Did Not Finish

by Simon Wood

  Dylan asked, ‘What do I do if I need a pee?’

  ‘Use a Coke can,’ I said.

  Dylan grinned.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ I said, ‘if the can’s warm, don’t drink it.’

  The joke gave us the spurt of energy to get on with the job. The three of us moved into position. I drove the Vauxhall to the workshop and parked in a spot that gave me a clear view. Steve watched from the north end of the street and Dylan covered the south. If anyone entered or left Morgan’s workshop, we had it covered.

  As soon as I was parked, I called Steve and Dylan to give final instructions. Everyone was to stay off the line unless they saw anything.

  My phone sat silent in my hand for a long time. The hands on the dashboard clock inched from seven through to eleven. In all that time, I had nothing to report other than the lights were on inside the workshop and Morgan’s people were working. Of course, I doubted Morgan was doing much in the way of actual work after Steve had broken his forearm.

  ‘I hope it hurt like a bastard,’ I said within the confines of the car.

  I checked in with Steve and Dylan every thirty minutes to make sure they were staying awake. The long wait failed to eat into us. We’d prepared for this night. After the break-in, we spent time putting the house back in some semblance of order, then ordered a takeaway from a local Indian restaurant. We hatched out our plan while we ate. We went to bed late, but slept in late, so we were ready for a long night.

  Sitting in the silence of the car, something Derek had said scratched at the back of my mind. He’d said, ‘If you had the tape, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You wouldn’t be still holding on to Alex’s car. You’d know the truth.’ I’d know what truth? That Derek was innocent? I didn’t believe that for a second. What was bothering me was that he believed in the tape’s existence. To him, its existence wasn’t a possibility. It was a fact. He hadn’t demanded that I tell him who the source of the recording was because he already knew. So my phantom tape story was true after all. It made me wish I really did have the tape. I wondered who was in ownership of the recording and why Derek hadn’t kicked down their door to get it. He didn’t have any problems doing it to mine when he thought I had it.

  My mobile rang, jerking me from my thoughts. Steve’s name came up on the small display.

  I answered the call. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ve got an empty car transporter coming my way.’

  Good, the cars were being transported together. That gave us the advantage. It kept us together and, for once, we outnumbered them.

  ‘Is Derek driving?’

  ‘I can’t see yet. Hold on. He’s just passing me.’ The sound of an approaching diesel engine dominated the background noise coming from the phone for a minute. ‘Yes, Derek’s driving.’

  ‘OK. Tell Dylan what’s going on and I’ll call you both back when I know what’s happening,’ I said, then hung up on Steve.

  The engine I’d heard on Steve’s phone cut the silence on the street. I powered down my window in the hope of eavesdropping and slumped down in my seat so as not to be seen.

  Derek stopped the transporter outside the workshop’s gates. The noise of his arrival brought people out to greet him. Morgan was amongst the group of familiar men to emerge from the workshop. His arm was in a cast and a sling. Strickland and Tommy were among the group of mechanics I’d seen before.

  Tommy opened up the gates and Derek pulled the truck forward to manoeuvre it into the yard before turning it around. His headlights lit up the parked cars across the street, including mine. I threw myself across the passenger seat before the headlights lit me up.

  I stayed down and listened to the grind and growl of Derek changing gears as he manoeuvred the truck into position. I heard voices guide him in. I sat up the second the headlights were off me and I heard the clang of the gates closing.

  Light spilled out from the workshop as the roll-up doors retracted. While Derek lowered the loading skids, car engines roared into life from within the workshop. The noise bounced off the silent buildings on both sides of the street. It was enough to draw the attention of the neighbours in a normal neighbourhood, but this part of town was dead and no one came running to complain about the late night disturbance.

  I called Steve and brought him up to speed then told him to pass the message on to Dylan.

  The cars filed out of the workshop and carefully climbed onto the transporter. They were the same six cars I’d seen before, but now in different colours and sporting number plates and no doubt the documentation to back it up. These cars were reborn the same way people with bent identities were reborn. Illegally.

  It took a little time to load the cars onto the transporter and tie them down. Derek and his boys worked well and showed no signs that they were expecting trouble. Not that they would be with Brennan clearing the way for them.

  My pulse quickened when a couple of the mechanics started shutting the workshop down for the night. This was it. This was where Derek put his head through his own noose.

  I called Steve then Dylan and told them. ‘They’re getting ready to go.’

  Derek, Morgan, Tommy and Strickland huddled around the truck’s cab for a team talk. I couldn’t hear them over the rumble of the truck’s engine.

  The team meeting didn’t last long and Derek climbed into the cab of his truck. The others went over to a fairly old C-class Mercedes. Morgan opened the boot and Tommy and Strickland removed three shotguns.

  ‘Shit,’ I murmured.

  Strickland jogged over to Derek’s truck with a shotgun in each hand and climbed up into the cab with Derek. They shared a smile before Strickland put the guns behind their seats. Tommy put his gun in the back of the Mercedes before getting behind the wheel. Morgan got into the passenger seat alongside Tommy.

  Derek eased his truck out of the workshop with the Mercedes behind. Both vehicles turned in Dylan’s direction.

  I jumped on the phone straight away. ‘Dylan, Derek’s coming your way. There’s a green Mercedes following behind. Strickland is riding with Derek and Morgan and Tommy are in the Merc.’

  ‘You want me to follow them?’

  ‘Yeah, but be careful. They’re armed.’

  ‘Shit. Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘I’m going to stay here and wait for the mechanics to leave. Then I’m going to catch you up. Call me if you hit any trouble.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

  I hung up on Dylan. I called Steve and told him Derek was on the move and Dylan was following, but I needed him to stay put.

  The minutes ticked by slowly as the mechanics locked the workshop down for the night. With their work done, they weren’t in a hurry to leave. They laughed and joked with each other as they switched off lights and closed doors.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ I urged. I didn’t want Dylan on his own any longer than necessary. Derek and his boys had him outnumbered and outgunned. It wasn’t like my presence would stop them from shooting at him, but it would make it harder for them if they had to shoot at two targets.

  The last man out closed and locked the yard’s gates then climbed into an old Rover SD1 with the other three mechanics. They pulled away in Steve’s direction and I called him.

  ‘A Rover SD1 with a dented rear passenger door is coming your way. Follow it.’

  ‘I see it now.’

  ‘They’re the mechanics. I don’t know if they’re going to meet up or not, but stick with them.’

  I heard Steve gun the Renault’s engine. ‘Will do.’

  ‘I’m going to catch Dylan up. Derek’s guys are armed.’

  Steve didn’t say anything for a long moment. ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I will,’ I said and hung up.

  Lap Twenty-Four

  The second I hung up on Steve, I hit the road. Naturally, there was no sign of Dylan or Derek when I turned onto the next street. In this maze of streets with all its different turns, I’d never catch up with them. I punch
ed in Dylan’s number and waited for him to pick up.

  ‘Where are you?’ I asked when he answered.

  ‘I’m on Newfoundland Way getting ready to join the M32.’

  I made a left to get me heading towards the motorway. The M32 was essentially an arterial road from the M4 into Bristol. If Derek picked up the M4 he was either heading east to London or west to the M5. That would take him either south-west into Devon and Cornwall or north to Birmingham.

  ‘Where’s Derek?’

  ‘He’s about three hundred yards ahead with the Merc behind him. They just got on the motorway.’

  ‘Have they noticed you?’

  ‘No. I’ve had a pretty clear view of them so I’ve hung back.’

  ‘OK, I’m on my way. I’m a few minutes behind.’

  ‘Where’s Steve?’

  ‘He’s following the mechanics.’

  It took me ten minutes to reach the M32. Dylan called back twice to tell me they had first joined the M4 going west then the M5 going north. That narrowed down Derek’s potential destinations.

  Once I got on the motorway, I caught up to Dylan pretty quickly. Half a mile ahead of him, I picked out the car transporter and Morgan’s Mercedes. The traffic was light, but heavy enough for Dylan and me to blend in.

  I called Dylan. ‘I’m behind you.’

  ‘I see ya. How do you want to handle this?’

  ‘Stay as we are. If the traffic thins out, we’ll take turns being behind Derek.’ My mobile bleeped, telling me I had another call. ‘It’s Steve. I’ll call you back.’

  I switched over to Steve’s call. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Nothing. These guys were just going home for the night. The driver is the only one left now. I’m following him home.’

  ‘OK. Ditch him and catch up to us. We’re on the M5. I’ve just passed junction fourteen for Dursley.’

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ Steve said and hung up.

  Knowing Steve was on his way helped settle my nerves. With the three of us back on Derek’s tail, we had the flexibility to handle whatever came next.

  Steve caught up with us between Stroud and Gloucester. We took turns at being the lead car behind Morgan’s Mercedes. I didn’t get the feeling that our game of leapfrog alerted Derek or his crew. They seemed to remain blissfully unaware, both vehicles eating up mile after mile, not adjusting their speed or course.

  It looked as if we were heading into Birmingham, but Derek led the procession off the motorway into Redditch.

  My arms and legs tingled with anticipation and fear. We were a long way from home and I didn’t know what to expect next. I just hoped we weren’t out of our depth.

  I put my nerves on hold and coordinated my next move with Steve and Dylan. Dylan and I were to keep close to the transporter. Steve was to hang back. If Derek stopped, we would blow by and let Steve pick up the action while we waited for his update.

  The streets narrowed and Derek slowed down to compensate. We soon ended up on streets where traffic was non-existent. Dylan and I were beginning to stick out, especially since Dylan had been directly behind Morgan’s Mercedes for some time. I jumped on the phone to him.

  ‘Pull over. I’ll take the lead for a little while. Tell Steve the latest.’

  ‘OK.’

  Dylan pulled into a petrol station and I took his place behind the Mercedes.

  I felt very alone. Suddenly, it was me versus four scumbags who, together, had killed one person, assaulted and threatened several people, tried to burn down Archway and held me at gunpoint. If they caught me now, I doubted anyone would hold off from pulling the trigger.

  Steve called me. ‘I just passed Dylan. I’m in the two spot. Dylan’s going to take over as tail end Charlie.’

  Derek flicked on his indicators to make a left onto a narrow street. ‘They’re turning off onto Ladbroke Street. I’m letting them go. Pick up my lead.’

  ‘Ladbroke Street it is.’

  Derek navigated the tight turn with the Mercedes close behind. I kept going straight. The second they were out of sight, I turned my Vauxhall around and stopped.

  Steve came into view moments later. He flashed his lights at me and made the turn.

  I stayed on the line with Steve and he talked me through a series of streets. I waited for Dylan to catch up, then we followed Steve’s directions. Within a couple of streets, the complexion of the neighbourhood had changed from residential homes to industrial. Address after address was home to ancient factory buildings, but some of the factory sites had been demolished and replaced with modern prefab units.

  ‘Shit,’ Steve said over the phone. ‘We have a problem.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘They’ve arrived.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You’ll see. Turn right at Harrington Road and it’s two hundred yards on your left. I can’t stop. I’m driving by.’

  I turned onto Harrington Road in time to see the tail end of Derek’s transporter and the Mercedes disappear between a pair of gates not much shorter than the transporter. Only the top of the factory building could be seen from the street. Along with the solid gates, ten foot high brick walls hid the goings-on from the public eye. But none of that mattered. The familiar Hancock Salvage logo covered each gate. Shit was right.

  I parked my car a hundred yards down the street from the yard’s main gates. Dylan drew up behind me and got into my car. I set my mobile to speaker so Steve could hear us.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ve come all this way and we can see bugger all,’ Dylan said.

  ‘Steve, can you see any low points?’

  ‘No, that wall goes all the way around.’

  ‘Let’s call the cops in,’ Dylan said.

  ‘And tell them what?’ I said. ‘We don’t know what’s going on inside there.’

  To rub our noses in the fact, security lights lit up the yard hidden from us.

  ‘We’re going to have to go over the wall,’ I said.

  ‘Are you touched?’ Dylan said.

  ‘No.’

  I’d been looking at the wall. It was a product of its time. It was brick and several layers thick with foundations that probably went halfway to China. I doubted a tank could bust through it without firing a few shells first. A coil of barbed wire ran across the top. It was more like a fortress than a security or privacy wall. But it wasn’t impossible to breach. The brick and mortar surface gave me foot and handholds. The barbed wire wasn’t such a big deal and I didn’t see any security cameras.

  ‘Those walls aren’t that tough to climb. We’ll find a couple of safe spots to get over. We’ll sneak up on them and as soon as we see something go down, we’ll call the cops.’

  ‘And who exactly is we?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘You and me.’

  ‘And what about me?’ Steve said.

  ‘You’re our safety switch. You stay on the outside. If anyone catches us, you call the police.’

  ‘This is crazy,’ Dylan said.

  ‘But we’re going to do it.’

  ‘Of course we are.’

  Dylan went back to his car and looked for an entry point. We decided to enter from two different points just in case one of us got caught. I turned the car around and looked for my entry. The factory provided a huge blind spot. It blocked the illumination from the security lights and potentially blocked anyone’s view of me.

  I drove up onto the pavement and parked the car up against the wall, then powered down the window and climbed onto the car’s roof. I could just see over the top of the wall. I couldn’t see anyone, which meant they couldn’t see me. I grabbed a tow rope from the Vauxhall’s boot and hooked it over a bracket set into the top of the wall for fixing the barbwire. I climbed back down into the Vectra and parked it on a neighbouring street. As much as I liked having the car as a convenient stepladder, I couldn’t leave it parked against the wall.

  I scurried back, carrying a floor mat from the car. I stuffed the mat inside my jacket and climbed the tow r
ope. When I reached the top, I laid the mat over the barbwire. The technique had served me well at Morgan’s workshop and it did again this time. I tossed the rope over the other side of the wall and slithered down. I touched down on soft dirt behind a pile of discarded tyres.

  ‘Please don’t let there be dogs,’ I said to myself.

  I called Dylan. ‘I’m in. Are you?’

  ‘Now I am. It nearly killed me getting over that sodding wall,’ he whispered.

  ‘OK. Stay off the line. Call Steve if something goes wrong. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Dylan said with a sigh and hung up.

  I edged my way towards the glow of the light. I used everything and anything to hide behind, from oil barrels to the factory building itself. Even though I was sure I wasn’t being watched, I didn’t take any chances. The last thing I needed was to walk into one of them taking a leak against the wall.

  Unlike the facility Hancock had shown us back in Gravesend, this Redditch facility was far from a showpiece. The place was made up of a mammoth factory building and a storage shed big enough to store half a dozen double-decker buses.

  As I got nearer, the sound of voices got louder.

  I pressed my back to the building and peered around the corner. Derek’s transporter sat at the centre of the yard surrounded by dozens of wrecked cars. Some had been stripped bare. Most hadn’t. An ancient car crusher sat off to one side with a crane for hoisting the wrecks into it.

  I groaned inside. Derek and his boys weren’t alone. Six heavily-built, nightclub bouncer types examined the cars on the transporter. Vic Hancock stood next to a much taller man leaning against an Audi A8. I didn’t see any guns, but if Derek had come tooled up, these guys would have too.

  The man with Hancock was obviously Hancock’s partner here. He dressed to impress with his designer suit and topcoat, but his severe crew cut jarred with the designer clothes. The Audi and the gold on his hands said he was a man of means, but none of it looked right on him, as if he’d borrowed his expensive trappings for tonight’s event. To rub that fact in, he was gaunt to the point of emaciation. His skin looked vacuum-sealed to his skull and his pallor was just as sickly – a sun-starved grey. There was also a quickness to his eyes. While he chit-chatted with Hancock, his gaze never left the target – the cars. There was no arguing he was the alpha male here.