Highbridge

by Phil Redmond

  Leather sat for a moment, leaning forward, examining the piece of plastic. That, the fridge and hearing about the Spudman’s engine meant someone was sending them a message. But who? And why? He stood up and headed back to the BMW, with the other two hurrying to get there first. One to open the door for him, the other to get into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Follow?’ Matt asked. Luke just nodded. Matt started the Transit and followed the BMW as it pulled away and headed back out of town along the expressway.

  ‘Until?’ Natasha finally asked, still hoping. ‘For God’s sake, Joe. Who? What?’

  ‘Someone grabbed me from behind.’

  He finally looked across at her and saw the fear as she was running through all the possible scenarios. Joe dropping the boy. A train hitting him. His friends gabbing. The police? What? What? What?

  Quickly he reached across and grabbed her hand. Reassurance. ‘It was Luke. He pulled me and the kid back.’

  ‘So … So you didn’t …?’

  Joey shook his head. ‘Luke had tracked me. Pushed me to one side and got hold of the kid himself. Pulled him back up. Calmed him down. Then asked him, really calm, did he understand why I was after his skin? The kid was terrified but nodded. Luke then asked him if he would tell anyone about it. Kid naturally said he wouldn’t. He’d have said anything to get away.

  ‘How … how old was this “kid”?’ Natasha suddenly asked.

  ‘Younger than Tan, not much older than Alex. And I know what you’re thinking. He had a mum and dad. Perhaps even together. Probably. Brothers. Sisters. I dunno.’

  ‘Christ Joe, and you …’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I know. I was only going to smack him about a bit but he was such an arrogant … He’d told me whatever I did to him he’d do to Tanya … Which is why I lost it. He wouldn’t be able to do anything if he was dead, would he? So right then, right there, when he was screaming for his life, I didn’t care if someone, somewhere loved him.’

  He elapsed into numb macho mode again, until Natasha prompted him.

  ‘And would you? Really?’

  ‘I’ve gone over and over it … And honestly. I’m just glad Luke turned up. Then turned it all back on me. Fed everything I’d been feeding him. How it would be you and the kids, and Sean and his lot, who would lose if I got put away.’

  While Joey continued to unburden himself, Tanya started to realise how close all this was coming to her family. Her sister-in-law. Her daughter. Her nephew. Now Joey getting involved. How pervasive it was becoming. No wonder people talk about it as some form of virus-borne disease. Or even cancer. And Joey and Luke were trying to cut it out.

  ‘Jesus, Joe,’ she interrupted. ‘You can’t take this on. Shouldn’t it be the job of the police?’

  Joey couldn’t help but give a derisory snort, then leaned forward in his seat. Challenging. ‘Hang on. Last night you wanted them dead. That’s why I travelled all night.’

  ‘What? Who will rid me of this meddlesome priest?’

  ‘Er, that from one of those period dramas you watch without me?’

  ‘History GSCE,’ she corrected. ‘Henry II said something like that about Thomas Becket, which led to him being killed. It’s more about being careful what you wish for. And that was last night. In the, I don’t know, heat of the emotion, I suppose.’

  ‘And that’s what it takes to deal with these people. When they attack you. You fight back. There and then.’ He was vehement. Driven by emotion. But seeing the worry and anxiety still on her face, he softened again. ‘And I took it that you obviously needed me here.’

  She reached forward to him and clasped his hands. ‘I do, but not running round on some vigilante mission.’

  ‘At least it’s in a language they understand.’ He sat back again, his impotent frustration still dominating.

  ‘Oh, like what?’ she threw back, equally frustrated. ‘Asking some stupid teenage kid to promise to play nice in future?’

  ‘Making him aware what will happen if he does it. Sean craps on about making people aware of the consequences of doing drugs. But what about the consequences of selling them?’

  ‘I know, I know. But isn’t that what the laws, and the police, are for?’

  She knew she said it more in hope than conviction as she was wrestling with her own position as much as Joey’s, so was not surprised when he gave another snort of derision. But then he added, ‘It used to be. But now we have a so-called justice system where everyone has rights. Including the right to feed off other people.’ His mind was back on his confrontation with Gustav on the London site the day before. ‘They’re everywhere, Nat. Lowlife. Parasites.’

  ‘So your response would be to just let Luke kill them all?’ she kept pushing. While still fishing.

  ‘They’re killing people!’ But he immediately held up his hands in apology, realising they were starting to go round in circles. He had also noticed the slight flicker of suspicion pass across her eyes, which was quickly followed up when she asked him about Luke and Tanya’s attacker.

  ‘You talked about consequences. What did he do?’ she asked.

  Joey broke eye contact. Which told her there was more.

  ‘What did he do, Joe?’

  Joey let out a resigned sigh. ‘He told him he wanted to give him something to remember us by.’ He hesitated. She waited. He finally continued. ‘Then he held out a folded hand. You know, the way you give something to someone. Kid holds out his hand. Luke just grabs his thumb … and breaks it. Crack.’

  Natasha winced at both the thought and this further image.

  ‘He just did it. To a kid. So he is right. He is screwed up. He used to be … He used to be a real laugh. Do anything for you.’

  ‘For you, you mean. And your Janey,’ said Nat.

  ‘Yeah, but … Anyway, we know all this, but … he also made me aware of what he’d been going on about. About his tradecraft. What he did, still does, for a living. And from that moment everything turned over. He was no longer holding back but, well, protecting me. He’d found what he had been looking for. The excuse. To do some hunting of his own.’

  ‘And where’s that going to lead?’ she asked, still horrified.

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Nat, but, remember how you felt last night? With your daughter injured in front of you? Keep that right there.’ He tapped the front of his forehead. ‘Don’t let go of that. Otherwise, they win.’

  Before Natasha could even assimilate that thought, never mind respond to it, her phone rang. She looked. Then stood up, alarmed.

  ‘It’s Mr Bryce. He lives next door to Mum,’ she quickly told Joey as she answered, listened and then let her shoulders sag in relief as she thanked Mr Bryce. She ended the call and turned towards the door. ‘C’mon, she’s locked herself out again.’

  ‘Up and over?’ Luke asked. Matt nodded. They waited until the BMW X5 passed the exit lane before they pulled off and Luke accelerated up to the junction roundabout that flew over the expressway. He timed the gap in the oncoming traffic to slot in, drive across and go straight back on to the expressway, now several more cars behind the BMW X5. If they were watching they would probably have seen the white Transit go off and then relaxed, or if they weren’t watching, another white Transit joining the expressway wouldn’t register. Probably. But just in case, Luke kept a five-car separation.

  It was not long before they saw the X5 indicate and turn off, heading down what looked like an old country lane that had probably, at one time, been the main link between the outlying villages but now, a mile or so along, it became a back route into a sprawling post-war housing estate. The X5 stopped outside what appeared to be the original old farmhouse, now sitting on the edge of what was officially called Downside, although it had become known locally as Downer-side until some 1980s regeneration plan had renewed the street lights and pavements and renamed it Orchard View. Everyone now knew it as The Spew.

  The farmhouse had been upgraded and sold off privately, but the social housing came right
up to one side of it. The back and other side still sat in a field, but the front looked on to the road, probably widened to allow access to the estate.

  ‘Good 3G signal,’ Matt announced, checking his phone as they cruised past. ‘Very nice property too. Shame about the neighbours.’

  ‘Probably more customers,’ Luke added as he looked in the nearside wing mirror to see Leather Jacket get out of the X5 and head into the house. The X5 then carried on, now following them, until Luke spotted a cul-de-sac sign on his left and indicated to turn in. The X5 drove past. With an exaggerated gesture of having made the mistake of turning into a dead end, just in case anyone was watching, Luke turned the Transit and went off after the X5 once again, just in time to see it pull off into a pub car park.

  As they approached they could see that, like the old farmhouse, the pub had been chosen for its prime location. One way in. One way out. And nothing else around but cleared sites where houses used to stand. And nothing but clear sightlines. No one could approach without being seen. No one should be there who wasn’t welcome. These were the situations Luke dreaded most. He’d rather run across a moonlit fire zone than walk a hostile urban landscape where the only people watching his back would be the ones getting ready to kill him.

  The pub was called the Spotted Greyhound. No one knew why. No one cared. The locals called it the Fast Dog. The two shaved-headed minders were out of the X5 and exchanging fist greetings with two other guys sitting astride quad bikes. All eyes turned to watch the Transit go past and, while being a white van man provided a certain degree of invisibility, Luke and Matt decided this was not the time for surveillance. They would come back later.

  ‘This happen often?’ Joey asked as Natasha got back into the Q7, having retrieved her mother and got her safely home.

  ‘Not that often. But more and more, recently.’

  ‘Do you think it’s time for a care home?’

  ‘I think we’ve got a bit more on our plates at the moment, Joe,’ she snapped back and sank into silence as Joey eased the Q7 round her dad’s raised flower bed, waving to Grace now standing in the window.

  ‘What did she say about me being back?’

  ‘I told her you were the taxi driver.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because she’s losing it. Which I think I am at the moment.’

  Joey knew he’d get a more coherent answer later, just as he knew now was the time to leave Natasha to let her work out what was in her head. She turned and watched the countryside go by, still struggling for a real answer. Struggling with the images Joey had planted at the front of her head. She knew she could easily repeat the mantra. Leave it to the police. But she was feeling uncomfortable. No matter how unpalatable it was she knew she was facing another moment when she had to reaffirm both the reality and the strength of her relationship with Joey. As it often did. As it always had.

  She had always prided herself on having been the one to get him from the wrong side of the tracks. Back on the rails. Defying everyone. Her parents. Friends. Defending him against everyone. You don’t know him. He’s changed, she would say. Then, later, what a great dad he was. And all the rest. And when it came to her own lioness moment, seeing her cub under threat, she felt she was capable of doing what many always said should be done but never had the bottle to do themselves. Perhaps when it came to the crunch, she wouldn’t actually be capable. But she knew Joey would. Just as she knew that was why she loved him. He made her safe. He had bottle. To defend his own. No matter what the risks. And that was why she wanted to remain strong. Play her own role in their relationship. Protect him from himself.

  At home she got out of the car and went straight inside. Joey sat for a moment wondering where she was up to. He knew he had pushed their relationship a few times in the past, but she had always been there. Right behind him. Or dragging him back. But this was different. How would this one go, he wondered, but decided that the only way to find out was to go after her and force the issue. She was starting to clear the table when he reached the kitchen and asked the question.

  ‘I’m not sure what I’m thinking,’ she began. ‘Part of me, I don’t know whether it’s the maternal thing, whether it’s right or wrong, wants to just tell you to get on with whatever you and Luke are up to. Another part is saying I’m losing my mum, so sod it. Who cares about those scum? Another, probably the sensible grown-up part, is with your Sean about trying to sort it out through some form of community action or …’

  She saw him react negatively at the mention of this huggy-feely stuff, as he always called it, but she palm-punched his shoulder and hardened her eyes. ‘You are going to listen. Especially if you are home for good,’ she continued.

  ‘I am,’ Joey immediately replied, holding her shoulders, gently. For reassurance.

  ‘Then perhaps you will have more of an influence on Tanya, like you’ve been saying. Getting her to be more careful.’ She cradled his face in her hands. This time asking for reassurance. But it wasn’t coming.

  ‘And what happens when the boys get older? It’s touched us twice. I don’t want a third time.’ And to emphasise the point he took her hands and intertwined them with his own. ‘It is like some form of cancer, Nat. And someone’s got to cut it out.’

  There. He’d said it again. The line to be crossed. It was now up to her whether she wanted to take that step. They both stood holding hands. Silent. Natasha still assimilating the journey Joey had just taken her on, while he waited for the decision. Eventually, it came. As she pulled away and went to the table to collect their now congealing dishes. Wanting to start retrieving some sense of normality.

  ‘You’re right. I don’t want to know any details. Except one. You are only helping a mate with a bit of cash? That’s it? Nothing else?’

  Joey nodded. Then put his arms round her as she placed the dishes on the worktop above the dishwasher. ‘It’s the only thing I’m allowed to do. Deniability, I think they call it.’

  He felt her body relax slightly as she turned to face him, smothering his face with her hair again and mumbling something into his chest. He pulled away and asked her what she had said.

  ‘We should be careful what we wish for.’

  Immediately, Joey thought that if he was still of the faith he’d probably say Amen to that.

  ‘Thanks for coming back, Joe,’ she said.

  ‘Well,’ Joey grinned. ‘I knew you’d never ask.’

  Joey grinned as he felt her smile against his chest. Then, as she hugged him more tightly the pheromones flowed and his second thought was about whether he could get away with suggesting something else he often wished for. But he decided against it. He didn’t want to lose this moment. The hero’s real return.

  Matt had taken delivery of a Ford Focus hire car when he had handed over the Transit to be kept out of sight. In a lock-up they had been using for the duration. One that they could just walk away from. No connection. Just as they could from the Ford Focus, hired in the name of Elsie Jordan, a resident of the Pines Care Home who, despite being bedridden, still held a clean driving licence and a Gold credit card. Her son, Terrence, was down as a registered driver so if stopped, Matt would have seven days to produce his documents, while Terrence could prove he was in Amsterdam at the time.

  Even before he had slowed to a stop at the traffic lights, Matt could see it coming towards him. The window wash hustle. One window washer. One flower seller. He had pulled up in the outside lane as instructed. The flower seller came to the driver’s window to block the view while negotiating, while the window washer stood by the passenger door and covered one side of the windscreen with suds, totally blocking any view from that direction. By the time the window washer had moved round to the driver’s side the flower seller had gone, leaving a fairly large bouquet. Matt handed over a £20 note and got a theatrical protest in return, along with two £5 notes. The same trick Fatchops was using. Each note had the not uncommon random numbers scribbled on it. Different colours. Different writing. A
legacy of someone’s petty-cash counting system.

  On one, the writing was in purple ink and circled. 3–24. He glanced down at the bouquet now on the passenger seat to see the top of a set of registration plates at the centre of the bunch. They would be from another Ford Focus matching the one he was driving but, like the Transit, now sitting in a lock-up somewhere, off the road. Out of sight. The cloned plates would pass unchallenged through the number-plate recognition system that was on all major roads. The numbers on the £5 note meant they had it for three days.

  Pulling away he marvelled once again at the way Billy and many like him around the world could deliver. On both sides of the line. Operating in the twilight world often referred to as Black Ops by the media, without which many covert things could not be done in the name of democracy. Don’t ask: don’t tell. But it didn’t stop Matt wondering how Billy and his team knew the registration number was safe for three days. Was it stolen to order? In a garage for repair? Sitting in a long-term car park? Or did it come from a black database at the DVLC?

  Whatever it was he never dwelt on it, just accepted that it was what they did. He always wondered more about when someone would finally wake up and recognise two things. One was that the bad guys didn’t play by the rules. So things like ID cards and number-plate recognition systems only worked if no one cheated. The other was that formal education had no link to intelligence. If entrepreneurship thrived on opportunity, then opportunity wasn’t restricted to purely legal activities. At one time getaway cars and drivers commanded a premium. Just as safecrackers were like gold dust. Now it was all cyberwarfare. All about computer hackers and cloning.

  For the next three days Elsie’s car would not be tracked. Everything would be logged against the one sitting out of sight somewhere, and provided they didn’t go through any speed cameras no one would be the wiser. With that in mind, Matt headed back to Highbridge. With their new 72-hour cloak of invisibility.