Highbridge

by Phil Redmond

  ‘For Christ’s sake, just give them what they want.’ She was terrified.

  Leather sighed. He could have done with a little more resilience, but he laid the shotgun down. Carefully. It was expensive. He then turned to the dog. ‘Inside. Go.’

  The dog looked totally perplexed. This game was supposed to end with him ragging someone’s arm then being thrown a steak, or at least a sausage. Not this. He hesitated for a moment. Just in case. Until—

  ‘Go!’ It was harsher. Temper being controlled. Not to be ignored. The dog slowly skulked across to the front door.

  ‘Now, back up and close the door,’ Luke said to the WAG. ‘Arm’s length. Don’t step too close or it’ll be the last step you take.’

  Meekly she did as she was told, all the time looking at the red dot that was now back on her cleavage. As she reached back and pulled the door closed it immediately deadlocked. The dog wouldn’t be coming out again.

  ‘Well trained,’ Luke said to Leather, not differentiating between WAG and dog.

  ‘As you are, by the looks …’ Leather snarled back. As Luke had witnessed earlier, he was used to being in control so was struggling to contain his anger. ‘So what the frig do you want?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ Luke answered as he slid off the Cayenne’s roof to stand square on to Leather, side-kicking the shotgun out of reach. ‘Just you out of Highbridge.’

  Leather half smiled. This was now becoming more than irritating. It was becoming ridiculous. Who did these guys think they were? Or were dealing with?

  ‘Really?’ he asked. It said it all. No way.

  Luke returned the half-smile. ‘You may think you own the town, but you don’t. The people we work for do. And they want you out. No matter what it takes.’

  Leather once again looked Luke up and down. Deliberately. Then back to Matt holding the red dot on his woman. Still trying to buy time. Trying to think of a way out.

  ‘Tell them who you are, Peter!’ the WAG screamed, desperately hoping his reputation would frighten them off.

  ‘I think they might already know,’ he replied. Calmly. This was, he now thought, strictly business. ‘You do Fatty’s place the other night?’

  ‘I heard about it,’ Luke replied. Equally calm. ‘Town’s getting dangerous for those who shouldn’t be there.’

  ‘And what if I tell you to go and f—’ Leather started again, winding himself up, but stopped as a red glare caught his eye. Then he noticed the red dot dancing on Luke’s chest. Then move down on to the ground and across to him. Up his legs, circle his crotch and settle in the centre of his chest. His anger was simmering at his own impotence. Luke nodded towards Matt, then tapped Leather on the chest. Twice. The double tap of death.

  Luke noticed Leather’s fists clenching and unclenching. Just like Joey did when he was either winding up for a fight, or keeping himself under control to avoid one. It meant Leather was now on a very short fuse and could kick off at any moment. He was probably also trying to decide whether he could dodge the red dot long enough to grab Luke as a human shield, so Luke took a step away, towards the shotgun, but the meaning was obvious to Leather. He’d never make it.

  ‘You can have this week. But after that …’ Luke paused, leaving the thought in the air, before adding, with heavy emphasis, ‘Pete.’

  Although he returned a caustic glare, Leather took the point. They did indeed know who he was, and didn’t seem to care.

  Luke picked up the shotgun. ‘Nice gun,’ he said, as he broke it slowly and took out the two cartridges while backing away towards the perimeter fence. ‘After this week, Highbridge is off limits to you and yours.’

  There was neither humour nor threat. The neutral tone was enough for Leather to conclude that this was, as he thought, strictly business. There was no further attempt to argue. He just wanted to get the situation over so he could regroup. And get back in control. To do that he had to stand and watch Luke drag his patio table and a chair to the fence, then watch as he placed the Beretta on the table, stepped up and over. Improvising.

  The woman immediately hurried over to join Leather as the red dot danced between their chests. The warning was obvious. But just as Matt turned away and was about to drop out of sight, Leather called out. ‘Oi. You do know what to expect, don’t you?’

  He took Matt’s slight hesitation as acknowledgement of the threat. He couldn’t see the smile beneath the balaclava as he dropped from view. The bait had been taken.

  Joey was also up early as usual to let Roscoe out on his morning patrol, and when he’d made sure that the boys were up and ready for school he had gone out to check on the Q7 after its emergency clean-up from the previous night. But he knew human vomit was second only to spilt milk to make a car uninhabitable. He’d take it in to Glass & Shine and see if they would do a valet while he waited.

  He was just taking his morning Colombian from beneath the coffee dispenser when Becky came into the kitchen, hunting for her stuff, still in the clothes she had been wearing the night before. Like many, she had suffered the nightclub exchange rate. Going in looking a million dollars: coming out a million lire. It might even be drachmas these days, Joey was thinking, as he heard the kitchen door open.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Mr Nolan. I er … I wanted to be gone before anyone …’

  ‘It’s OK, Becky. You’re not going into school with—’

  But she hurriedly interrupted. ‘My mum’s in the car outside.’

  ‘OK. But remember, it happens to us all every now and then, you know.’

  ‘Yeah. But not, like, spewing over someone else’s car.’ She had gathered up the abandoned shoes and bag from the stagger-in, so headed for the door. It was only when the front door banged that Tanya came hurrying into the kitchen, pulling on a thick tartan dressing gown.

  ‘Was that Becks?’

  ‘Think she was off to find a hole to crawl into.’

  ‘Why? What did you say? You didn’t have a go at her for—’

  ‘No.’ Joey cut across her. ‘I know it’s part of my job description to take the blame for everything, but this time: no. Think it might have had something to do with leaving her scent on your mother’s car?’

  This seemed to calm the lion cub, for she walked over to the table, dropped into a chair and took her phone from her pocket. Her thumbs got to work as she spoke. ‘God, Mum doesn’t know, does she?’

  Joey shook his head and sat down opposite his daughter. Every week he noticed a change. Each week losing a bit of his little girl, as the woman emerged. Nat was right. He had been missing the kids growing up. Not that such things were on Tanya’s mind.

  ‘She is such a retard.’

  ‘Are we still on your mother now, or—’

  ‘Becks. That bloke, right. God, what was she like?’ She put her phone down and leaned forward. There was still a bit of his little girl wanting to share a secret with her dad. ‘He’s the one that keeps stalking her. He’s really creepy, Dad. I’m sure he spiked her drink.’

  ‘That’s some accusation, Tan.’

  ‘Then why’d she start behaving the way she did?’

  ‘And I don’t suppose they gave out any discounted shots?’ He was, after all, still the dad trying to guide his daughter towards the realities of life.

  She considered it for a moment. ‘Well, yeah, but we all did the same.’ She saw his eyebrow move. Even if involuntarily. ‘But I suppose we’re, well, Cags and I, are more used to it.’ She saw his eyes harden. The little girl retreated, to be replaced by the cub. ‘And don’t look like that. I’m nearly seventeen.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be eighteen to drink.’ But Joey knew he had slipped too far into protective dad mode and was losing the moment.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Her phone lit up. She looked. ‘She’s going home to clean up. Why didn’t she do that here? You sure you didn’t say something?’

  ‘No. But what I should have said to her, and I’m now saying to you, is that you are all still too young to be hanging around in clubs owne
d by the likes of Bobby McBain. Or going out with his son.’

  ‘God, you’re so hypocritical. It was OK for you to hang out with his dad when you were our age, but I’m not supposed to see Max? He’s really sweet.’

  ‘Sweet?’

  ‘Yes, he is, actually. Just because his dad’s some big gangster, doesn’t make him one.’

  ‘It’s not him. It’s where he’ll end up taking you.’

  ‘And where’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Joey instantly knew that was a stupid thing to say. To anyone, never mind a teenager.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Tanya said as she stood up. The moment was definitely moving away from Joey. ‘You haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about but you want me not to see Max, just in case there might be something, but you don’t know what?’

  Joey tried to recover. ‘OK, put like that it sounds daft. But—’

  ‘It doesn’t sound daft, Dad. It is.’

  ‘I can always ground you, you know.’

  ‘Oh, great. You haven’t been around for God knows how long and now you come swanning in thinking it’s all going back to walks in the park and teddy bears, or something. I don’t think so.’

  With that she was gone. His little girl had definitely morphed. That was the real killer. He had missed that happening.

  ‘They’re all trying to get in on the act now,’ Glynnis said, as she delivered Sean’s Full Welsh to his corner table in the café. Sean glanced up from his Google search. He thought he had better know a few of Craig’s chart hits before he met him. He saw Glynnis standing, tight lipped, arms folded, glaring out at Santa’s Garden where there was a small army of little helpers tidying and primping. Sean smiled, but couldn’t keep the quizzical look from his face.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Glynnis quickly said. ‘There’s where you want to look.’ She nodded out to the hive of activity, where Byron was directing operations with all the aplomb of a concert conductor. ‘He’s probably been and goggled or boggled or whatever you do on those things –’ she pointed to Sean’s iPad. ‘And now he knows what a big cheese is coming. He’ll be trying to be first in line, you know.’

  She used it as her departure line, but the meaning was more obvious. She wanted to be first in line. Sean chuckled as he dissected the egg to start creating the glue for the egg and bacon sauce, as a text message popped up on the iPad screen. Sandra. WHAT TIME CRAIG DUE? Sean nearly choked on the first piece of bacon, sausage and black pudding. They were all trying to get in on the act.

  Luke and Matt were now naked. They were going through the drill of loading their mud-splattered blacks into the washing machine to clean them up and get rid of any superficial dirt that could link them back to Leather’s farmhouse. Not that they expected Leather to call it in. The concern was always dog walkers. Or joggers. See something suspicious. Call the police. The nation had been inculcated in this mantra. A couple of guys in black coveralls and balaclavas carrying bins across a field might fall into that category. The idea that it would be Leather who pressed charges was a fallacy imported from American crime shows. In Britain it was the cops who decided whether you needed lifting.

  Having set the washing machine going they went upstairs for a shower. If they had just got back from a firefight they would have changed, burnt their gear and wiped down not far from the scene, so they could travel home relatively clean. They knew that forensics might always find something, but that was when they were looking and after they’d picked up any superficial clues. Matt had switched the car registration plates as soon as they got back, feeding the cloned car set into the incinerator Luke had installed as part of the eco-heating system. It burnt all household and garden refuse to provide the hot water that was now running over their backs.

  They had talked through the likely scenarios on the way back. About how Leather would probably assume it was a land grab. So he’d come looking for who was likely to gain, not some old school chums out for revenge. That would go one of two ways. He looked the type who would want to react quickly to stamp his authority – yet, the execution by crane suggested a man of detail and planning. Who needed to be in control. That suggested he would wait until he felt the time was right.

  Either way, they agreed that he would come after dark. More creatures of the night. They might be brazen enough to act in daylight on their own patch, but not in Highbridge. Yet. That was why they had to be stopped. Before they did.

  The plan was to stop them at the choke point. The swing bridge into town. If the bridge opened at the right moment they would have to stop. And once stopped, they would be fixed targets. There for the taking.

  ‘We going to be ready at the swing bridge every night from now on, then?’ Matt asked, as Luke came into the kitchen still pulling on a sweatshirt.

  Matt was now showered and throwing together another one-pot dish. Paella.

  Luke nodded. ‘You sure you can get all the cameras to work?’

  ‘Don’t see why not. Four cameras. Four IP addresses. Four feeds,’ Matt responded, but then added, ‘You sure Billy couldn’t just swing a drone for us? A proper one.’

  Luke laughed. ‘I’m sure if the price was right. Although someone in Nevada might query the idea of targeting that chippy.’

  Matt shrugged, accepting that was probably a fair observation, which was why they were going with Plan B. Supplementing the 3G camera they had used at Leather’s farmhouse with three more, each positioned on the expected route to Highbridge. Each of the four cameras would be mounted inside what looked like a standard bird nest and feeder box, the sort that often have a camera rigged inside so enthusiasts can watch the birds feeding and nesting, and the chicks growing. However, with Matt’s boxes the camera was pointing outward. Each had a small power pack with a long trailing power cable. Each was painted in British road sign grey. They also had large zip ties attached so they could easily be strapped tightly to any one of the many road signs that cluttered roadside landscapes. They would look just like any another piece of kit some jobsworth somewhere had put up to monitor only they knew what.

  ‘How long will it take to rig everything?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Couple of minutes each, tops. Travel out. Back. I can set up the laptops on the way back. Couple of hours, say three tops?’

  ‘We’d better get them rigged this morning, then. Rest up this afternoon.’

  ‘OK,’ Matt replied, reaching over for two plates. ‘Get the water. And did you find out about the bridge?’

  Luke nodded, putting two water bottles on the table. ‘Found out that it only opens on demand, though.’

  ‘How’s it work? Can we rig it?’

  ‘It’s electric. Operated from a control room overlooking the canal.’

  ‘So,’ Matt concluded, as he scooped out the paella on to two waiting plates. ‘All we have to do is hot wire it?’

  Another nod from Luke. ‘And if we can’t, I think we know a man who can.’

  Matt grinned. ‘I think we do. But er …’ He stopped for a moment. Not sure whether he really wanted to bring up the subject. ‘But er … We – or you – sure about Joey? I know you had another word, but … Is he still up for it all? I mean, frightening Fatty’s one thing, but we know where this is going, don’t we?’

  Luke acknowledged the point with a nod. ‘And that’s something else I’m going to ask him. Go or No Go.’

  ‘And what happens if it’s a No Go? If he can’t live with it?’

  Luke pondered for a moment. The same issue. Easy to say people should be shot. Different doing it. And different living with the trauma of feeling responsible. ‘Let’s see what our man says first.’

  That man was now walking down the High Street looking for Bobby McBain’s controversial car parking scheme. Joey was curious and had time to kill while the guys at Glass & Shine removed the stench of Becky’s stomach from the rear door side panel of the Q7. With a bit of luck they’d all get away with Natasha thinking he had had the car cleaned as a surprise.

  It
didn’t take him long. He just followed a convoy of cars that turned off the High Street into Saddlers Street. As he rounded the corner he saw they were then turning into a wide open space, that once housed the junior school. On one corner was a small shed, outside which a young lad with a shock of red hair was collecting money. Joey walked over and asked the lad if he knew where Bobby was. A phone came out and within five minutes Bobby’s Range Rover arrived.

  ‘You trying to scrounge another coffee, Nolan?’ the gravel voice called as the driver’s window slid down.

  ‘If you’re buying.’

  ‘Get in.’

  Another five minutes and they were walking into Costa. Again. And for once, Bobby had turned off his phone.

  ‘Politicians are like ex-wives, Joe,’ Bobby said. ‘Never know what they want and when they get it they’re never satisfied.’

  ‘What you on about now?’

  ‘You asked me about the car park. They carp on about wanting inward investment and businesses to invest in the community. When you do, they start harassing you.’

  Joey laughed. ‘I don’t think they had you squatting on their land in mind, Bob.’

  ‘Er, careful, Joe. It’s not theirs. It’s ours. The people’s. That’s what they don’t get. And that carrot head manning the car park? Slung out of school because of his “antisocial” behaviour. His dad’s inside. His mum’s got something missing upstairs and he’s number nine out of, er, twelve I think. That’s conjugal visits for you. So no wonder he’s anti-social, eh? But he’s a brilliant lad. Hard worker. Because I give him what he wants. A bit of love and respect.’

  ‘So you’re Uncle Bob, are you?’

  ‘I am more than the Council lot, but … That’s all I wanted, you know. Bit of encouragement. Want to grab a seat? I’ll sort out the order.’

  Bobby then walked to the front of the queue to give the order to the young lad on the till. Joey looked round. Every seat seemed to be occupied. Until Bobby noticed him, still hovering. He walked over and gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment, which was immediately picked up by a group by the window and one near the toilets. Both stood up and offered Bobby their seats. He pointed Joey towards the window group then, with an appreciative wave, he went back to collect the coffees. Joey, slightly embarrassed, eased himself into the still warm chairs.