Crunch Time

by Nick Oldham

  ‘Yuh.’

  Ingram raised his eyebrows at Henry, then his hand appeared from his pocket, a neatly folded tenner between his first and second fingers which he held towards Henry. ‘My shout,’ he said, with a supercilious grin. He sat down opposite Costain and shooed Henry away with a flick of the hand. Henry scuttled off like a cockroach to the counter, his face set hard, inwardly swearing as he waited for the coffees to be filtered. He watched the two men in deep conversation about him.

  Suddenly both their faces snapped round to look at him.

  Henry gave them a little wave.

  It is often the case in undercover police operations that a well briefed and trusted source, or informant, introduces the undercover cop to the target criminal. It is less usual for an informant to be brought into the scenario at a later stage, but this is what was happening that day, and Henry was finding it just a little on the arse-twitching side.

  He knew the situation was fraught with danger. As he collected the three coffees and placed them on a tray, his mind quickly considered whether this was a good idea or not, especially with someone as untrustworthy as Troy Costain, local Blackpool villain, hard man, drug dealer and, unknown to the population at large, Henry Christie’s snout.

  The Costain family ruled life on a Blackpool council estate called Shoreside. A ragtag bunch of misfits, proudly boasting they were descended from Romany gypsies, they terrorized, intimidated, robbed, burgled; in fact they did anything that meant a profit came in their direction. Old man Costain and his grossly fat wife, Trace, had settled in Spain and Troy, the eldest son, had inherited the family crown, but he had no strategic ideas and couldn’t control the youngsters and couldn’t even distance himself from the sharp end of criminality. He saw himself as a Godfather, but because it was in his blood to be part of day-to-day thieving and dealing, he would never run a true criminal empire.

  Henry had been involved with the Costain clan for many years. He had met Troy when the little crim was no more than a spotty, gangly teenager who, it transpired, despite the boasts and bravado, lived in terror of being thrown into a cell. His claustrophobia was something Henry had used ruthlessly to his advantage ever since.

  Troy had provided Henry with a lot of good information since, once resulting in a year when Henry locked up over sixty people on the back of Troy’s say-so.

  In reality, Henry should have declared Troy as an informant and got him properly registered under the new system. That would have meant Troy being allocated a handler and a controller from the Intelligence Unit and being taken away from Henry for ever. So, wrongly, Henry had kept him under wraps – like a true detective – so he could use all the information for himself. The situation could have backfired, but so far – Henry touched the Formica-topped tray as a wood substitute – other than a few ups and downs, Henry had managed to keep a grip on Troy, but he knew the writing was on the wall.

  As he paid for his coffee with Ingram’s ten-pound note, he decided that if he got through today’s trauma, he would turn Troy over to the intel boys and wipe his hands of the little twat. The only problem with that, though, was Henry knew Troy would dry up as a source, which would be a terrible shame.

  Henry glanced across the café. Costain and Ingram talked earnestly, heads close together. They laughed at something.

  Henry’s mind went back to the previous day when he’d approached Costain.

  It was the morning after the night before, the night when he had almost knocked on the door of Premier Inn room 26 and, erection permitting, would have (he imagined) had terrific sex with Andrea Makin. At the last moment he had veered away and returned to the apartment on Salford Quays, ignoring the barrage of texts that landed on his mobile phone from the scorned Andrea Makin. Instead he called up a sleepy Kate, who was ecstatic to hear from him, and told her how much he loved and missed her. Having found out she was safe and sound, he climbed into bed with a superior grin on his face and had a much needed sleep, waking refreshed and ready for action – in every regard.

  As expected, his mobile phone, which he had switched to silent, had over a dozen missed calls on it and an equal number of unread texts, but no voice messages left. He deleted all the texts without reading them.

  He switched the mobile ring tone back on and immediately it rang. It was a very frosty Andrea Makin.

  ‘You didn’t come,’ she said flatly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s it, then?’

  ‘That was the deal.’

  Silence, then, ‘Plans for today?’

  ‘Fix up tomorrow’s meeting. I need to get back to Blackpool to sort it out.’

  ‘Let me know how it pans out.’ Click – call ended, connection cut.

  Henry looked at the phone and gave a short chuckle, then decided to forgo breakfast in the flat. He had to get on the road, make sure he wasn’t being followed. He picked up the Nissan from the underground garage and meandered his way across Salford on to the A56, found a McDonald’s, where he parked up and had a sausage and egg McMuffin breakfast with a cup of coffee. He snaffled a Daily Express from the rack and took about twenty minutes over the meal, constantly watching the toing and froing of people and vehicles. Nothing roused his suspicions. He continued the journey up through Prestwich to the big motorway roundabout that was junction 17 of the M60. He circled it twice, then accelerated down the slip road on to the motorway, a plume of oily purple smoke blowing out of the exhaust in a very worrying way. Within a few minutes he was crossing on to the M61, heading west, fumbling with his mobile to make a few calls whilst driving.

  Troy Costain laughed uproariously. Henry waited patiently for the mirth to subside.

  ‘You want me to help you?’

  ‘In a nutshell.’

  Costain sneered. ‘I don’t think so, Henry.’

  Henry’s face hardened. ‘It’ll be worth your while.’

  ‘Bollocks, Henry. I’ve paid my dues to you in spades.’

  ‘Troy,’ he said with patience, ‘that will never be the case. You did one very bad thing to me and whilst we might have drawn a line under it and you did provide a bit of assistance in clearing up a job, it will always be there emotionally for me.’ Henry placed his hand over his heart. ‘You robbed my dear old mother, remember?’

  Costain gulped. ‘We made a deal over it.’

  ‘Maybe so, but what you did still hurts me here and reminds me what a piece of shite you are.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair, Henry.’

  ‘Anyone who goes about conning vulnerable old people is scum, Troy, let’s face it.’

  ‘We did a trade for that, and I told you I was sorry. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known it was your mum.’

  ‘You’d have done it to someone else’s, though.’ Henry took a breath and steadied himself. ‘Look, we can go in circles here. Either you give me a chuck up, or you don’t, but if you don’t, I’ll feed you to the wolves. Bottom line.’

  ‘Whaddya mean by that?’

  ‘Work it out, pal. If you don’t help me, I’ve no further use for you.’ Henry stared him out.

  They had met, reluctantly on Costain’s part, on the sea front at Lytham St Annes, near to the windmill on the green. They had walked across to Lowther Gardens where they were now seated in the café. Henry was getting weary of meeting people and he suddenly thought that the sooner this assignment was over, the better. The tediousness of such jobs had been sidelined in his memory, which had selectively recalled the excitement and the danger, not the ennui. He sighed, waiting for Troy’s response.

  ‘You always have the upper hand, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m a cop, you’re a criminal – and a crap one at that. So, yes, obviously, I have.’

  ‘What’s the job then?’

  Which left Henry with an afternoon free on his home turf after he’d got Costain’s signature on the necessary paperwork.

  As soon as he had thoroughly briefed Costain and they had parted company, Henry strolled into Lytham town c
entre and booked a room for the night at the County Arms. This done, he dialled Kate’s mobile number from one of the hotel phones.

  ‘Kate Christie,’ she answered. Henry knew she would be at work.

  ‘Kate Christie,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘now listen very carefully …’ He heard her stifle a giggle. ‘Whether or not you are busy at work, you are now required to take the rest of the day off – no ifs, no buts – then you will immediately drive down to the County Hotel in Lytham and go straight up to room—’ Henry fumbled for the key fob and read her the number. ‘Here a naked man will be waiting for you to give you some red-hot sex, followed by an evening of delight and further debauchery at the hot spots of Lytham St Annes. Probably followed by more red-hot sex.’

  ‘May I go home first and collect … certain belongings?’

  ‘Only if they happen to be a change of clothing, a Basque, suspenders and a change of clothing for me, too.’

  ‘One hour.’

  ‘I’ll be there with a rose between my teeth.’

  Henry hung up slowly, a dirty, crooked smile on his face, and hoped to hell his plumbing would not let him down.

  Ingram and Costain watched Henry approach with the drinks. He placed the tray carefully down and slid it on to the table.

  ‘You look worried, Frank,’ Ingram observed. Henry shrugged, shook his head and sat down, thinking his nervousness probably added realism to the situation. He wanted Ingram to believe he was on edge about the meeting, but only for the reasons he knew about, not because Troy Costain was unreliable.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he croaked.

  ‘Good. I’ve been having a nice little natter with Troy and it seems you do owe him some money.’

  ‘Like I said.’

  ‘Four and a half big ones,’ Costain butted in.

  ‘Four two-fifty,’ Henry corrected him.

  ‘That’s including interest.’

  Henry’s right leg began to jerk with annoyance. Costain had been given his parameters and told not to go beyond them. Hamming it up was not in the script.

  ‘Question is,’ Ingram said, ‘do I cover the debt or am I just being set up for a fall here? I’m still very suspicious, see,’ he said to Costain. ‘Nothing personal.’

  ‘I’m owed money. That’s all I care about,’ Costain said indifferently.

  ‘Look,’ Henry said, as Frank, ‘if you want to help me, that’s great. If you don’t, well that’s your choice. If you pay him off you’ve got the merchandise cheap; if you don’t I’ve still got it and the debt.’

  ‘And me around your throat,’ Costain put in helpfully.

  ‘Choice is yours.’ Henry looked from one to the other, wishing he was somewhere else.

  Ingram sat back.

  Costain waited.

  Henry stood up. ‘I’ll be up in the car park.’

  As he waited his mind switched to the previous day. He had been waiting naked, although sans rose, for Kate to arrive. Within seconds of her coming through the door, she was as naked as he and they were together for a serious bout of love-making. They collapsed exhausted an hour later with Henry having performed to the best of his ability.

  ‘Hell,’ Kate said as she rolled off him. ‘You on Viagra or something?’

  ‘Nah, just blood and natural He-Man hormones,’ he replied, jerking with pleasure as she squeezed his still erect penis gently. He gasped.

  ‘That was fantastic.’

  ‘You were fantastic,’ he rejoined. ‘How do you fancy a night in a motel?’

  ‘Very much.’

  He explained his situation to her, that he would have to be up early to get back to Manchester, and she readily accepted it.

  ‘You can be a bit of a romantic,’ she said.

  ‘Aye, that’s me, Mr Romantic.’ He pulled her tight to him. ‘Fancy another shag?’

  It was a devastating line he often used to great effect.

  Times like this, Henry could see the benefits of being a smoker. Waiting tensely by the car, he tried not to think too deeply about what might be transpiring between the two criminals down in the café.

  Costain could easily have blown the whole thing and dropped Henry in it and Ingram could be coming out, all guns blazing.

  Trying not to think about it, Henry’s mind went back to his time with Kate again, and following another successful sexual union, during which Henry surprised and surpassed himself, they showered together. Then they got dressed and went for a stroll along the sea front before coming back into town for a Chinese meal. After that they went to the Taps, a pub well known for its great beers and atmosphere. They spent the evening there before crashing back to the hotel and into bed where there was no necessity to make love again. They simply fell asleep in each other’s arms …

  Henry jerked out of his reverie.

  Ingram and Costain were coming out of the garden centre.

  Other than being off work sick because he had been shot, Karl Donaldson was proud of his record that, whatever the knocks, however ill he felt, he had never had a day of sick leave in all his working life. But when he woke up that morning, alone in the FBI owned apartment, he did not feel he had the ability to drag himself into the office.

  He was feeling sorry for himself, depressed and angry, desperately missing Karen, the kids, his home.

  There had been a brief, frosty conversation with Karen when she made it clear he was not wanted at home and it would be better for all concerned if he just kept away, at least for the short term.

  She put the kids on the phone and they seemed completely unfazed by the situation, which had clearly not sunk in. Daddy was often away. It was a fact of life, so there was nothing different today. When he asked for the phone to be handed back to their mother, it went dead. Message received, loud, clear and understood.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, naked, for a long time after that, his brain full of thoughts, yet empty of anything at the same time.

  Eventually he picked up his mobile phone and tabbed through to the number of Alex, the young lady from Facilities who had made her intentions quite clear. It was a number he had looked at a few times, his thumb hovering over the call button. He pressed it this time – then immediately panicked and cancelled the call.

  ‘That will achieve nothing.’ He tossed the phone away.

  He slapped his muscular thighs and stood up. He had thought of punishing Karen by cheating on her, but that wasn’t what their separation was about. He was the one who had done bad things to her in the first place, but it had been the job that was his mistress.

  He needed to sort his life out.

  He found his running gear scrunched up in one of his holdalls, pulled it on and decided there were things he needed to put right in his life, get his priorities right.

  As he jogged out on the pavement to begin a three-mile jog around London, he thought he would try and tackle one thing at a time. The first of those was 250 miles north. Then he would return in a few days, when the dust had settled, and take on the most important challenge – his family.

  He settled into an easy pace, just on the edge of pain.

  They seemed pleased with themselves, chatting and laughing like old mates.

  ‘OK, Frank?’ Costain winked, grinning like a fool.

  Henry nodded doubtfully.

  Ingram slapped Costain on the back. ‘See you around, then.’

  ‘Sooner rather than later, I hope.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Costain gave them a short wave and crossed to where his BMW was parked up. It had smoked glass windows, racing stripes, fat wheels. All that was missing was a huge hand hovering over it with a sign saying, ‘Drug Dealer on Board’.

  Ingram watched him through narrowed eyes, then turned to Henry.

  ‘I think we’re in business, Frank.’

  ‘What exactly have you worked out?’

  Ingram sniffed. ‘Not your concern … all you need to know is that you can forget the debt.’ He leaned towards Henry, aggressively invading his
personal space. ‘And I now own you.’

  Eleven

  ‘I’ll be in touch, day or two at most. Got something to set up and I might be able to use you on it.’ Ingram was saying this whilst leaning through the passenger door of Henry’s Nissan. They were back in Manchester and Henry had been instructed to drive to the NCP car park at the bottom end of Deansgate where Ingram had arranged to meet Mitch, the heavy, heavy.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And don’t go getting into more debt,’ he admonished Henry with a wag of his finger.

  ‘I won’t,’ he said, like a chastised child.

  Mitch drew in behind the Nissan, seated at the wheel of the Peugeot 607. Ingram slammed the door without another word and jumped in beside his henchman who screeched away, leaving Henry behind. Henry waited a few minutes to allow them to disappear, did a U-turn, drove under the railway bridge, did a left then headed towards Salford Quays, his hands dithering on the wheel as he exhaled the tension out of his body. His grimace turned to an expression of satisfaction, then his head began to nod to a beat only he could hear.

  ‘Got you, you bastard,’ he said gleefully.

  Unsettlingly, a police car followed him for about a quarter of a mile along Trinity Way. He thought he was about to get pulled over when the car suddenly veered off up a side street, allowing him a sigh of relief. That could have put a spanner in the works, because he wouldn’t have been able to claim to be who he really was and, under the guise of Frank Jagger, he would have ended up in court, in custody and probably in prison.

  Fifteen minutes later he was in the Salford Quays apartment, kettle on, relaxing. His own mobile phone had been hidden away, taped behind a radiator just on the off-chance someone might have broken in. He peeled it free and switched it on.

  Two texts were waiting to be read and there were several missed calls logged.

  The first text was from Andrea Makin, who he hadn’t seen since her last proposition to him. She was telling him she had to go back to London, but would be back later that day.

  The second text sent him cold.

  ‘Hi – nice shag at County? Kate enjoy it?’