The Chop Shop

by Heffernan, Christopher

  “Who's the mother of the boy?” Michael said.

  “Not us,” said the woman who had pulled the gun.

  “Jesus.”

  Jason stood up. “Hey, what the hell is wrong with you? You think you can just barge in here, beat me down and leave like nothing happened?”

  The toddler cried louder. Jason scooped him up in his arms and hushed him. He rocked the boy back and forth, holding him close to his chest. “It's okay, son. You don't need to worry; daddy's going to smoke these motherfuckers. You want to see daddy smoke them? Yeah, you do, don't you?”

  “Jason, the only thing you've smoked in this shit hole is illicit substances. Do you see this? This is a police identity card, and it means we can do whatever the fuck we want, because our employer also runs the tribunals in this area, and they're going to take one look at your stoned little face before they send you to clean up nuclear waste in the Midlands.

  “Jason junior here will be without a father then, and he'll either get sold by one of your crack whores for another hit or dumped in a rubbish bin to decompose,” Richard said.

  The toddler began to scream again, and Jason spat at them. “Look what you've done, fuck-face. Are you proud of yourself for kicking down doors and scaring kids? You ain't got nothing on me, so walk on out of here while you can and I'll forget the door.”

  Michael shook his head. “Are you doped up right now? You're in the middle of running your own drugs factory here, knocking up your druggie workers and probably supplying the entire estate here. Maybe your son will be better off dead so you can't turn him into another addict worker for your business.”

  Jason shoved the boy into the clutches of his women. He lunged forward, reaching for Michael's neck with both bony hands. Richard kicked him to the floor again.

  “Sit down. Your meth-head whores can go. We're not interested in them.”

  The women filed out of the room on cue, taking the child with them.

  Jason tried to sit up. “Hey, that's my son!”

  Richard pinned him down with a foot on the throat. “I have it on good authority that you sometimes roll with thugs from the B&S. Your esteemed associates have dropped off the radar of late, and we wish to know where they are.”

  “I don't know. I don't hang with them anymore,” Jason croaked.

  “Liar.” He put more weight onto Jason's throat.

  “Be careful you don't kill him,” Michael said.

  Jason twitched. He slapped at Richard's foot, and then tried to wriggle out from under it.

  “Let him go, Richard. He's going to choke to death.”

  Richard kept his foot down for another moment before backing off. His cheeks turned a faint shade of crimson as blood rushed to his face. He took a deep breath and walked out of the lounge.

  Jason was still wheezing for breath when Michael knelt down beside him. “I recommend that you start talking, or this is going to get even more unpleasant than it already is. We'll haul you into the station if you keep going down this road, and then you’ll get five minutes in front of a tribunal before they ship you off to join a chain gang cleaning up radioactive waste. Take a minute to think about that.”

  He lay limp on the ground, licked his lips and sighed. “And what happens if I did some digging and found out where they were? You still gonna haul me before your kangaroo court?”

  “That really depends on what you do afterwards. This dump is in a bad enough state without you peddling all your filth to the inhabitants. Ditch the drug dealing or ditch your freedom.”

  “So how the hell am I going to survive, huh? There are no jobs around here. It's make drugs and keep everyone around here happy, or starve to death. Half the time I'm just bartering with them for food. Life's real cushy for you and your kind. You ain't even a real police officer; you're just another prick come to lord it over us before you crawl back into your nice little gated community.”

  Michael stood up. He sniffed the air and felt a dizziness come over him. “You're not the only one up the creek without a paddle. No drugs, that's the terms of the deal. You've got two minutes to decide, and don't even think about screwing us, because we'll be coming to check on you again at some point. And get rid of this shit before you blow the entire place up.”

  He made it into the hallway before Jason shouted after him.

  “Wait! Wait! Deal!”

  He came back into the lounge, snatching a notebook and ballpoint pen from his pocket. “I want the address for your friends.”

  “Feltham. Let me write it down for you,” Jason said. He scribbled the street name and building number in barely legible handwriting. “There's some houses in that part, yeah? It's the one at the curve in the road. You'll know it when you see it.”

  “Don't forget our deal.”

  Michael found Richard outside, leaning on the balcony. The three druggies were waiting at the other end by the staircase. They puffed away on cigarettes, one still holding the toddler under her arm like a handbag made of human skin.

  “You all right?” Michael said.

  “I got carried away, it's nothing. Did you get what we needed?” Richard said.

  “Yeah, I don't know how we're going to do it, though. I don't like it, either. These guys sound like they've been around the block for a while, if you know what I mean? It's not an issue of efficiency, they're just providing us with the manpower needed to keep the streets clean. They used to bust gangs with platoons, not a couple of guys in an IFV.”

  “Right, right, I hear you, but I just want to keep my job so I don't end up in a hell hole like this. If hammering these guys is what it takes, then so be it.”

  Jason stepped out behind them. “Hey,” he said to the women. “Get back in here. Me and these pigs are done.”

  “I want another hit,” the one with the baby said.

  He glanced at Michael. “Nuh-uh. We can't do that anymore. I'll come up with a new plan, something else. I'll sort it all out.”

  “You're such a little pussy, Jason. Two guys kick down the door and your balls shrivel up.”

  He scowled at the woman before clicking his fingers at her. “Come here. Me and you are going to have words, bitch. I made you what you are. I've given you everything, and this is how you repay me? Come on, get over here. Give me my son.”

  “You should take this conversation in doors before it gets ugly,” Richard said.

  The woman stuck her middle finger up at him. “Fuck you, rentacop. And you, Jason. I'm sick of you and your little toy here. You want him back? You can go and fetch him.”

  She tossed the toddler over the balcony.

  “Bloody hell,” Private Ganders said. He stared down at the five corpses.

  “You've said that how many times now?” Richard said.

  “I've just never heard of anybody throwing a bloody toddler off the twentieth floor of a building before. And those people over there keep looking at us like we're their dinner for tonight. Maybe they're cannibals.”

  Michael shrugged. “I don't know. People around here have to eat something.”

  “There's a lot of stray dogs about. Maybe they eat them,” Richard said.

  “And the dogs probably eat the dead,” Ganders said.

  A group of youths on bicycles gathered at the edge of the muddy field, faces half hidden by hoodies and scarves.

  “They're sizing us up for sure. We should just light them up. God damn gang territory.”

  “Shut up already. Go and sit in the vehicle if it's too much. You sure find a lot of trouble, Detectives. What happened here?” Corporal Hill said.

  “Corporal, I don't even want to write the fucking report for this, let alone try to explain. I think this one is best left off the records,” Michael said.

  A Molotov cocktail shattered ten meters short of their position and spread fire across the ground. Another followed, but missed again.

  “Your call. Did you get what we needed?” Hill said.

  Michael flashed him the page in his notebook. “It'
s right smack bang in the middle of some very bad areas. Somebody from the station could've come along at any time and turned this guy over, but nobody has until now, right when we're absolutely desperate to get something done.”

  “We are a little understaffed,” Richard said.

  “A little? You're joking. We're grabbing at straws. Look, no more Assurer contract, no more job. There are people out there just looking to shaft us. This thing here spits 40mm shells. We'll find away,” Hill said, slapping the side of the infantry fighting vehicle.”

  A policeman fired a tear gas canister at the youths. They cycled off as soon as the gas began to disperse.

  “I'll tell you what, we roll up short of gang territory, scout the place out a bit and then move in for a quick snatch and grab. Do it right, and we'll be in and out before the whole place comes down on our heads.”

  “Whatever we pin on them has to stick, okay? I don't want to go into the station later on and find you've written them up for making chemical weapons and planning terrorist attacks across London,” Michael said.

  “Relax, you worry too much. My section and I have this in hand; just follow our lead and it'll be fine.”

  Fire engulfed one of the corpses, and then spread to another.

  “Ah, Christ,” Richard muttered. He pinched his nose. “How do you intend to scout the area out in police uniforms, Hill? Are you going to go up to their fort, ring their fucking doorbell and ask them if they'd like to answer some questions?”

  “Nah, that'll be Michael's job. You've got just the right look, Mike. You look like enough of a pussy not to be a threat. They'll see you and probably won't even care.”

  “I'm dressed in a suit. They'll see me and think I look like a banker with money in my pocket, and then they'll try and rob me.”

  “These guys we're going after are hardcore; they've had their fingers in a lot of drugs and other imports. They bring them in along abandoned railway lines and tunnels. Nimble little tossers as well. They're always gone by the time somebody tries to nab them in the act. Maybe they hear the rumble of the vehicles or have lookouts, I don't know, but they like to leave a grenade in a tin every now and again as well.

  “It's doing everybody a favour getting rid of them. Come on, let's go. It's starting to get hairy. Follow behind us.”

  Chapter 11.

  They parked five streets away from the address, stopping the infantry fighting vehicle inside an alley just big enough to accommodate it. Michael left his car on the corner, and their group met up just outside the alley, under the blinding light of a lamp mounted on the wall.

  “You look nervous,” Corporal Hill said. “Don't.”

  “I won't,” Michael said.

  “But you already do. You need to chill out before you soak your shirt through with sweat. It looks suspicious, otherwise. One look at you and these gang bangers will smell the stench of law enforcement, and they'll bag you before we can get close.”

  Michael frowned. “I'm sorry, Corporal, but making reconnaissance runs on my own into gang territory is not an activity I usually carry out, now get off my case.”

  “I'm just trying to keep you alive.”

  “We've both given you a long leash to run on, and we've let you call the shots, but don't get ahead of yourself. If things go wrong, I want you to get me the fuck out of there ASAP, got it?”

  Corporal Hill nodded. “I understand. Don't worry, we'll keep you covered.”

  Richard clicked his fingers together. “You've got to hand over your identity, Mike. The front pocket of your coat isn't exactly a choice hiding place; it's safer this way.”

  Michael handed it over.

  “Okay, you've got five minutes to get in there, scout the place out and get back to us. Stay on the main street. If you're not back in five, we'll come after you,” Hill said.

  “Good luck,” Richard said.

  Michael started walking. His spine was rigid with fear, and sweat formed in the crevices of his palms. Some of the houses and flats had lights on inside, silhouettes moving now and again behind net curtains.

  He passed a few boarded up corner shops and takeaways. A street light flicked on and off ahead of him, and the road was blocked by a barricade of rusting cars and rotting rubbish, with just enough space in the middle for him to pass through. Wild dogs roamed the shadows, sniffing at his trouser leg as he continued onto the house.

  The houses here had been converted into smaller flats. Radio antennae protruded upwards from the roof, and barbed wire fencing surrounded the perimeter, laced with electrical wires and lit by the few street lights that still functioned.

  He saw the address given to him, as well as the gang member standing by the front door as he smoked a cigarette. A 9mm pistol protruded from the tops of his trousers. Yellow light escaped from behind the curtains, and the ground pulsed with the vibrations of electronic music blaring from a stereo inside.

  Michael kept on walking, looking for the next turn in the road that would allow him to double back. Another barricade blocked his path, but there was no way through this one. He turned around, saw a face peering down at him from a second floor window.

  Three men came forward from the shadows. Michael reached for his gun.

  “Drop it,” the one in a grey sweatshirt said, pointing his own weapon at Michael's head, gang banger style.

  Michael raised his hands to the air. They moved closer and snatched the weapon from its holster. The one in the sweatshirt walked with a cocky swagger and wore an ugly frown on his face. His crew cut was just beginning to grow back.

  “Yeah, come on, Sunshine. What do you want? Don't you know whose neighbourhood this is?”

  The others searched his pockets. They took his wallet and keys, and the one in the sweatshirt frowned. “You've got a gun, money and you can afford clothes, but no identity? I smell bullshit.”

  Michael tasted bile in the back of his throat. “I'm in the area on business.”

  “Business? You've got fuck all on you.” He looked back to the house. “Yo, Ben. Get out here, mate, I've got some dick causing problems.”

  The gang member by the door went inside and returned with another in tow, dressed in a navy blue tracksuit and wearing his hair in dreadlocks. They walked forward with that same old swagger, bouncing from foot to foot in their trainers.

  Ben toyed with the .45 in his hand. “What does he want?”

  The man in the sweatshirt grabbed a handful of Michael's hair and dragged him forwards. “Said he's in the area on business. I say it's bullshit. He's got nothing on him but a gun, two magazines and a wallet. Check the holster, it's proper made.”

  “Really?” Is that so?” Ben said. “You've got to be fucking stupid to wander around here. Everyone knows this is a no go area if you ain't paying protection, Blood.”

  Michael's heart pounded. He tried to breathe, but his breath came only in starts and stops, like he was being suffocated.

  “He looks like he's about to piss himself,” the one in the sweatshirt said. “What do we do with him?”

  “Take him inside. I smell a rat, and if there's a hit coming down on us, then I want to know.”

  “Jason sent me. Like I said, I'm here on business,” Michael said.

  “Oh yeah, Blood?” Ben said, looking towards the other end of the street. He lingered for a moment, watching, waiting, listening, and then he turned his attention back to Michael. “He never mentioned you.”

  “That's because you haven't spoken to him for months. I've hooked him up with drugs now and then, but he's a small player. He hasn't got the cash to touch the stuff I'm dealing of late,” Michael said.

  “I know Jason, and that faggot tells a lot of lies. It's why we don't speak no more. Says one thing to your face, another behind your back. He knocks up so many skanks that the world will be populated and run by his brood. You know that freak increase in population a year ago? That was probably because of him.”

  “Then you'll be happy to know he's dead.”

&nbs
p; Ben nodded. “Somehow that doesn't surprise me. He should have ended up dead in an alley years ago. How did it happen?”

  “An argument with his harem over drugs. It got messy real quickly. They tossed his son off the balcony and stabbed him in the heart. I put them down with my .45 before they turned the knife on me.”

  Ben spat a mouthful of saliva onto the ground. “Yeah, that figures. That boy was always going to get himself shanked sooner or later. Take him inside. I still don't trust him.”

  They kept a gun jammed against the back of Michael's head, forcing him to go first. The music played louder inside, and the air was thick with the smell of dope and drugs. They'd piled a stack of stolen goods up against one of the walls, and his ears began to ache from the noise.

  The gang put him in the lounge, where mice droppings lay scattered across the wooden floorboards. He looked up at the poster on the wall, showing some glamour model with an orange tan, draped over the front of a sports car in her bikini.

  “Tell me something, Blood. Say you're legit and we don't skin you alive. What can you offer us? Guns? Drugs? We make our own drugs, you know,” Ben said.

  “I'm looking for a seller for some products. I provide you with the stuff, you sell it on the streets for a cut of the revenue,” Michael said.

  They locked the door and left him alone in the room. He listened as the footsteps trailed off, and then moved to the window. He looked out onto the street, empty except for two foxes fighting each other over a scrap of rotting pork chop.

  Something moved at the barricade, and Hill's section slipped through the gap, keeping to the shadows as they advanced in a column. Michael tried to wave at them through the window, but they didn't see him.

  Trainers on the floorboards outside. Michael moved away from the window. Ben and the man in the sweatshirt opened the door, and they beckoned for him to come forward.

  “This way. We're going to deal,” Ben said.

  They stepped out into the hallway and went up a staircase into the other flat. Ben pushed him forward. Four others were waiting inside, and they grabbed him by the arms and pinned him against the wall. One patted him down.