by Lee Stevens
After a pause, Bardzecki said, “I can do it. When you need them?”
“I don’t know yet. How much notice do you need?”
“Notice?”
“How much... time in advance. If I call you tomorrow and say I need them in three days time can you do it?”
Another pause. Then: “Maybe. Yes, maybe.”
The morning after the three of them had left Thirnbridge, Purvis had called him back. After reminding Bardzecki of who he was and of their previous phone call, the Russian had asked Purvis to meet him later that day in a specific pub in Newcastle city centre and bring a photograph for each passport.
Purvis found a photo-machine in a supermarket and he, Sandra and Wendy posed for their snaps (Wendy took six attempts to sit still) and then he dropped the two of them at a cheap hotel before meeting Bardzecki alone.
“You have pictures?” Peekcherz?
Purvis handed them to the Russian and Bardzecki looked them over.
“Your daughter?” he asked, brandishing Wendy’s mug-shot.
Purvis nodded.
“She very cute.” Then he held up Sandra’s mug-shot. “Your wife, very pretty.”
“Thank you. How soon can we have the passports?”
Bardzecki pushed out his lower lip. Frowned. Then he swallowed several mouthfuls of his lager.
“By Friday.”
“Two days, excellent.”
“The price be three thousands.”
Purvis said “okay” and saw a flicker of surprise in the Russian’s face. Bardzecki was obviously preparing to argue the fact the price was high because of the speed of the service, not to mention that the three passports had to be in the same name and that genders and ages had been specified.
“One thousand now. The other two on collection.”
Purvis went to the toilets and locked himself in a cubicle. He counted out a thousand in twenties and once back with Bardzecki he passed the notes under the table.
“Friday. I call you.”
The Russian then drank up and left, and earlier tonight, just one hour before Purvis had checked into the motel this dark and starless night, Bardzecki had been good on his word and the exchange had been made.
The passports would fool anyone.
“Nice doing business with you, Mr Markevich,” Bardzecki said with a crooked grin before walking away from the riverside where they’d met.
Purvis double-checked each passport and again felt confident about their quality.
He headed back to the car where Sandra and Wendy were waiting.
“How do they look?” Sandra asked.
“They look great, Alisa.”
She smiled.
“I like that name. What’s Wendy called?”
“Rozalina.”
“That’s nice too.” She looked him deep in the eyes. Then she kissed him. “So, what now?”
“We find somewhere to stay tonight and recharge our batteries.” He started the engine and drove away from the wasteland that had been the meeting place. “And we practice our Russian accents. Tomorrow we fly.”
Yes, first thing in the morning they’d head to Newcastle airport. Book a last minute flight with cash. Leave this nightmare far behind.
Now, as he sat on the bed, hoping the final leg of their journey would run smoothly, he heard Wendy yawn next to him. She was still awake – barely. Her eyes were puffy little slits, yearning for sleep.
“You still tired, Sweety?” he asked.
Wendy nodded and yawned again.
“I’ll unpack your pyjamas and get you ready for bed,” Sandra said.
“Tewwy,” Wendy asked.
“You want to watch some telly?” Purvis said. He switched on the set and noticed there was a DVD player under it. So he rummaged inside one of the bags, pulled out a DVD and inserted it. Peppa Pig was a Godsend. Better than a cuddle and a bedtime story to help wind a child down at night.
Wendy smiled and lay on her side, enjoying the bright colours and silly voices of the characters. Enjoying the innocence of it all. Poor thing, Purvis couldn’t help think for the umpteenth time since they’d left. They’d told her that they were all going on holiday for a while and she’d gotten very excited and asked all sorts of questions; Where? For how long? Who with? and it had pleased Purvis immensely when she hadn’t enquired why her ‘dad’ wasn’t going with them. In fact, over the last few days, she hadn’t mentioned Nash once. What was even better was that during the few relaxing hours they’d managed to do normal things together, like spending time in a park or going shopping for new clothes, Purvis had felt Wendy warm to him even more. And last night, in a hotel twenty miles north of where they now were, Wendy had woken up in the middle of the night after having a bad dream and had crawled in-between them. When Purvis had woken early the next morning, she had been cuddled up close to him, her head against his shoulder and one arm across his chest.
Purvis had lain there for nearly an hour until she’d woken, feeling like a proper father for the first time. It had felt so natural yet at the same time so... wonderful.
Despite the antics of Peppa and her family, Wendy was asleep again within ten minutes, curled up on her side in the centre of the bed. So Sandra pulled off her shoes and dress and covered her with the blanket.
“We can let her sleep in-between us again, if you like?” Purvis said.
“Yeah, she should sleep till morning now,” Sandra said. “Poor thing’s exhausted.”
“It’s only for one more night,” Purvis said.
Sandra smiled, although she still looked concerned.
“I just keep thinking that something’s going to go wrong somewhere.”
“We made it,” Purvis told her. “Nash hasn’t found us, and he won’t. Don’t even think about him anymore. Don’t let him become the bogeyman that haunts you.”
Sandra smiled and walked to the window. Purvis followed her, pulled back the curtains and double checked everything outside was still nice and quiet.
When he saw it was, he snaked his arms around Sandra’s waist. She had lost weight. The last week had taken it out of her. Out of all three of them.
“We will get through this, won’t we?” she asked. “We’ll make it out of the country?”
We have to, Purvis thought. We’ve no other choice. They’d come too far to start worrying about airport security and customs. If the passports didn’t work, well... he just didn’t know what he’d do.
“Of course,” he said. “I won’t let anybody take you and Wendy from me. Ever.” He kissed Sandra’s neck and pulled the curtain’s closed. “Now stop worrying and come to bed.”
Ten minutes later, both still fully clothed, they were asleep either side of their daughter.
Outside in the car park, the man in the darkened Volvo tossed his half-finished Big Mac onto the passenger seat and pulled out his phone.
He belched onions and felt the heartburn instantly. Fucking McDonald’s. It was too rich for him and usually he never went near the place. But tonight he didn’t have a choice. He’d had to go through the Drive-Thru to avoid being seen and had to order something when the young lady came to the window.
He washed away the burn in his chest with a swig of strawberry milkshake. Then he stared at the window to room twelve as he dialled a number on his mobile phone, a number he’d scribbled down on a scrap of paper a few hours earlier after searching a few web sites and making a few phone calls in order to get Mike Nash’s personal number.
The word going around was that Nash (whoever he was) had offered five thousand pounds for any information on a man called Dylan Purvis who was said to be travelling with a woman and a young girl. This was too good to be true. All he had to do was follow them to find where they were staying and make the call. Simple.
This was nothing personal. In fact, Mr Purvis – now Markevich – had seemed a nice enough man. This was simply business. Three thousand plus another five made for a very good week’s work for an out of work immigrant.
Anton Bardzecki took another swig of milkshake as he waited for the call to connect.
It was time to make some very easy money.
43
Riley usual filled his car up at the Londis Garage by the cinema at ten every Friday night. A full tank cost him sixty-quid and most of it would be used up over the next few nights due to the many trips to various venues he would have to undertake. Tonight, however, he was out of luck. The garage next to the cinema was out of diesel and so he had to drive to the garage next to the bridge, five miles out of his way, a location he would normally be nowhere near at this time. There were no bars around here. No doormen for him to check in with.
This was fate sticking its nose in.
He stood in the rain, watching the digits on the pump’s display race up at an astronomical rate, wondering if tonight would be the night everything kicked off. It was Friday night, after all. The start of the weekend when the police and paramedics were at their busiest.
Since the explosions earlier in the week, Riley had informed all of the doormen that more attacks would probably be on their way. If anyone wanted to quit, then do it now. Twelve did. They were part timers and didn’t need the grief and Riley didn’t try to change their minds but instead told those who’d chosen to stay to be vigilant at work. These attacks wouldn’t be by drunken thugs. They would be planned and dangerous. Dainton couldn’t get to Nash as Nash had since upped the security at his apartment and barely left the place anymore (apparently, Dainton was living the exact same way – it was tough at the top). No, Dainton’s best bet was to hit Nash’s businesses or to hack away at the army of men at his disposal, and because Nash had gone all out to destroy Dainton these last few days, revenge certainly seemed on the cards. McCabe (the ever confusing McCabe) and Howden had firebombed two of his betting shops in broad daylight resulting in several injuries but luckily no deaths. The next night, they’d beaten one of Dainton’s main drug runners half to death before taking his cash and stock. The next steps were to take out some of his high up men, burn his casino and other small businesses to the ground and eventually take the big man himself out – as slowly and painfully as possible.
Riley replaced the petrol cap and paid for the fuel at the serving window, still in a dream, still thinking, still worrying about what may lie ahead in the next few hours.
On his way back to the Merc, the dream was broken.
From the road that ran parallel to the garage came the thumping sound of music from a passing car. Probably some seventeen-year old and his mates in a second-hand Golf with a jazzed up sound-system, Riley first thought. But, after doing a double-take, he knew differently.
There, barely fifty yards from him, casually driving past with rock music blaring inside the Toyota, was McCabe. Riley didn’t even try to get his attention. Instead, he climbed in the Merc and steered out of the garage forecourt. He had every intention of heading back to work until he saw McCabe’s Toyota filter into the lane for the bridge. He was heading over to the North side.
What the hell was going on? Why would he be heading over there? As far as Riley knew, Nash had nothing planned tonight. No surprise attacks on Dainton’s men or premises. And even if he did, McCabe wouldn’t be going alone and in his own vehicle, and he certainly wouldn’t be blasting out music and looking so relaxed.
Riley flicked his indicators from left to right, waited for a gap in the traffic and filtered into the lane for the bridge also, straining his eyes to find McCabe’s car within line of vehicles up ahead. He soon spotted him six cars up as they crossed the bridge into Dainton’s territory.
Soon the traffic in-between them dropped from five cars to four as one turned off the road. A mile later, there were only two cars between them.
What are you up to, McCabe? Riley wondered. Then: What the hell am I up to? I should be back at the club. Not all the way over here.
But he had to follow. Something inside told him McCabe was up to something, and that something was unknown to Nash. For a fleeting second Riley actually considered calling Nash or Turner to see if they had sent McCabe on a little mission tonight but quickly dismissed it. It would look suspicious. Plus, if McCabe was up to something, Riley wanted to find out just what it was before anyone else.
McCabe took a right, towards the coast.
Riley kept his distance and followed as the road stretched out before them, the North Sea, dark and brooding, a mile in the distance.
A few minutes later, McCabe pulled into a deserted car park. There was an abandoned arcade building to one side of it, it’s doors and windows boarded up and the sign that must have once read ‘WONDERLAND ARCADE’ or something now read ‘WO DER ND ARC E’. To the other side of the car park was a neglected and overgrown green area of bushes and ill-looking trees fenced off from the pavement.
Riley drove past. Arched his neck to see why McCabe had chosen this place and saw that the car park wasn’t actually deserted. There was one other vehicle there.
Just before the trees and bushes obscured his view, Riley noticed the vehicle’s lights flash on and off a couple of times, as if greeting McCabe.
Something was going down. Discreet meetings like this aren’t called to discuss the football results or last night’s Eastenders episode. Whatever this was about was big.
Riley managed to turn the car around at a junction a few hundred yards further up the road before re-joining the mild traffic and doubling back. Before he reached the car park he slowed down, switched on his hazard warning lights to make the driver behind him think he was having some sort of engine trouble and pulled up onto the pavement so he didn’t block the road.
He climbed out and looked over to the car park. From this angle it was hidden by the overgrown foliage behind the fence. He would have to get closer.
Riley crossed the road and soon discovered that the trees separated the car park from a narrow path that led down to a small sandy beach. Riley followed it halfway until he found a spot where the shrubbery wasn’t as thick and offered a semi-decent view over the car park.
He could now see that McCabe had gotten out of his vehicle and had approached the other car. A BMW, it looked like. There was a man sitting in it. The internal light was on and Riley could see them shaking hands, McCabe leaning in through the open window like an old friend.
He had to catch this.
Riley pulled out his phone. His fingers fumbled over the buttons. He found the VIDEO setting, selected it and held the phone out in front of him to record this cosy little meeting.
Why though? he wondered. Are you gonna show Nash? The police? Just what are you going to do once you find the evidence that McCabe’s involved?
Riley didn’t try to answer his own questions. Instead, he kept recording, but could tell by the image on the phone’s screen that he was still too far away. It was blurry and neither man’s face could be made out.
Riley looked at the waist high fence holding back the urban jungle and it took less than a second for him to decide to jump over it and head through the trees to get closer to the car park. He didn’t care if his boots got muddy or his leather jacket ripped by the thorns as he walked deeper into the undergrowth. All he concentrated on was being quiet and keeping his phone steady as he held it out in front of him, keeping McCabe and the man he was talking to framed in the shot, both figures becoming crisper the closer he got, their faces becoming clearer, more recognisable.
Riley stopped when he was as close as he thought he could get and zoomed in to the phones capacity.
“Got you,” he whispered to himself.
On his phone, in real time, he had McCabe meeting with a man he recognised as Shaun Rodgers – one of Lenny Dainton’s top men whose position within that gang were similar to McCabe’s under Nash. Rodgers was a killer, a problem solver and thought to be in charge of the street runners and dealers on the North side. He’d not long been out of prison for-
Hang on a second...
Suddenly, Riley understood. Everything fell into p
lace.
McCabe had been banged up in the same prison as Rodgers at the same time, probably on the same wing. Yes, he remembered at the time people thought there would be a power struggle inside between two of Nash and Dainton’s heavies. Obviously they’d been wrong. Instead of fighting each other, it looked like they teamed up. No doubt Dainton was as oblivious to this meeting as Nash would be. Yes, Purvis’s off-the-cuff remark had been bang on. These two fuckers are working together to get rid of both bosses.
But there was still that lingering question – why?
Riley was still over fifty yards away from them but the angle was now better and he was able to fit both of their faces into the frame for long periods, catching the movements of their mouths as they talked, catching Rodgers handing some paperwork through the open window to McCabe, catching them shaking hands again before Rodgers drove off and McCabe headed back to his Toyota. A good three minutes of footage in total.
Then headlights on McCabe’s car blazed to life and the sound of his revving engine floated up to Riley on the breeze along with the odour of salt and seaweed. Luckily, he drove back the way he came and so wouldn’t have noticed the Merc on the pavement, looking all sad and broken down.
Riley headed out of the bushes, checking the quality of the recording as he went. Most of it was perfect, there being no doubt about the identity of either man. Now he just had to figure out what to do with it. But did he really want show Nash? Let him take care of McCabe and Rodgers and continue his search for Purvis and Sandra? Would it be better to let McCabe and Rodgers take Nash out? It certainly would be safer for Purvis if he was out of the picture, and the little chat and the exchange of paperwork Riley had just witnessed meant that something would happen soon for sure.
You could always do the right thing and tell your friend detective Davison...
As he headed back to his car, still unsure of his next move, the footage on his phone suddenly froze before the screen went blank and the ringtone kicked in.
He had a call.