Old Crackers

by Peter Bates

  “I haven’t done anything to you,” responded Tommy quietly. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “You don’t know me, that’s unusual around here,” laughed the big man. “I find that hard to believe, mate, but I’ll tell you something, just so you don’t ever forget it. My name is Mel Harrison, and I rule the roost around here.”

  Harrison waited for an effect on the man’s face. Seeing none, he continued. “Are you not from round these parts?”

  “No, Mr Harrison. I’m from East Lancashire.”

  “Are you on holiday?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK, that explains why you don’t know of me then. You’re here with me right now because you’ve been spotted chatting up my bird and buying her a drink in the pub.”

  Tommy’s thoughts flashed back to Emma. Surely such a beautiful girl like that wouldn’t get mixed up with a bloke like this. Obviously, it seemed that she had done. Now she was certainly ‘history’ as far as he was concerned.

  “I’m really sorry, Mr Harrison. I had only just met her, and didn’t even know her name until I sat at her table. I just bought her a drink because her glass was almost empty, and had a little chat with her.”

  “Well, you picked the wrong one to chat up, mate. I can’t allow things like that on my own patch, which is exactly why you are here now.”

  “As I said, Mr Harrison, I’m sorry.”

  “I told you a few minutes ago that it’s your lucky day, and it is, but you just need to remember who I am, and what you have done.”

  As he growled the last few words, Harrison, slowly pulled back his right arm. When his clenched fist was level with his side, he threw it forward and upward ferociously, landing it squarely on Tommy Hanlon’s jaw. Tommy didn’t even see the blow coming. All he knew was blackness.

  Harrison smiled down at him, before walking away. “You’ll remember me now, Tommy, won’t you?”

  CHAPTER 56

  “My contact in the Pilgrim’s Arms has just been on the phone,” said Frank quietly, arriving at the table after waiting outside the door for several minutes before entering.

  “Is the man offering us all some free drinks tonight?” asked Reg with a big grin on his face.

  “No such luck, Reg. No, my friend, it’s just that there’s been a serious altercation there.”

  “I don’t suppose that’s too unusual,” laughed Roy. “It must be a regular occurrence there, the place being ‘smack’ in the middle of the promenade as it is.”

  “Very funny, Roy. ‘Smack’ is one of your better ones I think,” smiled Terry.

  “When you lads have finished, I’ll get on with it, shall I?” asked Frank, adding an even broader smile than that of Terry’s.

  “Go ahead, Frank. We’ll try to behave.”

  “It seems that a bloke who was not a regular punter at the place got a very big poke in the face from Mel Harrison. It must have been a good ’un, because he’s now in Victoria Hospital getting some treatment for a severe facial blow that knocked him out stone cold.”

  “Did the coppers turn up?” asked Terry.

  “Yes, but surprise, surprise! Not one of the punters appear to have seen anything happen. My contact did, but he’s not talking officially either — he’s only talking to us. The man doesn’t want his pub trashed in the next couple of days.”

  “What did he say, then?” asked Roy.

  “Well, it seems that a holidaymaker called in this afternoon for a drink.”

  “There’s not much unusual about that.” commented Reg.

  “You buggers are exasperating,” announced Frank. “Shall I get on with it or not?”

  “Sorry, Frank,” added Reg with another laugh.

  “Right, thank you. As I said, a bloke called in to the pub and it seems that he decided to sit next to a young girl who was alone at one of the tables. As it turns out, she just happened to be the girlfriend of Mel Harrison.”

  “Not a good idea then?” said Roy.

  “No, but of course the guy who sat with her would have had no clue about who she was, and especially not the connection that she could have had with anyone else. Don’t forget that he wasn’t a local. He was from some town over in East Lancashire. Anyway, somehow Harrison found out about his girl having a drink with a stranger in the Pilgrim’s Arms and turned up heavy handed with his mates. They dragged the man out of the pub and Harrison gave him a real good seeing to, close by and in an alleyway around the corner. Of course, nobody would admit to seeing anything at all, and the coppers went away empty handed.”

  “Why didn’t the landlord say anything?” asked Roy.

  “Frightened to death, that’s why. There’s no way he would tell the coppers that it was Harrison. He would have known well in advance of Harrison’s reputation anyway. He just told the coppers that he was busy in the back room and must have missed it all. I can’t honestly blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’d certainly think twice about telling them what I’d seen. He could have ended up putting himself out of business quite easily, maybe even getting badly hurt at the same time.”

  “What can we do?” asked Reg.

  “Probably nothing about that particular incident. It’s probably just another reason why we four lads need to get our heads together again and come up with a workable plan. We all know what the end result needs to be, but getting there is difficult and potentially very dangerous to all of us.”

  “We’ve done a lot of talking about these gangs, but not very much action,” commented Roy. “It’s about time that we did something because in the meantime, their crimes just keep going on and on, and local people as well as visitors are suffering.”

  “That’s very true, Terry, but the coppers have got nowhere with them either, and they have much more access to cameras and DNA tests than we’ll ever have. They’ve also got a lot more personnel and muscle on the ground than us four old buggers.”

  “But they’ve got a big load of distractions that we don’t have, too,” replied Terry. “At least we can put all of our concentration onto just one set of bad ’uns. The problem is that gangs like Harrison’s and Thomas’ seem to have worked out exactly what they can get away with, and it seems to me that they’ve turned it into an art.”

  “Every artist runs out of paint,” added Reg.

  “Should I ring Norman Pendleton?” asked Frank.

  “I think so,” agreed Roy. “There’s nothing he can do with the information about Harrison, but he could be pleased to scale down whatever his boys on the streets have to do. They’ve got enough on their plates without wasting more time on what would almost certainly be a fruitless and witness-free investigation.”

  “Move a little closer, lads. I’ve invested in a new phone that has a speaker built into it. You should be able to hear everything that Norman says, as well as my own voice.”

  “Hell’s bells, Frank,” laughed Terry. “There are no flies on you, mate.”

  Frank grinned at Terry, pulled a shiny new black mobile from his pocket, pressed the ‘on’ button, and clicked what had recently become a very well used number.

  “Norman Pendleton, please.”

  “Certainly, sir. Can I tell him who it is that’s calling?”

  “Tell him it’s Frank Lloyd.”

  Frank patiently waited almost thirty seconds before Norman’s voice came onto the line.

  “Hi, Frank. What can I do for you?”

  “Hello, Norman. I’ve called because I have some information for you. You probably won’t be able to use it, but you’ll certainly be glad to have it, and it could save you and your lads from wasting unnecessary time.”

  “Go ahead, Frank. Whatever I get from you lads is useful.”

  “Well, we know that a holidaymaker that had come from East Lancashire was attacked earlier today in the central promenade area.”

  “Yes, he was, Frank. A bloke called Tommy Hanlon.”

  “Well, Norman, we have reliable information that the assault was down to Mel Harrison an
d his gang.”

  “I’d a strong feeling that it was them, Frank. The only problem is that there were no witnesses, at least none that would be prepared to give any evidence. We come across this all the time. The gang is so brutal, and have such a reputation, that there are never ever any witnesses to whatever they might do.”

  “I appreciate that, Norman, and I really can’t name the person that told me either. What I can tell you is that he is a totally reliable witness, but for all the reasons that you have already mentioned, he won’t make an official statement. He told me about the incident strictly off the record. It does mean though, that you could probably ease up on your investigation, unless you find some forensics, which I really doubt, to be honest.”

  “Thanks, Frank. I appreciate the information, and also understand exactly what you have said about the witness situation. It’s a bloody shame, but it’s also a reality, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re welcome Norman. I know that these days your hands are tied well and truly behind your back. Fifty years ago, it was entirely different, but now it must be a nightmare for you to get the bad ’uns locked up. The current laws seem to find ways of protecting villains rather than their victims. The defence lawyers are having a field day. Anyway, if we can help you in any way, we will do and we’ll keep in touch.”

  “Thanks, Frank. And tell the other lads that I really appreciate your help, and whatever you all do, make sure that you don’t place yourselves on Harrison’s or Thomas’ radar.”

  “We’ll certainly try to avoid that, Norman.”

  “I would do, Frank. I really would.”

  Frank clicked off the phone, replaced it in his jacket pocket, and looked into the faces of his friends.

  “Well,” said Terry, “at least he knows the score now, even if he can’t do anything about it.”

  “That’s right, Terry, but there are still things that we might be able to do. We’ll trip them up at some point in the future, that’s for sure. In the meantime, all we can do is to keep watching and listening, and maybe work out a plan that so far hasn’t entered our minds.”

  CHAPTER 57

  Changing his car wasn’t something that Roy Baldwin regularly did. Neither did he ever buy new, some of the prices for a vehicle that he didn’t have to use so often these days were simply crazy. He would usually spend many hours seeking the right one. There were plenty of low mileage, reliable cars out there if he took the time to find them. Also, with an older car, there would always be a history of MOTs to verify the mileage. An almost new one could easily have its mileage rigged and yet cost up to four times as much to buy.

  There were plenty of local dealers around the Blackpool area, and after three hours of searching, he finally spotted a red, six-year-old Honda Civic that had only thirty-nine thousand miles on its clock. One very elderly owner since new, and completely unmarked. He knew that these cars were totally reliable, drove well, and were very economical. His days of Jags, Mercedes and fancy four by four’s were long gone. He wandered casually around the car several times, peering closely at tyres and looking for any signs of damage to the bodywork, then opened the unlocked driver’s door and checked inside for wear and tear. The dashboard even had a mobile phone holder and connection bracket. Another bonus. A short test drive simply confirmed his choice as being a good one, and less than half an hour later, he had paid for the vehicle by credit card. Roy checked all the legal documentation, set up the change of insurance on his phone, and was carefully driving his new car back home. He was also feeling very contented.

  Almost halfway through the brief two-mile journey, he became sharply aware of the car behind him. The blue BMW was continually pressing, and far too close for comfort. Enough was enough, he thought, and after quickly switching on his left indicator, he pulled into a vacant parking space at the side of the road. The blue car accelerated by him, and Roy threw a quick glance at the driver as the man passed by.

  “Harrison!”

  Roy gulped in surprise, and regained his senses rapidly enough to look again into his mirror, see an immediate gap in the traffic, and then to steer the Honda back onto the road, now two places behind the BMW. Two places back were perfect for him, and a good break.

  A red light ahead meant that as Roy pulled to a halt, he could slip his phone into the connection bracket, press a few buttons, and then speak hands-free into it.

  “Hi, Roy,” the speaker announced brightly.

  “Hi, Frank. I can’t stay on for long, but I’m on Waterloo Road, heading west towards the sea and just two cars behind Harrison.”

  “Bloody hell! How did you do that?”

  “Just a bit of luck, Frank. I’ve no idea where he’s heading, so if you can, stay near to the phone and wait for my next call. I’ll buzz you when he reaches wherever he’s going to, and I’ll then park up. When I do that, you can give the other lads a bell and see if they can get there. It may all be a big waste of time, but you never know.”

  “Will do, Roy.”

  By the way, mate, he’s got three passengers with him. At the moment, I haven’t got a clue who they are, but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  The phone clicked off, and Roy turned his attention back to the car ahead. Just a hundred yards or so before Waterloo Road met the promenade, the BMW indicated right, and then turned into a narrow side street. Roy slowed the Honda Civic to a crawl — probably irritating the driver behind him — but he dare not follow too quickly and needed to keep an unnoticeable distance between himself and Harrison. Gradually, he slowly swung the Honda into the side street and spotted the brake lights of the BMW seventy-five yards ahead as it came to a halt, half on the footpath and half on the street. Roy was forced into a very quick decision. There was a small space immediately to his right that with difficulty, he could just about squeeze into, and another much larger space just thirty yards or so past the BMW. He settled for the larger one, and pulled his cap lower down his forehead as he drove past Harrison’s car, his eyes fixed firmly on the street ahead. Twenty seconds later, he switched off the engine, glanced briefly into the rear mirror, and remained unmoving in his driving position. By now, Harrison had already stepped out of the BMW’s driver’s seat, and was talking to one of his three passengers on the pavement side of the car.

  Roy pressed a button on his mobile. The call was picked up almost immediately.

  “Hi, Roy, how’s it going?”

  “Good so far, Frank. I’m parked up just off the beach end of Waterloo Road. Harrison is out of his car, along with three passengers, and at the moment they are static. It looks from here that his passengers are all gang members that we’ve seen before, but I’m not close enough to be certain. When they move, I will too, but not until then because I’m really quite close to them. I suggest that you lads set off right now, and park in the same area, because as soon as Harrison moves on, I’ll be following him on foot unless he uses the car. I’ll call you again as soon as I have an update on where they might end up. I don’t think that it will be far from here though.”

  “Well done, Roy. We’re on our way, pal.”

  Roy removed the phone from the dash-clip, and slid it carefully into the inside pocket of his casual jacket. With a little bit of luck, he would be using it again very soon.

  *

  “I think we should continue this conversation in the pub,” commented Mel Harrison. “There are far too many people around us here, and you never know for certain who they might be, or whether they have cameras or listening devices. There could even be plain clothes coppers amongst them as far as we know. At least in the pub we’ll be out of sight of those that are on the streets, and any plain clothes officers would more than likely stand out like a sore thumb.”

  Harrison stopped speaking for a moment, and glanced around him cautiously. He and his men were surrounded by dozens of holidaymakers. All ages and types, mostly family groups, but with many single men dotted here and there amongst the crowds. The vast majority would be genuine and harmle
ss. Any single one of them could be a hidden threat, though, especially those that appeared relatively immobile and seemed to be just hanging about close by and seemingly casual.

  “Yes, come on, lads. Let’s head for the Pilgrim’s Arms.”

  “Isn’t that a bit dodgy now?” asked Bob.

  Harrison laughed. “No, mate, not at all. There’s no way the landlord there would give us any problems. He knows better than anyone what would happen to him and his pub if he did.”

  *

  “I’m out of the car, Frank. Harrison’s not got back into his vehicle and he’s walking with his three passengers as we speak. It looks very much to me like they all could be heading for the Pilgrim’s Arms, which is quite near to where we are now.”

  “I thought that he’d keep well away from there,” commented Frank.

  “Yes, I did too, but when you think about it, he knows that the landlord wouldn’t have dared to name him, otherwise the coppers would have already pulled Harrison in.”

  “We’re on our way, Roy. If they don’t go into the Pilgrims, call us back, but if your call doesn’t come in, we’ll see you in there within a couple of minutes.”

  “See you soon, Frank.”

  Roy slipped the phone back into his pocket, and began to walk at an easy pace, more or less fifty yards behind Harrison and the other four men. A big smile appeared on his face as the earlier prediction came true when the four men turned into the Pilgrim’s Arms. Roy waited for at least six or seven minutes before he followed them inside. He didn’t want to appear to be close behind, and neither did he wish to queue near to them at the bar. His timing was good; by the time he pushed his way through the door, Harrison and the other three men were seated at a central table and their drinks had already been served. Roy walked in slowly, deliberately hobbling slightly as he moved across the floor to reach the bar. Halfway there, he gently threw his jacket onto the back of one of the side table’s chairs. After walking the last few feet with a pronounced limp, he reached the bar itself, ordered four beers, and then asked the apprehensive looking landlord with a quick wink of the eye if one of his staff could bring them to his table.