Brotherhood

by David Beckler

  “And leave Philip?”

  “Nobody knows he’s here.”

  Byron shook his head.

  “You sure they’re McLaughlin’s men?”

  “Who else. They guy who rang knew my nieces’ names so I’m betting McLaughlin has briefed his crew to look out for me.”

  “So what do you want to do about him?”

  “Take him out.”

  Adam swallowed. “That’s a big step.”

  “He’s talking about my family. His men have my nieces’ names.”

  “If you’re serious, I’ll—”

  “Nah.” Byron exhaled in frustration. “It’s too risky, although I’m tempted.”

  Relief made Adam’s hands tingle.

  “McLaughlin’s pragmatic, or he used to be, and I reckon if I give him a bloody nose he’ll conclude it’s too much trouble to continue.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Not sure yet — I need to do some research. A mate from school who I used to box with is involved in the same life and he’ll know everything about his operation. I don’t even know how many men he’s got working for him.”

  “Where does your mate live?”

  “That’s what I was trying to find out.” Byron checked the time. “I’d better go — I’m supposed to be seeing someone who might be able to tell me.”

  “You need to rest the ankle.”

  “Yeah.” Byron stood, wincing as he took the weight on the injured joint. “I shouldn’t be long.”

  Byron arrived at the small housing estate built alongside the park. The Victorian cotton-barons’ mansions which once lined the streets surrounding it had long gone from this side, replaced by mean council houses, built with tiny windows.

  Three large new cars huddled outside a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. He parked Adam’s borrowed vehicle alongside them. The sensation of being watched accompanied him as he approached the front door which opened before he reached it. An athletic young man with a roll-up hanging from the corner of his mouth stared at Byron with blank eyes.

  “I’m here to see Cyrus. He’s expecting me,” Byron said.

  The man looked him up and down for a few seconds. He exhaled, blowing smoke towards his visitor. Byron smiled in response, not willing to let this arsehole get to him.

  “Lynton, let the man in.” A familiar voice came from within the house.

  Lynton waited a few seconds before moving aside. Byron stepped forward, but Lynton placed the palm of his hand against Byron’s chest, gesturing to him to raise his arms so he could frisk him. Byron ignored the instruction. Movement came from a room off the small hallway.

  “Lynton, why you playing the fool? Byron’s a brother.”

  Without taking his attention off their visitor, Lynton let Byron into the room. In the dim light, Byron could make out bare white-painted walls and an ugly green polyester carpet. Two cheap black leather sofas and a chair took up most of the floor space. In the corner, a massive silver television occupied pride of place. The thick haze spoke of prolonged and dedicated smoking by the occupants. Cyrus greeted his old school friend with a complicated handshake routine Byron, surprisingly, still remembered.

  Cyrus dismissed the two young women, sprawled on one sofa and offered Byron the seat. A third man, who could have passed for Lynton’s brother, emerged through the beaded curtain hanging across another doorway. The newcomer ignored Byron and handed bottles of Red Stripe to Cyrus and Lynton.

  Cyrus raised his bottle to Byron. “To our schooldays. Best days of our lives, don’t they say?”

  “I believe they do.” Cyrus had worn well, but Byron suspected his old school friend had done nothing which could be described as hard work.

  The newcomer stayed in the doorway and Lynton sat on the arm of the sofa, glaring at Byron, who ignored him.

  “So, Byron. You said when you called you want to know about Ritchie McLaughlin?” Cyrus stretched each syllable of the name.

  Byron nodded.

  “Why you want to know?” Cyrus’s accent veered between broad Mancunian and Jamaican.

  “He’s threatening my family and I want him to stop.”

  “You was always big on family, Byron. That brother of yours still boxing? Man he was fierce, he should have turned pro.” He looked at his two companions. “His brother had it all: speed, power, aggression. Like a young Muhammad Ali.”

  The other two didn’t seem impressed but Byron guessed it took a lot to impress them. The words transported Byron back eighteen years as he and Cyrus watched a teenaged Samuel batter grown men, some of them seasoned professionals, in the gym he sneaked off to in Moss Side. Being the bright son of a prominent brain surgeon, he had to make sure his father never knew of his activities. The responsibilities of early fatherhood soon made sure he finished, long before he ended up in the wheelchair.

  “No, he stopped when he got into medical school.”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot he also had a head full o’ brains. So how did your family upset Ritchie?”

  “Something to do with my nephew — my brother’s son.” Byron didn’t want to get into details.

  Cyrus chuckled. “Chip off the old block, eh?”

  He handed Byron a sheet of lined paper torn out of a school exercise book and he wondered if it belonged to one of the two girls. It contained a list of addresses inscribed in small, neat handwriting. Byron read them in the gloom.

  “Top one’s his pad; fancy apartment in the city.” Cyrus leant across and pointed to the first address. “The others are places he owns.”

  Byron tapped an address on the sheet with his forefinger. Unlike the others, which bore the names of bars and restaurants, the building occupied an unfashionable part of the city.

  “What’s this one?”

  “Lynton found that. It’s where he keeps his gear before he moves it on.”

  Byron nodded his thanks to Lynton who just grunted, obviously still upset at being rebuked. He folded the list and slid it into his pocket, trying to work out how he could use it.

  “There’s rumours he’s got half a million quid’s worth of dodgy gear in there on a lorry, just waiting for him to ship it out.” The man in the doorway spoke for the first time.

  An idea occurred to Byron. “What security does he have?”

  “He’s got four of his men guarding it round the clock, two on site and two on call.”

  Lynton came out of his sulk. “You thinking of hitting it?”

  Byron ignored the question; he didn’t intend to share his plans with Lynton.

  “How many men you got?” Cyrus cut in.

  “Two: me and one other.”

  Lynton chuckled and the man in the doorway joined him.

  “Man, Ritchie has at least twenty men,” Cyrus said.

  “It should be fairly even then,” Byron said.

  Cyrus laughed and flicked his fingers at his former schoolmate’s riposte. Byron had hoped the crew he’d taken on at his brother’s formed the bulk of McLaughlin’s forces. Without the element of surprise he already faced an uphill task.

  Mugisa watched Rebecca come out of the house, with the two girls following her. The alarm beeped as Cecily locked the door. He would need to change his plans. Rebecca reversed her car out of the drive and set off towards the main road. A surge of hope improved his spirits. Was she taking them to see Philip?

  Rebecca, a careful driver, took her time in the heavy late afternoon traffic, enabling Mugisa to keep up with her. While he drove, he wondered how the others had got on with the police. He’d have to meet up with them later.

  Rebecca parked the car and Mugisa realised he’d visited this house before. Philip’s grandmother lived here and he’d come with him once. This must be where he’d gone to hide. Mugisa looked for a place from which he could observe the house.

  A row of red brick terraces ran down each side of the narrow street. Most of the houses looked occupied but a few parking spaces remained and he chose a spot outside a house with no curtains and
a For Sale sign nailed to the front wall. The car he’d borrowed from one of Mr Walcott’s friends blended in with the others in the street.

  An old newspaper lay on the back seat and he opened it out onto the steering wheel, pretending to read while he watched the house seven doors away on the other side.

  Rebecca left half an hour later and Mugisa waited, discarding the paper as darkness fell. The temperature dropped, but he ignored the discomfort. The door to the house opened and Cecily came out and walked towards the small parade of shops on the main road. He tracked her in the mirror until she returned with a bag of groceries, but still no sign of Philip.

  Mugisa decided to wait until it got darker and, if their brother wasn’t there, he’d make them tell him where he was. Failing that, he’d use one of them for bait: a goat to catch a hyena.

  Byron drove past the building, pulled over and studied it, pretending to read his road map in case anyone saw him. The single-storey warehouse had two openings in the front, both protected by roller shutters, a door for pedestrians and a larger opening, big enough to accommodate a lorry. A dark SUV sat in front of the bigger gate, confirming the presence of guards.

  The roadworks he’d passed gave him an idea of how he could get in, but he’d need help. If he planned to do it tonight he didn’t have much time. As he drove past the roadworks he slowed and studied the excavators before continuing on his way to buy the equipment he needed.

  Three hours later, he arrived at Adam’s house, having bought the various items in different shops and paying cash for them. Before he went in he made a call to Louisa.

  “Hi, Baby. How are you doing?” he said.

  “Great. We went to Mum’s, and she sends her love. How is Philip and the family?”

  He hesitated. “They’re fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, just teenage stuff.” He squirmed in his seat.

  “Any idea when you’ll be able to come home?”

  “Not long, hopefully by the weekend.”

  “Oh.” She imbued the sound with her disappointment.

  “How’s Lilly?” he asked, trying to keep his voice bright.

  “She’s lovely, as ever. I’ve just put her to bed. She misses her daddy though. She wouldn’t sleep last night, so I brought her in with me.”

  His heart constricted. “Look Louisa, I’d better go. I’ll call you later.”

  Byron ended the call and sat for a few moments, wanting to go home and get on with his life. The sooner he got McLaughlin off his family’s back, the sooner that would happen.

  He let himself into Adam’s house calling, “Honey, I’m home.”

  Adam emerged from the back room. “Hi, Byron. I thought you’d abandoned us.” He carried a stripping knife and wore a paint-stained sweatshirt over an old pair of jeans.

  “Sorry, mate. It took longer than I expected.”

  “Did you get everything done?” Adam said, fishing for information.

  “Yeah, sure.” Byron remained vague, not wanting to involve his friend. “Philip okay?”

  Adam held up his hand, palm down, and wiggled it. “Sometimes he seems okay, but … you know.”

  Byron nodded. “He’ll need plenty of time. Where is he?”

  Adam pointed upwards. “He gave me a hand for a bit but he’s tired out. He’s having a nap.”

  “Can you take a break?”

  “Yeah, sure. I need one. Wallpaper stripping ain’t my favourite activity.” He put down the stripping knife and led the way into the kitchen. “Have you had lunch?”

  Byron realised he’d not eaten yet. “I could eat, if you’ve got anything in?”

  “How does home-made leek and potato soup and fresh bread sound?”

  “You serious?” Byron’s surprise lasted until he remembered Adam cooking for their unit.

  “Sit, and I’ll get it.”

  “You’ll make someone a great wife someday.” Byron tucked into the steaming soup, his mind on his plans, thinking of a way he could execute them on his own.

  Adam laughed. “Eat up you cheeky bleeder.” His expression became serious. “What are you planning?”

  “That transparent, eh?” Byron paused for a few seconds. “I intended to do it alone but I might need help.”

  “I’m not doing much at the moment.”

  “Cheers, Adam. I wouldn’t ask, only…”

  Adam held up a hand. “Just give me a rundown.”

  “McLaughlin’s got a warehouse with a forty-foot trailer full of stolen gear in it. If we can get hold of it, we can use it as collateral to persuade him to leave my family alone. I’d let him have it if he backs off.”

  Adam frowned and played with a few breadcrumbs on the table before replying. “Do you think it will work? You knew the guy.”

  “If I’m honest, I have to say I’m not sure.” Byron put down his spoon. “He always loved money and half a million is a lot to lose.”

  Adam whistled. “That’s a lot of persuasion.”

  Byron nodded. “Yup and I think it’ll be enough.”

  Adam rounded up the crumbs on his plate.

  “I can’t just sit here and wait for McLaughlin to attack my family.” He held his breath until Adam looked up, wearing a big grin.

  “Okay, mate. I’m in.”

  Byron smiled and pushed his bowl away. “Thanks, mate.”

  “I’m assuming you’ve checked the place out,” Adam said.

  “I have. It’s a single-storey brick and steel warehouse, ten metres by twenty with two doors at the front—”

  “Roller shutters?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Adam made a face.

  Byron nodded. “Yeah, but I have a plan.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “There’s also an alarm and security cameras.”

  “Anti-ram barriers?”

  “I saw none. Oh, and they have between two and four guys on site.”

  “Oh.” Adam frowned.

  “Yeah, oh. If you decide you don’t want to get involved, I’ll understand.”

  “And leave you to make a hash of it?” Adam’s expression didn’t leave him in any doubt.

  “Cheers, mate.”

  Half an hour later, they’d finalised their plans, Byron dismissing the small voice telling him they didn’t stand a chance.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Boy woke one morning to find the camp almost deserted. Most of the soldiers had gone on a big raid, leaving just a few guards. He resolved to escape that night — he’d take the girl with him. They had become close and he regarded her as a sister. At lunch, he sat with her, away from the others.

  “I’m running away,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide with shock. “If they catch you, they will kill you.”

  “They will not catch me,” he announced, with total conviction. “Come with me.”

  She looked even more horrified.

  “Don’t you want to go home?”

  Her eyes clouded and she looked down at the forest floor. Tears ran down her cheeks for several moments before she wiped them and sniffed.

  “All my family are dead.” She looked around at the camp. “This is my home now.”

  “All of them?” She nodded and a surge of sympathy made The Boy’s want to hold her. “Come with me. You can live with my family.”

  She shook her head. “Go alone. No decent family would want me now.”

  He wanted to protest, but her expression told him she wouldn’t change her mind. Disappointed, he ate some of his food, but saved most for the journey. She offered him hers and he thanked her, putting it with the water he’d hidden.

  Siobhan shivered, her office needed one more radiator, or just one which worked, although Eddy didn’t seem bothered by the cold. She examined the report comparing Philip’s fingerprints with those found at the fire and tried not to let her disappointment show. “It was a long shot Eddy, but at least we still have the CCTV and the eyewitness putting him with Liam j
ust before he died.”

  “You’re right, Boss, but finding his fingerprints would have been the first bit of physical evidence linking him to the scene.”

  Siobhan determined not to dwell on the setback. “Has the bike gone off to forensics?”

  “Yes, it was a bone-shaker. I’m surprised at a young lad having such a tatty bike. What do you want to do about the girl?”

  “I’ll let the CPS decide. We’ll concentrate on the investigation.”

  “Good idea. What about the other lads?”

  Siobhan exhaled in frustration. “It’s clear they’re all lying. It sounds like they’re reading from a script and I know who wrote it. We’ll speak to the parents and find out what time each boy got home.”

  “Do you want them brought in?”

  “Not yet, I want them on-side at the moment, but we’ll reconsider if any of them become difficult.” She suspected Mr Collins would be the most likely to give them trouble.

  Eddy nodded. “The lads didn’t object to us taking their prints.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Her limbs felt like lead and she exhaled.

  “Don’t worry, Boss. We’ll get something. I’ve got a good feeling.”

  “Was my frustration that obvious?” She laughed. “Anyway, isn’t it me who should have intuitive thoughts?”

  “Did you hear the news about Ritchie’s man?”

  She shook her head and waited for him to continue.

  “Someone beat Darren Riley, one of Ritchie’s soldiers, half to death outside his house. They’re not sure he’ll make it.”

  “Any ideas who did it?”

  “It’s got all the hallmarks of Harris and his boys.”

  Siobhan frowned in confusion.

  Eddy explained. “Old man Harris and his two sons hate McLaughlin and the feeling is mutual. They’re involved in stolen cars, drugs and prostitution but McLaughlin’s been treading on their toes.”

  “That’s the last thing we need now — a turf war. Although I suppose it might keep McLaughlin too busy to harass the Masons.”

  “You could be right, Boss.” Eddy didn’t sound convinced.

  Byron glanced at Adam as he reversed off the road leading to McLaughlin’s warehouse. His friend wore a grim expression: his combat face. Adam switched the lights off and killed the engine. The warehouse lay six hundred metres away. The road served an industrial estate and they hadn’t seen another vehicle since they’d left the main road.