Shadows

by Conrad Jones

  The wind cut through him as he waited for the lights to change. A line of black cabs peeled away from the rank as passengers climbed in and headed off to their destinations; hotels, restaurants, fun places to be with friends and loved ones. Places he wouldn’t be going to anytime soon.

  The phone call home hadn’t gone well. His father didn’t speak to him but one of his cronies had growled some instructions to him and then hung up after giving him a bollocking for calling the landline. How could calling home be wrong for fuck’s sake? He couldn’t do anything right as far as they were concerned. No doubt, he would be blamed for the fuck up. His father would find a way of twisting events so that he felt responsible. He always did. Ronny anticipated a fat lip at least. Big Ron was quick to dole out his own version of justice whether it was just or not. Ronny had the features of a boxer despite never having stepped between the ropes. His father had shaped his face with his fists. Ronny dreamed of punching him back one day, although he knew that he didn’t have the strength or the gall to actually do it. He had seen Big Ron demolish multiple opponents in nightclubs, their blows bounced off his head like it was a bowling ball. One unfortunate reveller had hit him from behind with a bar stool. The look of horror on his face when Big Ron turned around and smiled was priceless. He was found in a skip in an alleyway, bleeding from every orifice, a chair leg stuck up his rectum. Only the swift action of the paramedics saved his life. Tackling Big Ron was beyond most mortals.

  “Ronny!” a voice called from his left. He looked around and saw a Lexus parked on double yellows. The driver was familiar, one of his father’s doormen, a lump called Rickets because of his bowlegs.

  “Get in,” he ordered angrily. His black face was pitted, a permanent scowl fixed to it. Rickets was always angry about something and nothing. Ronny swallowed hard and ran to the passenger door. He reached for the handle but it was locked. “Back seat, knob-head!” Rickets growled and gestured with his thumb. Ronny opened the back door and climbed in. The car was warm and a welcome relief from the elements, despite the hostile atmosphere. “Put your belt on,” Rickets mumbled as he put the vehicle into first and sped away so fast that the wheels squealed. A black cab sounded its horn loudly as he cut across its path. “Fuck you!” Rickets shouted as he headed towards the city centre. “Fucking taxi drivers,” he snarled. “Cunts the lot of them. They think they own the road.” Ronny nodded in agreement, thinking that Rickets was the only cunt on the road at that moment.

  Four hundred metres on, as they approached a roundabout, the Lexus swerved to a violent stop next to the kerb. Ronny was confused until he saw a dark figure approach the car from a doorway. The huge figure was dressed in a short black jacket, gloves and a hat pulled down to his eyes. The passenger door opened and Big Ron climbed in, making the car rock. Rickets waited for the door to close before speeding off again. The silence was deafening.

  “Alright, dad?” Ronny said nervously. “Thanks for picking…”

  “Shut up!” Big Ron said, turning around as far as his bulk would allow him. “You had better tell me what happened and it had better be good.”

  Ronny didn’t think it would be good whatever he said. It never was.

  11

  Ieuan Jones walked into the Edinburgh Castle and stamped the rain from his boots on the mat. The bar was to his left, lounge to his right. He opened the door to the bar and stepped inside. The odours of stale ale, damp and chip fat drifted to him. He remembered how it used to be. Images of a packed pub, cigarette smoke hanging heavily in the air like a pungent mist, pool balls cracking against each other and laughter everywhere, came to him from his distant memory. It had been a busy drinking hole twenty years ago. They were all busy back then and he missed those days. His local was the centre of the community, the social hub where people met and talked. No one stared at their phones mid conversation in those days. The town was busy back then. The fishing industry was booming. A fleet of forty trawlers had been devastated by quotas from Brussels. The main employer, an aluminium plant had pulled out of the town and the local economy slumped. When the big supermarkets moved onto the island, the small businesses on the high street were forced out. The town centre suffered a fatal body blow as the revenue that was once spent there, which went directly back into the local economy, went into the coffers of the retail giants. They sucked the town dry and sent the profits to the capital. The knock on effect was that the pubs died too. No one had the money to drink in the pubs as often as they had. Alcohol was cheaper in the supermarkets. The smoking ban was the final nail in the coffin. Ieuan, once a successful landlord himself, bailed out with most of the other publicans. They were days he missed the social life, a staple that he yearned for. The days when the Holyhead pubs were busy were long gone.

  He took off his woolly hat and ordered a pint of bitter from a frosty faced barmaid, said hello to some of the locals in his mother tongue and then headed over to two men who were sitting near the window. One of them he knew, the other was a stranger. They had positioned themselves as far away from the other punters as they could. Henry hadn’t changed since their last meeting many years before. His khaki jacket looked a little more frayed at the cuffs but it was the same one that he had always worn, an anchor to his paramilitary past that he couldn’t let go of. The stranger was younger, dressed in jeans and a blue parka. His hair was neat and dark, grey flecks above the ears. He shook hands with Henry, ignoring Patrick. There was no warmth in the welcome.

  “This is my friend Patrick,” Henry said coldly.

  “Let me tell you, I haven’t come here to meet new friends. What do you want, Henry?”

  “There’s no need to be rude, Ieuan.” Ieuan stroked his dark bristles with his right hand and glanced at Patrick. He nodded a silent hello. Patrick smiled and removed his coat. His denim shirt was rolled up at the sleeves.

  “I haven’t got time for niceties,” Ieuan said flatly.

  “Fair enough,” Henry said, smiling. “It is nice to see you again, though. You look well.”

  “What the fuck do you want?” Ieuan asked, taking a long swig of his pint. His brown eyes bored into Henry. “I told you we were done years ago.”

  “Get straight to the point, why don’t you,” Henry chuckled. He seemed to be enjoying the standoff. “You never did beat around the bush. Ieuan used to work with us a long time ago, didn’t you, Ieuan?”

  “Yes, and it cost me five years of my life,” Ieuan snapped. “Where were you and the General then?” he asked calmly. He stared at Henry and took another drink; froth lined his upper lip. “Let’s not pretend we’re friends, Henry. You’re lucky that I’m here at all. Now what the fuck do you want?”

  “Don’t be like that. You know why we did what we did. That was the way things had to be done. You knew that. Get caught and you’re on your own. That was the way it was. I was gutted when I heard that you had been sent down but I could hardly send a letter could I?”

  “Have you come to apologise?” Ieuan scoffed. “Because if you have, you can shove your apology up your arsehole.”

  “No apology. They were the rules that we played by and you knew that.”

  “You changed the rules to suit yourselves, Henry. They always seemed to be weighted in your favour, eh?”

  “There’s no point in raking over old ground. We’ll never agree, will we?”

  “Not in a million years.”

  “I’ll keep this as brief as I can. There was an incident in the harbour here yesterday,” Henry said, looking around to make sure no one was listening. A handful of locals were gathered around a pool table at the far end of the bar. Two men were throwing darts and chatting in Welsh. “We want to know what you know about it. That’s all. I simply want to know what you have heard.”

  “What is it to you what happened here?” Ieuan smirked. “I thought your interest here was finished a long time ago?”

  “There was a deal arranged and it didn’t go to plan. Let’s just say that we have a vested interest in it.”
/>   “Oh dear, that sounds expensive. How much of an interest?”

  “A substantial amount.”

  “Did someone fuck you over, Henry?”

  Henry sipped his beer and tilted his head. He shrugged and smiled. “You could say that, I suppose.”

  “I figured that out when you called,” Ieuan said, nodding. His white moustache was developing with every sip of his pint. “It isn’t like you to let a deal go south. Are you getting sloppy in your old age?”

  “These things happen from time to time. It can’t be helped sometimes. Things go wrong. ”

  “They do. The trouble is the game has changed. There’s a lot of foreign talent around nowadays and they play by different rules, Henry,” Ieuan said, draining his pint. There was amusement in his eyes. “We used to live and let live as long as it didn’t encroach on our business but these guys want what you have too. People like you and me and the General, we don’t belong in it anymore. We’re obsolete. We’re dinosaurs. These new players will chew you up and spit you out in fucking bubbles,” he said with a chuckle. “They are a different breed of predator nowadays, although I think you have just found that out the hard way, eh, Henry?”

  “Oh, don’t underestimate the power of experience. There’s still life in these old dogs yet.” Henry signalled to the barmaid for another round. She smiled briefly and then tutted, mumbling to herself about whether his legs had fallen off. “These new outfits are all machine guns and bullets. They don’t have the brains that they were born with. They haven’t considered the repercussions of their actions. That is a huge mistake.”

  “You’re fucking deluded, Henry.”

  “Maybe I am but I have a job to do and I’ll do it. I’m sure you still have all your contacts. What have you heard?”

  “I heard that someone got toasted in the old fish factory. Two dead and eight missing,” Ieuan shrugged.

  “Eight?” Henry and Patrick exchanged concerned glances.

  “That’s what I heard. Two dead and eight missing. Do you still feel confident, Henry?” Ieuan laughed sourly. “Any outfit that can carry out that kind of operation is one that you should steer clear of.”

  “They had the element of surprise. The fish factory is an ideal place for an exchange but it is also the ideal place for an ambush,” Henry said glancing at Patrick. His eyes added, ‘You didn’t do your homework, lad.’

  “Let me tell you about the fish factory. It should have been demolished years ago but it is a listed building, you know.” Ieuan leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin on his fists. “I worked there as a teenager, you know. It was good money in those days,” he said, glancing at Patrick. Patrick listened politely. “We used to come in here on payday and play three card brag. You could lose your wages and your friends in half an hour. I’ve seen grown men leaving here in tears, dreading telling the wife that they had lost their money at the pub. Used to be packed in here in those days.” Henry smiled thinly allowing him to reminisce. Ieuan swigged his pint, realising that he was rambling. “Once the fishing quotas came in, the fleet disappeared. Anyway, I am going off the subject.” He sat back and looked around. “I have heard that a dragger crew from Dublin are missing, the skipper strung up with a message carved into his chest. It was a message to a man called Patrick Finnen. It told him to stay in Dublin. Heavy duty stuff, that, eh Patrick?” he said, looking at Patrick for the first time. “Would that be a coincidence that you have the same name or are you Patrick Finnen, eh?” he said, smiling coldly.

  “No coincidence. I am Patrick Finnen.”

  “Are you the same Patrick Finnen that used to be a boxer?”

  “I did. Eye damage ended me.”

  “Shame. I watched some of your fights. You could have gone all the way.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Let me tell you something, Patrick. This is a fight you won’t win. Stay in Dublin, they said, eh?” he said, leaning closer. “You should have listened, son. You are chasing a dragon and you’re going to get burnt. Leave it alone or you will end up in a box. If they find your body, that is.” Patrick held his gaze and sipped his beer. There was a painful silence.

  “What are the local plod saying?” Henry asked. They sat back for a moment as the barmaid brought fresh pints. Beer slopped onto the table but she made no apologies. Patrick paid her and told her to keep the change.

  “Diolch,” Ieuan thanked her.

  “Well? What are they saying?” Henry prompted.

  “I’ve heard different things but the upshot is that they are handing it all over to the coppers from Liverpool.”

  “Why?”

  “The dragger crew are Dublin’s problem and the other corpse and his mates are from Liverpool. My source said that they couldn’t get rid of it quickly enough. Can’t say as I blame them. Looks like a right mess to me. You would be well advised to stay the fuck away from it. Take your losses and let them kill each other. The outfit that hit your deal are professionals, probably ex-military.”

  “There’s no way they could have been hit by a local firm?” Henry asked.

  “From here on the island?” Ieuan nearly choked on his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” he laughed.

  “I’m asking the question, that’s all.” Henry raised his eyebrows. “I have to cover all the bases. I heard the town has its fair share of dealers.”

  “Different league, Henry, different league altogether.” Ieuan shook his head and smiled. “Two or three main players at most with half a dozen wannabies each working for them selling twenty quid deals in the pubs. Don’t get me wrong, they all think that they’re the Welsh Pablo Escobar but look around you. The pubs are fucking dying. You’re talking amateurs and professionals. Whoever hit that deal was major league. You need to look further afield than the island.”

  “Okay. I appreciate your honesty. I had to explore the possibility.”

  “I don’t envy you. It is almost sad that you’re chasing this. This will be the end of you. My guess is you’re on the way to Liverpool, eh, Henry?” he asked with a wink. “Now that place is a jungle. There are some big players there. Were your buyers from there?”

  “Do they have any leads?” Henry asked, ignoring the question even though the answer was obvious.

  “I’ve heard that a call was made to the emergency services,” Ieuan said quietly. “I heard that they think there is a witness. The caller was a scouser.”

  “But he hasn’t been picked up?”

  “No sign of him.” He drained his pint and stood up. “Now you know what I know. Good luck with your search because you’re going to need it and God help you if you find whoever took your stuff. You two are way out of your depth.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Patrick said, standing. He offered his hand. Ieuan looked at him and hesitated before shaking it. “Take my advice, son, fuck off home on the first ferry back to Dublin. My guess is you’re the fall guy for this fuck up.” He gestured towards Henry with his head. “Don’t be taken in by this man. This man is not your friend. Henry is nobody’s friend, are you, Henry?” Henry looked at his pint and shifted uncomfortably. “Do you know what this man used to do?” No one answered. “I reckon he’s put more men in the ground than you’ve seen summers but hear me when I say that whoever took your shipment is far more frightening than old Henry here, eh, Henry?”

  “I appreciate your time,” Henry said with a nod. His eyes stared coldly into Ieuan. The amusement in his eyes had gone, replaced by ice.

  “You appreciate no one’s time, especially mine. Now fuck off and don’t call me again,” Ieuan said, staring back. They locked eyes for a second and then he turned and walked out of the door. The two Irishmen sat in silence and finished their drinks, each locked in their own thoughts.

  12

  Ronny felt his mouth drying up as he tried to pick the right words. His father was glaring at him, whisky on his breath, loathing and disappointment in his eyes. He was used to
seeing disappointment in his eyes. It was part of growing up as Big Ron’s son. His mind raced through what had happened. There was no point in dressing things up. Big Ron could tell when he was lying, and anyway, it wasn’t his fault. He knew that it wasn’t yet he couldn’t help but feel the blame.

  “From the beginning,” Big Ron growled. “Don’t miss anything out!”

  “Our Gary dropped me off on a road near the harbour. There were some steps that went up to a monument on top of a cliff. It looks over the harbour and the train station. He told me to go up there and keep a lookout. He said to ring him if I saw the police or anyone else coming,” Ronny said, avoiding eye contact. “I did everything that he said. I did exactly what he said, dad.”

  “Okay, okay. Then what happened?”

  “I saw them driving into the warehouse and then I couldn’t see them anymore. I thought I saw them moving near the harbour but I couldn’t tell if it was them or not.” Ronny thought about it. He had thought about it all night. With hindsight, they might have been there waiting to ambush them but he didn’t want to tell his father that. “Then a black people carrier turned up. I watched it driving along the road and as soon as it turned towards the warehouse, I called Gary, just like he said. The road was about half a mile long so they would have had loads of time to be ready but they didn’t answer the fucking phone!”