by Lee Stevens
Riley climbed out the Merc and Howden tossed him the car keys.
“I’ll let you sort everything with Nash,” he said. “I’m off. See you tonight.” With that, Howden walked to his own car parked a few bays up, hitching his collar up against the potential downpour and coolly flicking his cigarette away like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Riley climbed the outside stairs and used his pass-card to get through the staff door and into the narrow, gloomy corridor inside. A few seconds later, as he was passing the security office which he assumed to be empty, a mock-deep voice called out, “Sorry, mate. No tie, no entry.”
Riley stopped. Stuck his head in the small room.
“You think I’d choose to drink in a dump like this?” he asked the man sitting in front of the computer and security monitors.
Dylan Purvis smiled, got up from his seat and shook Riley’s hand.
“No, me neither.”
Purvis, at forty-one, was a few years older than Riley and didn’t look like the sort of person you’d expect to be involved with Mike Nash. He was average height, probably weighed less than twelve stone and, as far as Riley knew, had never had a fight in his life. But he hadn’t had to. He and Nash had known each other from a young age and both men had learned early on that they could be helpful to each other.
Apparently, when he was a teenager, Purvis had been a straight A student who had an almost unhealthy interest in electronics and early computers and very little else. He shunned sports and the joys of playground ruff-and-tumble, and those things combined with him being an only child to hippy parents (Dylan? What kind of name’s that?) had made him an easy target for the bullyboys in the tough working-class comprehensive. Nash, on the other hand, could barely read by his teens but he had talents in other areas. He taxed other kids of their cigarettes and sold them for a profit, stole exam papers and charged others their dinner money for a few answers and soon built up a reputation as the school’s tough guy by fighting rival gangs – all while his schoolwork suffered. After more than one threat of being expelled (a move which he welcomed but his parents would see red over) he had to find a solution and he soon saw the potential in the little bookworm in his class. Nash offered Purvis a deal; sit next to him in class and help him with tricky questions, awkward sums and long words, do his homework and coursework and no one would call him another name, trip him in the corridors or wedgy him in the toilets ever again. He’d be protected. Purvis agreed and the arrangement worked brilliantly for both boys. Nash made it through school (although he failed every exam) and Purvis became untouchable.
Once out of the comp both young men could’ve walked away and lived separate lives but, for some reason, they’d stayed in touch. Purvis went to college and Nash began his life of crime but they would regularly meet up for a drink and a chat. Maybe, in a strange way, both were envious of the other’s talents. Maybe Purvis would have loved to be as ruthless and as feared as Nash and maybe Nash was jealous of Purvis’s brains. Whatever the reason, a quarter of a century since their school days had ended, their roles were the same. Nash was the hard-man boss and Purvis was his employee who now carried some ridiculous job title like ‘Security Consultant’ when in simple fact all he did was maintain the electronic security systems installed in Nash’s premises. But Riley was glad of Purvis’s employment within the firm. He liked the fact that there was at least one other bloke in the upper echelons of Nash’s workforce who wasn’t a violent nutcase.
“What’re you doing here,” Riley asked him. “I thought you’d be getting ready for tonight, like everyone else.”
“I’m already ready,” Purvis said, showing off his new suit. “Anyway, Nash wanted me to do a couple of things for him a.s.a.p. Remember the trouble last night?”
Riley nodded.
Nash owned two nightclubs, three pubs and one restaurant. Twilight nightclub was his baby, the first business he’d bought and the busiest club in the city. Last night, around midnight, two doormen had gotten into an altercation with a customer carrying drugs (someone who wasn’t on Nash’s payroll) and had really messed him up. Riley, thanks to his position as head doorman, had helped convince the police that the bouncers had been attacked first and had been defending themselves. He found out later that it wasn’t really true, but what could he do, shop two of his staff to the police? Of course not. Despite his disliking of a lot of things involved in his job, he couldn’t act out of character. And anyway, the guy they’d battered really had been carrying drugs with the obvious intent to sell and therefore deserved to get a hiding (admittedly, not as savage a one as he’d received) and so lying to the police had been made that little bit easier.
After the man had been knocked unconscious and looked to be really hurt the doormen had gotten worried. So one of them had fetched a sharp knife from the club’s kitchen, got the bloke’s prints on it and left it by his prone body before the police arrived. See officer, he came at us with a knife! We had no choice! Problem solved.
Or so they’d thought.
“The police have requested the security footage and are sending a detective for it tomorrow,” Purvis said, beckoning Riley over to the computer screen. “You know what the doormen told the police. They said they’d frisked him as he tried to get in the club and when they found the drugs he got edgy and a scuffle broke out. Then he pulled out a knife and what they did to him was self defence.”
“Simple scenario,” Riley said, nodding. “Not unheard of.”
“Pity it was bullshit,” Purvis said. “And it was all caught on tape.”
Purvis clicked a button on the mouse and the security footage from outside the club the previous night filled the screen. There was no sound and the picture was black and white and slightly hazy, but the images could be made out well enough.
The doormen could be seen arguing with a young man dressed in a stripy shirt. He looked drunk and was acting aggressively as one of the doormen began to search him. When the scuffle broke out the man started to throw a few decent punches at Tony Devlin, the smaller of the two doormen. Then Harry Knight, Devlin’s colleague, waded in and the fight moved off to the left of the screen. Both men knew the limits of the cameras installed outside the club and obviously knew where to go to get out of sight of them. Only the man didn’t let them get that far and as he finally realised he wasn’t going to win against two bigger men and was about to make a run for it, Knight decked him with a wicked right hook that almost took the poor sod’s head off. Then Devlin, obviously pissed off that he hadn’t been able to take the man out by himself, kicked the bloke in the head four times. Luckily this had happened late on and there wasn’t a queue of customers witnessing it who could testify and leave both Knight and Devlin without a leg to stand on in court.
“As you can see,” Purvis said, “it quite clearly shows the bloke didn’t have a knife and Devlin and Knight didn’t do this off camera. It’s lucky the police didn’t request the recording before now. At least I’ve had time to work on it.”
“Nash got you doing a little job ‘off the record’, has he?” Riley asked. That’s how Nash referred to it. ‘Off the record’ was Purvis being asked to put his computer skills to use for illegal means; hacking; spying; manipulating evidence. No one who worked for Nash was totally legit. He wouldn’t allow it.
“Watch.” Purvis ejected the disc, inserted another and tapped a button on the mouse. Seconds later, a second piece of footage began to run.
At first Riley thought it was identical to the first, but then he noticed that this time the figures were slightly larger than on the previous recording.
He watched as the doormen frisked the man again. Saw the scuffle break out, move off to the left...
And all three men disappeared off screen before Knight had even thrown the punch that began the brutal assault.
“Clever, clever,” Riley said.
“Nash doesn’t pay me for nothing,” Purvis said. “I enlarged everything by ten percent apart from the time counter in
the bottom corner. The whole incident’s off-screen, cut and deleted, and I doubt the police will have the footage analysed to see if it’s been tampered with. They’ll just take it as gospel. This now won’t prove or disprove anything. It’ll be his word against the doormen’s.” Purvis stopped the footage and ejected the disc. “That’s when he can talk again. Devlin and Knight broke his jaw – amongst other things. Anyway, why are you here so early?”
“Just finished a few jobs myself.” Riley pulled out the envelopes full of cash. “Time to see the boss.”
“Hold on, I’ll come with you,” Purvis said. He snapped the disc containing the original recording in half and dumped it in the bin. Then he grabbed the doctored disc and a second one that lay beside the computer, shoving them both into cases. He got to his feet, buttoned his suit jacket and ran a hand through his short brown hair to make sure every strand was in place.
“You seem a bit over keen to see him,” Riley said.
“It’s not Nash I want to see.”
“Oh, of course not.” Riley smiled, feeling sympathy for his friend. The situation he was in was tragic. It was his own fault – but tragic. “I take it both of them are here.”
“They’re decorating the place for tonight. Well, Sandra is, Wendy’s just running around excited.”
Riley grinned at the thought.
“Then let’s go.”
Both men headed along the corridor. They passed the staff changing rooms and toilets, and the kitchen that was missing one knife, and finally went through another pass-card operated door that led into the large circular room that was the main heart of the club.
It was brighter in here, the many overhead lights blasting out thousands of watts of illumination. Although Twilight was the city’s most popular club, the fixtures and fittings looked tatty in the light. You could see every rip and stain on every seat and where paint and plaster had been scraped and chipped from the walls. The marks on the dance-floor where it had been dented by thousands of heels over the years stood out for all to see. No wonder nightclubs were always dark inside, and Riley knew that by eight tonight, when the party started, Twilight would be the same, the overhead lights replaced by the softer wall lights that would hide the club’s many signs of wear and tear.
On the other side of the dance floor that dominated the centre of the room, three women were hanging banners and balloons and blown-up photographs. One of the women Riley and Purvis knew well. The other two were Nash’s sisters and they’d only met them a handful of times. Nash wasn’t close to any of his relatives but they’d all been invited tonight as the occasion was the highlight of the year. On the DJ’s platform, two men were connecting up speakers and a turntable for the entertainment later. Across from them, the buffet table had already been set and the odour of party food mixed with the scent of floor cleaner and furniture polish lingered. On the wall behind the buffet table, in large coloured letters, was a sign which read:
HAPPY 21 st MICHAEL JUNIOR
Riley and Purvis made it halfway across the dance floor when a small voice made them stop.
“Uncky Dywan! Uncky Dywan!”
The little girl carrying the balloon ran up to them. Purvis, his face lit with joy, scooped her up and planted a loud kiss on her cheek.
Wendy giggled. She was Nash’s second child (on paper only, Riley knew) and was already dressed in her pink outfit for tonight and her blonde hair was tied in short pigtails. She had just turned two, had not long started talking and was still having problems with L’s and R’s. Although Riley sometimes struggled to understand her, he was sure he’d never heard a cuter voice in all his life. To her, Purvis was uncky Dywan and was the only one of Nash’s men who Wendy referred to as ‘uncle’. It was a pity the truth wasn’t known as it would be easier for Wendy to pronounce the word ‘dad’.
“What have you been doing, Sweety?” Purvis asked her, pointing to the balloon.
“Hewping Mum.” Wendy pointed to one of the women who was hanging balloons. The one with the blonde hair and slim figure accentuated by the burgundy dress.
Sandra Wade had been in a relationship with Nash for four years but still went by her maiden name as marriage had never been on the cards. She was a stunning looking woman of thirty-six, five years younger than Nash. Tonight, in front of the other guests, they would act as if their relationship was solid. In private, however, Riley knew that cracks bigger than the ones in Twilight’s walls had appeared in their relationship even before Wendy came along out of the blue.
Riley noticed Purvis staring over at Sandra as he held Wendy. Then Sandra, as if sensing eyes on her, looked over her shoulder. She smiled at him, the longing in her eyes giving away her most guarded secret. The look was blatantly the way a mother would stare lovingly at her beautiful child with her loving father; a caring, sentimental and far away gaze.
She quickly looked away and continued decorating the room for the party as one of Nash’s sisters struck up a conversation with her.
“Uncky Dywan. Party?” Wendy asked Purvis, snapping him from his trance.
“Am I going to the party tonight? I am, Sweety.” He kissed her head again and tugged at one of her pigtails for fun. Wendy laughed and buried her head into his shoulder. “We just have to see your... dad first.”
Riley knew it had hurt Purvis to say that word. To refer to Nash as Wendy’s father must be like a dagger in his heart.
“Woom,” Wendy said.
“Womb?” Riley asked.
“I think she means room,” Purvis said and laughed. “Nash is in his office.” He kissed Wendy’s cheek again, placed her gently on the floor and said, “We’ll see you later, Sweety. You go and help your mum.”
“Ba-bye,” she said and scurried away happily. Innocently. Oblivious to all the horrors of the big, bad world.
Purvis watched her go. Smiled and waved to Sandra when she sneaked a glance back at him. To Riley, it was one of those scenes which made the relationship between the two of them so obvious. But, he assumed, that was because he knew what was going on. He was the only one who knew, and therefore scenes like this resonated more with him. To the others, Purvis was simply acting like a loving ‘uncle’, a decent bloke who cared deeply for the daughter of a friend.
“You okay?” Riley whispered.
“Sometimes are just harder than others,” Purvis said quietly. “But it’s alright. Soon the three of us will be together.”
Riley nodded. He hoped they would be.
“But not tonight,” he told Purvis. “So don’t beat yourself up about it now. Come on, let’s see the boss.”
7
They went through another pass-card guarded door marked STAFF. At the end of a short corridor was door marked PRIVATE. This was the manager’s office that in turn linked onto another room via a thick steel door where the club’s takings were kept before being banked. Even though Nash employed a full time manager to run the club, this room was his when he was around.
Riley knocked three times.
“Yeah, come in,” came the reply.
Mike Nash was sat at the desk, dressed in a shiny grey suit that, along with the Rolex and several rings and bracelets, probably cost more than most people’s cars. He wasn’t the biggest man you’d ever seen, but with his solid frame, bald head and worn face that had obviously been in a few fights in its time (the top of his nose and forehead were permanently swollen, like a boxer’s), he looked every part an English gangster. His eyes were the most disturbing though. Riley always thought you could tell a lot by a person’s eyes and the way they looked at you. Nash’s stared right through people, like a tiger eyeing its prey, like he could rip you to pieces at a second’s notice without feeling guilty afterwards. After all, it had been his ruthless streak that had helped him get where he was today.
Riley knew the story well.
Twenty years ago Lenny Dainton had been Thirnbridge’s most powerful criminal, mainly working the north side of the river that back then had been the most lucrative par
t of the city. When he was eventually caught and imprisoned for his masterminding the robbing of a security van carrying almost half a million, a young Mike Nash – as well as many other small time crooks - saw an opportunity to take over from where Dainton had left off. Nash already had a small army of men working with him, pulling protection rackets, small robberies and, of course, lending money to poor fools who couldn’t pay it back. He scared off the competition early on with beatings and knee-cappings, sending out a message that there was a new man in town. When he took over the docks in Dainton’s absence, allowing him to do deals with foreign criminals wanting to ship their merchandise abroad, he was soon untouchable. Then, just after the millennium, Thirnbridge council announced plans to rejuvenate the run-down centre on the south side of the river, building new hotels and bars and nightclubs, hoping to cash in on the British love of a good night out. Within a few years, Nash – through terror and good business sense – had reached the top, making money by infiltrating the construction industry and ploughing the money he made into property and businesses, buying bars and clubs and apartments. When Dainton was released from prison a few years later after serving thirteen years of his twenty year sentence, he came out to a new world. Nash was the head man in Thirnbridge now, and after a couple of failed attempts to regain some power (a few street shootings, a few petrol bombed properties of Nash’s and a few of his own men beaten, stabbed, burnt and shot in return) Dainton finally resigned to the north side of the river, overseeing the few businesses he still had in a form of semi-retirement. Nash had left him be. He didn’t need a war with Dainton. The north side was dead. His side of the city was where the money was. He had won, he was now the top dog, and it would always be that way.