by Ted Tayler
“Undercover? When did Athena sanction that? Why did you bring the Mullens here?”
“Phoenix sent me back and decided to infiltrate the Dwyer’s loan shark gang without consulting Athena.”
“Shit,” said Artemis. “Athena won’t appreciate that.”
“No, and you won’t like me if I don’t get at least two hours sleep. We’ll get up at seven and talk it over then. Phoenix’s calling in at eight to let Giles know he’s okay, then he has to spill the beans to Athena.”
“The morning meeting will be fun,” said Artemis, who then kissed Rusty on the cheek, and turned over. Rusty nodded off and dreamed of Phil Dwyer wielding a baseball bat.
*****
Over breakfast, at a quarter past seven in the morning, Artemis and Rusty chatted over the crimes the Dwyer gang carried out.
“In a tough economic climate, illegal money lending happens,” said Artemis, nibbling at her croissant. “The lenders target vulnerable people in the community and generate a spiral of debt they find it impossible to escape. The deprived estates scattered across Tyne and Wear are fertile hunting grounds for gangs such as the Dwyer’s.”
“Loan sharks can be a scourge on poor communities,” said Rusty. “The bully boy tactics a thug like Phil Dwyer favours forces clients to pay back far more than they borrowed or can afford. Phoenix has gone into a viper’s den. Heaven knows what he will have to do while he’s undercover. To refuse will put his own life in danger. Going in alone was reckless, but he wouldn’t listen to reason.”
While Rusty and Artemis were deep in conversation, Henry Case could already confirm the names of every young man involved in the vicious attack on Solomon Hussein, last week in Bradford. Terry and Dale Mullen were brash, cocky young thugs who strutted like peacocks on the Cowgate estate. There they had their uncle, Phil Dwyer to protect them.
On Level Three of the ice-house, there was no protective shield.
In his domain, Henry Case was king. Something he now detested. Henry derived no satisfaction from having broken these two thugs in a matter of hours. They pleaded for their lives. They had abandoned the vile threats of what their Uncle Phil would do to him, long ago.
“Resistance is futile,” Henry had told them. “How long did you travel at the dead of night? In which direction? You are many feet underground, and only three people know you are here. The man who sent you; the man who delivered you, and me. You have admitted your guilt. All that remains is for my superiors to decide when punishment will be carried out. The police will learn the names of your accomplices within the hour.”
Henry had now moved both brothers to the room at the far end of the corridor. The infamous Hotel California. Terry and Dale Mullen were secured with chains, seated back to back and hooded. He closed the door and walked back to the lift. Time to prepare for the morning meeting.
A little earlier, at eight o’clock Giles had received a message from Phoenix. Rusty had contacted him before he left Newcastle for Bath. Giles was prepared for ‘Judas Priest’ to arrive from Phoenix’s mobile phone. The GPS coordinates put him in the safe house. Everything was fine, so far.
Giles left to head to the main building a few minutes before nine. He saw Henry striding out in front of him. Artemis and Rusty would arrive together. She didn’t start her shift in the ice-house until two this afternoon.
Athena sat in their apartment, thinking over the conversation she had just had with her husband. Hope was being bathed and dressed by Maria Elena. The happy sounds of their daughter splashing in the bath carried through to the sitting room. Hope didn’t have a care in the world. Athena had the cares of the world on her shoulders.
What was Phoenix thinking? Going undercover in a dangerous gang with scant protection and a little forward planning was madness. It was so unlike the man she knew. He was always so meticulous at every stage of a mission. It was no good. She had to steel herself to face the others.
The other senior agents were in the meeting room, waiting for her to arrive.
“Apologies for being late,” she began, “and for Phoenix’s absence.”
“Did he not return with Rusty?” asked Minos.
Athena realised that Minos and Alastor were the only ones not in the loop. She filled in the gaps and then moved on to the published agenda. Her heart wasn’t in it. She rushed through matters more swiftly than usual and then asked if anyone had anything urgent.
Henry Case cleared his throat.
“I have a proposal,” he said, “about the Mullen twins. Would it be possible to discuss it with you after the meeting?
“It will need to be brief, Henry,” said Athena. “I want to make sure Giles and his team can keep a constant watch on Phoenix.”
“I’ll keep it as brief as I can,” said Henry.
“If there’s nothing further, then we’ll stop now,” said Athena. “Giles, can I visit you in the ice-house in ten minutes?”
“Of course, Athena,” he replied.
“I know my shift isn’t due to begin for three hours,” said Artemis, “but, I’ll come with you, if I may?”
Athena nodded. Rusty and Artemis went to their apartment. Giles headed underground. Minos and Alastor returned to the administration offices.
“Right, Henry, what was it you wanted to raise?”
“My relationship with your friend Sarah has reached a stage where I can no longer fulfil my role here at Larcombe.”
“Henry, surely you don’t want to leave us?” exclaimed Athena.
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” said Henry. “I worry that she will realise my security position utilises far darker skills than those I described to her when we met. Every day since I’ve dreaded her finding out. Could you assign an agent to help me with the Mullen twins this morning? In fact, going forward, could we use our new, and retrained agents in matters where the crime merits capital punishment.”
“Ever since you arrived, you have carried out those duties without complaint. Erebus was always concerned about the stresses of such an occupation would play on your mind in time. Yet, although you never gave any signs you enjoyed that part of the job, you have never asked for help. Of course, we will find someone to assist you.”
“Rusty and I discussed it earlier this morning,” said Henry. “He suggested that any man unable to carry out the task was a doubt for active duty in the field. He who hesitates is lost, and all that.”
“There’s your solution, Henry,” said Athena. “Every man must be eligible while they’re in training here if they’re destined for active duty. The selection will be made by drawing a name out of a hat. Anyone who refuses will be considered for non-combative roles only.”
“Thank you, Athena, I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”
“Well, I’m due in the ice-house, so carry on, get Rusty to help you with the draw. You can supervise the disposal of the bodies, I trust?”
“Of course, Athena,” said Henry, and he scuttled off to find Rusty.
Athena followed him, hoping to catch Artemis leaving her apartment. Perhaps they could walk over together. She was concerned about Phoenix. She didn’t want to be alone.
In their office, Minos and Alastor were resuming their daily work. Alastor was compiling folders containing lists of possible accommodation sites for the Irregulars. Each establishment would offer a basic roof over their head, and a range of facilities; but nothing fancy. Alastor likened it to almost-all mod cons.
Minos had completed an appraisal of the first retraining intake. Only a third were suitable for active duty. After Phoenix and Athena had cleared his report, it would be sent to Zeus. He would allocate the agents to where they provided the best fit.
“This appraisal is ready to go,” he said, “the trouble is I don’t want to upset Athena by asking for her to read it through and add her signature.”
“Of course,” said Alastor. “It needs Phoenix to see it too. I don’t suppose she knows when he’s returning home.”
“If ever,” said Minos,
“he’s in bandit country. We can only pray he gets out and returns to us safe and sound.
“I echo that sentiment,” said Alastor. “Illegal loan sharks are chasing some of the most vulnerable families in Britain. In Tyne and Wear, the Dwyer gang offer short-term cash loans from a hundred to a thousand pounds. They target the big estates and then unearth those struggling to make ends meet. The doorstep lenders live cheek by jowl with their customers. Dwyer recruits his staff from the estates. They stand beside them in the pubs they drink in and watch them going in and out of the betting shop. It doesn’t take long for them to spot a likely candidate for a house call.”
“Can Phoenix blend in with that scene, I wonder?” said Minos.
“If he can’t,” said Alastor, “they’ll spot him a mile off, and the rules about who signs off appraisals will need to be updated.”
*****
Phoenix was eating breakfast when he heard a noise from the front door. It was half-past eight. He had checked in with Giles Burke at eight and asked for a favour. Then he had called Athena. That had been tense, but it was what it was. He was here to do a job. One he believed was worth a little discomfort.
Breakfast over, he wandered into the hallway. A jiffy bag lay on the doormat. He carried it to the lounge window. Outside in the driveway sat a seven-year-old saloon car. A quick check proved the fob key in the bag belonged to his new set of wheels.
“Not as good as I’m used to,” he said, “but in line with a man in my supposed income bracket.”
The nearest Olympus team had dropped it off quicker than he had imagined when he talked with Giles. It was good to know they were close by; he felt less vulnerable.
Phoenix hoped he wouldn’t need to call in the cavalry, things would go better if he could disappear undercover and become an integral part of the gang. He decided to walk to the shops. The last thing he needed was a morning paper, but it gave him the chance to check for anyone watching. Phil Dwyer had been thwarted last night. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t send someone up to the area just to get a fix on where he was living.
The stroll to the shops and back took fifteen minutes. The paper went straight to the bin. Traffic was busy on the roads, and the pavements were full of morning shoppers. Nobody stood out as a lookout. In fact, nobody paid him the slightest attention.
At a few minutes before noon, he left the safe house and walked to the pub. Inside the bar, there was no sign of Dwyer. Mick, the barman acknowledged his arrival with a nod and pointed to the door behind him. A weasel of a man had just crept in.
“Are you the bloke I’m looking for?” he asked.
“If you’re showing me the ropes on the collections today, then yes, I am,” replied Phoenix.
“I’m Benny,”
“Call me Frankie,” said Phoenix. “If we’re working together.”
It was lost on Benny. The chain of two hundred and fifty restaurants probably aimed at a younger market.
“Do you have a car?” asked Benny.
Phoenix nodded. Benny headed for the bar door. He explained the facts of life as they walked.
“We’ll take my car today. Phil doesn’t care if your car is taxed, or insured, nor whether they took your licence away. Most cars on the Cowgate are in the same boat. If you do something stupid to attract the cops, you’re on your own. There’s no paperwork connecting you to Phil, so he’ll simply drop you, and move on to the next guy who’s desperate for work.”
“Understood,” said Phoenix.
Benny’s car was a BMW, with a personalised number plate, BEN 10 GGS. The interior was immaculate. Phoenix tried to reconcile the rat-faced human being sat beside him with the car he drove. He failed.
Benny drove like a typical Sunday afternoon driver, everything was done at a sedate pace. Fellow road users got frustrated, but Benny didn’t seem to care. Phoenix noticed they were now on the Cowgate. He wondered why Benny used his own car on a job like this. There were so many villains on the estate.
There had to be a risk it would be nicked while he was on a doorstep, or he’d return to find his wheels gone, and his pride and joy standing on a pile of bricks. The temptation to run a knife blade or a set of keys along the paintwork would be enormous.
“This is my first call,” said Benny. He parked the car, and the two men got out. As they approached the door of the terraced house, Benny said: -
“Keep your mouth shut. Stand a yard behind me, on my left-hand side. This is Mrs Archer, a single mum with four kids under the age of nine.”
Benny rapped the door with his knuckles. The bell had broken, with its wires hanging out of the wall. The door opened, and a large woman in her late twenties appeared.
“Hello, Mr Giggs.”
“I see your Wayne’s trousers have fallen out with his shoes, Bethany. Just as well he’s still got that pair of bright red socks, or his little legs would get cold. He’s a growing boy. I’m sure you want to see him dressed smartly when he trots off to school?”
“Yeah, well I can’t get any more money from the social, and my credit rating’s shit, so what am I supposed to do?”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Benny, “why don’t I lend you a hundred quid. I’ll pop round every week, and you can pay me back.”
“How much do I have to pay?” asked Bethany Archer.
“You give me fifteen quid next Friday, and we’ll see how we go,” said Benny, counting off five twenty-pound notes from a wad he produced from his jacket pocket. Bethany Archer’s eyes lit up.
“Make sure you spend it on clothes for those lovely kids mind Bethany,” said Benny. “I don’t want to come by next week and find half a dozen empty bottles of Prosecco in your recycling bin.”
“Yes, Mr Giggs.”
Benny turned to walk to the car. Phoenix followed and waited until they pulled away from the kerb before asking: -
“How long was the loan term? I didn’t hear you say.”
“If they ask, I tell ‘em for three months. Twelve weeks at fifteen quid means she’d pay one-eighty. Every week she fails to pay up, I add another two weeks to the length of the loan. Mrs Archer won’t be able to keep up the payments. In a couple of months, she’ll want another wad of cash. It’ll be for Halloween or Christmas. Once they’re on the hook, I keep calling around, and collecting.”
“What if they don’t ask, like Mrs Archer?” asked Phoenix.
“I keep collecting fifteen quid until she asks why it’s taking so long to clear the debt. Then I scratch my head, look at my notebook, and tell her she’s got three more payments. If I see her Wayne or one of the younger kids needing shoes, or a winter coat, then I’ll mention it. You’ll catch on if you stick around. You need to keep your eyes open, see who’s in need. That’s most of them on this estate. It’s easy money.”
“Where do you live, Benny?” asked Phoenix.
“Two doors down from Mrs Archer. The end one on the terrace with the bigger garden. Nice spot, I can see everything I need to from my place.”
The next house they visited was a flat on the opposite side of the road. From his front room window, Benny could have told Phoenix what pattern wallpaper they had in every room.
“This one will be different,” said Benny, as he stepped over broken glass on the pavement, and eased past plastic bags of rubbish on the path leading to the door.
“Why?” asked Phoenix, following Benny’s careful route.
“They’re not keen on paying. It’s good you’re here. If she’s on her own, she tends to ask if there’s another way we can settle the amounts they owe. When he’s home, he can be a mouthy devil.”
Benny rang the bell.
“Stand on the doorstep, and get right in their faces,” said Benny, “if he kicks off, then chin him. It’s time they saw sense and paid what’s owed.”
Benny rang again.
A bleached-blonde woman in her forties threw open the door. Her right arm was heavily tattooed. Her left shoulder carried the message ‘Jake is my life’. She recognised
Benny straight away, but her eyes fixed on Phoenix.
“What’s a threesome worth, Mr Giggs? This one’s tasty. We ain’t got the forty quid, so you can whistle for it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that Mrs Fouracre, my boss won’t be pleased. It might mean this gentleman calling around with his friends when Jake’s at home. Neither of you will whistle after that. Most likely you’ll be taking your food through a straw.”
Amy Fouracre was scared, there was no question, but she put on a brave face. Phoenix stepped back from the doorstep.
“What can you offer us today, Mrs Fouracre, in the way of cash?” he asked.
“I could manage twenty, maybe?” she replied, fetching her purse from the kitchen table.
“What’s your game?” asked Benny quietly, poking Phoenix in the chest.
“Twenty is better than nothing, and I don’t hit women,” said Phoenix.
“Here, take this,” said Amy, who was back at the door, “we’ll try to have the money for you next week, Mr Giggs, honest.”
She closed the door. Benny stuffed the twenty-pound note in his notebook and returned to the car. He was steaming.
“This isn’t a charity,” he told Phoenix when they were both sat in the BMW, “I thought Phil explained things to you.”
“Not really,” replied Phoenix. “I needed a job, he said I could come out with you, to learn the ropes. I thought after that, I’d get to collect from different addresses across the region, not act as your muscle. You know these people, Benny. They’re your neighbours. You know their history. I could never do your job as well as you.”
Benny was placated. He misread Phoenix’s contempt for the misery Benny piled on top of the poor sods who scratched a living on the Cowgate as a compliment.
“Well, yeah, I suppose it is a talent,” said Benny. “I didn’t always do this you know. I was in insurance for forty years. I’ve spent a lifetime knocking on doors and picking up bits and pieces.”
“Have you ever taken Amy up on her offer?” asked Phoenix.
“Not with my back,” said Benny, shaking his head, “and you ain’t set eyes on her Jake yet. That’s why I said you might be back mob-handed. You would need three or four big blokes to take him.”
