by Peter Bates
“Well, I won’t go into detail, but today I’ve managed to get a new deal that’ll make us a lot better off financially. I’ll still be fishing as usual, but I have added a little bit of transportation work to the job. We’ll be much better off than we are today.”
“Oh, love. That’s brilliant!” yelled Gabrielle, throwing her arms around him, and planting a big kiss on his cheek. “When do you start doing that?”
“I’m not absolutely certain, but I think it will start sometime in the next few days.”
“Fantastic! That’s the biggest smile I’ve seen on your face for a really long time.”
“You’ll be smiling as well, my love, when I start bringing home plenty more money.”
“That’s true,” nodded his wife. “It looks like we’ve got some happy times ahead of us.”
“We sure have, so go and get the whisky and wine out. Tonight, we’re going to celebrate. First of all, though, I have to make an important phone call, so I’ll be in the back room for a few minutes.”
The call took far less time than Alf had anticipated. Tom Felder had already spoken to the contact, and the man was expecting Alf to phone him about arranging a deal.
“I was expecting your call,” started the heavily accented foreign voice. “But I don’t do deals over the phone. We’ll need to meet up first, and then we can talk.”
“Where do you want to meet?”
“There’s a fairly big industrial estate on Squires Gate Lane. Do you know it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. I’ll see you there tomorrow at five o’clock. I’ll be parked up in a quiet area that has a lot of space, near to the Diggle’s Farm Produce outlet. I’ll be in a silver Jaguar car, and I’ll flash you once when you come into the car park. Don’t park next to me, there are plenty of spaces nearby. What sort of car do you have?”
“A Honda Civic, a silver one too.”
“OK, Mr Kennedy. I’ll look out for you. Don’t be late, I’m a busy man. See you tomorrow.”
The phone clicked dead, and Alf stared at it blankly for several moments before replacing it in his jacket pocket. So far so good, but he couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. He was about to step into a whole new world that would make him or break him. This was a wholly different league to pinching a few clothing items from shops. Get caught, and he’d be doing time that he couldn’t afford to do at his late stage of life. The alternative wasn’t good either — eking out his remaining years and being totally skint was not a very good option. In reality, there was really no choice.
*
The location of the commercial car park at Squires Gate was probably one of the best options available. In and out easily — not too many cars — and very little moving traffic. Alf noticed an unusual and complete lack of static cameras in the chosen meeting place, and arriving five minutes early, was halfway into the parking area when a quick flash of car headlights on his right-hand side drew his attention to a silver Jaguar, parked about fifty yards from the nearest building.
Alf drove his car into one of the many wide spaces available, but at least thirty yards away from the Jaguar. Should he walk to the Jaguar, or should he wait for its driver to cross the short distance to his car. After thirty seconds had passed by with no movement from within the Jag, he decided that it must be him that would do the walking, and he opened the Honda’s driver’s door and stepped out. As Alf reached the Jag’s front passenger door, the lock clicked, and after pulling gently on the silver handle, he climbed warily into the seat, and turned to face the driver.
“Mr Kennedy, pleased to meet you. I’m Amel.”
Amel ignored Alf’s outstretched hand, and Alf nervously muttered, “Pleased to meet you, Amel.”
Alf slowly withdrew his hand and looked into the driver’s face, which was still staring ahead through the windscreen, and appeared to be totally impassive. The lower half of the man’s face was covered by a scarf, and a grey woollen bobble hat was pulled down low across his forehead.
“You have a boat, Mr Kennedy.”
“I do, I’ve had one for many years. It’s a fishing boat and it’s moored at Fleetwood.”
“Good. I understand that fishing is not very profitable at the moment, and that you are having a difficult time.”
“You could say that,” responded Alf. “I’m even thinking of packing it in.”
“Well, Mr Kennedy, I wouldn’t do that just yet. We’ve got a proposition to make that could change things for you.”
“That’s why I’m here,” grinned Alf. “My pal, Tom Felder, recommended me to you, and said that I’d never regret it.”
“Yes, Mr Felder does very well with us, and if he recommended you, he must be sure that you would suit our needs perfectly. He says that he knows you well, you are an excellent captain, and can navigate all waters as well as any sailor that he knows.”
“What is it that you want me to do?”
“Well, it’s easy really, Mr Kennedy. All you have to do is to go out to sea in your fishing boat as usual, collect a bag from another ship, and bring it back here. You then sell what’s in the bag on the mainland to a buyer that we will select for you, and give you directions on how to meet up with him. You must then bring the cash back here to me and I will give you ten percent of the cash you received.”
Alf deliberately looked confused, and not very impressed with the proposal.
“So, if I got one hundred pounds for the bag, I’d then receive ten pounds from you?”
Amel laughed loudly.
“Mr Kennedy, that’s very funny. You wouldn’t get ten pounds for the bag — you’d be more likely to receive £80,000 for the bag — which means that you’d walk away with eight thousand pounds.”
Alf took a risk, but knew that he needed to appear to be very surprised. “Bloody hell. What’s in the bag?”
“You don’t need to know,” smiled Amel. “Just deliver what you collect at sea, exchange it for the cash, and that’s the deal.”
“Sounds good to me,” grinned Alf. “When do I start?”
“We can scarcely keep up with our work, Mr Kennedy. Let me just look at my order book.”
With a sharp twist of a key, Amel unlocked a lid on the car’s centre console, poked his fingers into it and pulled out a small green notebook. After flicking through several pages, he finally selected one of them and ran a finger down the paper.
“Here we are. If it’s OK with you, you can start the day after tomorrow. Come here first at six o’clock in the morning, then we can give you the times and coordinates that you’ll need for your trip, and also fill you in with any exchange details that you should know about.”
CHAPTER 39
“What the bloody hell’s wrong with this place?”
Although alone, Norman Pendleton spoke out aloud as once more, he stared at the numerous reports laid out across his desk.
“Even Sherlock Holmes would struggle with this little lot. Where the hell do you start?”
“Usually, at the beginning.”
Norman turned his head sharply, hearing the comment behind him. His dour expression changed quickly as his tired, grey eyes focused on his visitor.
Deputy Chief Constable Bill O’Callaghan stood in the doorway, a large smile on the tall man’s face as he stared down at the chief inspector. At six feet five inches tall, he was an impressive man and ideally suited to his senior role. Throughout his successful career, virtually every person that he made contact with and worked alongside would have had to look upwards into his face. His physical presence alone was enough to gain instant attention, and immediate recognition.
“Bloody hell, Bill. Good to see you again. How the devil are you?”
“I’m good, thanks Norman — but you don’t sound too happy.”
“I’m OK, Bill. Just bombed out with endless stacks of work, and not enough time or personnel to deal with most of it.”
“It’s the same all around the region, Norman. You know the script — not eno
ugh bodies on the streets — and then when we do catch the bad ’uns, they just get soft sentences from some bloody judge that invariably lives in a big mansion, a long, long way from any trouble.”
“Blimey, Bill. You just sound like me.”
“I guess we’re all under the same pressure, Norman, and you and I have both done our time on street corners. That’s how and why we really know what it’s like out there.”
Norman nodded. “And what brings you here today, Bill?”
“Nothing special, Norman. I’m just doing a series of quick visits around most of the Lancashire stations. It’s always good to hear from our lads that are out on the street and to get a good feel about what’s going on and where I need to focus the most help; even though my hands are usually tied firmly behind my own back.”
“It’s good to know that somebody cares, Bill, it really is.”
“Well, I do, mate, but even so, I can only do so much. I could do a hell of a lot more with an increase in the money that we get, and if I did get more I could concentrate initially on difficult areas like Blackpool, where the crime rate is abnormally heavy because of all the visitors that come here. As I said earlier, the sentencing is far too lenient, and quite serious crime is being treated very gently, compared to the abject misery to honest folk that is caused by it. We urgently need serious deterrents, and then we could make the bad buggers think twice before they act.”
“Will we ever get that?”
“I doubt it, Norman. The jails are overfull, so the judges are reluctant to send crooks away for long sentences. Maybe the inmates should be put to work in building fresh jails. That way they could earn their early releases rather than being sent home because it’s overcrowded.”
“Hell’s bells, Bill. You should put yourself forward as an M.P. I’m bloody certain that you’d get most people’s vote for an idea like that.”
Bill O’Callaghan smiled. “Chance would be a fine thing, Norman. Nobody in power seems to want change, especially something that would initially cost more money.”
“It would be money well spent though,” nodded Norman.
“Well, it’s going to have to happen at some point, Norman. It’ll probably take place long after our time, though.”
“I hope it does, Bill. I truly do.” Norman glanced at the files spread across his desk, then raised his head. “What really brings you here today, Bill?”
“It’s always good to talk to you, Norman.”
Norman Pendleton laughed. “I’m glad it is, Bill, but is there anything in particular you wanted to cover?”
“You can always see through me, mate. Actually, I’m very aware of the gang situation here on the coast, and I was just looking for a quick face to face update.”
Norman let out a deep breath and sighed. “The whole thing is complex, Bill, but if we ignore all the petty stuff that goes on, our main focus right now is on two major gangs that operate around these parts. They are both a big pile of trouble. One belongs to a guy called Mel Harrison, and the other belongs to Jed Thomas. Both of the gangs do the lot. Extortion, protection, and we suspect they are both now involved with peddling drugs throughout the Fylde coast. If we had enough personnel to rotate, we could track all their members on a daily basis, and eventually nail them down. We don’t get any help from the general public on either gang, mainly because any informers would be under severe physical threat for doing just that.”
“I can understand that, from what I’ve heard from you before about the two gangs. So, is it pretty much a stalemate?”
“Well, it would be, but we did recently have some rather unusual intruders into the local situation.”
“Another gang from this area?”
“Well, no, but as it happens there was another one. It was a set of young lads that moved here not long ago from London. One of the local gangs, and we don’t know which one it was for absolute certain, eliminated them from the scene and the silly young buggers are all now in hospital. Presumably, when they have all recovered, they will head back home, having had a bad taste of what Blackpool gang warfare really means.”
“Someone’s done our job for us then?”
“It looks like it, Bill, and I’m fairly sure that I know which of our two gangs it was. One of my very reliable contacts reckons that it was definitely Jed Thomas.” Norman stayed quiet for a few moments, then added, “We also have a really good idea about who stole the cash recently from a security van close to the promenade.”
“Have you arrested them?”
“No, Bill. There isn’t a shred of evidence available, but again our informers on this are totally reliable, even though there are no forensic links, cameras, or witnesses available.”
“Who was it then?”
“It was Mel Harrison, the other gang that we mentioned earlier.”
“Wow. How does your informer know that then?”
Norman laughed. “Our informers are a group of ex-coppers, all retired, and totally reliable. They say that they have no usable evidence, but if they also say it was Harrison, you can take it from me that it most definitely was. Even though they know for sure, they told me that they can’t offer any proof that would stand up in any court.”
“How do they know then?”
“Believe me, Bill. If they say it was Harrison, it was. As I said, they were all detectives in their time, and between the four of them they had a fantastic record. Nowadays, they’re all in their late sixties, but knock about together regularly in and about the town. We can do things that they can’t do and have access to information and technology that nowadays they can’t get their hands on. On the other hand, because of their appearance, old skills and anonymity, they can do things that we can’t do, whilst at the same time they can go totally unnoticed.”
“Old case crackers, eh? They’re certainly doing better than we are at the moment then.”
“They’re not doing badly, Bill, but the last thing that they would want right now is to be in any way exposed, so we have to keep their existence and involvement totally quiet.”
“That’s fine, Norman. I respect that, so we must keep it that way. I really don’t mind how we get both the Harrison and Thomas’ crews behind bars, as long as we do.”
“The sooner the better.” nodded Norman.
“What’s the drugs situation like at the moment? Is it still rife in town?”
“I’m afraid so. Obviously, the stuff doesn’t come from around here, yet somehow there’s a constant flow of it being supplied to the area. If we could cut off the sources somehow, there would be far less on the streets. We’re regularly picking up users, but to be honest, they’re small fry compared to the distributors. That’s where we’re trying to concentrate our efforts. We can eliminate the vast majority of the population — it’s just finding the ones that bring it here and sell it on. After all, this is a seaside town and there are limited numbers of access routes into it. Most of the stuff must come in via the M55, but we can’t stop every car that enters the town from the motorway. We’ve also got a large expanse of sea nearby and a port at Fleetwood. It’s a pity that we can’t somehow detect the powder from the air after sending up a few helicopters. Maybe one day we’ll get the technology to do just that.”
“That would be most useful,” smiled Bill, “but probably a very long way off. ‘Sniffercopters’ would be brilliant. In the meantime, we’ll just keep our eyes skinned for dealers, and do our very best to get them put away. If you and the lads come across anything significant that I can help you with, just give me a buzz.”
“We’ll certainly do that, my friend. Maybe we should even get the old case crackers on the job. That would be off the record, of course.”
CHAPTER 40
“I just had a call in from Norman Pendleton.”
“Was it good news?” asked Reg.
“Not specially,” replied Terry. “There’s no progress at the moment regarding Harrison or Thomas, and Norman’s chief is all over him at the moment regarding bot
h gangs. The big boss upstairs is pushing very hard for some sort of result.”
“I’m not surprised,” added Frank. “Even without the extra pressure coming from above, the two gangs must be absolute top of the priority list for Norman, and will be an extreme embarrassment to the police hierarchy further up the ladder.”
“It will be,” agreed Terry, “and Norman’s also had an earful about the local drugs situation.”
“I guess it’s a whole lot worse now than when we lads were operating,” commented Roy.
“It was bad enough then, but it’s probably at least ten times worse than that now.”
“What’s next for us then?” asked Reg.
Frank scratched his ear thoughtfully before answering.
“Well, the gangs are probably priority for us right now, and we know that amongst all their other crimes, they are also involved in drug peddling. We know that one of the pick-ups was at the Motorway services, but I suspect that most of them will be far more local. They really wouldn’t want to be travelling long distances on the road if they could help it. Any accident or hold up en-route might well turn out to be a major problem for them. If we could nail one or both of the gangs, we would go a long way in solving all three problems. Don’t forget that Fleetwood is only just down the road from here, and the majority of illegal drug imports to this country must come in somewhere on boats. Airports and the aircraft that land in them are very carefully monitored, and subject to massive security and screening processes that are geared to drug detection. Major ports are busy, but have sufficient staff to be on the lookout permanently for both drugs and carriers. Cars and trucks coming into the country are checked at both ends of the channel. Logically that tells me that even if it wasn’t Fleetwood, most of the stuff must come in by sea. Is it just a coincidence too, that our particular locality here on the coast is notorious for drug peddling and the resultant abuse?”
“Good thinking, Frank,” murmured Reg. “Fleetwood, as a port, is nothing like as busy as it was even twenty years ago, and will not be keenly or closely monitored by the authorities. Therefore, the potential for getting stuff in and out of there undetected must be much greater than it ever was before. Certainly, much easier than some of the bigger and busier ports that are spread around the country.”
