Serious People

by Shea, James A.

  John turned to Billy; he’d never seen him so happy. They had been sitting in the van for the last half an hour, looking at the large gated entrance to O’Neil’s haulage yard. John was beginning to wonder if Billy had finally gone completely mad and forgotten why they were there, lost in his own insanity.

  “We shouldn’t have killed the girl,” John said.

  “Girl, she was no girl. She was the fucking filth,” Billy snapped.

  John couldn’t believe the callousness of his brother’s words. He knew it was probably best to keep his mouth shut, but couldn’t help himself. “She was someone’s baby Billy. She was someone’s little girl.”

  “You stupid cunt,” Billy smiled and shook his head. “Focus on the plan, you little bitch.”

  John stared back but didn’t reply.

  “We’re gonna wait here until it’s the right time to go in,” Billy said, glaring back at John.

  Nick cackled with laughter. John turned to look at his youngest brother who was being kept amused by his Nintendo DS. The man could hardly go for thirty minutes without interaction with a television or his Nintendo.

  Nick, of course, had been affected the most by witnessing his Ma’s death, never speaking a word after that day. It was now so long ago John sometimes wondered what his voice might sound like; but in recent days though he was thankful he only had to listen to one psychopath.

  “I suppose you’ll be wanting to marry the bitch next won’t you brother,” Billy snapped.

  John turned back to look at Billy. Any option of arguing with his brother was now too dangerous to pursue.

  “I’m in love with her Billy,” John replied.

  Billy laughed a dry harsh laugh.

  John knew the laugh was intended in an inflammatory way, so he chose to ignore it. “I mean it. I love her.”

  “Auntie Mary said this would happen,” Billy said, shaking his head. “She said it as soon as she set her eyes on her; she knew that bitch was desperate. Emma’s just been looking for someone to impregnate her. She'd have had anyone. That's what Auntie Mary said. And it seems she was right; I bet she’s trying to get herself up the duff as we speak.”

  John could feel anger building up in him; but he recognised how futile losing his temper with Billy was. He had learnt his lesson many times in the past from previous fallings out with his brother. Billy's temper had countless gears of hate it could move through to inflict both mental and physical pain. Added to this, there was Billy’s murderous threat. All in all, the best way to deal with Billy was to stay calm and let his anger blow itself out.

  He looked back at Billy and smiled. “Well. That's what all girls want isn’t it? In the end.”

  “Only the real skanks. And you’ve succumbed to this one quicker than ever before; I’d barely call you a Blake these days,” Billy replied sourly. “You’re more of a Bailey than a Blake; like that old bitch Roy.”

  John wished he was a Bailey with all his heart. He would love to be a Bailey—anything but Billy and Nick’s brother.

  “Bailey, yeah that’s what I’ll call you from now on,” Billy said smiling, his eye's now dark black. “What do you think Nick?”

  Nick didn’t respond or even acknowledge the question; he was still concentrating on his computer game.

  “Yeah you’re right. He should have it on his birth certificate,” Billy said, as if he was replying to Nick’s suggestion.

  John looked out of the window of the van; he began to hope that O’Neil might kill all his brothers now and somehow make a deal with him. Perhaps he could convince him that he had never been any part of Billy’s plot and should be allowed to go free?

  He looked back his brother, Nick, still playing on his Nintendo, and then at Billy, who had begun to drum his fingers on the steering wheel with impatience.

  “Right let’s do this; we’ll sneak in quietly find O’Neil. And we’ll kill him—simple,” Billy whispered.

  Within moments, the Blake brothers had quickly made their way from the van and were now standing outside the offices of O’Neil & Payne Logistics. John carefully looked through the window that faced into the foyer of the office. His two brothers were crouched under the window and both were now armed. Billy still had the handgun he had taken from the policewoman. If John had thought he’d listen, he’d have told him how stupid it was walking around with a police issue weapon. Nick was holding his large knife aloft, with a stupid grin on his face. They both looked ready to kill again.

  John could make out a large looking man inside the office, reading a magazine; the man seemed to have a body frame that even Arnold Schwarzenegger would be jealous of. He was sat behind the reception, with his feet on the desk, and didn’t look as if he was particularly alert. Despite this, there was no doubt, his attention would be drawn straight away to anyone walking through the door.

  “There’s no way we can get in without that big guy raising the alarm,” John said.

  “Shut up Bailey; leave this to the real Blakes,” Billy hissed back. He gave Nick a nod and crawled to the centre of the yard.

  Nick quickly moved across, just behind the door hinges, and gave Billy another nod. It was as if they’d rehearsed their plan for hours. John looked towards the large gates at the entrance and wondered, just for a moment, if he could still make a run for it. It was too risky though; he wasn’t sure that Billy was much of a shot but didn’t want to put his theory to the test.

  Billy suddenly stood up and started to wave at the man behind the reception desk. John could feel his heart start to thump; his brother was trying to draw the man out. He carefully looked into the foyer again and could see the large man had indeed noticed Billy and was now glaring at him.

  John looked back at Billy, who’d started to wave his middle finger at the large man. He was doing everything he could to silently wind the man up. John looked back again at the large man, who was now walking towards the front door, looking like he was planning to give Billy a good kicking.

  Within an instant, Nick had his knife ready and was adjusting into position for a brutal attack on the man. Before John could decide what part he was meant to play in this, the man had walked through the door and Nick had plunged his knife into the man’s broad neck.

  Time was now moving in slow motion to John. Nick was covered in the man’s blood and Billy was standing astride his body. Billy brutally smashing the large man’s head against the floor, John had to turn away. The man was going to be dead quickly.

  Billy looked up at John and grinned. “See Bailey, fucking easy.”

  John nodded a speechless reply. He was unable to speak due to the hideous nature of the violence and, in any case, not sure of what to say in response.

  It was a matter of seconds before the three brothers were stood in the foyer. John could almost sense the presence of Charlie O'Neil, the infamous gangster and it was scaring him to death.

  “What if he’s not here Billy? What then?” John asked, knowing full well the gangster would be somewhere around; he was bound to be.

  Billy shook his head dismissively and waved John and Nick to go and search upstairs. Nick smiled in reply and started to creep up the stairs with his knife drawn. John, seeing no alternative, followed behind his youngest brother, his mind searching for ideas of how to escape. All he could do right now, was play for time.

  It only took a few minutes to clear the first floor; it was empty. John had grimaced when he read one of the office door signs. It read ‘Mickey Dunne – Operations Manager’. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind of Mickey the Bag bursting out the door, holding a spade aloft in a murderous rage.

  By the time John and his brother had started to ascend the next flight of stairs, John was beginning to hope that the offices might be empty—until he saw O’Neil’s office at the top of the stairs.

  The light to the office was on and there was a strong smell of aftershave coming from the room. Charlie O’Neil was in there all right.

  The door to the office was open, Nick
and John peered inside. Nick nodded towards a big leather chair, in the centre of the office, positioned behind a large desk. The seat was facing away from them and towards a large window. It wasn’t totally clear if someone was sat in it. But every sense John had told him that Charlie O’Neil was sitting there. From looking at Nick’s face he could tell that his brother thought the same.

  It all seemed too easy; all Nick had to do was creep into O’Neil’s office and catch him unawares. What didn’t seem so easy to work out was how the hell John was going to get out of this mess.

  Chapter Fifty Five - DCI Hawkins

  Early was clearing his desk of files when Hawkins walked into the office; he didn’t see the DCI enter. The fat lazy detective kept an unbelievably tidy desk; it seemed to be one of the only accomplishments the man could still put his name to.

  Early was old school and his reputation had been called in to question on more than a few occasions down the years. But Hawkins had always felt he had a valuable place in his team; Early’s record was loaded with experience in some heavyweight criminal taking teams. He was once a serious copper.

  Hawkins also had a reputation for being an old-schooler and was proud of it, he valued the plus points that came with a reputation like Early’s. The two men had done a lot good work together. But the detective had nothing left in the tank these days, no appetite for real police work. He should have been the perfect mentor for Khan. The older detective’s experience a perfect filter for Khan’s ambition.

  Their pairing had been a big mistake though.

  “DI Khan’s dead,” Hawkins said.

  Early jumped out of his skin in surprise and turned to face Hawkins. His face was covered in shock; but Hawkins suspected this shock was driven more by the DCI’s appearance in the office than the news of Khan’s death.

  Early appeared to sense Hawkins gaging his reaction. He crossed his arms, as if ready for an argument, but gave Hawkins a sympathetic smile, and shrugged.

  “Guv we tried,” Early sighed. “God can only say, we bloody tried. I mean you spoke to her; I spoke to her; so many countless times. I tried to tell her how the system works…”

  “Where were you when it happened?” Hawkins said; his voice was still hoarse with emotion.

  Early looked at his senior officer; he registered the sadness in the DCIs eyes and made a delicate change to his body language. His shoulders dropped and now looked gentler and more open.

  “Guv really, you shouldn’t feel bad.” Early’s voice now softer. “Some people’s stars burn too bright, you know.”

  Hawkins collapsed into a chair but held his stare on Early.

  “You want a beer?” Early asked, giving Hawkins another sympathetic look. “We could just nip around the corner. I know what it’s like. It’s like she’s going to walk through the door any moment.”

  “She was too pure for this bloody place,” Hawkins said, looking at Early but talking more to himself. “This place is twisted; it’s not what it seems. We tread a careful line between not lighting the touch paper and still bringing down the people that need bringing down.”

  “Come on Guv, you’re letting emotion affect your mind. We’ve got a job to do here; we keep the streets safe.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, you know that better than me!”

  “She shouldn’t have ended up in this world,” Hawkins sighed.

  Early appeared to want to say something, but wasn’t sure what. So instead he continued to nod in agreement, his face still full of sympathy. Hawkins was too shrewd to be sucked in by this.

  “Guv, she was a little misguided at best and you—” Early said, seeming to struggle for something worthwhile to say, “—you couldn’t have worked harder to keep her safe. You gave her that simple counterfeiting job, after all. I mean you’d think she’d get the message.”

  Hawkins looked Early up and down. Early was involved in Khan’s murder. Hawkins knew this already—it was why he was here—he had wanted to know for sure. Now he did.

  “You did it, didn’t you?”

  “What?” Early laughed, uncomfortably. “You been drinking again Guv!”

  Hawkins stood up, putting his hands on his hips. His jacket lifted a little, displaying his gun holster and the service weapon inside. He saw Early look at the gun; he wanted him to see it. He hadn’t worn it for more than three years—office bound he had no need—he only wore it with a purpose.

  “You killed her for O’Neil didn’t you?”

  Early looked around the office, clearly hoping to see someone else there, some witness that would help him control this situation.

  Hawkins smiled; he had already gotten rid of the rest of the team. He had sent them to the bar on the corner to have a drink in Khan’s name—all except for Early. The rat.

  Early was trying to hide the concern that was now on his face. “It could have been anyone, Guv. Khan pissed off a lot of people this week.”

  “It was O’Neil, wasn’t it?”

  A shot of panic seemed to cross Early’s eyes. “No!”

  Hawkins's eyes sharpened on the old detective; Early physically retracted into his seat. Hawkins stood over him, holding back the urge to slap Early around the face.

  “I mean…. He wouldn’t…. Why would he be that stupid?” Early said, falling over his words. “I reckon it was the nightclub owner we ran into the other day. Real piece of—”

  “Stand up,” Hawkins snapped.

  “Sorry sir?” Early asked, confused.

  “Stand the hell up, Detective Sergeant!” Hawkins shouted, his face reddening with anger.

  Early quickly got to his feet, “Yes sir.”

  Hawkins thrust his fist into the fat man’s midriff. The moment the punch connected, Hawkins heard the old detective choke as the breath was forced from his lungs. Early staggered back away from the desk, clearly winded. Then Hawkins grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, with both hands, before he could step out of his reach; the fat man was barely able to stand up straight.

  “Guv, what are you doing?” Early said, as he struggled to free himself from the hold of the larger man. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Hawkins could see the beads of sweat building up on Early’s forehead that started to betray the man’s words. He was lying; the DS had had Khan killed.

  Hawkins couldn’t help but smile at seeing Early’s reactions. “Do you not remember the old basic interrogation training? The giveaway signs of an untruth? You must remember the tell tale signs of when a toe rag isn’t being straight with you!”

  Hawkins pulled Early up onto his tip toes so that their eyes were almost level. Early struggled desperately, moving his head from side to side so that their eyes wouldn’t meet.

  “Guv, please! It’s not like that,” he whimpered.

  Hawkins pushed the man past the desk and against the wall, pressing his forearm onto Early’s throat, pinning him. He drew his gun, and pointed it at Early’s chin.

  “What are you doing?” Early said. “You’re crazy. You can’t just shoot me.”

  “You think you’d be my first?”

  “What with your gun?” Early replied. “Who’d buy that?”

  “You're right,” Hawkins smiled. “That’s why I took your gun. Straight under the chin; that used to be how you’d perform the old suicide shot wasn’t it?”

  Early now looked into his eyes; he could see Hawkins’ anger, his need for retribution.

  “What? You’ll never get away with it!” Early said, trying to scream loudly, but all that came out was a splutter.

  “Maybe I don’t care; perhaps it’s just a bonus if I do?”

  “This is bleeding bullshit. I was just carrying out your orders!”

  “What?” Hawkins said, almost losing grip of the detective.

  “You’ve kept O’Neil in business for all these years. What with all your sustaining leadership in the criminal world shit. You’ve probably given him more tip offs then any of us!”

  Ha
wkins staggered backwards and released Early; his mind started to whirl.

  “Every copper you’ve brought into this team has received the same pitch; look after them and they’ll look after us. They’ll keep the crime away from the real world. So let me tell you. If that girl had carried on with her investigations, she could have taken everyone here down, the whole bloody department, yourself included!” Early screamed.

  “I have always encouraged relationships with informants; but relationships to get information not to sustain a criminal empire!” Hawkins replied.

  “When was the last time you were on the street?” Early snapped. “The lines are pretty bloody tight out there. I keep the streets safe; like you briefed me to!”

  “Keep the streets safe—really?” Hawkins said, sinking back into a seat. “Is that why there’s currently an incident team at some bar in Hammersmith. Fifteen dead.”

  “What?” Early said, with real shock for the first time.

  “The anti-terrorist team’s down there now; the top brass think it might be a terrorist job. But one of the boys down there ran some prints. At least one of the dead bodies is a known associate of Charlie O’Neil,” Hawkins said.

  “Shit.”

  “Keep the streets safe; seems you’ve just started the next great fire of London,” Hawkins said.

  “Khan would have done us all, she didn’t get it…!”

  “Her name was Miriam,” Hawkins said, taking the gun out of his holster once again.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Early said.

  “Do you remember the first rule of SOCA?” Hawkins smiled.

  “Keep the streets safe, anyway you can…” Early replied.

  “Shhh… Shhh,” Hawkins said. “The first rule of SOCA is that we look after our bloody own.”