Cause & Effect (The Gemini Borders Trilogy Book 3)

by Toni Parks

  “You didn’t do it ‘naked’, did you, M?”

  “Yes, it is part of the menu as long as we’re somewhere secluded, but I can usually charge extra for that.”

  “No, not that sort of naked. You did use protection?”

  “We girls always look after each other. Oh not that sort, either. Yes, I use the cap and put a sheath on the man’s thingy. Unless it’s a casino day.”

  “Casino day? You have gambling clients there?”

  “Where?”

  “The casino.”

  “No. It’s when the price of playing roulette is too high to refuse. So I go Russian and he goes, well, au natural. I obviously have to take the morning after pill and there’s the risk of an STD – but we generally know who’s doing the rounds and carrying more than they should be. But I can’t remember the last time I had a casino day.”

  “What, definitely not within the last 10-12 weeks?”

  “No definitely not. I mean that’s the timeframe when you nearly ‘k-i-l-l-e-d’ me. So my mind was on other things. Apart from the time …”

  “Yes, apart from the time, what?”

  “Apart from the, more than one, times with Terry.”

  “Times!”

  “Yes, I kept meaning to get some morning afters but don’t think I made it.”

  “Well, the proof of the pudding, would appear to confirm you didn’t make it. And right now I’m almost glad I’m sat at this side of the table.”

  “Fuck me, yes. You’re saying that I’m up the duff and by a man who should be dead and isn’t and doesn’t even know his own name, let alone mine.” She said laughing at the irony of her situation.

  “But that’s par for the course anyway, isn’t it? You don’t usually know any of your paddy punters’ names, do you? So you either choose Barnham to be the father or one of the other innumerable others,” replied Jessica sarcastically as she overemphasised the quantity involved.

  “It’s a bit sad when you put it like that. But there weren’t really innumerable others around that time. I was in and out of clink and that safe house. Bloody hell, the safe house, that’s probably it. I mean after that there was the odd trick but I definitely got the guys to use on those. And then we were away travelling and there was André,” she remarked warmly. “But that wasn’t 10-12 weeks ago, was it? And if I remember I was already complaining that my clothes were a size too small, but I put it down to the heat and my ample bust.”

  “Well, your bust’s just got more ample, hasn’t it. Wave them in front of Barnham and see if they bring back his memory. I’m struggling to believe it though. I mean Barnham; he couldn’t hit a barn door in the murders’ investigation but it looks like he was more accurate in the other department, and not shooting blanks at that. And you had a chance of changing fate with my syringe. If it hadn’t been for your clumsy lunge and his leather trousers, who knows where we’d both be now?” Whispered Jessica as she furtively glanced to see where the guards were positioned.

  “Five minutes, left,” shouted one of the guards positioned by the door leading back to the cells.

  “Oh Jess, they’re going to take you back. What will I do without you?”

  “Come on, M. Don’t pull a martyrdom trip on me.”

  “But Jess, what do I do now, Jess …? You know I can’t cope on my own.”

  “That’s a laugh. You’re coped for the best part of twenty years, haven’t you? I’m sure you’ll think of something. Put your streetwise head on. There’s more in there than you give yourself credit for.” The two women had their hands clasped together, without even realising. They searched each other’s eyes, both looking for the strength to carry on.

  A guard approached and addressed Emma, “Come on sweetie, time’s up. Say your goodbyes, quickly now.” Emma stood and moved round the table to hug Jessica, enveloping her in her arms and talking silly nonsense about swapping places. Jessica sat motionless, pinned down by Emma’s weight, and displaying a faraway look; a look triggered by what had just been said.

  CHAPTER NINE It was not just about the buildings. By and large they were legitimate entities and served legitimate purposes. They were being built just about within the legal limits of the law. Financed by laundered money and obviously helped in their construction by palms that had been greased along the way. Palms that knew in months or years to come they would be called upon to return favours. The buildings representing affluence in the badge of honour hierarchy showed the status an organisation had achieved and ultimately which was, and which was not, top dog.

  Hunter-Bell Construction was left frustrated, knowing that the Aberdeen detectives were still plodding along so slowly as to make Michael Jackson’s ‘Moon Walk’ dance appear to be in fast forward mode. The longer their building remained a crime scene the less work could be undertaken, and so the later the build would be completed. But every cloud had a silver lining and no business today could be good business too, as an associate company of Hunter-Bell had signed up to purchase the building with time sensitive penalties stipulated at various points in the contract. So any delay would ultimately affect Hunter-Bell profits and so reduce the tax burden on whatever amount the accountants perceived would need to be declared with any profit on the penalties going directly into the associate company’s coffers.

  And, although Joey Donaldson’s body had been found in such a prominent position, on a soon to be prominent building and in such dramatic fashion, it could have easily been espied as a text message. A message from Francesco Lucisano to Calum McLaughlin, warning that the turf war was now entering a new level of violence, to the extent of winner takes all. The underhand spying activities carried out by Joey would be met by hostility in comparison to the perceived fallout. This would hit Hunter-Bell at underground level, particularly in its rackets associated with: drugs, prostitution, protection, forgery, benefit swindling and money laundering. Of course, the text was never sent; it was left to the dunking man to show what hand Lucisano held and whether or not McLaughlin would take enough heed and warning as to what onslaught lay ahead and back off.

  The rivalry had not always been as intense. In Francesco’s father’s prime both gangs had happily carved up the city and had taken a fair share relative to size and number of scams. But with expansion, came the need to optimise profits with either additional criminal projects or, occasionally, the odd legal one too. It was possible to plough ahead in this fashion until 2008. The recession hit and although neither gang was exposed heavily to external debt both were hit dramatically by loss of bottom-line profit. Even though Aberdeen escaped the full might of the financial crisis, the volume of cash generated through their various activities reduced noticeably. Mainly through a reduction in disposable income and the fact that a once prosperous city was cinching its belt along with the rest of the world, just by way of caution.

  At that time Lucisano reviewed his income and expenditure and made a conscious decision to tighten up on being the generous beneficiary he once was. Families of colleagues killed in the line of duty would still receive their gratuitous payment based on their personal Camorra formula. Calculated on their allegiance (number of years in the gang) multiplied by notional value (based on status eg: private, corporal etc), and again multiplied by difficulty of work (drug dealer, forger, murderer etc); this gave a fixed sum paid monthly to the family in return for their continued silence (Omerta), and their agreement to present future generations to the cause. But a percentage reduction was placed on all activities, which in real terms meant a cut to workers, even if it was a ‘black market’ cut. And ultimately the shrinking market left only one option, a reduction in the competition. The city was no longer big enough for both major operations. And although Calum McLaughlin had tried cautiously to ascertain where Francesco Lucisano stood, the latter had made a very dominant statement, by opening his murder account with the death of a traitor from his own operation. His former friend who had been involved in formulating their present plans and who was to be the first of sever
al to lose his life through breaking the code. Francesco’s henchmen now had at least two other names to play with who would no doubt reveal more when put under interrogation.

  A full 48 hours after the dunking man video hit the Internet a jpeg from an unidentifiable email address popped into Francesco’s inbox. He pondered whether it should be opened as the attached message read, ‘Actual effects are assigned to operating causes’. He sat back somewhat puzzled and considered what damage it could do to his computer if it turned out to be a virus. Being the cautious type he copied the jpeg onto a data stick and opened it on a clean laptop, which was one of a batch stolen to order and destined for Eastern Europe. Once opened, the jpeg photograph displayed a grotesque figure lying prone on the ground with an obscenely swollen face and bulging body, not dissimilar in shape to the Hulk. Francesco studied the image but could not encourage any facial feature to nudge his memory into recognition. The message itself had been vague too, but both must have relevance or so he thought. He contacted Jimmy on his mobile and asked, “Has there been anyone undercover in the last day or so? Biggish, bulky guy, possibly about 5ft 9in; hard to tell from what I’m looking at.”

  Silence ensued as Jimmy wracked his brain. “Don’t know about that, Boss. We had a couple of guys doing the rounds of pubs, but both of them were slight apart from the odd beer belly. Leave it with me, whilst I check them out.”

  Jimmy made two calls and was on his third, which answered with, “Anything, Jimmy?”

  “The two that went shopping were Don Aveyard and Bill Duncan. Don answered his phone, but there was no reply from Bill. I’ll keep trying him though. I don’t know if that helps you, Boss?”

  “Not really Jimmy. But what would be good is if you could send over a mug shot of the Bill guy. Soon as you can. Ciao.” ‘So,’ thought Francesco, ‘the fun begins. Looks like we’ve got two men down. Both mine, as it happens. Well originally two of mine, anyway. Joey Donaldson, the traitor and A.N. Other. And the cops haven’t released anything yet. No name on the dunking man episode and no mention in the media about this waxwork museum character. Is that why I was sent the email? Someone’s joined in the game and is now getting impatient and wanting me to match them stride for stride. Well let’s see if we can accommodate, shall we?’ With that he deleted the picture, closed down the laptop, unhurriedly repackaged it and placed it with the balance of the order.

  An email pinged its way into his inbox. This one Francesco opened and contemplated the face staring back at him. It held his attention, to the extent that he opened the original email confident of it carrying no threat to either his computer or to Bill Duncan. Placing the two images side by side he could discern a likeness, particularly if he half closed his eyes and imagined the new photograph with alcoholfuelled swollen characteristics. Then the face could well be that of Bill Duncan. He rang Jimmy back and expanded on his thoughts, ending with, “Round up Hew and a couple of the boys and we’ll all meet up at the Old Blackfriars on the junction of Castle Street and Marischal Street. Do you know it?”

  “Aye, Boss”

  “OK, be there in 30 minutes.”

  Two text messages rounded up the other three who all piled into the same Golf GTi and entered the pub with five minutes to spare. Francesco was holding court with the landlord and two of the regulars, whose present conditions would have led you to believe that they had been in since early doors, like 9.00am early. Francesco circled his arm to indicate to the landlord that it was pints all round and led his boys up the steps to an empty part of the saloon away from the bar area. All four sat quietly, knowing that Francesco would not begin speaking until the beer had arrived and the landlord had departed. Once sure of the ears he was speaking to, he said, “Bill Duncan’s dead. He was one of two ‘undercovers’ we sent socialising yesterday but it looks like he got rumbled. I received a snap of him sent via email and it certainly wasn’t a selfie showing him having a good time. So this tells me that now Hunter-Bell’s been rumbled over the infiltration of our organisation, and once they found out how we reacted with the traitor, they’re prepared to meter out their own retribution. They sent a cryptic note too, saying, ‘Actual effects are assigned to operating causes’. Anybody any ideas?”

  Doug, usually a few slices short of a full loaf, answered, “Wasn’t it Aristotle? Didn’t he start the ball rolling with all that shit? His philosophy on causality, what we loosely term as cause and effect.”

  “Well, listen to him extolling,” smirked Hew. “Never knew you had it in you?”

  “No, well some of us did go to Uni before we had to look for a job paying a decent wage!”

  “Good for you, Doug. Are we all agreed? That’s what it means. What Doug said?” asked Francesco wanting to move on. A nod of puzzled heads gave the correct answer. “Buono. So how do we follow it? Personally, I haven’t got the time to concoct more and more elaborate ways of killing someone, but I am happy to endorse the killing part, carried out by others. Our goal must be to wipe Hunter-Bell off the Aberdeen map and I don’t want to lose this impetus now that it’s been created. Throw as many men at it as necessary. I want fear running through their operations like an unexpected dose of diarrhoea and if you should get shit on your hands, so be it. I’m giving you carte blanche on how it should be achieved, but the only thing I ask is that you make it happen soon.”

  “Well, they’re certainly snookered on the ‘legit’ work front. I’ve seen flowers being placed outside their new-build on Guild Street; the public’s almost turned it into a shrine. It looks like Covent Garden intertwined with police tape. So that’s going to leave a lot of men kicking their heels and waiting for orders,” mentioned Doug now on a roll.

  “Yes, if they are deployed elsewhere we may be able to put more of them out of action than expected. So let’s get to it and remember, no holds barred,” concluded Francesco as he finished his beer and plonked the glass down on the table.

  Hew did not have the vision of his Boss to create spectacular murders but he did have the drive. As well as the other three present, he rounded up a further five, tried and trusted thugs to bring the squad number to eight. The first murder had created spectacular impact but the impetus was now to generate as much mayhem as possible in the shortest time and give that hornets’ nest a really good shake.

  *

  Despite the best endeavours of Operation Begonia, the number of prostitutes in the dock area northeast of Aberdeen city increased to around 150 in total with at least 40 active in any one night. Generally, women gravitated to this customarily red-light district on the back of a downward spiral of drug use, mental health issues or homelessness, any or all. Aberdeen, being Scotland’s third largest city, initially with a bustling shipping port but now added to that the off shore oil fields, had no shortage of the male population with money in their pockets and time on their hands. A percentage would be drawn to what had become classed as a Tolerance Zone, where the centuries-old trade of soliciting was applied without persecution or prosecution. The Operation Begonia originated in order to identify vulnerable women on the game and offer diversification to other forms of remuneration and lifestyle. But the desire for quick money and the fulfilment of quick needs ensured both parties continued trading, each to their own particular satisfactions.

  The underworld of the docks had been split into specific areas under different managements. Hew’s idea was simply to disrupt that equilibrium and so alter the dynamics of power. Bill Duncan’s face was at the forefront of his proposed actions, although not a friend he was certainly owed revenge.

  They drove in on Beach Boulevard and turned onto Links Road, parking in one of the several available car parks. This area was not their own girls’ usual haunt and with good reason. Both cars unloaded their occupants and each man checked his mobile for signal and battery life. Hew and Jimmy could not partake in the fun as they were both too recognisable thus risking the trap being sprung even before it had been set. The other six staggered up to two streetwalkers patrolling their patc
h. They gave a good impression of being worse for wear and so to the girls, looked easy pickings. They crowded around the two and began asking about the menu and costs. Bartering ensued and the men launched into different deals consisting of bawdy suggestions, which they knew were not classed as regular fare.

  One of the girls panicked, fearing that they would both be overpowered by the six strapping, out of control drunks, and so pressed her mobile panic button. This had the almost instant effect of summoning two white BMWs with tinted windows. Three men alighted, stretching to heights of 6ft 3in minimum and flexing well-formed shoulders and biceps to match, as if they had been tailor-made for the job. An aroma of ‘burnt sugar’ aftershave teased the nostrils and became their only announcement on approaching the group, complacently expecting the continuous babble of the six inebriates to disguise their arrival. However, the six became three sets of two and each deftly targeted one of the pimps. Within seconds, the pimps were on the ground with fatal wounds to the hearts and throats. Their lifeblood staining the pavement and marking the exact location, where the takeover of HunterBell’s operations was initiated. The girls looked on in fright now expecting that their worst nightmares had been realised in the shape of six murderers whose intentions were to teach the girls’ bodies tricks for which they were not designed. They anticipated taking off on their ten-centimetre stiletto heels but realised it made more sense to discard them and run barefoot to have any hope of reaching safety.

  Thank God two smartly dressed, sober looking men were approaching from the direction in which they intended running. The two men held their arms out wide to corral the girls before they made their escape. Hew spoke, “Ladies, don’t be alarmed. We have no intention of hurting either of you.” Upon hearing these words the two looked around with only marginally less frightened eyes and saw that the murderers had been frisking the dead bodies rather than pursuing them to carry out their outlandish threats. “If you wish to continue in your line of work my only piece of advice is that you seek a new employer, your present one will soon be out of business. Spread the word amongst your fellow workers. Then speak to Lucisano’s girls; I’m sure you’ll find there are vacancies enough to go round. Remain loyal to Hunter-Bell and your future is in grave doubt, your career short lived. The choice is yours but think seriously about the consequences.” With that the two men turned on their heels and the six men departed in their two cars, leaving the two girls to mourn their pimps, rifle their pockets and find that the takings had not been taken after all. So, what started as a disaster could prove to be very profitable in more ways than one, and for more than one person.