by Iain Parke
But I was.
Neatly stacked and secured in their packaging were those white wrapped packages that I was expecting.
Fuck me, we had a metric tonne of coke. A thousand bricks.
It took a surprising time to load into the back of the Landie.
*
The yellow of the sodium lighting danced on the black water of the dock as I met up with Popeye at about five am. There was no one else around that I could see. He was in the wheelhouse of his fishing boat and his crew cast off as soon as I got on board.
He had used those big builders’ dump bags. You know the ones, the sort they deliver a cubic metre of sand or whatever in, or there’s some bigger ones, a metre and a half long, I tell you they’re just made for the fucking job.
They had stuffed each of the bodies into one before they had a chance to stiffen up. The bags made it easy, with four handles that helped them carry them down to the van like a purpose-made body bag. They had trussed each body with rope to securely wrap the bag round it and then the handles gave something good and strong through which they had passed the chain that secured the bag to its weight of concrete blocks that were going to act as weights to anchor them down when they went over the side. We would be going way out but even so we didn’t want to take any chances. We didn’t want any of these fuckers putting in a surprise reappearance on some beach somewhere.
‘Any chance that anyone saw anything?’ I asked Popeye, looking down at the floor of the after deck where a blue tarpaulin was lashed across one side concealing the bags.
‘Nah, no one about this time of morning,’ he said, as we cleared the harbour entrance.
‘Won’t people notice you going out?’
‘Not really,’ he shrugged, ‘often make an early start to get out to where we need to. Don’t sweat it. It’s all OK. Just enjoy the ride.’
Out in the North Sea and away from the shelter of the land it was a bit rough for me. So enjoying the ride wasn’t really on my agenda.
About half an hour out Popeye cut the engines and came and joined me down below. ‘We’re far enough out now and it’s still dark so no one’ll see us, so I reckon we get on with it here, OK?’
‘OK by me,’ I said, ‘It’s your call. Lead on.’
Together with two of his guys, Popeye stripped back the tarpaulin and they quickly set about disposing of the bodies. The two guys picked up either end of one of the first of the sagging silent bags and balanced it in the middle on the boat’s rail while Popeye lifted the anchor up on its chain and played it down over the side and into the water. Then Popeye let go of the chain which immediately snatched at the bag, tugging it out of the guys’ hands and tipping it over the side and into the water with a splash before disappearing in a flurry of bubbles.
‘Very neat,’ I complimented Popeye, ‘You done this before?’
‘Occasionally,’ he grinned.
‘So, tonight he sleeps with the fishes.’
‘You watch too many films you do mate,’ Popeye said as he and his guys reached for the next bag.
Swiftly another three bags followed the first over the side leaving just one lying on the deck. But this one was different. This one was still moving.
I gave it a kick right about where I thought its kidneys would be, just to get its attention, and then squatted down on deck beside it as Popeye and his lads stood next to me.
‘Spud,’ I asked, ‘Spud, can you hear me?’
There was a groan from within the bag which I decided to take as a yes.
‘Spud, are you into ancient history?
‘I am,’ I continued without waiting for an answer, knowing that while he could hear me from within the bag where he lay trussed, with the gag of gaffa tape all he could make were muffled grunts and screams, ‘I’m really into the ancient Romans. I was going to do history at Uni. Did you know that? No I guess you didn’t.’
The guys picked up the mummified Spud by his shoulders and feet.
‘They were great. Really hard core at times when it came to dealing with people and very big on duty and loyalty. D’you know they had this penalty for patricide? That’s strictly not just someone killing their father but also someone who betrays their country or kills someone they should regard as sacred. Do you get that it’s sort of an extension of the father thing, so killing someone you ought to owe a duty of loyalty to is sort of the ultimate betrayal. So d’you know what they did with patricides?’
The bag was bucking frantically now in the guys’ hands as they began their swing and Spud writhed and struggled against his bonds.
‘One.’
‘They had them bound in a sack with a cock and a snake to symbolise their treachery and ingratitude, and then they were thrown into the Tiber to drown.’
‘Two.’
‘So what d’you think of that, eh Spud?’
‘Three.’
The lads reached the end of their last swing and with my nod they let go and the blue bag with the bound Spud suddenly went rigid as it arced over the side of the boat with what sounded like a terrified scream before landing in the water with a great splash, while simultaneously further astern Popeye heaved the attached weights over the side, the short linking anchor chain rattling as it rolled over the gunnels. The bag floated on the surface for a moment, thrashing about before the plunging weights jerked it momentarily upright and then pulled it down into the depths in a rush of bubbles.
No one spoke.
It was really ironic, I was imposing a punishment for betrayal on Spud for having taken out someone I’d gladly have done myself. Partly it was because I hated the wanker, but mainly it was to send a message, I wanted the word to get around how betrayal would be dealt with. I wanted to be feared.
We stayed out most of the day. Had to make it look like a real fishing trip after all.
Gut chopped all the vehicles over at the Boneyard. They’d never be seen again.
So we’d done what I’d sold to Gut and Popeye. A reverse takeover, us taking The Brethren’s charter rather than the other way round.
Now we had to make it work. We had to get back in business and quickly.
That evening I sent a message to Luis confirming safe receipt of the gear. I also asked him to begin to organise his next shipment. Later I would let Luis know that I was in charge of the operation but for now all he needed to know was that the route was working and we would be looking to take more as soon as it could be organised. After all Luis wouldn’t really care who his customer was so long as they paid and were reliable. Business was business.
I had Gut post Wibble’s bricks on as well as if nothing had happened. But in with each one went a note.
I told them to keep this address clear from now on so I could use it to contact them and that we would work out any other changes needed later. To confirm that we were still in business they were to pay fifteen pounds and eleven pence into the bank account, and if they wanted to talk, pay in stuff in a couple of lots to show me the digits of a phone number.
Fifteen pounds eleven pence came into the account banked as cash the following week.
They deducted it from their next payment, which was only fair I suppose.
*
‘Now what?’ asked Gut.
‘Now we wait.’
‘For what?’
‘A call.’
‘You think they’re gonna just call after this?
‘No. I know they’re gonna call.’
PART 5
24 September 1994 onwards
To take over a club you need skill and ability; or just plain luck; or you have to use force, either your own guys, or someone else’s.
Damage 2008
Chapter 12 – THE RECKONING
I heard the roar of the approaching bikes from way down the valley long before I saw them. And then I watched as the three Harleys appeared from between the trees and headed up the road that curled its way along beside the rocky bed of the river, before heading straight up the hill and leaving the
shelter of the valley below for the bleak exposure of the moorland where I stood waiting.
At the top of the hill, where the road crested the rise in a dip between the gently sloping higher ground on either side, opposite a small stone cross that marked the summit of the pass, there was a wide patch of bare earth that formed a car park for walkers in the summer. My bike was parked up against the low stone wall separating this from the rough ground beyond. Gut’s was beside it and he stood resting against the wall, behind me and a little way off to my right. In my hand I had a military walkie talkie that had come out of Dazza’s supplies.
‘Why’re you trusting Wibble?’ Gut asked as we waited, ‘he was Dazza’s guy after all and you had him jumped and smacked up? Dont’cha think he’ll bear a grudge?’
‘Nah Gut,’ I said without looking round, ‘Wibble’s OK, he’ll come round, you’ll see.’ I wasn’t going to tell Gut this but Wibble was probably the one guy I reckoned I could count on trusting the most. You can’t trust your friends who think you owe them, as much as your former enemies, who know you don’t, and who know they have to work harder for you to make up for it.
The three riders rumbled up the final rise and crested the top of the hill, rolling onto the uneven surface and coming to a halt opposite us.
The one in front was short and wiry. The two behind were obviously along as his bodyguards. They were hulking, large, and I would guess, armed to the teeth.
It hadn’t taken long for the call to come. And as we were going to have to do it sometime, I thought sooner rather than later.
I stood and waited as they kicked out their side stands and settled their bikes at rest as they killed the engines.
Polly pulled the lid off his short silver hair and perched it on the end of his bars.
Then, taking off his gloves, he dismounted and stepped towards me with his hand outstretched. His guys remained behind. Having slowly scanned the horizon and our surroundings, they slouched back against the seats of their bikes, watching us warily, jackets unzipped and thick arms folded across their chests.
Shoulder holsters, I assumed.
Well there was no point in fucking about I’d decided.
‘Hi, I’ve got something for you,’ I said cheerfully.
‘Oh really? What’s that then?’
I picked up an object draped across the dry stone wall and handed Dazza’s cut off to Polly.
He took it and held it up at arms’ length to inspect the bloody mess.
‘And there’s more where that came from,’ I added.
‘What, cuts or blood?’
‘Both.’
‘Unhuh,’ he seemed to consider his options for a moment, ‘Well colours are always club property so we’d better collect those in hadn’t we?’
He let his arm holding the cut off fall to his side. I knew without him saying anything he had seen that the ‘President’ title was missing from the front of Dazza’s colours and he had clocked that it was now sewn onto my chest of my colours.
‘Well,’ he said after a moment, ‘Just out of interest, what’s to stop us taking you out right now over this?’
I shrugged and lifted my hand with the walkie talkie, ‘That my guys on the hills with the rifles will take you out as well?’
He seemed to consider this and looked slowly to either side. It was a waste of time. Although I thought I knew where Popeye lay hiding, even I didn’t have a hope of seeing him. I had considered that he might think I was bluffing, but I didn’t think so. He would know that I wouldn’t be so stupid as to come to a meet like this without back-up.
‘OK, fair enough,’ he grinned, ‘So I guess the question is, do we have a problem?’
‘I don’t know. Do we have a problem?’
‘Not necessarily, I guess. Not if we don’t want to.’
I considered this. ‘Don’t suppose we do really.’
‘Well that’s good news,’ he seemed quite cheerful.
‘But before we go much further it seems to me that you’re missing something,’ he continued reaching into his pocket and pulling out a knife.
There was a tense urgent crackling question from the walkie talkie.
Polly caught the sound. Behind him, feeling the change in atmosphere his guys suddenly stiffened upright, hands reaching under their jackets. As if sensing this even though his back was to them, Polly held up his hand and there was a moment of stillness. For a moment it seemed as though everyone was holding their breath. His guys froze, hands not moving further under their jackets, but not moving them away either.
I lifted the walkie talkie to my mouth and pressed the send switch ‘It’s OK,’ I ordered into it, ‘it’s all under control.’
Polly and I exchanged looks. I nodded to him and he flicked the blade open. ‘It’s OK guys,’ he said over his shoulder, without actually turning round and with an exhale I saw their hands slide back out from under their jackets as they settled back carefully against their bikes.
Lifting up Dazza’s cut off, with a few strokes Polly had hacked The Bonesman patch from where it had been sewn on and held it out to me.
‘It seems to me that you are entitled to one of these now.’
I took the proffered badge and holding it between my thumb and forefinger looked at it for what seemed an age. Thinking I guess about how Dazza had earned it in the first place.
‘Yeah, I guess so,’ I said eventually, letting my arm fall to my side and gazing back impassively at Polly.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Just a bit surprised I guess.’
‘Surprised, what about?’
‘Just the attitude. I think I’d assumed you’d have more of an issue with the situation than you seem to have.’
Polly clicked his knife shut again and slipped it back into his pocket. He held Dazza’s cut off out behind him and one of his guards stepped forward to take it from him without a word, before retreating back to his bike. Polly shrugged as though the answer were obvious, which of course it was really.
‘Well it is what it is, ain’t it? You guys are the new reality aren’t you? It’s just survival of the fittest and all that. Why, what were you expecting me to do? Break down in tears for the dear departed?’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘Nah. You and me, we have business to discuss, and anyway, at least you didn’t put any holes in the colours,’ he grinned, ‘you’d get fined for that.’
‘Look I know what you’re thinking,’ he continued conversationally, ‘about The Duckies and all?’
‘It’s just it makes sense. Peace with The Rebels works. If you think about it, this way we make a cut on their sales, we each stay on our own patch, no bust ups to get the cops interested, and we all just quietly get on with making some serious dosh. It’s perfect, a great little scheme. The only potential problem was the ambition of the guy running it.’
‘I’m not an ambitious guy,’ I said, ‘I have what I want here.’
‘That’d be good for us, agreed Polly, ‘So now we have someone running what’s a sweet deal for everyone and we don’t have to worry about where you’re going to be trying to take it next. That works for me.
‘Don’t get me wrong. Dazza was good, he was smart, he was a good operator, but he also had his drawbacks. Some people thought he was getting too ambitious, and that’s something that you have to watch carefully. And he was becoming too high profile, too violent. Fucking up with The Rebels like that with your mate. It ended up that I had to speak to their main guy. He denied it was them that did it of course, but I told him that whatever, it stopped there anyway which he was OK with. Trouble is bad for business, we both know that. When there’s trouble it stops people earning so no one on either side wants a war or too much heat. It just gets in the way.
‘So down to business then. You have the stuff?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Dazza’s connections?’
‘Yes.’
‘So the route is safe and still works?’
‘Yes.’
‘And our money? Is that safe?’
Right, I thought, as Polly confirmed my suspicions. Even with his local dealing network and own international connections, I had always assumed Dazza wouldn’t have been able to fund and arrange this sized operation on his own. He would have had to have partners, people with access to serious cash to put up the seed money and the contacts and credibility in The Brethren’s international network to help him make the right connections to get this thing set up.
And Polly had been that partner.
‘It’s all still where I put it for Dazza.’ It did no harm in reminding him that I was the key to him accessing the cash that Dazza had been dealing in.
‘OK, so we have the outlets. So do we have a deal?’
‘Same deal as you had with Dazza?’
‘Same deal, same terms.’
‘Business?’
‘Just business.’
So it looked as though I was going to get a new silent partner as well.
‘OK, but on one condition.’
‘Yes? What’s that?’ he asked.
‘All the other Legion guys are in. No question about striker status. I’m talking about a straight patch over, full membership for all.’
He considered it and then nodded.
‘OK, I can wear that. We’ve seen what you can do. You’re obviously guys who need to be treated with respect. But I’ve got one condition as well.’
‘What’s that?’
‘This is a one-time offer. They take it now or they leave it and that’s it. Finito.’
That was fine by me. ‘OK, that’s fair enough.’
‘Now, do we have a deal?’ he asked.
‘Yes we have a deal,’ I told him, and we spread our arms and embraced in a backslapping hug.
‘Well, congratulations on making P,’ he said as we broke apart again, ‘it means you’ve stepped up. I have to say I always thought it might be you. So how’s it feel?’
‘Pretty good, but a big responsibility.’
‘Yeah, you’ve got that right. That’s the mistake guys make who just want it for the tab. It’s not just strutting your stuff, about being up front at runs, about having people kick back up to you. It’s more than that.’