Highbridge

by Phil Redmond

  ‘Well, I hadn’t really thought of—’

  But Arthur was already conjuring up a story. ‘Have you tried Craig Harlow? My mum knows his mum, Wendy.’

  Sean laughed. ‘Your mum seems to know everyone.’

  ‘Why do you think I came into this game? Long line of nosey parkers. Straight, though. He’s often back on the quiet to see his mum and I bet he’d pop in one day and play Santa. Great front page that would be. Anyway, got to go. Apparently someone saw a ghost up at the war memorial last night. Always gets the letter pages going, that one. I’ll send you Craig’s details. Stay sharp.’

  And with that he was off, leaving Sean to ponder on Craig Harlow. Local celeb. One-time boy-band member now Hollywood A-list actor. Would he actually do it?

  ‘This is really about your girl, isn’t it?’ Joey heard Benno ask as he dropped to the floor to started fishing the 110-V cable behind the worktops. Once more going to the point. Joey had told him about the skirmish Tanya had found herself in a few weeks ago.

  ‘Yeah, suppose so,’ Joey responded, hoping not to have to go any further. Some chance with Benno.

  ‘You have to do it, Joe.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go back.’ Benno said, as he reappeared above the worktop. ‘You have to.’

  Joey knew Benno was trying to make it easier for him. Although he wasn’t expecting the next bit.

  ‘Besides,’ Benno said, ‘I’m off tomorrow anyway. Before Uncle Gus comes back.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘Remember that job up in Borehamwood we knocked back for this? Still got a spot for me.’

  ‘How? When did you fix this?’ Joey asked.

  ‘It’s been brewing for a while now, hasn’t it. Not letting me get to sleep having to listen to all your troubles.’

  Joey laughed. That was a good one. But he appreciated what Benno was doing. Leaving him no excuse to stay.

  ‘So, no point you hanging about fretting down here,’ Benno continued, then fixed Joey with a hard stare. ‘Or fretting about me. I can look after meself. You do what you have to do, lad.’

  With that he disappeared into the service duct again, leaving Joey to finally make the decision. He bent to the service duct. ‘OK, oh wise one. But I’ll stay until the end of the week while we clear out the lock-up.’

  ‘So you make sure you get your proper share?’ came a cackling reply.

  ‘There is that.’ Joey grinned. But at least now he had something concrete to tell Natasha later.

  ‘What’s wrong with your face?’ Natasha asked her daughter, as she stacked the dishwasher following the evening food fest. No matter how much she used the mantra, ‘straight in please’, somehow everyone always seemed too busy to bend down and open the door.

  ‘Just got another message from Carol. Becky’s gone missing again,’ Tanya replied as she retrieved her jacket from the couch. Roscoe immediately saw it as a cue that he might be going for a walk, but was soon deflated. ‘Not now, Roscoe. Mum’ll take you later.’

  Roscoe doubted that as he slumped back into his basket. He’d be lucky if he got a quick round of the garden, when he’d be under pressure to perform before being sent to bed for the night. At least though, he knew he’d get a Dentastick from the older female.

  ‘And where are you going at this time?’ Tasha asked.

  ‘It’s only nine, Mum. I’m just going to meet Cags and see if Becky is hanging out with Hus.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of all this.’

  ‘That’s why I’m going. Don’t worry, I won’t get involved if she’s with him. I’ll text you later.’

  ‘Be back by ten, young lady.’

  But the door had been slammed. Natasha looked at the clock. That’s when she was going to speak to Joey. She’d been worrying all day about what might be going on in his head.

  At 21.30 Luke and Matt lay prone, watching the tide of customers starting to ebb. The earlier teatime rush had slowed and Fatchops was now getting everything ready for the late-night snackers. Luke had him framed in the scope as he was again meticulously cleaning the countertops to remove any traces that might have fallen from his box of special forks. Matt was slowly sweeping the street through the spotting scope. It was time.

  ‘Still clear.’

  Luke widened the scope to take in the whole shop. It was empty except for Fatchops and one of the two spotty helpers placing a bucket of chips beneath the mushy peas and curry table at the back, ready for the next incoming tide. As soon as Spotty went back to chipping more spuds, Luke would take the shot. If he still kept getting Matt’s all-clear reports.

  ‘All clear bottom end.’

  Luke put the Barrett onto Fatchops. Slight refocus. He began to settle and steady his breathing. He just wanted those five clear seconds.

  ‘All clear top end,’ came from Matt.

  Luke flicked off the safety and moved his finger to the trigger. He was just about to start the squeeze when Matt spoke again.

  ‘Hold. That Merc SL is back.’

  Luke flicked the safety back on and slid round to pan the Barrett, almost at the edge of its sweep on the tripod, and picked up the driver as he got out of the car, chattering away into the Bluetooth link in his ear. He walked round to the passenger side and opened the door, gesturing for someone inside to get out. Luke wasn’t so much worried that they would arrive after the shot as that they would see the muzzle flash.

  They had decided that the risk of anyone seeing the flash was small, as most of the residents of Highbridge would neither be expecting it nor recognise it for what it was. If anyone did see it they would probably assume it was kids messing with fireworks. Unless, of course, they saw it and then walked in to find their mate or relative spread all over the back wall. Unless, of course, they were up to no good. With no-good people who carried guns. Then they might put it all together.

  However, the driver’s demeanour caught Luke’s attention. Suddenly his cocky swagger dropped as he spun round to focus on something further down the street. Through the scope it looked as if someone had called to him, as he seemed to wave, but hesitantly. Behind him, a mane of teenage hair appeared out of the Mercedes, followed closely by another.

  ‘Amazing what a nice car will do for you,’ Matt said as he turned his scope back down the street to see what the driver was waving at, and picked up another girl walking up towards him. ‘And looks like he’s ready to party.’

  ‘If he is, we’ll see the children’s entertainer arrive next, judging by the age of those two.’

  Matt panned the scope back to the Mercedes trio and let out a low growl. Luke could feel the tension. But Matt had spotted something else. ‘Hey up,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that Joey’s girl, Tanya?’

  Luke moved the Barrett. ‘Yes. What’s she doing here?’

  He shifted slightly to pick up the girl as she was about to pass the alley beside the chippy. But she seemed to hesitate when she saw the other girls getting out of the car. Matt and Luke watched this silent movie play out in their scopes, watching Becky spin round as Tanya and Carol crossed towards her, obviously angry and agitated as they started dragging her away, shouting back up the street at the driver now holding out his hands in a form of protest. What could he possibly have done?

  ‘Kiddy fiddling, that’s what you’ve done, mate,’ Matt muttered as he watched Tanya and Carol drag Becky away. He then went back to the driver and the girls who, now out of the car, looked in their early teens trying to look in their late twenties and curious about what was going on. The driver waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the retreating Tanya, Becky and Carol and then put his arms round the girls’ shoulders and guided them towards the alley.

  ‘Might be his sisters or cousins?’ Luke suggested.

  ‘Like the ones we saw being let out the back the other night? And if they are, why don’t they go through the shop?’

  Luke agreed as he watched the driver escort the girls down the alley to the rear fortress door, where he ba
nged on the door, all the while talking into his phone. He could hear Matt’s breathing deepen. Troubled. He knew why. And why he didn’t want to go there right now.

  ‘Let’s stay on mission. Someone else can sort that one.’ He moved back on to Fatchops and zeroed the scope once again. ‘Shop’s still clear. How’s the street?’ There was a hesitation as Matt was still brooding on what he’d just seen. ‘Matt?’ Luke hissed.

  ‘Top clear. Bottom clear,’ came the response.

  Luke settled himself. Matt pulled the spotting scope back to cover the area outside the chippy. A five-second kill zone. Luke slowed his breathing. Moved his finger back to the trigger and put the cross hairs exactly where he wanted them. Cold shot or not, the target was big enough to make the mess he wanted. Breath. Hold. Squeeze.

  ‘Hold,’ Matt suddenly said. ‘Tanya and her mates are heading back.’

  Too late. The ball was in flight.

  5

  Changed Scenario

  ‘OH, AND WHAT? You’ve been one day away and now you’re sure are you?’ Natasha asked. It had that tone. The one that warned him she was not the little woman. The one who could be told what to do.

  I’m not saying my mind’s made up, Nat,’ Joey said, as he took a quick glance back through the window. He was out on the scaffolding. Above the skips that filled the yard below where he and Benno had colonised as their sleeping quarters. Builders’ squatters in billionaires’ bunkers. It was where he could be out of earshot. Although he needn’t have worried as Benno was already cocooned in his sleeping bag and snoring for Great Britain.

  Natasha, though, was going up a gear. ‘Will we be able to manage?’

  He held back. He was about to remind her that it was she who said life was not all about money, but he didn’t want to enter the maze of female logic just yet. Especially long distance. He wouldn’t stand a chance. So, instead, he tried a softer, more diplomatic line. ‘All I’m saying is that I want to talk to you about it properly and I’m telling you now so you can think about it over the week. That’s all.’

  It seemed to calm her down. ‘Oh … OK. I suppose we can …’ But then her tone changed again. Concerned. ‘Oh … Oh my God. I’ll call you back.’

  Joey was left staring at his disconnected phone. Natasha sounded really distressed. Which she was, as she rushed towards her daughter, who was helping a sobbing Becky and extremely distressed looking Carol through the door.

  ‘What, what has happened?’ Natasha’s maternal eyes went straight to the cut and rapidly swelling bruise around her daughter’s right eye, before darting to Becky then Carol and back again, as her brain ran rapidly through the index of potential parental horrors.

  Tanya saw the worry in her mother’s eyes. ‘No … no … It’s nothing like that. But oh my God, Mum. It’s mad …’

  ‘What? What’s happened?’

  The identical thought was going through a very nervous Mercedes driver who had rushed through from the back with two other men, shouting and gesticulating for them to secure the door and get the young counter servers out of the shop to the back. The one at the door was now shoving a couple of surprised Bingo goers outside before locking up. The other was scampering and squealing back and forth behind the counter, trying to scoop something out of the boiling oil in between yelps of pain. It was the special forks box.

  Mercedes was still shouting for him to stop shouting so that he could make himself clear as he shouted for the one by the door to lock up and kill the lights. As some form of control returned, Mercedes stepped towards the counter. The soft drinks cabinet was wrecked, its door hanging open and the floor covered in sticky liquid, which he assumed must be from the shattered bottles. The fork box and wrapping paper had fallen from the counter but nothing else appeared to be damaged. He looked over the counter to see the prone legs of Fatchops. Lifeless. What had happened here?

  Up on the hill only Matt and Luke knew as they watched through their scopes, their breathing slow with relief after witnessing the nightmare scenario almost play out in front of them. Fortunately the Barrett’s 50 cal bullet had slammed into the chippy drinks cabinet seconds before Tanya and her posse arrived at the door.

  Luke had automatically chambered another round ready, as he would later tell Joey, to take a shot if he felt Tanya was in any real danger. As it was, he had calmly watched as she was backhanded and brutally shoved out of the door just before the Bingo couple. It was only when Carol had pulled both her and Becky away and down the street that Luke had taken his finger off the trigger. She’d survive.

  *

  Natasha’s phone was vibrating on the table. Joey was trying to get an answer. As was Natasha herself, now forcing a sandwich bag of ice on to her daughter’s forehead above her swelling right eye. ‘Slowly. Tell me slowly.’

  ‘It was mad, Mum. Wasn’t it, Cags?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Carol confirmed. ‘We were just going back to see if Hus was there, and—’

  ‘Going back where?’

  ‘He was parked up the street. With two other girls, right, Becks?’ Carol looked to Becky, trying to make the point, but all Becky could do was nod and reach for another tissue. Then hug Roscoe as he came over to offer support.

  ‘The chippy,’ Tanya said, beginning to regain her composure, taking over the sandwich bag as she stood up and went to the sink to get a drink of water for Becky. ‘We were just about to go in and there was this, well, sort of huge bang. Right, Cags?’

  ‘Yeah. Just really loud and then they all came rushing out the back shouting and screaming.’

  ‘At each other. And then us,’ Tanya added as she gave Becky the water then wrapped a piece of kitchen roll round the sandwich bag. ‘They just shoved us into the street.’

  ‘What do I want this for?’ Becky asked.

  Tanya looked at the glass. Good question. It must have been something she’d seen on the telly, but she added with a hint of her old sarcastic self, ‘To replace the fluids you’ve lost on the way home?’

  ‘That one with the beard really hurt my arm.’ Carol was pulling off her jacket to examine it.

  ‘Er, hello?’ Tanya snarled, pointing at her eye. ‘He did this to me.’

  ‘Who? Why? What was it about?’ Natasha asked, more in hope than anything else as she could see the teenage fright was now being pushed aside by exuberance, as they realised they were safe. Even Roscoe thought it safe to leave Becky and return to his bed.

  Back in the now quiet chippy, the one with the beard had been the one at the door, who had backhanded Tanya, but was now switching off some of the lights, while the one without a beard was nervously guarding the rear door, nursing his burnt hands inside a dirty tea towel, as Mercedes slowly rounded the counter to approach the prone lump that was Fatchops. He was still not moving and his head was covered with the pile of wrapping paper he must have pulled down on himself as he fell. That was probably how the forks had ended up in the fryer. Mercedes stepped forward and delicately, nervously, kicked the lifeless legs. Nothing. He took another look around. At the counter. The drinks cabinet. The floor. What had happened? Beard and Beardless shrugged. Both still apprehensive. They were all tense. They all knew what the real trade was that went across the counter. They all knew they could come under attack. At any time. But was this it? There’d been nothing on the CCTV monitors.

  Mercedes looked back at the lump. Was he dead? How did you tell? He’d seen the movies where they touched a place just below the ears. But did that really work or was it just a Hollywood thing? He stooped down, being careful to keep his Prada jeans dry, then reached out and shoved Fatchops’s back. It wobbled. But was he breathing or was that just fat sloshing around? He shuffled closer, carefully, still trying to avoid the liquid. Was it blood? He reached down and wet his fingers. Smelt it. But what did blood smell like? Cherries? He hesitated but then tasted it. Sugary, sweet? He’d heard that somewhere. But decided it was more likely to be from the soft drinks bottles. He did another duck shuffle to keep his Pradas dry and was jus
t about to try and find Fatchops’s neck when the lump moved, and as it did Mercedes fell back in fright and felt the sugary liquid soaking through his Pradas. He swore. Then kicked out at the prone body. Fat idiot!

  ‘It’s not marketing, Sean, it’s throwing money away,’ said Sandra.

  ‘Bigging myself up, as you put it, must by definition fall into the category of letting people know about the business.’ Sean was trying, but even though the VAT Goddess had turned out to be a mumsy size 18, he knew he had lost the argument as soon as he’d mentioned the 10 per cent discount offer to Sandra.

  ‘Marketing is supposed to be about getting real people in to spend real money. Not a bunch of freeloaders who then end up getting a discount.’

  When she put it like that, as she always had the knack of doing, Sean knew it was time to retreat.

  ‘How’d the rest of your day go, anyway?’ He gestured to the TK Maxx hooded top and ruched leggings that had displaced the Armani.

  ‘Mum and Dad are well, thanks. But I assume you want to change the subject because you’ve realised how daft you are?’ He didn’t answer, but went across to the boiling water dispenser.

  ‘Do you want tea?’ It might be taken as a peace offering. It wasn’t.

  ‘I’ll do it. You might waste two teabags as we’ll probably have to start economising soon if you keep throwing money away.’

  He went across to the table, knowing he would have to take what was coming to him.

  ‘And do you think it made any difference?’

  ‘And that’s what I’m trying to say about it being like marketing or advertising,’ said Sandra. ‘You never quite know what works, do you, except it does. You can tell by seeing the results.’