by Ian Patrick
As he approaches Euston Road he starts looking around. In my mind he’s looking for a cab rather than anyone in particular, I move up. I need to try and hear where he’s going. His right hand shoots up as he sees the For Hire sign and the black cab moves over. I take my chance. I pull down my cap over my forehead and move alongside. As it draws up I grab the back door.
“There you go, sir.”
“Out of the way you bum. Driver, take me to Rosie’s.” I shut the door and walk off to find another cab to his location.
Rosie’s. A lap-dancing club open twenty-four hours. The dancers work shifts. Eastern European women make up a good part of the trade. The club sits in a back tenement in Green Lanes, N4. This is one place not even the old bill go for entertainment. They have The Griffin. Rosie’s is controlled by the Turks and they have a strict entry policy. There’s no membership, just a minimum spend of £300 a visit. That doesn’t include tips for the dancers. I’m not getting in dressed like I am. I find a cafe opposite. Sit and wait. I’ve no way of confirming he’s gone in but I have no other option right now. To attempt to go in would be suicide. If you know the place you know the dress code and it’s by invite only. I know this because Stoner works this club.
The waitress brings over a Turkish coffee pot and tops me up. This place has a good mix of locals. I feel comfortable enough to stay. If I’ve missed him it’s no big deal. This was purely for my knowledge, nothing more. My phone rings, it’s Stoner. I don’t answer. She can wait, she’s made me wait whilst she was off her head and I’ve no time for snow of any kind. I look upon drugs as a scourge. A blight on society. I’d never take any. I’ve seen the results of what it brings. Families destroyed, kids taken into care, parents dying. I’m also pro free will so if people want it then I feel a duty to provide the purest I can. Quality control, if you will. Sugar is the legal high. Cocaine, the city’s after-dinner mint.
Life’s cafeteria. Same food, same menu. Drugs, the food, I’m referring to. It all comes in small meal-for-one bags. Cook over a hot spoon and enjoy. No napkins and tablecloths at this dinner, just J-cloth wipes and a body bag at the end. No change at the club’s door. The bouncer has his hand over his ear to drown out traffic noise and listen to his earpiece. Every now and then he disappears inside and returns carrying a punter who he drops onto the street. Without him all you’d see is a black steel reinforced door. There’s no sign for Rosie’s. My phone goes again now it’s DCI Winter. I ignore it. Now isn’t the right time to be talking to her either.
I glance over at the door as Hamer comes out. He’s hoisting his trousers and checking his fly. His cheeks flushed. He’s carrying a different briefcase. My guess is he’s doing the Turks’ accounts. The doorman is on his phone and chatting to him. Three minutes go by and a taxi arrives. Private hire, not black cab. Hamer gets in and the cab heads off towards Islington. I’m stuck. I have no means of following him so quickly. I leave my cash on the table and exit. He’ll be good for another day. I call Stoner first and see what she wants.
“What do you want?”
“A fucking word in your ear that’s what I want!”
“You have my attention.”
“Can’t you do a simple task without fucking people off? Charlie Brown wants you dead and Pikey Paul says you’re a miserable cunt.”
“Well, you can’t please everyone, now, can you. Is that it?”
“You not getting any? I know a few girls I can hook you up with if that will sort you out.”
“I’ll book a slot at the clinic shall I?”
She’s laughing now. About time, I don’t want to fall out with my only link. I wait for her cackles to subside whilst looking for a taxi. Green Lanes is getting busier the closer it comes to prayer time at the mosque. Getting a cab will be a problem. I head towards the train station. A police car flies by me, sirens on and lights bouncing off buildings.
“Where are you? I can’t hear a thing. I need to meet up later. I’ll shout you dinner if you like?”
She’s shouting down the phone. Only to be heard, not in a hostile way. I fancy a decent meal.
“Okay. Where?”
“The Italian, Chapel Market, see you at nine?”
I agree. Bang goes any chance of a decent dinner. I head for home to change and freshen up. I haven’t changed in two days. I call in.
“It’s Sky. What’s happening? Haven’t heard from you.”
“We’ve been busy, as has Guardino. Check the drop box; there’s more cash there and a set of car keys. How are you?”
“Got a meet tonight with the friendly.”
“Good. It won’t be long now before we can all have a holiday. Call when you need to. Leave an update at the drop.”
The superintendent’s gone. I’m still here on the streets bouncing from one person to the next, never knowing who’s working my strings. I just want to cut them loose but can’t. Not yet. Back at the centre I open the envelope from the drop. It contains a USB and the usual cash and car location. The key tells me I’ve been given a Volvo. A joke, as they’re renowned to be indestructible. I put the USB in my laptop and listen through headphones. An Italian voice speaks first, in English. The other I recognise as Charlie Brown.
“He’s picked it up. Should be with the Pikey by now. Where’d you get him? He’s a right gobby cunt who needs a lesson in manners.”
There’s laughter, then the Italian’s voice: “Zara found him. He’s done well so far. I only need him for this then he will be gone, do not worry. People like him are everywhere. Show them fortunes or the promise of it and they follow. You must remember I am your shepherd and will always guide the flock in the right direction but every shepherd knows some of the flock they have to lose, at some point, you understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, course I do. I trust you Big H. He just got on my tits, that’s all. I trust we’re good?”
“Very good, my friend. I’ve had word the lorry works and will carry well. We will move in the next two days. I need to call Germany first and check on the fleet. I trust all is good your end?”
“Sweeter than a chocolate factory. You tell me when and it will be ready.”
“Good. Speak soon.”
The call ends. I go to the sink and run the tap. War has been declared and I must prepare for battle. This sheep is not for the slaughter. I make one last call before leaving.
It rings twice.
“Winter. Batford. Meet me tomorrow morning, tea house near Vauxhall City Farm. My phone’s off from now.”
“You what? You just can’t…”
I’ve hung up. I’ll deal with her shit in the morning. I’m hungry. I get dressed and take a hundred pounds. It wouldn’t pay to look too flush in front of Stoner. At least if she asks I can say I won it on a bet. Thankfully most of my clothing looks like it’s seen better days so no problem there. It’s worked well in this role but will need an upgrade when it’s over. The end would appear to be in sight and I look forward to a shopping trip. I don’t often invest in myself but this will be different. I’ve earned the right on this one. Most cops like me would fiddle expenses or misuse the company card. But I’ve done all that and got away with it. I’ve had great holidays and eaten in the best restaurants, all courtesy of the commissioner’s Amex.
I was always at work, deployed on one job or another, but I chose where to eat, drink and play. All part of the role of the undercover. But it was never to be enough. Now Stoner waits to be entertained and I don’t plan on paying. What I need is this job nipped in the bud.
17
I arrive early and take a look through the restaurant window. It’s busy without being overcrowded so should be perfect to sit and chat. I’m conscious of the police station being around the corner, but it’s late at night and there shouldn’t be any coppers using it now. This would suit them for lunch but the patronage changes at this time to locals only.
I go across the road to a pub and wait for her to call. I don’t like waiting in the open especially at a place I haven’t
chosen to meet at. Sometimes you have to go with your gut with any situation and mine is telling me I’ve been pushy enough and need to relax into it. I can’t afford to alienate the whole firm even though, on the surface, it would appear my role is minimal. Not that my immediate bosses have any concern over my welfare. If only they took policing the capital as seriously as this side of the job, London would be safe as houses. But there’s no money in policing unless you cross the line.
What I’m doing is small fry compared to what was being done thirty years ago. Extortion, blackmail, kidnapping and murder. I’m glad I wasn’t signed up back then. I’d have been serving life.
She’s got ten more minutes before I leave. I don’t mind waiting for a woman but this is different. There will be no fucking after this meal is done. I notice all the others in the pub, some sitting alone, others in groups laughing and relaxed. I can’t remember the last time I felt relaxed anywhere. Constantly looking for trouble that’s followed me or waiting for it to turn up. The best advice I’d ever been given was by an old sweat van driver back in my probation. We’d turned up to a gypsy fight in a boozer in Wood Green. Tables going over, chairs being thrown along with punches and glass. I start to get out the van and he pulls me back in. He asks where I’m going and I tell him there’s a fight and we need to sort it out. He just sits back, racks open the sherpa’s door and lights up a fag. “Give it ten,” he says, “then we’ll go in.”
Ten minutes pass and by now there’s one man left standing, exhausted, and then he collapses. We stroll in and pile the prisoners up in the van and leave. No punches thrown, none of us injured. ‘Fools rush in where wise men never go’. I’ve never forgotten those words.
My thoughts are interrupted by Stoner calling my phone. I look outside and see her on the opposite footway. She waves. I check around and leave the pub and we go to eat.
She’s reserved a table in a private room in the back.
“C’mon, I won’t bite. It’s easier to talk in here.”
I follow her in and sit down at the round table that dominates the room. It’s a card gaming room for when the restaurant shuts. It won’t be used tonight until the early hours so we have plenty of time to eat, chat and leave. Stoner has more than the usual twenty minutes. Big H has sanctioned the meal and meet-up. He wants time to be given to bring me in to what my role will be. I look at the menu and order the most expensive dishes on it. She does the same. She orders champagne.
We dispense with the formalities of phones, each of us safe in the knowledge we have an understanding as to their use or not when we meet. She appears different this evening, agitated, not as relaxed as usual. I put this down to her bender on the coke but I’m alert to the change. Villains appear on edge the closer a job comes to the off. The adrenalin is pumping and builds up until the job’s done. Booze and coke are sedatives for some. Not me. The waiters make themselves busy. A gaudy purple curtain separates the room from the kitchen. The room isn’t even painted. It stores produce in crates and bottles of drink from a wholesalers. Who said romance was dead?
“See you’re looking at the decor? Lovely ain’t it.”
“No expense spared.”
She’s getting her champagne out of the cooler. She offers me some and I pass a glass. I’m a sucker for free champagne and as it’s on Big H, I intend to drink it.
“Cheers then, lover, you’re in.” She raises her glass towards me and our glasses touch.
“I guess you’ll be wondering what’s gonna’ happen?”
“Well call me old school but I think it’s about time. I’ve done his tests on your word. I would hope you haven’t broken it.”
“Have I let you down yet? Well apart from the last two days but there’s a reason for that. I was with him. He was partying before the job starts. Tradition he does in case it all comes on top and he goes away.”
A waiter comes in and puts the food on the table, whispers in her ear as he goes.
“We’re good now, they won’t be back in until I shout them. Shall I be mum?”
“So. What’s with the job? I need to know so I can clear a period of time where I’m not noticed. I might go on holiday, that kind of thing.”
“All right. The fella you upset the other day, Charlie Brown, he’s the main man for coke and heroin. He’s told H he’s got a hundred kilos of white in a warehouse in Germany. In another he’s got fifty MAC-10s. He wants H to get them over here where he’s got a buyer lined up. The loads are split. H has a fleet of skip lorries coming over from Germany. The one you took was tested for its capacity to carry and it’s good to go. He wants you to drive the one with the guns on board. He’ll pay you fifty thousand pounds as he knows the risk is high.”
She stops to eat and I take the opportunity to evaluate what she’s said.
“When do I get the money?”
“Once the lorry is delivered. Ron will come over and give you the cash and take the lorry away.”
“Where am I taking it?”
“I don’t know. From here, it’s all done on the day. He rings me and I ring you. You do as I tell you and go where I tell you. You’ll get a call from me the night before the job. You’ll be told where to go to get the lorry. You drive it to where you’re told. You tell me once you’re there and Ron comes over with your cash. Job done.”
“So what you’re telling me is you know nothing about the job?”
“I’m telling you what I know. H doesn’t do pillow talk. On the day its slick though.”
“How are the drugs coming over?”
“You don’t need to know that. You just need to know where you fit in and how you get paid. I’ve told you that now so you’re in and there’s no backing out.”
“I can just get up and walk away now. I don’t get told what I can and can’t do.”
“You do when you are on an owe.”
“I owe no one. I’ve done the tests he wanted and I’m here because I passed. So let’s not fuck about on detail and you can tell him where to stick any notion I owe him.”
“Calm down, this is his place and the waiters are loyal. In his eyes you owed him the moment he took you on. He’s Italian like that. If I tell him you ain’t interested I know this much, you’re dead. Simple enough for you?”
I lean back and throw the linen serviette down on the table. She carries on eating and ignores the drama. She pours another two glasses of champagne.
“Don’t you forget you owe me from Bali. I bailed you out of that car crash and a kicking. I owe you or him nothing.”
This gets her attention and she puts down her cutlery and dabs her sweet lips with a serviette. She picks up her knife and points it at me across the table.
“Listen up, lover boy. Bali was Bali and I got you this fucking opportunity so all bets are off with me. If you’re shitting yourself the job’s too big then bring a change of trousers. You’re on it and there’s nothing you can do about it. Yeah, you may think you can disappear abroad and he won’t find you, but I’m telling you his empire is global and he will find you. He’ll have your head on display for all the other mugs who thought they could piss him off.”
This is going well. I now know her true colours as well as his after listening to the taped conversation. I also know she has no idea I’m a cop. I don’t respond straight away. My mind’s on the money.
“Good. We’re clear then. What’s the timescale?”
She’s smiling. It’s a smile of relief. She didn’t want to go back to him and tell him I wasn’t keen. That would have resulted in the biggest pasting she’d ever had and she didn’t want that any more than I wished it on her. She pours more champagne and I’m relaxed enough to know my work is done on this meeting so I imbibe with her.
“He wants everyone available in forty-eight hours. Here’s a phone. Don’t turn it on until I call you and tell you to. If you try and do it before, he’ll know. He’ll get told and we’ve discussed what will happen if you’re off the job. Once this is live then all other lines you have g
o dark. You bin the phones and numbers until this job is over. I’ll call you on this phone and this phone only. If you don’t answer it within thirty minutes then I’ll assume you’ve been nicked or dead. No other reasons will be accepted. What I can tell you is your lorry is here already and being prepared for you. The rest will follow on the same day yours moves.”
“So I’m not trusted on the main job? I’m being given some other job whilst the main action’s happening?”
“No. He likes you and how you work. Yours is the main job. You must deliver. Why do you think he’s gonna pay you so well? He never pays that amount. He must really want this one perfect and that’s why he’s trusting I’ve picked the right bloke for the work. I know I have and you know it too. You not eating?”
I check my plate and realise I’ve barely touched it. I make up for it as we begin to relax now the formal side is done. The next forty-eight hours will be busy for me and DCI Winter. Her team will have never worked so hard. As for me I’m prepared for little sleep and pressure. My side will want a piece of me as will DCI Winter. Big H? He already has my soul – what more could he want?
The evening comes to a conclusion as the restaurant shuts. We’re the last to leave. I wonder how this will end and any illusion is shattered as the lights of a cab sweep the area. Ron leans over, nods and opens the door and she gets in. I close it and they disappear.
Chapel Market is home to the homeless now. Its streets and doorways convert to an overnight room. It won’t be long before the recumbents are awakened as the market traders descend and the area takes on a different role. I head for the car. I feel okay to drive. I know I am, as Stoner’s toilet breaks weren’t lost on the only plant getting a good feed on quality champagne. I abhor drink-drivers. They’re the real criminals, along with paedophiles, but that’s a given.