Shadows

by Conrad Jones

  “Our money was stolen with the drugs,” Ron growled.

  “That is unfortunate but I’m afraid that you still owe the money.”

  “Don’t come that one with me, Paddy.” Ron slapped the desk. The noise sounded like a whip being cracked.

  “Let’s keep this professional.” Henry held up a hand. “The shipment arrived. We need payment.”

  “Don’t fuck around with me, Henry. You’re fucking with the wrong man.”

  “Oh, I am not fucking around at all and I’m not easily intimidated.” Henry smiled thinly. “We delivered the goods. You owe the money and it needs to be paid this week.”

  Ron laughed. “Can you hear this idiot,” he said to Rickets. Rickets scowled and grinned. “I could crush you in a minute.”

  “You’re a big man, right enough,” Henry said coolly. “I am not here to fight you.” Henry pointed at Rickets. “Do you think we would come here for a fist fight with you and your goons?”

  “I am not sure why you came here to be honest but you are wasting my time and yours.”

  “We have to try, you see.” Henry shrugged. “Nobody wants to part with their money. I understand that but you owe us. I have to ask you to pay what you owe. You can see that, surely you can?”

  “I suppose it was worth a try but I am not paying again and I’m not playing games with you.”

  “Playing games?” Henry frowned. “I am here to conclude our business. Are we playing a game, Patrick?”

  “No.” Patrick shook his head. “We are not playing a game.”

  “What game do you think I am playing?” Henry raised his eyebrows in question.

  “I don’t know what your game is.” Ron stood up and leaned over the desk. He stabbed his index finger towards them. “Coming in here and demanding money for gear that was stolen. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “Oh, I am nobody special. I’m not here to do anything but conduct business,” Henry said, shaking his head. “I am baffled that you can’t understand that.”

  “You’re baffled?” Ron scoffed. “He’s baffled, Rickets.” Rickets laughed, his hand across his mouth. “You’re baffled are you? My head is totally fucked. I can’t believe you can sit there and tell me that I owe you money.”

  “Allow me to help you to understand,” Henry spoke slowly and loudly as if Ron was hard of hearing or stupid. “As I said earlier, we delivered the drugs as arranged. You were hit by whoever and that is regrettable however that is your problem. We wish you good luck with it but we need payment.”

  “Fuck you!” Ron laughed coarsely. “Have you lost your fucking marbles, old man?”

  “He’s going senile,” Rickets sneered.

  “Do you really think I’m going to hand over more money for stolen drugs?” Ron shook his head. “My brother made this deal with this fucking idiot here.” He leaned over and pointed a thick digit at Patrick. “My brother is dead. My cousins are feeding the fishes somewhere. Your captain is dead, strung up like a prize pig, his crew nailed to a fucking table. The drugs and the money are gone. Yet you think that I owe you money. Are you cracking up, Henry?”

  “Not at all but I can see that we are going around in circles. I had to give you the opportunity to square your side of the deal.” Henry checked his watch. He took a piece of paper from his inside pocket and placed it on the desk. “This is the bank account number where you will transfer the money.”

  “Stick it up your ring piece!”

  “Charming,” Henry said, not offended.

  “Get out, you fucking idiot. I am beginning to lose my rag.”

  “We’re on our way.” Henry stood and turned away from the desk. “Don’t forget now, you have until Friday.”

  “Fuck Friday and fuck you!”

  “My mobile number is on there too.”

  Ron picked up the paper and screwed it into a ball. He tossed it into a wastepaper basket. “Get out!”

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Henry said, shaking his head as if he was talking to a child. “You’ll need it shortly.” He turned to Patrick. “We are not making any progress. We need to go.”

  Patrick stood and followed Henry to the door, a confused expression on his face. Ron scowled, shaking his head in disgust.

  “You’re mad, old man,” he grumbled.

  “I’ll keep an eye on that bank account,” Henry shouted cheerily from the corridor.

  “Don’t hold your breath. You won’t see a fucking penny from me,” Ron shouted back, kicking the wastepaper basket across the room. It clattered off the wall just missing Rickets and landed spinning of the floor.

  “Hope for the best but plan for the worst, Ron.”

  “Fuck off!”

  “You’ll pay. You will,” Henry called from the car park. “You’ll see, Ron. You will.”

  “Will someone please shoot the silly old bastard,” Ron shouted.

  Rickets laughed but there was no humour in it. Ron stared at Henry through the window as they climbed back into their car. The old man waved and smiled. The gates opened and they pulled out and drove away. As they drove out of sight, Ron’s mobile began to ring. He didn’t recognise the number.

  “Who is this?”

  “Henry. Are you missing me yet?”

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “I forgot to mention that you might want to make a call to your nightclub. I think you should.”

  “My nightclub?”

  “Rotter’s, I believe it is called.”

  “Why would I need to call them?”

  “I just think that you should. I think they will want to talk to you,” Henry said happily. “Go on, give them a call.”

  “What are you talking about, you fucking lunatic?” Ron growled.

  “Oh, now you’re mad with me again, aren’t you? Call them,” Henry said. He hung up and left Ron looking at the screen.

  “I don’t think he’s a full shilling,” Ron said, shaking his head.

  “Fucking looney tunes, Ron,” Rickets said, making circles next to his temple with his finger. “Absolute fucktard.”

  Rickets’ mobile phone began to ring. Closely followed by Big Ron’s. He looked at the call waiting on the screen. Rickets answered his and took the call out of the room. Ron looked at the screen on his phone. The screen showed ‘Rotter’s’ flashing. A shiver ran down his spine. How could the silly old fool have known about a call from Rotter’s? He sat down and shifted uncomfortably on his chair as he answered the call.

  “What?” Ron answered angrily.

  “Is that you, Ron?”

  “Of course it is! You rang my phone.”

  “Sorry, Ron.” The nightclub manger sounded shaky. “There’s been an explosion at the back of the club.”

  “What?”

  “One of your vans blew up, Ron!”

  “One of the vans?”

  “Yes.” The manager was flapping. “One of your lads had a few drinks after work last night and left his van around the back. It has just fucking blown up.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Ron hissed. “Could it have caught fire?”

  “No one saw any fire, Ron.”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t the petrol tank?” Ron ran through the scenarios in his mind. They kept coming back to Henry.

  “I don’t know much about cars,” the manager said nervously. “All I know is that the van exploded and the toilet block windows blew out. The van is fucking rubble, Ron. I think it was more than a petrol tank fire to do that much damage. It was an explosion.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Just now. Literally two minutes ago.”

  “Is anyone hurt?”

  “No. It was parked in the yard at the back next to the bins. It wasn’t a big explosion but the van is scrap.”

  “Fucking bastards!”

  “Who is? Did someone do this on purpose?” the manger asked, confused. “Do you know who might have done this?”

  “I have a good idea. Don’t worry about that f
or now,” Ron growled. “Are the police there yet?”

  “Not yet. I called the fire brigade. They will be all over the place in a minute.”

  “Everything that needs to be hidden is hidden, yes?”

  “Of course.”

  “The last thing I need right now is the filth all over the club. Say fuck all to the police. I’ll call you back!” He looked out of the window angrily. The muscles in his jaw twitched. His face was purple. Rickets walked back into the room.

  “Ron,” he said with a shake of the head. “You won’t believe what has happened, Ron,” Rickets said in disbelief.

  “You fucking bastards...” Ron was oblivious to him, ranting to himself and snarling at the window.

  “Ron!” he interrupted him.

  “What?” Ron snapped at Rickets.

  “You won’t believe what has happened.”

  “I know about it,” he grumbled. “Nigel has just rung and told me.”

  “Nigel?” Rickets was confused. “From Rotter’s?”

  “Yes!”

  “Not Rotter’s. There’s been trouble in town, Ron.”

  “I know there’s been fucking trouble.” He walked across the room and picked up the wastepaper basket. Tipping it up, he fumbled for the piece of paper that Henry had left. There were bank details and a phone number just as Henry has said.

  “Ron, listen to me!” Rickets tried to get his attention.

  Ron pointed to his phone. “I need to make this call. That Irish cunt has blown up one of our vans.”

  “A van?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Behind Rotter’s. It’s taken the toilet windows out!”

  “Ron!” Rickets called louder. “Will you fucking listen to me for a minute, please!”

  “What is the matter?”

  “Before you make that call, you need to know what else has happened.”

  “Why, what has happened?”

  “There’s been more, Ron.”

  “More what?”

  “Explosions.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me. Where?” Ron went quiet. His face flushed purple.

  “The bins at the back of Wetherspoons have blown up,” Rickets said, panicked. Ron glared open mouthed.

  “Bastards!”

  “And behind the Grapes and behind the Central Hotel and The Ship and Mitre!”

  “I don’t fucking believe this!” Ron reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a Glock. His face was like thunder as he pointed it at the window. “I’m going to shoot him in the face. I am going to kill them both.” Punching the phone number into his phone, he called Henry. The phone rang for a few minutes. “Answer your phone, you senile old goat!”

  “Hello, Henry speaking,” he answered jovially.

  “Was that you?” Ron asked Henry angrily.

  “Yes that was me,” Henry tilted his head and smiled thinly. He looked at Patrick and winked. “You didn’t take me seriously, did you, Ron? Do we have your attention now?”

  “You do but it isn’t the kind of attention that you will like.”

  “As long as we have it, eh!” Henry chuckled.

  “You won’t be laughing when I get my hands on you. I do not believe you two. You two are a pair of fucking jokers aren’t you.”

  “Jokers? Far from it. I blew up a few skips with some old fireworks this time. They were no more than a big bang. Just imagine what could happen next time when I use the real stuff.” A sinister tone crept into his voice. “We’re not joking, Ron. You need to understand that straight away. This is anything but a joke.”

  “You’re fucking dead men,” Ron shouted, waving the gun around in the air. Rickets stepped back in case it went off. “I don’t know who you’re used to dealing with but nobody fucks with me. You’ve crossed the line, old man.”

  “Before you go making things worse,” Henry said calmly. “Incidents like this can be made to happen anywhere we like, anytime we like. Shoot me and a boat load of men like me will be here by the morning.” Ron looked furious but his eyes flickered with understanding. “They will come after you and your family and bring your business to its fucking knees before the weekend.” Ron remained silent. “Once word gets out that it is you we are targeting not the businesses you have contracts with, they will drop you like a turd. You’ll be out of business permanently.”

  “You stupid old cunt!” Ron hissed. Spittle flew from his lips. His face was dark with anger but his eyes showed confusion. Confusion and fear. “You fucking...”

  “Enough!” Henry snapped. Ron looked at the phone surprised. There was a moment of silence. “That’s better. You need to realise exactly what your situation is. After my little demonstration, I expect you to get a grip and give your big fat head a wobble.” Henry paused. Ron looked set to explode. “You know who took your drugs, pay us what you owe us and go and get your shipment and your money back from them.”

  “They will be dealt with, don’t you worry about that,” Ron scowled. “In the meantime...”

  “In the meantime,” Henry interrupted loudly. He gestured to Patrick to turn left. “You’ll pay the money into that account. You have until Friday before your world starts to collapse around you.”

  “You’re dead men.”

  “Friday, Ron.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “You’re a stubborn man, Ron.”

  “You’re a dead one!”

  “Stand up and look out of the window.”

  “What?” Ron said nervously. He stood up and peered out of the window. Rickets looked confused. They looked at each other and frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Four small explosions went off simultaneously, blowing the hinges off the compound gates. They were lifted three metres off the ground before crashing onto the concrete with a deafening clatter. Ron stared at the phone, his face darkened. His jaw tightened with frustration.

  “Now that was the real stuff, Ron and there’s plenty left.”

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  “Once you’ve calmed down, you’ll see sense and pay us.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “You have until Friday, Ron,” Henry said calmly and hung up.

  Ron put his hands to his head, gun still in hand. He walked around the desk and sat heavily in his chair. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed. He held his breath in his chest, trying to keep his temper under control. His head went down slowly until his forehead was resting on his desk. Rickets had seen him angry before but not to the level where he was debilitated by it. He waited ten minutes until he dared speak.

  “What are we going to do, Ron?”

  Ron lifted his head up and stared at him. He looked almost surprised to see him. His eyes seemed slightly glazed as if he was looking through Rickets into the wall behind him.

  “Are you okay, Ron?”

  “Where did you bury that fucking Russian?”

  “Delamere Forrest,” Rickets said frowning. “Why, Ron?”

  “Go and dig him up.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” Ron said gruffly. “Dig the cunt up.”

  “Why would we do that, Ron?”

  “I’ve heard that Yuri Karpov is in town tonight.” Ron stood up and looked at his gun. “It is time we sent the Karpovs a message that they won’t forget. Dig the fucker up. Get the men together. We’re going to get our drugs back. And when we’ve done that, I’m going to skin that Irish twat with a cheese grater.”

  25

  Jo

  JO WATCHED the tech hit the print button again and she heard the printer whirl into life behind her. Steff Cain’s laptop was yielding valuable information. She knew that it would. That’s why she had posted it to Braddick before she killed herself. It was her last act as a police officer, sticking two fingers up to her tormentors. Jo couldn’t fathom how frightened she must have been that her family would be harmed. If the Karpovs had threatened her, then she would have been under no illusions that their t
hreats would be carried out. If they had said that her parents would be tortured to death and that her sister and her children would be killed or worse, then they would have carried that through without blinking. Cain would have been helpless. It wasn’t something that she could imagine. Having a family was something that Jo had forgone a long time ago. She was an only child. Her parents had died in a car crash when she was at university and that was that. She was alone in the world with no relatives to speak of. Her father had a brother but he had emigrated to Australia thirty years before and they had never heard from him since. She joined the force straight from university and was fast tracked to detective. When the opportunity to join Matrix came, she jumped at it and took to it like a pig in muck. The more she delved into the city’s serious crimes, the more she wanted to become an undercover. She wanted to sink into the mire and live and breathe the filth. Her training had been intense. An ex-undercover had drilled her one on one until her head hurt. Even other UC’s didn’t know the identity of an undercover. No one but her handler and his superior officer knew. He taught her how to survive on the streets, becoming invisible and insignificant to other human beings. He showed her how to blend into the underworld and float through it like a ghost, always watching, always listening, always learning. She rented out her two bedroom terrace via a letting agency and told them that she was travelling the world. Closing the front door and disappearing into the bowels of the city was simple for her. She never felt alone and she never felt afraid. The streets embraced her and she embraced them back. She became Lilly. Lilly was a part of her life that she loved. Lilly was like the sister that she had never had. Two people in one body. She missed being her. When she had been sucked back into the real world, adjusting wasn’t as hard as she thought it might be. She felt like an actress who had finished her stint on Broadway. It was time to take off the makeup and hang up the dress and go home to be herself again. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

  Trawling through Steff Cain’s laptop was like dissecting another life. Everything was there, professional and personal. Her cases, her boyfriends, her girlfriends, her photos, her memories, everything that she was, was there. It made her sad to think that her soul was stored on a hard drive while her broken body rotted in a mortuary. The woman pictured smiling, skiing, scuba diving, laughing with friends, dancing, drinking, living, was gone. Everything on her laptop was nothing more than an echo of the past, a shadow of a life ended in a painful second. Jo looked at her photos and smiled sadly. She had been a beauty. The world would be slightly dulled by her loss although it would continue to turn nonetheless. Her mobile rang. The screen flashed ‘Braddick’.