen Guv; no one gave up on those cases. But some cases just don’t get results. It’s as simple as that,” Early replied. “I’m sure there are other things we could be looking at. There're a lot of cases out there you could be making your name on.”

  Khan looked hurt by Early’s comment. “I’m not looking to make my name with anything. I’m looking into Charlie O’Neil because his name, it seems, is never far from any serious crime in London. And no matter how good he is, he can’t hide everything.”

  “You won’t be the first to try Guv,” Early said, walking towards the door.

  “Make sure you’re in early tomorrow Detective Sergeant. We’ll start by paying Robert Payne a visit,” Khan said decisively.

  DS Early briefly paused, and suppressed a sigh.

  “Why you want to do that Guv? You go knocking on his door without any due cause; we’ll have his briefs crawling all over us.”

  “I’d like to get a quote on moving a few things from America. I imagine they offer a highly secure service.”

  Early’s heart sank. Try as he might to focus on the sunny shores of Portugal, all he could see now was endless shit in London. He had just started to feel all right about working for the young bird; it had been a while since anyone in this office had cared about any of his wisdom and experience, let alone want to draw on it. But the thought of going to knock on Robert Payne’s front door—no —that was not good. He had no intention of letting this little do-gooder spoil the nice calm days ahead of him that he had planned.

  Chapter Fifteen - John Blake

  John Blake hurried into the Italian restaurant with a variety of con
cerns. First, he hoped that something would have held Emma’s parents up and he might still have arrived there before they did. Second, he hoped Emma’s father wouldn’t notice he was wearing the same suit as the had the first time they met.

  He was wearing his only suit, a mid-ranged price high street edition. But it represented the highest price John had ever paid for any piece of clothing, and he was certainly going to try and get value for money from it. After his brothers had dropped him back at Emma’s, he had quickly put on a pale blue shirt and sharp green tie, hoping the bold combination would take Emma’s father eyes away from the over-used jacket.

  He smiled when he saw his Uncle Roy, leaning against the bar by the counter of the maître d; his uncle was also wearing his one and only suit. It was once a strong charcoal colour but now was more of a dull grey and displayed a fair degree of shabbiness. John couldn’t care less about this—he’d never seen the old man dressed so smartly. It served to portray the importance with which Uncle Roy regarded this meal.

  Emma had organised the gathering as a form of celebration between her and John’s family to mark the event that they were moving in together. John had not liked the formality of the arrangement but knew it wasn’t worth the battle. Emma was determined.

  The main reason he didn’t like Emma’s idea was that it involved him bringing some of his family with him; and despite Emma sharing his concerns about John’s Aunt and Uncle being around the same table as her parents, she knew this was this sort of formality her parents expected.

  Uncle Roy looked at his watch and then back to John again. “You’re cutting it fine boy aren’t you?”

  “Better late than never; where’s Auntie Mary?” John asked, trying to hide any optimism he felt that she might not be there.

  “Aye, sadly that will be more on the never side. You know how she is with social events such as this,” Roy said apologetically. “I tried to…”

  “Don’t worry, Unc. Thank you for being here,” John said giving his uncle a pat around the arm.

  John felt a warm glow fill his chest. Sure, Roy was a working class guy, and not the middle class chap Emma’s dad would have preferred to see at the other end of the table. But he was a decent man—a man John could depend on not to let him down.

  “Come on, let’s go and see that pretty filly of yours,” Roy said walking towards the dining area.

  John let his uncle lead him into the dining area and prepared for an evening of challenges. Emma’s father was a bank manager, an educated man who liked the conversation to be about current affairs or the latest economic blight businesses faced. John always felt he had to be on top of his game, just to keep up with him—he had a ritual that involved close study of the broad sheets before any social occasion with Emma’s father. Beads of sweat went down his back when he saw Emma wave and her father stand up and signal them over to a table in the corner of the restaurant, where they were sat. This time, he’d had no opportunity to even browse a paper and he had not even watched the evening news for about a week. The only thing on his mind currently was how his brothers had just murdered a local gangster, and this was both a definite no for table conversation and a subject that John was trying to forget.

  Emma’s mother wasn’t there; hopefully this wasn’t some form of feedback on Emma’s latest life choice.

  Before sitting down, the formal introductions were done between Roy and Emma’s father. John had greeted Emma’s father as Mr. Fuller; but as always he insisted on just being called Keith.

  John could see Keith weighing his uncle up and cringed inside, as he knew the assessment wouldn’t be favourable. But, to his credit, Keith did not let this show. He treated Roy with the utmost respect and pleasantries.

  Keith told how his wife Cynthia had a terrible cold that evening so wasn’t able to make it. She had been desperate to come. John couldn’t help but think this was some kind of snub, but at the same time was relieved not to have to spend an evening with a woman he regarded as a stuck-up cow. He smiled when he saw a similar relief cross Emma’s face as Roy presented Mary’s apologies.

  The restaurant was Emma’s family’s favourite; apparently they had always come there to mark different important events over the years: Emma getting into university, Keith’s promotions, birthdays and so on.

  John didn’t care much for the place. He thought the pasta was mediocre at best. He was fairly sure that he could have ordered anything off the menu and it would have had a similar taste. “Posh cunts don’t know how to live proper,” he heard Billy’s voice in his head saying. “They never have anything big to celebrate so they have to choose these boring restaurants to celebrate their boring achievements; no fucking drive, none of them!”

  “Black pepper sir?” The waiter stood offering him the large pepper grinder.

  “No thanks.”

  “So Emma tells me you have been in the hospitality industry for years Roy,” Keith said, delicately loading his fork with the mundane pasta.

  “Yes well, we’ve been running our family bar for many years now,” Roy said, reaching for a large glass of red wine, “more years than I care to remember, to be honest mate.”

  John moved uncomfortably in his seat, at Roy calling Keith mate. He couldn’t help but wonder how many times Keith got referred to as “mate”? Not many.

  “It must be splendid; I love it around the Hammersmith, Chiswick area. What’s the name of the place; you never know I might have popped in there over the years?" Keith asked.

  “Blake’s Bar,” Roy replied.

  Keith stopped eating for a moment to think. “Blake’s Bar. I don’t think I’ve ever…”

  John didn’t want Emma’s family to have anything to do with the bar. He wasn’t ashamed of it, particularly; but he certainly didn’t want the conversation to lead to that it was once used as a brothel where his late Ma plied her services. It was shortly after she had been murdered by a client, that they’d converted it into a bar. He was also fairly sure that Keith hadn’t ever drunk there, and was equally sure that Keith would not really love the particular part of Hammersmith where Blake’s was situated.

  “How was your day today Emma?” John asked, hoping that Keith wouldn’t find it rude for him to but in.

  “You know, just a normal day. Oh, I spoke to your new branch though,” Emma stopped quickly.

  “My new branch?” John asked confused.

  “Oh God! Sorry John, it was meant to be a surprise,” Emma said turning to her father.

  Keith put this hand on his daughter's arm. “Its ok Emma.” He turned to John. “I was going to raise this after dinner but… I’ve got you a trainee manager’s role at a one of our branches in Slough.”

  Emma’s face lit up. “Isn’t it fantastic John!”

  John’s mind raced for a moment, his head giddy.

  “But how?” he stammered. “I’ve got no real qualifications or anything?”

  “I did have to call in some favours, but you’re a good lad, John, with a clever mind and that counts for a lot,” Keith turned and smiled at this daughter. “And I now have a vested interest in your future.”

  All John could think of was Robert Payne’s lifeless body, sat still strapped to a chair in his lounge, and how screwed he and his brothers were.

  “But Slough’s quite a long way to commute,” John started, still shocked by the offer.

  “Don’t be silly John—it’s about twenty minutes away,” Emma said, still beaming. “There’s the train or a bus—whichever way you want to go.”

  “You start on Monday,” Keith said. His words now sounded more like a command. “Maybe we’ll all pop into town together at the weekend and pick you up a few more suits; first impressions count.”

  John felt a flush of embarrassment and couldn’t help but look down at his suit. Keith had noticed the suit; of course he’d noticed. He probably had been surveying him was a special ‘dad scanner’ every moment that there’d ever been in each other’s company.

  “That…” Roy sa
id, holding his pint aloft. “Is fucking amazing!”

  “I don’t know if I can do Monday. I mean there’s stuff still going on at the bar.” John said turning to his uncle.

  “He’ll be there on Monday, Keith. This boy here; has always had too much loyalty for his own good. You are making the right investment here mate!” Roy said, giving John a look that said he was not to bother arguing.

  Of course, half of John’s mind knew that this was the most amazing opportunity he could ever hope for. But the other half—the half that was still in the greater control—went back to the day's earlier events. He somehow had to help put his brothers’ lives back on track; and until he did that he couldn’t move on.

  This was such an amazing unexpected offer though. Emma had said that her father was getting him a job at the bank; but he never would have dreamt that it would involve a step into management.

  “Thank you Keith, it is an amazing offer,” John said. Looking back at his prospective father-in-law he could feel his eyes starting to well.

  Emma rushed from her seat and gave him a kiss. “Well done Mr. Manager!”

  The rest of the evening seemed to go remarkably well. Roy and Keith centred discussion on their shared love of football and traded stories about their younger lives on the terraces of Fulham and Crystal Palace.

  At the end of the dinner, Emma walked with her father back to his car, leaving John and his uncle to say their goodbyes in front of the restaurant. John gave the old man a hug. “Thanks for coming, Uncle Roy.”

  “Listen boy, that was a bloody pleasure. They’re lovely people, John… and that new job you got yourself…” The old man looked lost for words for a moment. “It’s unbelievable… My little nephew on course to be a bloody bank manager!”

  “Yeah. But Uncle Roy, Monday is too soon. I mean, I can’t just walk out on my brothers,” John said.

  His uncle’s stare turned cold. “That’s exactly what you’ve got to do boy.”

  “Now is such bad timing, I just can’t say why; but you wouldn’t believe…”