Fight Back

by Anna Smith

  *

  Jumbo Keane was loving being back in the thick of the game. It had been fine in the nick as he did his time, knowing that the bank accounts were stacking up and it would be business as usual by the time he got out. If anything, the books were looking even better when he’d got around the table with the main players in his crew. Moving the money around so that he could have at least twenty million in cash was a bit more tricky. Luckily, over the years, his organisation had always kept massive piles of cash. He had so much raw cash it would have made the cops’ eyes water. Keeping that amount of money safe and accessible, yet far enough away so that nobody could get a sniff of it, had taken some serious ingenuity. But it worked. There were piles of as much as three million quid stored under the floor of a wine cellar in a farmhouse he’d built just before he was sent down for murder. It was in several special heavy-duty steel caskets he’d got knocked up by a blacksmith he’d grown up with. There were also two- and three- and single-million blocks in various locations across Manchester. And in an ironic twist, several millions were buried in oil drums under the floor of the car dealership that Manchester cops used to buy and repair their fleet of squad cars. Jumbo was particularly tickled by that, and it helped him sleep at night when he was in jail, knowing that he’d fucked the cops over so many times he should be given some kind of medal of dishonour. But the past couple of days his boys had had to work flat out to get a lot of the millions out and available. And this afternoon there was a container with fully twenty million on its way to a builders’ yard he owned. It would be kept there until the call came in from Frankie to say where and when the meet was.

  The biggest stroke of luck this morning had been the call from one of Benny Evans’ boys. He and Benny went back a long way, and they’d done a lot of business together back in the days when they only smuggled cannabis. But it had all gone tits up a few years ago when a mule of Benny’s who was driving a van load of hash across Europe heading for the UK got stopped in the north of France by a routine police patrol. His man sang like a canary and stuck everyone in to the cops. So when one of Benny’s men called to say he had information on a big stash of uncut coke coming from Spain to Benny’s yard, Jumbo felt he had actually won the lottery. He’d been planning to ambush that fucker Frankie Martin anyway, but the big problem he had was finding out where he was bringing the stuff to, as Frankie said he’d only be told a couple of hours before the meet. This was like handing it to him on a plate. Sure there might be a few bodies to take out in the process, but the payoff would send Jumbo Keane into folklore. He looked out of the office window in his builders’ yard as his boys pulled up in their SUVs and Mercs. He watched them coming out and across the yard – all top men, reliable, men you could trust with your life if you were going into battle. Which they were. He took a puff of his cigar and nodded his head in acknowledgement as they headed towards him.

  Once they were all seated around the long table in his office, Jumbo stood up and walked slowly around them, knowing they were following his every move.

  ‘We’re about to make history, boys,’ he said, puffing his cigar. ‘That’s why I’ve had you busting a gut to get all the readies prepared and handy. I take it you’ve got all the cash accessible?’

  They all nodded. He could see they were a little edgy, but that was how he kept his boys sharp. Even those closest to him could never really tell what Jumbo was thinking. Even if he occasionally got drunk with those closest to him, Jumbo would never impart his innermost thoughts or feelings. They’d talk business or old stories of robbing and fighting their way up to the top table, but nothing else. He would never want to show weakness. Because when you showed weakness to guys like this, there was always one who would use it against you one day. It was cold, and it was hard, and these boys had seen him commit brutal crimes over the years, enough to make them shit scared of him, but each of them was rich beyond their dreams. And now he was about to make them even richer.

  ‘We’ve all made our money over the years, boys, all of us through hard graft.’ He smiled a little. ‘Might not be working shifts or clocking in, right enough, and we had to slap a few faces along the way . . .’ He waited as the chuckle around the table seemed to relax the men a bit. ‘But that was our line of business. We wasn’t born with a silver spoon, or had any of the privileges of the kind of cunts who would look on people like us as scum. And half of them are fucking criminals anyway – especially the politicians and the bankers. No. We did it our way, and we did well.’ He paused, took a long draw of his cigar and let the smoke out swirling in a cloud in front of him. ‘But like all businesses, we have to keep building. And now we have the opportunity to go beyond anything we would have thought possible.’ He waited, as they all gazed up at him in anticipation. ‘Pure, uncut cocaine. Eight fucking tonnes.’ He glanced around and could see them looking at each other, their faces shining with excitement. ‘I’m talking the finest marching powder the Colombians produce. It’s coming our way, lads. And by the time we cut it and sell it on, well . . . you can do the fucking maths on that.’

  ‘Christ!’ Tommo Grant let out a whistle. ‘That’s fucking mega, Jumbo. Eight fucking tonne. We’re talking two hundred million maybe. Who knows!’

  ‘Yep. So. All we have to do is get it.’

  He waited for someone to ask a question but could see they were afraid to ask.

  ‘I’ve made a deal for twenty million’s worth of it. But now I’ve discovered that actually we can take the fucking lot. If we do this properly, it’s all ours.’

  ‘I take it there will be an army protecting this, Jumbo?’ Davey Crossan asked, then quickly added, ‘I mean, not that it won’t be anything we can’t handle.’

  Jumbo nodded. ‘They’ll be well protected. But we’ve got the element of surprise on our side. We’ve arranged a meet with them, and they are only going to tell us where the meet is, a couple of hours before it happens – obviously in case we ambush them, which of course we would.’

  A few grins and sniggers went round the table.

  ‘But as luck would have it, we already know where the location is.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ Davey grinned. ‘Belter!’

  ‘So when they arrive, after their long journey overland from Spain and the ferry and all that shit, we’ll be the reception party waiting for them.’

  ‘Fucking dancer!’ Brian Harty piped up. ‘We haven’t done anything like this in ages.’

  ‘We haven’t done anything as big as this in our lives, Brian,’ Jumbo said. ‘At least not with a payola as big as this. But anyway, we can gloat about it once we’ve got it all in our possession. I’m expecting they will all be tooled up to their teeth, but they’ll be no match for us.’ He strode to the top of the table, stubbed out his cigar, and sat down. ‘So. Are we all up for this?’

  ‘You fucking bet! Bring it on,’ came the cries from all around.

  ‘Great. So pick out your most reliable troops, and get everyone tooled up. I want to be into this place, find a way to hide out and be ready long before these fuckers get there.’ He turned to Tommo. ‘Guys. You all liaise with Tommo as the day goes on, tell him who you’ve got in manpower, arms and stuff, and Tommo will get back to me today, so we can work out a plan. But we’re looking to move in by early morning.’ He spread his hands. ‘We all clear?’

  Everyone nodded. Jumbo stood up.

  ‘Okay. We’ll talk later. Just keep your eye on the main game here. I don’t need to mention loose talk, of course. And make sure you don’t bring anyone with you who isn’t top fucking drawer. Because this could get a bit messy.’

  Nobody answered, but they all stood up and shuffled out of the room, looking buoyed up for the battle.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cal and Tahir exchanged glances as they listened intently while Jack issued his instructions to the small team that he’d assembled for the job. The two of them had been called into Jack’s office yesterday to be told they’d be part of a handpicked crew that was about to em
bark on a job that would put them up there among the big boys in the Casey gang. They weren’t told the details but were informed it was a life-or-death job. If the team failed, it was likely that none of them would survive – including himself, Jack said gravely. Cal and Tahir had been buzzing when they left the office, feeling honoured to have been chosen. The last time they had been on any frontline operation was to grab Marty Kane’s grandson from the kidnappers, but because of their antics afterwards up in Springburn, both of them had been put back on normal work, collecting money and well away from anything that involved violence. Now this was it. They’d been told they’d be away for a couple of days, and to pack light, and keep their mouths shut even to their loved ones. Cal had told his mum he was being sent to meet some people in Edinburgh, to keep her from worrying. He hadn’t looked back when he left the house this morning after a long hug from her, but he knew she was watching him all the way out of the house and down the road where he was picked up in a car. It had occurred to him that he might not see her again, but it was only a fleeting thought. That would never happen, he told himself. Now Cal sat with his arms folded, his face impassive as Jack spoke. The other six men who were in the room were familiar faces to Cal, and he knew they were at least ten and more years older than him and Tahir. And he knew their reps as hard men. He was thrilled to be sitting among them, to be considered good enough to be one of the top crew.

  ‘So,’ Jack said. ‘We are doing something tomorrow that, if it’s successful – and it has to be – people will be talking about us for years to come.’ He paused, glanced at the faces. ‘If you come out of it alive, the rewards will be big time. Because you will be part of the gang who humped the Colombian cartel right up the arse.’

  Cal glanced around the table and saw that the other guys were smiling a little, because Jack had a bit of a smile on himself. So he looked at Tahir and both raised their eyebrows, not quite knowing what else to do. They listened as Jack went on.

  ‘The Colombians – that Pepe Rodriguez cunt who butchered O’Driscoll and who stole Marty Kane’s wee boy – are going to get robbed. They’re bringing in a massive shipment of coke, and we’ – he took a long moment to look all of them in the eye – ‘we are going to take it right out of their fucking hands. Just like that. And the real bonus is, not only do we get to fuck the Colombians, we get to fuck Frankie Martin, that traitor who betrayed us all. Because as you know, Frankie is in bed with that murdering mob of cunts now and he’s trying to bring us all down. But this is the fight back he will never expect. None of them will expect us to take them on like this. This shipment lands at Portsmouth, but you won’t move in there. It’s all arranged. We have an inside track – that’s all you need to know about that. But what Frankie and the Colombians don’t know is that we are ahead of the game. We have a truck that is already following the shipment that gets to Portsmouth. So once it comes up the road to Manchester, that’s when you lads will move into the back of it, and it will follow the truck to its destination. When it gets there, that’s when we go into action.’ He stopped for a moment and walked a few steps around the table. ‘I won’t be in the truck with you, but I’ll be behind you in one of our cars. I’ll have your backs. But I want you to have each other’s backs at all times.’ He looked at Cal and Tahir, then to the most senior of the squad. ‘I brought Cal and Tahir in because they’ve proved beyond doubt that they are capable, after the way they handled the job on Marty’s boy. But remember, they are young, and they take orders from you, Pete. Everyone in this room does. You are in charge. Cal, Tahir, you’ll be with me in the car following.’ He took a breath. ‘Are we all clear here? Anyone want to ask questions?’ Cal glanced at Tahir, then around the room, where everyone was silent. ‘Okay. The cars are waiting outside to take you down south. You’ll stay in a hotel tonight, so no fucking around. Get to bed and be sharp and ready by six in the morning. Got that?’

  Everyone nodded and as Pete stood up, they got to their feet and filed after him out of the room.

  Once they were well out of earshot of everyone else, Cal turned to Tahir.

  ‘Shit just got real, man.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tahir replied.

  ‘You scared?’ Cal asked.

  ‘No.’ Tahir shook his head, and looked back, his dark eyes a little expressionless. ‘I have nothing to lose, man. I already lost everything I had.’

  Cal slung his small rucksack over his shoulder as they headed for the waiting four-by-four.

  ‘Don’t talk like that, mate. You’ve got me. And your girl. Don’t talk like that.’

  ‘Yeah. You’re right. C’mon. Let’s go.’ He looked Cal in the eye, then he walked ahead of him to the car.

  *

  Frankie Martin had wrestled half the night with the notion that had started to plague him so much, he’d decided to give it serious consideration. What if there was a way back to the Caseys? The answer was almost a hundred per cent no in his mind. But what if there was just the slightest snowball in hell’s chance that he could get back in, if he brought this shipment of coke to Kerry Casey’s table? Would she really knock back forty million quid’s worth of coke because of the past? The answer that kept coming back to him was yes she would, and she’d hang his balls from the rafters just for asking to get back, after his treachery. Frankie, deep down, had never seen it as treachery though. To him, by setting up Mickey’s execution he had done the Caseys a favour, and he knew that there were plenty in the organisation who would agree with him on that, but they would never utter it out loud. Mickey had become a liability with his big mouth and noising up all the big boys. Truth is, he’d been holding them back, and only Frankie could take them to where they should be. If it hadn’t been for the complete tits up bloodbath at Mickey’s funeral, Frankie would be riding high right now. And Rodriguez, even if he was in the picture, would not get the better of him. If only he could make Kerry see that. If only he could get her to see beyond losing her mother. Because if you were truly the head of a gangland family who lived the way the Caseys had lived, then you had to take hits like that – even though her mother’s death had been extreme. She’d have to get over it if she wanted to take the Caseys onto the great things she kept banging on about. Of course, he had to keep all these thoughts to himself, because if Rodriguez could read his mind he’d have been a dead man by now. But Frankie was here, in Glasgow, far from Rodriguez’s eyes. This was his operation. And he could decide how to pull it. The other thought that had been gnawing away at him was the possibility of luring Kerry to him, with the promise of giving her everything, then bumping her off. He knew he was more than capable of doing that in cold fucking blood. That would get rid of her once and for all, and for the right money, everyone would eventually see that he was right; that he did the right thing for the family. For business. Everyone would benefit if they saw it that way and came over to his side. It had been nagging at him so much now, that his gut instinct was to act on it. Why not just phone the bitch?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Kerry and Danny had spent most of the morning talking to Billy Hill who had made the trip from London. Over the past couple of weeks, she and Danny felt they could put more trust in Billy, because he’d been backing them with bodies and security in the wake of the recent attacks. They’d decided to bring him in on the cocaine shipment, as there was no doubt that from London he would have access to bigger players who would be into buying big chunks of pure cocaine. One of the problems Kerry had noted since she took over was that they felt a little out of the loop on the buying front, because all of that side of the business had mostly been done by Mickey and Frankie. Now both of them were gone, she had to rely on Danny’s limited contacts and also what Jack knew. But she’d never been in the same room with major dealers before, buying or selling. Billy Hill had, so it was good to have him onside.

  When Billy arrived, the first thing he’d told them was that he had heard that a massive shipment was heading to the UK. This meant someone, somewhere was talking. Da
nny assured Kerry that it was none of their crew but said that really anyone who Frankie had pulled in over the past few weeks from Dublin to Manchester could have been running off at the mouth. The way Frankie had been hauling in the numbers from Durkin’s mob had to be risky, Danny insisted. He would be working with people now that he really couldn’t be sure of, and when you did that you could never be certain that everyone around you was keeping their traps shut. There were bragging rights to be had by any toerag who could boast that he was part of something big that was about to happen, and that’s how stuff like this leaked out. Billy said he’d heard from two different sources in London that the coke was coming in over the next few days. But nobody had any details.

  ‘So,’ Billy had said as they sat in the study, ‘there is gossip, and that’s not good. The best thing to do is to shift this shit as quick as possible.’

  Kerry looked at him, a little bemused. ‘And you don’t think we’ve already thought about that, Billy?’ She couldn’t resist the dig, just in case it had slipped his mind that she was actually running the show here.