Old Crackers

by Peter Bates

  “I bet you have, mate. They used to be a major team with a lot of major players.”

  “They did, but not any more. By the way, I’m Terry. What are you lads called?”

  “I’m Bob,” said the tallest of the young men, “and my best mate here is called Stan.”

  Terry grinned and extended a hand to each lad. “Well, Stan, you’ve certainly got the very best name for a Blackpool Football Club fan. The finest two players ever to play at Bloomfield Road were Stan Matthews and Stan Mortensen.”

  Stan smiled. “Seriously, Terry, I reckon that was the very reason why my old fella christened me Stan.”

  Terry smiled back. The two lads may or may not be able to help him, but the ice was definitely broken. A small and generous gesture from him at this point might help things along even more.

  Terry rose to his feet and addressed the two young men. “I really appreciate you lads letting me sit with you. I’m going to the bar, let me get you a couple of beers in.”

  “No, mate, you’re all right — really no need — you’re very welcome to sit here with us.”

  “I insist,” grinned Terry. “Two bitters on their way, lads,” he added, glancing at their half empty pint glasses before rising from his seat and moving quickly to the bar. Another beer each would keep the two boys in the Edwardian for a much longer time, and that could pay rich dividends.

  The bar area was almost clear and he was back to the table in less than four minutes, setting the full pint glasses down in front of the two lads. This could all be a waste of time, but time was something that Terry had in abundance these days. It would now be much easier to talk, and there were no visitors or staff within earshot of where they were sitting.

  “Thanks, Terry.” Stan tilted his glass with a big grin on his young face. “Very much appreciated.”

  “You are most welcome, Stan. Are you lads both local?” Terry began.

  “Yeah, mate. Born and bred here,” replied Stan, still grinning.

  “Good on you,” smiled Terry, relieved as the boy spoke the few words. “So am I.”

  “This place used to be a lot rougher when I was a lad of your age,” Terry went on, with a disarming smile. “There used to be a lot of trouble in my time as a young man. You know what I mean, gangs and things like that. I expect it’s really much quieter now.”

  “You’d be surprised, Terry,” spoke up Bob. “There’s still a lot of bad stuff going on around here. Stan and I always keep well away from it all, but it still happens.”

  “Blimey,” said Terry, his face dropping as he did his best to look genuinely surprised. “I’m a bit out of touch, lads. I really thought that sort of thing had long gone now.”

  “No, pal. If anything, it’s probably worse, but maybe not quite as obvious as it was. There are loads of drugs about these days as well. That’s certainly more of a modern thing, at least according to my Dad. There aren’t a lot of coppers out on the streets either, like there used to be.”

  Terry opened his eyes wide in feigned mock surprise.

  “Bloody hell lads, I’d no idea it was still bad.”

  Go for it, said a silent voice in Terry’s head.

  “Do you really mean that there are still bad gangs operating around these parts?”

  Stan joined in. “You’d be surprised, Terry. I could name three or four big gangs of lads right now. We keep well away from them, but they’re still around and also causing mayhem wherever they go.”

  Terry chose his next words carefully. “Are they really bad, though, like the ones that used to be here when I was a lad?” He certainly needed this line of conversation to keep going for a little longer.

  “Probably worse,” said Stan. “As Bob said, now there are drugs as well, and sometimes the gangs even use young kids to make their deliveries.”

  Terry put on his most stunned face. “Blooming heck, here in Blackpool? Who on earth would do that sort of thing?”

  “There are several, Terry, but the very worst ones are Mel Harrison’s gang, and another bad outfit run by Jed Thomas. There’s a pretty bad one in Fleetwood too, but that lot tend to stay well away from here. It’s not their territory, and they probably wouldn’t risk trying their arm around these parts. You probably know what the gangs are like from your younger days. Protection, drugs, burglaries. They’ll do anything illegal that makes money really.”

  Terry had clocked the gang names and made mental notes. Maybe he could have got this information from his contacts down at the station, but it was better to take that option only when there were no other choices. This way was far better, and wouldn’t be noticed by anyone.

  “Where do they tend to hang out? I’d best make sure my kids and grandchildren don’t go anywhere near them when they come here.”

  “The gang members are scattered about the town, but I know that Harrison’s mob normally tend to hang around the Pilgrim’s Arms in South Shore, and Thomas’ lot tend to meet at the Cock and Hen in the town centre. Make sure that you and your kids stay away from those two places, Terry.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Stan,” laughed Terry. “Thanks to you I now know where not to go.”

  The conversation drifted aimlessly for a further five minutes, and then Terry suddenly rose to his feet, checking his watch as he stood, and also putting on a surprised face. “Well, lads, sorry, but it’s much later than I thought, and I have to go now. It’s been a real pleasure talking to you both, and thanks for your advice. One thing’s for certain, I won’t be going anywhere near to the Pilgrim Arms and the Cock and Hen,” he grinned, knowing full well that he’d just told a very blatant lie.

  CHAPTER 10

  Back at home, Terry scribbled a few notes and names on a pad, then put a call in via the ‘conference call’ facility on his phone to Frank, Roy and Reg, giving them an update on what he had learned at the Edwardian during his casual conversation with the two local lads.

  As he concluded the brief, he added to each of his friends, “I think it would be a good idea if at least two of us attended the murdered kids’ funerals, but just stayed anonymous and in the background. With their past experience of this, Frank and Reg could well play the part to perfection. It’s the sort of stuff that they’ve done many times in the past. I think that it is very probable that both bereaved families will use the same cemetery, more than likely in fact. I suspect that it will be the one at Leyton. The funerals could well be held both on the same day too or even done together. It should be easy enough to get that information, so I’ll leave that to you. I don’t expect any of the people there to recognise even one of us, but try to change your appearance as much as possible. Maybe even a false moustache or beard and a hat, but not your very best clothes or anything that makes you stand out. You’ve all done this sort of thing many times before, so you know already what we need to do. Just blend in, but stay on the fringe, and avoid direct contact and any lengthy conversations if possible. Do use your ears though, and I’d like a few sneaky pictures if you can take them without risk of being seen snapping them off. Harrison and his cronies are certain to be there, and it would be good for us to know all their faces. You’ll need to keep on the move if you can, and leave quickly if anyone decides that they want to extend the chat with you. As far as anyone that goes there is concerned, you are all just visiting the gravestone of a long gone relative, and were simply passing by. We don’t want them to remember you in any way after we’ve gone.”

  “How long should we stay, Terry?” asked Reg.

  “You’ll be on the spot, so I’ll leave it to you. Probably just until the end of the service, that’s all, or once you have your pictures if that’s quicker. Certainly, before they all head off for somewhere else. I absolutely don’t want you going to a pub or diner with them. That would be far too risky. Don’t forget how dodgy these buggers really are, and remember not to give anyone your real names either if they should ask for them. Over the next few days, we may well all have to turn up at places that they go to, and you cer
tainly won’t want to be recognised by any of that crew.”

  *

  After a few discreet enquiries, Reg established that the funeral burials would, as Terry suggested, be held at the Layton cemetery, on the east side of the north end of town, following a service at the local Anglican church. The two boys would be laid to rest at midday, and Reg collected Frank from his home at eleven-fifteen a.m. Frank was ready for him, and opened the front door wide as his friend knocked on it.

  “Hell’s bells, Frank. I didn’t recognise you. I thought I’d come to the wrong house.”

  Frank smiled widely, stretching his grey false moustache even further across his upper jaw. His head was covered with a dark brown, corduroy cap, and still smiling, he tipped the cap in Reg’s direction, noticing at the same time that Reg’s suit was probably at least equally as old and decrepit as the one he himself was wearing.

  “You can talk,” he then added, pointing a finger at Reg’s dark brown beard. “You look like something out of a horror movie.”

  “Well,” laughed Reg. “We’ve done a good job then. I don’t think even Terry would recognise us now.”

  “I don’t think that he would,” agreed Frank, “but it’s what he wanted, so here we are, looking like two scallywags.”

  Being in between school runs and after the early morning rush, the traffic wasn’t too bad, and Reg coasted along in his old reliable Mercedes automatic, finally parking in a quiet side street fairly close to the Layton cemetery at eleven-forty a.m.

  “Have you got your camera?” asked Frank.

  “Yes, Frank. It’s here tucked away in my jacket’s inside pocket. I can carefully lift it out sideways and then take a few ‘pics’ without any chance of it being seen.”

  “Good thinking,” nodded Frank. “I’ll do the same. Knowing his sort, Harrison will probably stand out like a sore thumb, and you can bet that the others from his gang won’t be far away from him at any time. By now, he may even see himself as a target.”

  “No, they won’t be far away,” agreed Reg. “Even off-duty, they’ll still be looking around and checking for unwanted visitors, especially after what’s already happened.”

  Frank glanced at his watch. “I think we should wander over to those tall gravestones near to the entrance. It would be far better if we got there ahead of the groups, rather than after they’ve arrived. So that it doesn’t look very obvious when they do arrive, we’ll both take a couple of pics of each other by one of the gravestones but do it so that the funeral group is somewhere in the background.”

  A black, shiny hearse arrived at eleven fifty-five, and slowly drove to the large semi-circular area in front of the old cemetery building. It was closely followed by seven or eight equally highly polished and very extravagant cars, including several of the very latest Mercedes and BMW saloon models.

  “Crime obviously pays,” muttered Frank from his position fifty yards from the cars, his newly acquired moustache twitching up and down as he spoke the words.

  “If I’ve got anything to do with it, it won’t pay for much longer, especially for these particular rogues,” added Reg drily. “Is your camera switched on and ready to go?”

  “Yes,” answered Frank simply. “And I’m ready to go too,” he added, one hand out of sight and held under his jacket.

  “Should we get closer?” asked Reg.

  “Just a few yards, that’s all, mate. Any pics we take will be crystal clear from here, and we do need to stay unnoticed if possible.”

  “We’ll take a few quick snaps,” he added, “and concentrate on the occupants of the leading cars.”

  “They’re getting out now,” muttered Frank. “If you stay where you are at the moment, I’ll take some of you, with that lot in the background. If we do get lucky, all the gang will be here and we’ll have shots of them all. After I’ve done at least four or five, we’ll switch positions and you can do the same. Then we’ll go.”

  Frank waited a few more seconds, then slid the camera carefully from under his jacket’s lapel, and still holding it closely to his chest, clicked off five shots, each one at two second intervals.

  “OK, Reg. Now it’s your turn.”

  The two men quickly exchanged places, and Reg clicked off five more shots, aiming his camera slightly right of Frank’s face as the group of people moved solemnly away from the row of cars, and towards the chapel.

  “Let’s go,” motioned Reg, heading smartly for the side street. “That should do fine. At least we’ll have made a start, and Terry should be chuffed with what we’ve got here.”

  Frank nodded, and followed him closely, glad to see that Reg was not rushing in any way.

  Frank resisted the strong urge to pull the moustache from his face off until he had reached and then finally climbed into the Mercedes front seat.

  He quickly turned his head sideways to face Reg as the shorter man reached the driver’s door.

  “And you’d better get that raggy old beard off your face too, or you’ll frighten poor old Terry to death.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “How did the drop go?”

  “Great, boss,” answered Alan positively. “The whole thing all went clean as a whistle.”

  “Where’s the gear?”

  “Still in the bag, locked up tightly in the boot of my car, in the car park outside here at the Rose and Crown.”

  “Great. No cameras, so we know it’s safe here. When we leave, back up to mine and I’ll switch the stuff to my car. After that, I’ll take the gear up to the secure flat, and dump it in the safe. Later on, we can bag it all up and get it out safely to the shifter man. Gary, you can come with me to the flat and watch my back, just in case. Bring your shooter with you too. I don’t expect that you’ll need it, but it’s better to be sure, especially in view of what’s gone on recently. Tomorrow we can package it all up in the small bags and then get the stuff out to ‘The Man’ over the next few days.”

  Mel paused for a moment before adding, “By the way, has anyone heard anything more about Jed Thomas’ mob since we last spoke?”

  “Nowt, boss,” muttered Bob.

  “Me neither,” added Alan. Gary and Kenny slowly shook their heads from side to side in agreement.

  “OK,” nodded Mel thoughtfully. “The problem at the moment is that the coppers are still all over it like a rash, and they’ve also been talking to our relatives, and around the schools, trying to dig up stuff from them. They must think that it was Thomas’ crew, but can’t prove it. Anything we do right now has really got to be squeaky clean. With a little bit of luck, they’ll soon find something that nails them down and put them all away for life. If that happens, Thomas and his gang will be out of the picture for their lifetimes, which is much better than us five lads doing the coppers’ job for them and then having to do time for life as well. I don’t really want to, but we’ll need to be very patient for once.”

  Gary scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You’re probably right, Mel, but if the coppers do finally call it a day, we will then need to do something ourselves. I know that even we aren’t definitely sure it was them, but it certainly looks like it was from where I’m sitting, and I for one would be glad to slam a few bullets through them, whether they did it or not.”

  “I think that we’re all with you on that,” agreed Mel, “but a few weeks won’t make any difference either way. Either the coppers lock them up, or we simply bury ’em ourselves in the middle of nowhere when it has all calmed down a little. I don’t think that anyone’s going to miss them.”

  *

  Frank Lloyd’s bungalow was his prize possession. After scaling down since his retirement, the large detached house that he had lived in for forty years suddenly became far too big for his needs. The bungalow was great — no stairs to climb up or to tumble down from, and everything accessible within a few strides of its centre. The high ceilings meant that hanging lights couldn’t bounce off his six and a half feet frame. There was a small, easily manageable garden at the fron
t and a good-sized lawn at the back surrounded with numerous flower beds. The garden faced west, and Frank would spend many hours sat in the sunshine, sometimes reading, sometimes listening to his radio, and sometimes just sitting there peacefully. It was a huge contrast to the work that he had done for many years, and his appreciation of the change never faltered.

  Today though, it was almost a blast from the past. His three pals had arrived, and after dragging several folding canvas deck chairs from the garage, he was once more surrounded by several of his old ex work colleagues.

  “Nice place this,” said Terry, looking around him as he spoke.

  “It certainly does the job,” agreed Frank.

  “You’re a lucky lad,” commented Reg with a big smile.

  “It’s good to be lucky, Reg. ‘Lucky’ is much better than most other qualities we might have.”

  “I agree,” added Roy. “You could have the most money in the world and everything to go with it, but if you’re not lucky, you may never be able to enjoy any of it.”

  “Can I bring the garden table over here,” asked Terry, “whilst you two old ladies discuss being lucky.”

  “Sure, you can,” laughed Frank. “I was going to bring it over for you to put your drinks on, and forgot.”

  Terry rose from his chair, and half dragged, half carried the table to the centre of the group, before pulling up his own chair and sitting down, his cheeks puffing out air as he recovered from the effort.

  “You all right?” asked Reg with a grin.

  “I am now, mate” laughed Terry. “I reckon I’m a bit out of practice at lugging things around these days.”

  Frank stood up. “Have you all got a drink?”

  “We have, mate. And we’re all ready to go.”

  Frank nodded, walked the few steps it took to reach his kitchen, and exited a moment later with a large green cardboard folder. He glanced around the garden, checking the strength of the breeze, and then satisfied it was low enough, carefully emptied the folder’s contents onto the table top.