by Robert White
I took a deep breath.
“So… Yunfakh got to you and you sold us down the river. I hope they are paying you well, Estelle. I mean, Des would have given his life to save your brother, Sean.”
“No relation, actually. Just a kid Tony wanted out of the way. He’s a tad upset about the Melons boys, though. Proper little killing machines, aren’t you? Wind you up, feed you a titbit or two and off you go. But you got sloppy, impatient. Maybe because you were being pushed too hard from the other side. I bugged your offices, you know? It was so easy. Quite exciting, really. I mean, after all, you left me to my own devices day in day out. It was you who told me Rick was in Ireland. Don’t you remember? Then from the moment you all returned, it was easy. I played the damsel in distress; you discussed your plans in the back office and I recorded everything. Did you really think that my Tony would have led you here so easily?”
I snorted.
“Your Tony? That’s rich. He just wants you for what you can give him. Information, so it can be fed back to the big players.”
“The biggest,” she said proudly.
“You’re a silly little girl, Estelle. You’ve chosen the wrong side.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
I changed the subject, “Is your square headed friend not worried where his best pal Arti is?”
I risked a glance in her direction and saw her face fall.
“I’ll give you a clue,” I said. “He’s at home watching his kiddie porn… Well, that’s not quite true as he has half his head missing, but the cops should be there by now, scrolling through his laptop and bagging up the coke in the safe. I’ll wager your boyfriend’s prints are all over that gear, Estelle.”
“That’s enough!” shouted a new voice.
I heard uneven footsteps and gathered that it was the guy with the limp, the guy in the suit. “Step away from the prisoners. No talking,” he shouted.
I heard Estelle’s heels click across the concrete floor, and I was left with the bitter taste of betrayal in my mouth.
Rick Fuller’s Story:
So, Cartwright was right about one thing. We did have a traitor close to us. Sometimes life surprises you, no matter how experienced you are. One thing was for sure, this job had gone about as pear shaped as it was possible to be. And maybe Estelle was right, we were pushed too hard, too quickly and should have seen this coming. But you know what? A traitor is a traitor, and I knew if I got the opportunity, I wouldn’t bat an eye at slotting young Miss Ryan.
As it turned out, I didn’t have much time to stew on that little snippet, as within minutes there was a frenzy of activity.
One of the players was arriving.
I heard weapons being made ready and orders were barked. Our guard was doubled to two. All the team that had taken us were ex-military, no doubt. The boys watching over the Mercs and the front door, looked like bruisers, probably trusted Big C Securities employees, just like Mickey had been. But the team that snatched us, were well drilled, they had trained together and had practised those techniques.
However, who they actually worked for was another question.
I heard a big heavy vehicle, its fat tyres slowing on the tarmac outside the unit. Doors opened and closed and then the place was silent. Then I heard the stilted footsteps of the man that Mickey believed was Eddie Fisher. They sounded ever quieter as he disappeared from the inside of the building. He was about to meet and greet one of the two players. One of the two we were here to kill.
“Boss,” I heard him say.
“Eddie,” said yet another Scottish brogue. “Good job, pal. The Jester said you were a man to be trusted.”
So, at least some of our intel was good, eh?
Those same footsteps grew ever closer and I could just tell that the new visitor’s interest had turned to us.
“A bigger crew than we expected,” said the Scottish voice.
“They were no problem,” said Eddie smugly. “Your boy’s were first class.”
“Aye, quality is worth the money, pal. Where is Kenny, by the way?”
“He’s with the rest of his crew, up at the entrance, waiting for our man.”
“Good idea,” said the Scot. “Never trust an Arab. That’s what my old man said.”
He was very close, now. He stank of fags but tried to cover it with aftershave. He was a heavy smoker and there was the slightest wheeze in his chest.
“Turn them around,” he said. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
I felt a tap on my right shoulder, “Turn,” said the voice.
As I did so, I was met by three men. One of the elite team, who remained masked and hooded. Eddie Fisher, who was indeed a very tall and slender man with a shock of white hair, and finally, a small wiry man in his forties.
He wore a Ted Baker suit, dressed down with a polo from the same label. I had to say, I was very taken with his brogues and had to force myself not to ask him where he’d bought them from. He sported a tan and despite his bad habit, looked fit enough, but spoiled the whole look with a shocking haircut.
He approached me but remained sensibly out of reach.
“You must be the first prize in the raffle, eh?” he said, smiling smugly.
He raised his brows, “Mr Fuller, I believe. Richard Edward Fuller, once of Her Majesty’s Special Air Service and now a dark operations mercenary for MI6. Am I right? What did you think of my little team, eh? Kenny’s boys are tip top don’t ye think? The best money can buy.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
The guy wrinkled his nose at that, like a father would to a guileless child.
“Ye never know when you’re beat, eh, pal? I like that in a man, and I have to say, you have caused me a wee problem or two recently. Still, all’s well that ends well, and Abdallah will be eternally grateful for his gift… Next,” he said.
Mickey Forrest was turned. Fisher was the first to speak. “Silly boy, Mickey. What were you thinking? Didn’t we look after you when you were on your arse?”
“One of yours?” asked The Scot.
Fisher nodded.
The smaller man stepped in. “We’ll just have to make a wee example of you then, eh, pal? Treachery is a terrible thing… It must be stamped out. Now, let’s have a look at the wee lassies.”
The masked guard tapped Victoria, then Lauren on the shoulder. Both girls turned.
“My, my,” said the Scot appreciatively. “I have to say, Fuller, you have excellent taste in comrades. But ye know what I think? I reckon you should have picked men for this wee job. Maybe they would have put up more of a fight, eh?”
Victoria gave him a beaming smile. “If you’d care to step outside, darling, find a patch of grass to roll around on, I’ll show you who can fight.”
“Oh, a feisty wee bitch, eh?” said the Scot, then gestured towards Victoria’s swollen eye. “Looks like ye mouth has got in a wee bit of bother already, hen.”
She touched her face. “Oh this little thing? Yes, your pal Jonas thought he was a hard man too, darling. You know, your paedophile chum? He won’t be joining you today, however, he’s… indisposed. Part of his head is missing. So, I’m all yours… if you want to try your luck.”
“He wouldn’t last five minutes,” added Lauren. “With either of us.” She sneered at our VIP, “Go on, try it, where’s your bottle?”
“He’s got no bottle, darling,” said Victoria, the smile gone from her face. “You can see that from here. Small man syndrome.”
“Cock to match, I’ll bet,” said Lauren.
Now, exactly why the girls wanted to get a rise out of our Scottish chum was beyond me. As far as I was concerned, we were in no position to make a run for it, or start a fight for that matter, but it was funny.
The Scot with the worst haircut since Kenny G, went close to purple.
&nbs
p; “Fucking English slags the pair of you. Ye willnea be laughing when ye get handed over to the Yunfakh boys. They haven’t had a shag in months.”
He got just a little too close to Victoria and pointed his finger.
“Ye’ll do some rolling around then ye wee…”
She was like a rattlesnake. Her right hand shot out and grabbed the solitary digit. There was the unmistakable sound of a joint popping and the Scot cried out in pain.
The guard closest to me lifted his AK, but Sellers had pulled the screaming Scot in close and he had no chance of making the shot. I slammed my elbow into the guy’s face and made a grab for his weapon. This was not a time to be restrained. Selecting fully auto I sprayed the unit with 7.62. Indiscriminate, gut height.
Two bruisers standing by the Mercs, fell wounded, screaming in pain, and the rest of the brave boys from Big C, scattered like pigeons without letting off a single round.
Funny that, eh?
Spinning around, I took the second of our guards out with a single shot. He went down holding his throat. As he fell, I twisted back again, pointed the weapon downwards, and put two in the guy I’d taken the gun from.
I couldn’t believe it, but we were in business.
Sellers had the Scot in a choke hold and was using him as a human shield walking backwards, dragging him kicking and shouting threats. However, he was finding out just how strong and determined she was. She rummaged in his suit pockets with her free hand, found an SLP and slotted Fisher where he stood. The third elite guard had moved to get in behind Sellers and take a shot, but Des dropped him with a single punch, stripped him of his AK and put a round in his skull.
The Scot gave me a look that I didn’t quite understand, but I could see that he was extremely pissed off with something or someone. One thing I did know, however, was that when Desmond Cogan was in a bad mood, things were going to get extremely messy.
Tony Jacket had proved not to be as heroic as his appearance might have suggested and, he and Estelle Ryan were running for the exit. Des went after them, stopped beside one of the Mercs, set himself, and shot them both in the back.
Mickey Forrest had sprinted over to the two wounded Big C boys and collected a Remington pump and a revolver. He then calmly slotted them both where they lay and other than the choking noises coming from our prisoner, the unit went eerily quiet.
I knew it wouldn’t last long.
“Weapons and ammunition check,” I shouted. “Then on me… behind the Mercs, get tucked in.”
Kenny, and the remainder of the elite team were rounding up the boys that had scattered and were regrouping outside, but they now had a major problem. We had cover behind the cars, and they would have to cross open ground to get to us. Lauren skirted around the dead bodies and collected spare mags. Her efforts also gave us two further SLP’s.
We had firepower, position, and a very important Scottish guest.
I felt that good, I went over to him and asked him where he bought his fucking shoes.
Des Cogan’s Story:
I couldnea believe my eyes. I mean, as I’d faced the wall, listening in, I thought I’d recognised the voice, but I told myself I was wrong.
Victoria Sellers was choking none other than my old pal, Jimmy McCreery. I walked over to him. He was still spitting mad and struggling. Sellers simply held her SLP to his head and shushed him.
“Let him go,” I said.
Sellers gave me a quizzical look. “Cogan?”
“I mean it, Victoria, let him be.”
She released her hold on Jimmy, stepped back and immediately raised her weapon into the aim.
“Just give me an excuse, small boy,” she said.
McCreery stood rubbing his neck and his wounded pride. He glared at Sellers.
“This isn’t over, hen. Not by a long way.”
Then he looked me in the eye. It took him a moment, after all, it had been twenty five years and some. “Des? Des Cogan?”
I nodded.
He snorted. “Well, fuck me, ain’t this a turn up fer the books, eh?”
Rick was straight in, “Who the fuck is this guy?”
I didnea take my eyes from him. “
This is John James McCreery, mate. We lived in the same street as kids. The last time I saw him…”
“The last time he saw me,” blurted Jimmy. “Desmond here, was saving my life.”
I shook my head. “I reckon you would have made it without me son.”
There was a hive of activity going on outside behind me, vehicles being moved, orders being barked. I pointed at Jimmy. “And I reckon that’s enough small talk, for now… tell me, fe old time’s sake if ye like, how long before Al-Mufti gets here?”
“Any minute,” he said, then holding his palms out, took on a conciliatory tone.
“Look, Des. We go a long way back, eh? Ye cannea win this one. Kenny and his boys will walk through your lot like a knife through butter. Abdallah with come with a crew, you’ll be outnumbered four maybe five to one. The Arab won’t leave here without his money or your pal, Fuller there.”
“So what’s your suggestion then, Jimmy?” I asked.
He looked about him. “Give yer man up to Abdallah, and the rest of ye can walk out. A free pass. Ye have my word. Fe what ye did fer me all them years back. Fer old time’s sake.”
I couldnea help but smile.
“Ye seem to have come a long way, since ye took that lump of resin as payment fer fixing yer man’s motor, eh? Ye moved up fast. I mean, that’s what got ye shot back in Glasgow. And now, ye have a slice of three cities, I hear. Three cities and yer own wee private army.”
“I got that idea from you, Des. I read books on it. What were the best regiments for street fighting, house to house combat, ye know? Then I met Kenny. He’s one of your guys, an ex Para. I gave him a lump of money and he did the rest. The best cash I ever spent. No one fucks with me, in fact, they don’t even know I exist anymore.”
I felt a wry smile spread. “Y’know when ye was reading all those books about the army, like, did ye read any chapters on tactics?”
“I didnea need to, Kenny he… “
“Ah, the mighty, Kenny. Well, Jimmy, let me point out a few wee things to ye. Right now, yer main man out there will be shitting himself. He’s only got three or four of his own guys left standing. The rest are a rag tag mob of bouncers who shit themselves and did a Seb Coe towards Stockport as soon as the first gun went bang.
Al-Mufti’s crew will be more concerned about keeping their boss alive and the coke safe than looking after you.
As for us, we have cover, we have weapons and ammunition, and we have you. Kenny can make as many barricades as he likes, but to get to you and the money, which I presume is in one of these motors here, he’s going to have to cross that yard out there, and that, Jimmy, is fucking suicide.”
As if to prove my point, a member of the elite team was skirting around one of the vehicles the boys had placed as a barricade, and Lauren picked him off with a single shot. He fell and didn’t move.
“See what I mean, pal? We can do this all day.”
I stepped in close.
“And if you ever suggest that I give up my best mate to that scumbag Al-Mufti again, I’ll cut your fucking throat myself and laugh while you bleed out. Am I clear, son?”
He was.
I nodded at Sellers and pointed towards a small portacabin at the back of the unit. “You and Mickey find something to tie this fool up with and shove him in there.”
She managed a smile. “Feeling masterful today, Cogan? I could get quite used to it.”
I gave her a look and she and Mickey dragged Jimmy away.
Sidling up alongside Rick and Lauren, I checked what I had left in the mag of my AK. They were in cover behind one of the Mercs, watching proceedings.
“You ha
ve the nicest friends,” said Lauren.
“Should’ve seen the rest of the boys in my class, hen,” I countered. “Any sign of Al-Mufti?”
“The lead guy has just done one up towards the entrance,” said Rick. “I reckon he’s here, and I can’t wait to see him.”
He looked over to the back wall, “With that in mind, are those fire doors secure?”
“I’ll check them the now,” I said. And off I went.
Lauren North’s Story:
I looked out at our enemy’s makeshift barricades. A mixture of vehicles and old pallets. Kenny and his men seemed to be preparing for some kind of last stand.
“Do you think, they’ll try and attack us?” I asked.
Rick had his AK to his shoulder, elbows on the bonnet of the Merc. As he took in all the movements outside, he nodded.
“They don’t have any choice. But they won’t try it until Al-Mufti and his men are in position. He’ll take control of proceedings.”
I took a deep breath.
“This really is the last one, isn’t it, Rick? I mean, from now on, it’s me and you?”
He looked over at me and smiled. “I promise,” he said. “But we have to see Al-Mufti dead, or we can never rest.”
Right on cue, two of the bouncer types that had taken cover behind the barricade opened up in our direction and small calibre stuff clattered around the cars and bounced off the concrete floor.
Rick returned two short bursts and dropped one of them.
Des appeared at my side.
“Those fire doors are secure, and they’d take some opening. They’d need explosives to do it quickly and I can’t see Kenny risking that with his boss in here.”
Rick fired another burst and dropped the second bruiser.
“No, but Al-Mufti won’t be quite so precious about it. If he can walk away with me, the money and his coke, he’s on a winner. There’s no honour amongst thieves, pal. If Al-Mufti’s crew have grenades or C4, they could fight us on two fronts, and we could be in the shit again.”
“Aye,” said Des, thoughtfully. He turned to Mickey Forrest. “Hey, pal. Can you drive a forklift?”