Highbridge

by Phil Redmond

  As he washed the dishes after their meal, Luke was also thinking about tomorrow. Going through the operational plan, such as it was. Get in. Poke the nest. Get out. Matt had already lost himself on his laptop, alternating between cookery, military forums, property, cars and porn, noting wryly to himself how his preferences had changed over the years. A few years back, porn would have been first on the list, but there was only so many times you could get excited about some MILF flashing her bits.

  Luke took the opportunity to reflect on whether it was time to sell up and move on. He knew everyone else had their own theories as to why he kept the cottage, and most had some validity. It was unfinished business. A reminder, like the nodding Buddha, of happier times. Or tragedy. It was a foothold back home. But above all, for him, it was a safe bolthole. Somewhere to aim for when things got too hot elsewhere. Where he could find a friend like Joey. And, as he had told him, what else would he do with his cash?

  It was the same reason Matt was constantly trawling estate agent websites, searching for somewhere to buy. Matt’s trouble, though, was that since splitting from his wife before any kids came along, then losing his parents, he didn’t have any roots from which to grow. Luke had thought of selling up and buying something closer to his own parents, but the idea of an apartment on the Costa del Pensions didn’t exactly do it for him.

  He picked up the nodding Buddha and gave it a tap. How long was it since he had felt real happiness? He rolled on his bed to look at the picture of himself and Janey on the bedside cabinet. It had been taken on the Thailand trip after she flew out to meet him on that 72. To stop his mind going down the blind alleys he had explored too often he rolled away from the picture and got up. He’d go over the plan one last time. The plan for payback. And that, he knew, was the real reason he kept coming back.

  Joey was scrolling through the radio station list, another reminder of the lack of choice once outside the capital, when a text message popped up on his phone. HELP. It was Tanya. A microsecond later Joey was out of the car and heading for the two suits on the door, more High and Mighty than Jacamo and who, rightly, didn’t know what this potential madman had on his mind. Until he held up the phone and pointed to the door, where Tanya was rushing out frantically looking for her dad. The bouncers hardly reacted at this all too familiar scene. Just another kid discovering reality is different from expectation and comes running for Daddy to sort it out. Still, before any of them had to do something they might later regret, Tanya, relieved at seeing Joey, pointed to the door and ran back to help Carol, who was struggling with a drunken Becky while trying to fend off the ever pursuing Husani, who’d swapped his Prada for a D&G look.

  ‘Let go. I’ll take her home,’ Husani was saying. ‘She’s safe with me.’

  ‘Oh yeah. She looks it,’ Carol shot back.

  ‘Here,’ he tried to pull Becky away from Carol. ‘I will take her.’

  Which was when Tanya flew into the fray. Shoving Husani backwards. ‘We’re doing it, Hus!’ she shouted.

  The bouncers exchanged looks, then stood back and flicked their heads for Joey to pass. They had seen all this before too and knew it was best to let the domestics sort themselves out. Apart from which, they knew what might come next. As it did. As Becky attempted to empty the contents of her stomach on to the pavement between them all. While Joey was not quick enough, it had the effect of disentangling Husani’s arm from between Carol’s and Becky’s. Joey looked down at his sick-splattered trainers then, fighting to control his irritation, gestured for Tanya to get Becky over to the Q7, while he turned to Husani.

  ‘Who you?’ came straight at him.

  ‘I’m the guy who’s taking them home.’

  ‘No need. I do it. I’m with Becky.’

  ‘Not any more. Tonight.’

  Husani just grinned and went to step past Joey, but Joey leaned sideways, jamming him against the wall. He reacted by shoving Joey away. The bouncers took a step forward but Joey held up his hand. No trouble. Then leaned back in to Husani.

  ‘Now, what you lot do tomorrow is between you and them, but I think it’s best if I take my daughter …’ Joey hesitated to make the point. Which Husani took. Hell’s fury over a scorned woman had nothing on a protective dad. He stood back. Slightly.

  It was enough for Joey to continue. ‘So I’ll take her and her friends home and you can go and finish your night. Somewhere else. Yeah?’

  Husani held Joey’s eye for a moment, then looked across to where Tanya was pushing and Carol pulling Becky into the Q7. He didn’t seem to want to let her go and stepped forward once again. Joey blocked his way. The bouncers went on alert again, but this further flashpoint was defused as another well-cut suit came out of the club. Joey’s age. Very smooth manner but the fresh scar across his forehead suggested he had recently seen the sharp end of life. The bouncers nodded deferentially and made sure he avoided the souvenir from Becky. A man of influence.

  ‘Er, anything I can help you gentlemen with?’

  Both Joey and Husani turned to the new arrival. He immediately sized them up, turned to Joey and then nodded at the girls. ‘That your daughter?’

  ‘The one pushing, yeah.’

  Husani immediately realised that his age and the numbers were against him. ‘I text you, Becky!’ he shouted and started to back off towards the club.

  The bouncers looked to the man in the suit. He shook his head, so they indicated that Husani should carry on walking, which he did, towards his Mercedes SLG, throwing a dismissive wave over his shoulder.

  As the bouncers watched him go the suit turned back to Joey. ‘Sorry. Bobby McBain …?’ He searched Joey’s eyes for recognition. Then continued when Joey nodded. ‘Bobby asked me to keep an eye on them.’

  ‘You own this place?’

  ‘And a few others. We did watch them. Even checked when he showed up, but they said they knew him.’ He glanced at Husani and shrugged. What could they do? ‘But then they started to look a bit uncomfortable,’ he continued. ‘Which was when your girl probably decided to call for Dad’s army.’

  Joey grinned but it faded quickly as he turned to see Tanya suddenly leap backwards, as Becky vomited out of the side of the Q7.

  ‘And er … I’ll leave you with that, shall I?’ the club owner asked.

  ‘Er … Yep. No problem,’ he replied as he started towards the car.

  ‘Oh,’ the club owner called after him. ‘You will tell Bobby we looked out for them?’ His voice was edged with concern.

  ‘Oh yeah. I’ll give you a five-star rating.’

  The club owner hesitated. Was that good or bad? Still, as he couldn’t influence anything he continued to be as good as his word. And left Joey to deal with the vomit. Which he had to do again ten minutes into the return journey.

  ‘Stop. Stop. Stop!’ Tanya screamed from the back seat and started hauling a retching Becky over her lap to the door in the hope of escaping potential contamination. It was a good move. Joey brought the Q7 to a stop, but not in time to get Becky far enough across to miss the door. He just sat, eyes fixed ahead. He didn’t have to look. He’d been through the scenario before. Already he could hear Natasha having a go at him for letting it happen. In her car.

  Joey waited until they were fifteen minutes down the motorway before glancing into the rear-view mirror and saw the now mopped and wiped Becky across Tanya’s lap, asleep. Carol was snoring as good as anything Benno could manage, while Tanya was staring out of the window, preoccupied about something.

  ‘You OK?’ Joey offered.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry about …’

  ‘It’s OK. It’s your mum we have to worry about.’ He saw that at least that made her smile.

  ‘Didn’t turn out like you expected?’

  ‘It did, actually. She’s such a retard.’ Her voice was laced with venom, but she stroked Becky’s forehead at the same time.

  ‘Who was the bloke?’ He tried to make it sound causal, but she knew he was fishing.

  ‘A bigger
retard.’ It was accompanied by a huge sigh that signalled the subject was probably off-limits to parents.

  Joey decided he’d make one last attempt.

  ‘No sign of Bobby’s lad, though?’

  ‘If you mean why wasn’t he looking after us’ – the sexist implication was clear – ‘he had to go home early when Mummy came to get him. OK?’

  Joey understood. Just drive. And then took another glance in the mirror. Tanya was still stroking Becky’s forehead, but had gone back to sharing her thoughts with the window. Joey smiled. Bobby had been right. His ex must be a right dragon.

  A few hours after Joey had delivered the girls home and cleaned up the Q7 as best he could, Luke and Matt were once again on the expressway. Matt had got the text alert on the way. At 04.47 and on checking the feed, saw that Leather’s Porsche Cayenne was now parked outside the house. They’d had nearly six hours’ sleep. It was time to go knockin’.

  Matt was monitoring the live 3G feed on his personal smartphone, accepting that this was the most dangerous bit. Transporting weapons. Overseas they slept with them. But back home, no amount of blarney, Irish or other, would get them off a firearms charge. If they were walking down Highbridge Hill they could claim to have found it and were on their way to hand it in. But driving down the expressway or in a pub car park there could only be one conclusion. They were up to no good.

  To create some form of alternative script Billy had delivered the weapons, as usual, unassembled, wrapped and bagged as replacement parts. Matt had taken one of the MP5s and further separated the components into different bin bags, ready to be discarded if they thought they were about to be pulled. If they couldn’t dump the bags they would argue that they were only carrying spare parts. Not a weapon. No ammo. And hope for an importation offence. Back from overseas. A bit of black market on the side. Add a dash of remorse and naïvety and with the right lawyer that was probably a fine or six months inside. Perhaps both. But that was better than the potential seven years for possession of a firearm. And six months in a British nick was not as daunting as a few of the tours they had been through.

  It was all probably academic though, as they knew the chances of being pulled were low at this time of day, when austerity cuts had trimmed police numbers. But they were prepared. As always. To improvise. Which they did by commandeering two metal rubbish bins from the side of the pub across the field from Leather’s farmhouse. Matt pulled on his gloves and reassembled the MP5. If they were caught exposed he would ditch the gun. Nothing on him. Nothing on the gun.

  They then checked the feed from the 3G camera. All quiet. Leather’s Porsche Cayenne was still parked up. Time to go. They calmly walked the 200 metres to huddle against the farmhouse fence. From this viewpoint it looked exactly like what it was. A fenced compound.

  Luke lifted his phone to the top of the fence, once again using its camera to scan the other side. All quiet. One last look at the feed. No change. He then set off round to the front of the property. Down the side where Matt had fixed the camera earlier. Matt followed.

  Two-thirds of the way down the fence, when they were just in front of the farmhouse, they upended the rubbish bins but Matt carried on to the corner of the field where he had been earlier, loosening his backpack as he went. He reached up, unhooked the camera, dropped it in his backpack and went back to Luke. He dropped the backpack as Luke made a hand step to boost him on to one of the bins. Matt in turn held out a hand to help Luke up on to his bin.

  They then checked every angle and listened to the sounds of the night. Background traffic hum. A far-off blue light siren. A couple of animals talking to each other or shouting at perceived threats. Luke turned to Matt. Go? A confirmatory nod came back, so he finger-counted down from five and went over the fence. The movement detectors immediately picked up his presence and the security lighting illuminated the entire area inside the fencing, accompanied by the instant sound of a large dog barking inside the house. Luke grinned. All as predicted. So far.

  Leather Jacket wouldn’t want to attract too much attention from the outside, but would want to be in complete control inside. Luke looked across to the parked Cayenne and Cooper convertible. Knowing that anyone now up and watching the CCTV screens would see him clearly, Luke deliberately ducked low as he hurried across to the Cayenne and tried the doors. Then moved towards the Cooper. He wanted to appear as, hopefully, perhaps, just another opportunistic car thief. Even better, a stupid car thief. The only type who would have a go at the local drug lord’s car.

  They had reasoned that the house would be another typical drug fortress, so without resorting to the standard entry procedure – of blowing a hole in the wall quickly followed by a few flash bangs – their best bet was the same as the choke-point plan. Get anyone inside to come out. Right now, Luke hoped, Leather Jacket would be looking at the CCTV monitors, outraged that some idiot was trying to snatch his car. The more outraged he became, the more careless he would become.

  Luke was right. After a moment or two the front door flew open and the dog that belonged to the bark rushed out. A German shepherd. Followed by Leather Jacket, but now in sweatpants and hoodie. It looked like he had hurriedly pulled it on, as it was unzipped, exposing the kaleidoscope of body art across his chest. He looked like he worked out a lot. It also looked like Matt had been right. There was now a Beretta Over-Under shotgun pointing directly at Luke. This could get a bit tricky.

  9

  Go Or No Go

  MATT WAS NOW ruing his decision to go along with Luke. He had been tempted to slip one magazine into his backpack, just in case, but accepted the associated risks of being found in possession. They agreed they would use live ammunition only when they knew they were on their final exit plan. Which included fighting their way out. Right now, he thought, it wasn’t going to be down to natural charm or blarney, but sheer bottle. And spotting an opportunity.

  That came in the form of the dog doing what he had obviously been trained to do: attack. In its rush to get at Luke it brushed against Leather’s legs, causing him to sidestep and take his eye and shotgun off Luke for a moment. Which was just enough time for Luke to turn and use the Cooper’s bonnet as a step towards the Cayenne’s roof. The dog tried to follow but slipped off the Cooper, went to try again but was stopped by a whistle from the front door. Luke looked across to see what must be the WAG, also in sweatpants and hoodie, but in pink and designed to show more the results of working out than the working out itself.

  ‘He’s goanna’ scratch me car, soft lad!’ she shouted at Leather in pure Scouse. But stopped dead in her tracks as a flash of red went across her eyes and a red dot bobbed across her breasts.

  Immediately the dog turned its attention to this latest intruder but before he could even attempt a lunge up at Matt, now leaning on the fence behind the MP5, he was halted by another whistle from Leather, who had the Beretta back on Luke. The dog looked confused. What was the point of being trained to attack people if they kept stopping you? It sloped over to the WAG and sat beside her, obviously knowing who was its real best friend.

  As Luke had earlier, Leather decided to buy time while he figured out was what going on. The all blacks. The red dot site on what looked like an automatic with a silencer. This was no random carjacking. This was an organised team and he was caught in a stand-off, out in the open with a useless dog and his equally useless WAG, now a bargaining chip. But a bargain can only be concluded if both sides play. It was a game he needed to control.

  He shouted over his shoulder at Matt. ‘You hurt her and—’ He didn’t finish. A jab of the shotgun towards Luke made the threat clear. The accent was thick, but to Matt and Luke’s surprise it was more East Manchester than Eastern European. A mixed marriage.

  ‘And you,’ he jabbed at Luke again. ‘Tell your mate to back off. Or we start a shooting war. And this is legal – his isn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’ll be dead before the cops even get here.’

  Luke saw the flicker. Leather now knew they w
eren’t cops. Just as Luke intended. But it did little to dent the bravado.

  ‘And you won’t be?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Luke said, making a play of holding his hands up as he sat down, crossed-legged on the car. Leather might have thought he was capitulating, but he was actively reducing his size as a target while putting more flesh between the Barrett and his genitals.

  ‘But,’ Luke continued, ‘you that accurate? You’re going to have to hope you hit me here’ – he framed his face with his hands, making it look like a small target. ‘His will go where that red dot is. You might make a bit of a mess of me, but I’ll live. She’ll be burying you.’

  It was the tone. The calm detachment. The way Luke spoke, rather than what he said, that put the doubt in Leather’s mind. He looked across to Matt. These guys looked and sounded like pros. Or total headcases. Which was worse. What was he up against? He needed more time. Needed an opportunity.

  ‘Nice cozzies,’ he said. ‘What is it? A Terrorist-a-gram? Trick or treat for Halloween, or something?’

  ‘Not bad, that,’ Luke chuckled. ‘But let’s not turn it into a Halloween movie, eh?’

  ‘So what is it you want? Before I tell you what you can expect.’

  Luke pointed first at the shotgun. Put it down. Then at the dog. Send it inside. Leather held his ground. Luke then directed Leather’s attention by pointing to the WAG. Matt moved the red dot across her eyes and steadied it in the middle of her forehead.