Old Crackers

by Peter Bates

  “OK, lads, we have a name for you. The guy that drove the Range Rover and passed on the big sack to Thomas is a fella called Phil Croasdale. Croasdale is from the Manchester area and he’s a known dealer that we’ve struggled to pick up for quite some time. He fits the photos and the car is registered to him as a single owner and the sole driver.”

  “Can we pull him in then, sir?”

  “We could, James, but we might find ourselves short of evidence. We know that it was him, but we still can’t prove what was in the sack that he handed over, unless he has left some forensics in his home, which I very much doubt. We do know for certain now though that he’s still active in the market place, so we’ll tip off Manchester now. They’ll probably have to do exactly what we’re doing with Thomas, and keep some eyes on him. Thomas will have the stuff stacked away somewhere, so it’s just a case of keeping a permanent track on him, and sooner or later they may hunt down his store place. The crime is easily big enough to warrant that amount of attention. Right now, Croasdale has a big wad of cash in his pocket, but that’s not enough to put him away. If they pulled him in, he’d just say that he got lucky and found it. When we’re done here today, give Manchester a ring, James, and put them in the picture. In the meantime, we could do with finding out exactly where Thomas is hoarding his bag of dope. Find that and we have a real result.”

  “Any questions, lads?”

  “I have one.”

  Norman Pendleton glanced up and into the face of the young officer that had spoken out. The boy was young and was already showing great promise.

  “What’s your question, John?”

  “Well, sir. If we know that the guy called Croasdale is involved, why don’t we raid his place and pick up the cash?”

  Norman smiled. “I’ve already answered that one, John. If we actually found it — which would probably be extremely difficult — he would simply say that he’d discovered it himself somewhere and then brought it home. Sometime later, when it would clearly remain unclaimed, he would be able to collect it, and take it away for his own use.”

  “Yes, sir, but if that was the case, shouldn’t we take it from him and say that we will conduct a search for the owner?”

  “Thomas would simply say that we could do a search without us actually having the bag, so in the end the result would be the same. He knows full well that we’d never find a legitimate owner of the cash, and then it would simply be returned to him eventually as unclaimed lost property.”

  Norman Pendleton smiled again at the young man. Encouragement was due. “Well done, though, John. At least it shows that you’re thinking it out, and offering reasonable suggestions. Are there any more questions?”

  The room remained silent, and Norman Pendleton quickly decided to close the meeting.

  “OK, lads. That’s it. You all know what we have to do now, and descriptions must be passed on to every single man on the beat, and to every patrol car in the region. It’s a tall order, but we do know exactly who we are chasing, and that’s a very big bonus. Sooner or later, Thomas will be fencing the drugs, and when he does, we need to pick him and his gang up. In the meantime, we could do with notifications of every single sighting both of him and his car. If we do spot him on the road, we’ll need to follow very quickly with unmarked vehicles, and see where he leads us to.

  *

  “I still think that we should organise a nice little get-together for Thomas and Harrison.”

  Terry leaned back in the chair, straightened the creases in his trousers, and pulled his pale blue shirt collar over the top of the brand-new orange woollen jumper that he’d spotted on the bargain shelf and purchased yesterday in Tesco. Right now, he was looking for some sort of positive response to the suggestion, and his brown eyes drifted questioningly around his three friends’ faces.

  “It would certainly solve a lot of problems,” agreed Frank. “At least we know that Norman Pendleton will be all over Thomas at the moment, after the information that we gave to him. The whole force will be out on the streets looking for the man right now. Maybe we should just wait a little longer, and if Norman doesn’t pick him up with the drugs, we could try to organise something ourselves. If he does grab Thomas, half of the problem will be solved.”

  “It would be,” agreed Reg, “but as bad as he is, Thomas isn’t stupid, and he’ll be treading very carefully right now.”

  Terry’s mobile phone buzzed in his trouser pocket. With a surprised expression on his face, he quickly pulled it from the pocket, pressed a button, and held it against his ear.

  The conversation was brief, particularly from Terry’s end, but it was very clear throughout, exactly who was on the other end of the line. After a little less than three minutes Terry thanked the caller, switched off the line, and once more turned back to face his three friends.

  “I take it that the call was a good one,” grinned Frank, as he looked into Terry’s beaming face, and leaned forward in his seat.

  “You could say that, Frank. That was Norman Pendleton.”

  “I guessed so, we could all hear the odd snippet of what you were saying. How’s he doing?” asked Reg.

  “Better than average, I’d say. His men have just picked up the silver Range Rover with the bloke called Croasdale driving it. They were all really looking for Thomas, but one of his lads out on the road spotted Croasdale at the wheel and pulled him in.”

  “They’ll get nothing on him, though,” commented Roy. “He might have the cash, but there’s no law against having cash, even if it is an outrageous amount.”

  “That would normally be the case, Roy,” said Norman, “but in this event, the police know because we told them that he had only just exchanged drugs for cash, and there will certainly be traces of powder in the back of his car, both from that particular deal and also probably many others. Put drug traces and the amount of cash together and any court would convict him on that basis. If they really needed to, the police could feasibly use the pictures that we took to confirm that an exchange of some sort took place. As we speak, the forensic boys are involved and doing a sweep of the car’s interior.”

  “The pictures would show Jed Thomas as well though, Norman,” added Frank.

  Reg joined in again. “They would, but that alone would not get a conviction on Thomas. He would simply say that the bag contained something completely innocent. What it would do, though, is to alert Thomas that someone is watching him.”

  “If the police were to use the pictures in court,” suggested Frank, “they would have to crop them, so that Thomas was not visible on them. On balance, I would think that this is definitely one occasion where we don’t want Thomas involved.”

  “That could work though,” added Reg, “but if Thomas was to learn of the pictures, which as you say he probably would do, he might wonder exactly why he had been deliberately cut out of the scene. A guy like him will almost certainly have a mole or two buried somewhere in the force that would tell him the real reason for the cropping.”

  “Yes, you’re right, both of you. Much better if the pictures are left out of the process.”

  “One way or another, we’ll get him,” stated Roy boldly. “It’s just a matter of time, that’s all.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Tommy Hanlon stretched out on the red canvas of his hired sunbed and yawned. It was good to feel the hot sun on his body, and let the warmth pour into his tired muscles. At this rate, he might even develop a slight suntan. Some of those people around him certainly had. Most of them were probably just like him, and had travelled here from some inland industrial town. This was the life. It certainly beat anything back home, and he didn’t even need to fly here. No bloody passports, boarding passes, endless hours of air travel and transfers to and from airports to hotels. If you knew exactly where to go, it was just as cheap to eat and drink here too, and the entertainment was nothing short of brilliant. He took a moment to look around him. Tommy could see the foaming sea rolling in about one hundred yards away and o
n each side of him was flat golden sand stretching as far as his eyes could scan in both directions. The only partial restrictions to his current view were two long piers that jutted out from the land right up to the sea. When the tide was fully in, strolling along on the piers provided an amazing sight of the estuary and of Southport, several miles across the water. In a little while, he would pull on his jeans, T-shirt and shoes, then skip over the sand back to the raised concrete promenade. After that he would have the really pleasant problem of looking for the best pub that he hadn’t yet been into. There were plenty here, though, and that particular job shouldn’t take him too long. Maybe he might just come across a tasty bit of crumpet as well whilst he was in the pub. That would make a great holiday even better. There seemed to be plenty of attractive girls around the place from what he had seen so far. Perhaps he would get lucky.

  The welcome thought of that happening galvanised Tommy into positive action. He quickly swept up his clothes and shoes from the sand, put them on, and within seconds was heading directly for the stone steps that would lead him up to the promenade from the beach. At the top of the stairs, he patiently waited for several moments, allowing a rattling yellow and green tram to pass by on its steel railings. It wouldn’t be a good idea to argue with those things. They certainly couldn’t stop as quick as a car could do, and it seemed that they always had the right of way over pedestrians. The wait actually didn’t matter one iota, he wasn’t in a mad rush.

  After crossing the tracks and then the main promenade road itself he spotted a pub named the Pilgrim’s Arms. From the outside, it looked very much like most of the other pubs that were scattered along the main road, and Tommy pondered for a moment before making a quick decision.

  “It’ll do,” he whispered to himself. “There’s probably not a lot of difference with any of them anyway. One will be as good as another, I’m sure, and being on the promenade, there’s bound to be a few women in there on holiday, plus the fact that I’m really ready for a pint.”

  Inside, the pub was no more than half full, and the queue at the bar was reasonably short. Tommy joined the queue and quickly scanned the saloon area. Slightly bigger than what he was used to, but nicely decorated. Several large oil paintings adorned the walls, each of them illustrating different aspects of the town, including the sandy beach, the piers and the huge famous tower itself. A few young lads in their early twenties were seated in one corner, each of them laughing and sipping at pints of beer. Most of the pub’s other occupants were couples, the wide spread of their ages ranging from very young to very old. This place was ideal for Tommy. Still in his mid-thirties, the mix of ages in the pub suited him. If they had all been young, the pub could ultimately turn out to be a problem, especially as the evening drew on. All old, and he could have felt equally out of place for different reasons. It was far better for him to be part of a broad scope of ages, and to feel as comfortable as he would have been in his local, back at home.

  Tommy finally headed the queue, ordered a pint of Guinness fresh from the pumps, and aimed for an empty table, directly below the oil painting of the tower. He took a moment before sitting to look closely at the picture. It really was some structure, and colossal. How the hell they had constructed it all those years ago was beyond understanding. Whoever had the idea to build it was nothing less than a genius. How many people over the years had come to this town on holiday, simply because the tower was here, and they wanted to see it in all its glory?

  Tommy took his first welcome sip of Guinness, turned away from the painting, and once more cast his eyes around the other tables. He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d missed seeing her when he had walked in, but no more than two tables from where he was sitting, a beautiful woman with long dark hair was taking a sip from a glass of white wine. Perhaps she simply hadn’t been there when he’d entered the pub. If she had been, he would almost certainly have noticed. She was nothing less than gorgeous, and probably round about thirty years of age. The woman was wearing a pale blue blouse, a knee length dark blue skirt, and matching high heeled blue shoes.

  Tommy silently blew air from his mouth, and turned his seat slightly so that she was now in his full vision. She had picked up a local Evening Gazette newspaper from the table top and was now opening its pages. Her dark brown eyes quickly scanned the pages for a few seconds, then flickered upwards for a moment and rested on those of Tommy, still fixed intensely on her. She smiled at him briefly, placed the newspaper on the table, and once more lifted the wine glass to her mouth.

  Tommy inwardly gasped, and then glanced at the girl’s left hand. No wedding ring on the fingers. Go for it.

  “Any good news today?” asked Tommy, pointing a finger at the newspaper.

  The girl looked up sharply, smiled again, and then spoke quietly.

  “Not much,” she said. “The paper’s full of the usual stuff. At least the local paper’s not as bad as the nationals. There’s not even one mention of Brexit in this one.”

  Tommy laughed. “That makes a change. I think that we’ve all had more than enough of that.”

  “We certainly have,” she agreed.

  “Are you local?” asked Tommy.

  “Yes, born and bred here. What about you?”

  Tommy rose from his seat and joined the girl at her table. The ice was broken — who knew where this would go. This was one very stunning lady.

  “I’m from across the county, but I think that’s all going to change very soon. I’d like to move over here as quickly as I can. If all goes well, maybe in the next week or two. By the way, my name’s Tommy.”

  “And I’m Emma.”

  “Good to meet you, Emma.” Tommy extended a hand and for a brief moment, took Emma’s small delicate fingers into his own.

  “What do you do?” she asked.

  “Mainly, I’m in financial services. I have a business where I come from, but I can move anywhere easily, shifting places doesn’t affect the business that I do at all. I can do it wherever I am.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “It can be, Emma. It can also be very boring as well. What do you do for a living?”

  “Compared to what you do, Tommy, something very easy. I just do work as a model, so I get to wear lots of nice clothes. It’s money for nothing really.”

  “Wow. A model. I can’t honestly say that I’m surprised Emma. I think that I’d be more surprised if you weren’t a model.”

  Emma modestly smiled, then Tommy noticed that Emma’s wine glass was almost empty.

  “Can I get you another glass of wine, Emma?”

  Emma glanced at her watch, looked into his face and smiled.

  “Yes, Tommy. That would be very nice, thank you. The chardonnay in here is surprisingly good.”

  Tommy rose quickly to his feet. “Chardonnay it is then, Emma. I’ll be back in two ticks.”

  The bar was quiet and there was no wait. Tommy was served immediately by the landlord.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll have a pint of Guinness, and a large glass of your best chardonnay, please.”

  For some unknown reason to Tommy, the landlord appeared to be distracted, and also slightly unsettled. His former welcoming expression was now replaced with a bland one. With an almost silent sigh, the man nodded his head, filled the two glasses, and set them both on a tray in front of Tommy.

  “Do you know that lady?” he asked.

  “Yes,” smiled Tommy. “Her name is Emma. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. I just wondered, that’s all.”

  Tommy looked searchingly into the landlord’s face, but the big man was already moving along the bar to serve a new customer. Tommy shrugged his shoulders, picked up the two glasses from the tray, and carried them the short distance back to the table.

  “There you are, Emma. One glass of chardonnay for you, and a pint of Guinness for me.”

  “Thanks, Tommy.”

  “You’re welcome, love. I hope that we get another chance to do the same
thing another day.”

  Emma smiled, clicking her wine glass against Tommy’s beer glass.

  She didn’t answer, and didn’t get the opportunity.

  Three tall men, each of their faces already known to Emma, burst through the doors of the pub, and then strode rapidly and directly towards their table. The first two to reach it grabbed Tommy Hanlon by the shoulders and roughly hoisted him from the chair and onto his feet, before locking his arms tightly behind his back. The third man to enter the room now openly held a knife in his right hand, the sharp point of its blade just inches away from Tommy’s face.

  “Out you go, you bastard” he hissed. “Any trouble from you and you’re a dead man.”

  Tommy’s eyes opened wide; his usually sharp mind instantly filled with shock, confusion and wild thoughts as he stared in sheer terror from the man’s face to the silver blade held just inches away from his own.

  Why was this happening? What did these men want? Why me?

  The one holding the knife slowly lowered it almost out of view and down to waist level. He nodded to his companions.

  “Alleyway,” he said quietly.

  Half pulled, half pushed, Tommy was led slowly through the pub’s open doorway. The two men holding him slackened their tight grip on his arms, and moved alongside him.

  On the street, the group turned left, unhurriedly walking the twenty yards to reach the nearest alleyway that ran inland from the promenade, before turning into it. Another twenty yards brought them to another, even narrower alleyway on the right. Tommy was nudged into it by the man on his left, and seeing that it was clear of people, the leader moved ahead and halted on the far side of two large wooden telegraph poles.

  “This’ll do,” he said quietly to the other two.

  “Today’s your lucky day,” he began, addressing Tommy. “You could easily have found yourself out at sea attached to a concrete block, but I’m feeling generous today.”