by Drew Black
The old guy nodded, and Tom went on his way cursing under his breath.
10
Quilter answered the phone; "Hello." he said rubbing his forehead and yawning heavily.
"Craig," Jean, the hotel's receptionist said, "I have a Mr Jones from Lewis's Department Store on the line for you."
"Thanks Jean." Quilter said clearing his thoughts. "Aalreet, this is Craig Moores, hows canna help ye?"
"Hello Mr Moores, this is Albert Jones from Lewis's, I'd just like to inform you that the cuff links you ordered from us have arrived. Will you be collecting them today?"
"What time are ye open 'til?
"Six O'clock sir."
"Yeah, I'll be able te myek it bi then. Thanks, fo ringin'"
"No problem, sir."
Quilter entered a phone box outside of Lewis's in the centre of Manchester and dialled Jessop's number.
"Sorry about that Dave," Quilter heard Jessop's voice say down the line, "but something's happened, and it's serious."
"What is it?" Quilter asked as he watched shoppers pass by through the kiosk's portioned glass.
"It's Chris Benson, he's been blabbing about the syndicate and now he's done a bunk.”
Quilter closed his eyes.
"You still there?" Jessop asked.
"Yeah, go on."
"I want you to find him and take him out. He knows too much. We've got, well we've got things going on up here that are highly sensitive."
"For fuck sake John, I hope you don't think I've gone native?"
"No, I don't Dave."
Quilter thought he detected a hint of weariness in Jessop's voice. A little boy pulled a face at him through the glass before being reprimanded by his mother. The woman mouthed an apology to him. He accepted it with a thin smile.
"Dave - Briggs mustn’t get a whiff of what's going on up here because if he does, we'll lose the initiative, and that could be fatal for us all. He's not just done a bunk, he's too shrewd for that, he knows we'd find him. No, he's gone over to Seedmore, I'm sure of it."
"Okay John, I'll sort it."
"Anything more from your end?"
"No, nothing, as I've told you before, I'm not convinced that Eddie's that bothered about coming up our way, it seems to be more Franklin and his cronies who are driving it."
"Okay, I've rang Samson, he's awaiting your call. Let him take all the risks, hitmen are ten-a-penny, it's you I can't afford to lose.”
Quilter replaced the receiver and lifted it again. He dialled Samson’s number. It was answered on the second ring; "Hello." a gruff voice said.
"Hello, is Samson there?"
"Who's calling?"
"It's Quilter."
"Where a bouts are you?"
"I'm in the centre of Manchester, near Piccadilly Gardens." Quilter informed the guy on the other end of the phone becoming a little annoyed at the guy's tone.
"Okay, go to The Jubilee Pub on Crawford Street. You can sit outside there. Samson will pick you up in thirty minutes, what do you look like?"
"Five-ten, thick-set, short blonde hair." Quilter said toying with the telephone's cord. "Where's Crawford Street?"
"Ask somebody." the line went dead.
11
"Hello Phil," a man said to Quilter clamping a large hand on his shoulder. "Sorry I'm late, do you want another one in here or do you want to get going?"
Quilter looked at his watch, "We'll get going." he replied.
"I'm parked just around the corner." Samson informed him briskly leading the way. “Been waiting long?” he enquired conversationally.
"No, ten minutes that's all."
As they rounded the corner Samson picked up the pace. He unlocked the driver's door of the Morris and got in. Seconds later they were mobile. "I've got everything we need for the job, handguns, a couple of pump-actions, blades. I've even brought us some food." Samson said turning and grinning at him.
Quilter grinned back, wherever he'd come from, Quilter thought, he'd gotten here pretty quick.
"Is Diamonds our best bet?" Samson asked
"Yeah, I think it's our only bet." Quilter replied. He was feeling fairly hungry by now. He leant over and retrieved a brown paper package from the back seat."
"Sarnies made by my own fair hands." Samson said with a smile.
Quilter felt extremely apprehensive as they approached Diamonds. After all he'd been through over the last few months, he found it strange that he should be feeling nervous right now. They parked about a hundred yards away. Eddie was in Liverpool on business, so if Benson had decided his best option was to try and wheedle his way in with Seedmore Park, it would be Bill Franklin who'd be responsible for dealing with him.
Quilter and Samson sat there in silence and time strung out. Samson turned on the ignition.
"What are you doing?"
"Moving, what do you think? If something is going down, they'll be watching to see if Benson's trying to pull a fast one on them." Samson re-positioned the car a further fifty yards away behind half a dozen parked vehicles.
"For fuck sake Samson, I can't see a thing from here."
"Shush Davey-boy, we can see plenty." Samson replied adjusting the focus on his binoculars. "What time will they expect you back?"
"About sixish but I'm not on duty until eight, so I could always say I grabbed something to eat in the city centre."
Samson glanced at his watch, it read twenty to four.
A white Rover pulled into the hotel car park, and four men got out.
"Is your man there?" Samson said handing Quilter the binoculars.
"No, I just hope they've not seen him already, that's all."
"I doubt it Dave, he didn't go AWOL until eleven. Plus, he had his wife and kid with him, he'd have to get them holed up some place first."
Quilter nodded slowly, he just hoped Samson's instincts were right. "Do you think he'll make contact with them today then?"
"How should I know Dave, I'm a hit man not Madame fuckin' Petulengra. Sorry, I know you're a bit on edge, but we just have to play the waiting game. Maybe he's here, maybe he's fucked off further afield, we'll just have to wait and see."
"He's here I've worked with the smarmy fucker for over ten years, I know how he operates, and by the way, I'm not on edge, I'm just focused, Okay?"
"Yeah, I know you are. Trust me though, if we get the remotest chance of hitting him, then we'll take it. What puzzles me though is, if this guy knows so much about your firm why the hell did your people let him get out of Burnley in the first place?"
Quilter raised his eyes, "Someone obviously fucked up, and I'd bet my bottom dollar I know who, but we'll sort it out because we have to, it's as simple as that."
"What's this?" Sampson said so loud it made Quilter jump.
Quilter took the binoculars; "It's Franklin, this is it." Suddenly, he felt calmer than he had done all day. He was just about to tell Samson to get going before he realised, the car was already moving. Samson brought the car to the main road and waited with his indicator flashing
"What are you waiting for, you're going to lose them." Quilter said
"That." Samson replied as a VW passed them, "They'll be on the lookout for someone following them, let's just keep our distance."
Quilter recounted at least three occasions when he was certain that they'd lost them, but each time the Rover eventually re-appeared in the distance. Samson drove past the Rover just as two of its passengers were getting out of it. Tolson's Bar and Grill the sign above the building read.
"Shit," Samson said rounding the corner, "They've left two outside this is going to be fuckin' hairy. Five-six, slim, sandy hair?"
"Yeah, but I'm doing the hit. If we fuck this up, the syndicate's screwed."
"Listen Dave, this isn't the fuckin' movies, and you aren’t John Wayne, if you think you can just mosey on in there take your man out and mosey on out again, your mistaken. I'll get him, I'll take them all out if I have to, I just need you to distract those two goons on t
he door, that's all."
"That's not what Jessop wants Samson."
"Fuck what Jessop wants, I'm being paid to do a Job, and I'm going to do it."
"Okay." Quilter said taking one of the hand-guns off the back seat. He pointed it at Samson's head. “Get out of the car, now.”
“I’ve not loaded the hand guns yet.” Samson said.
“Do you want me to pull the trigger and find out?”
Samson reluctantly got into the boot of the Morris; “You are going to be so sorry for this mate, trust me.”
“Shut the fuck up! Now I’ll give you a promise. if you stay in there like a good little boy, I’ll let you live. Not only that, you’ll get your money, as promised, and no-one will be any the wiser. However, if you fuck this up for me in any way shape or form, I’ll blow your head off.” Quilter slammed the boot shut before Samson had a chance to reply.
Quilter knew time was against him, how long had they been in there four minutes, five minutes, longer? He wasn't sure, but he knew whatever happened from here on in he had to stay calm.
Quilter approached Tolson's with his cap pulled down, at the last minute he stuck out an acknowledging hand to the two men in the Rover.
"Who the fuck's this?"
"It's that Geordie lad Moores."
"I don't like the look of this Kev."
"Hold on, there must be some logical explanation why he's here, besides he's related to Eddie isn’t he?"
Quilter entered the restaurant and removed his cap. Franklin spotted him immediately and put a hand on his gun as Quilter approached. "What are you doing here?" Franklin growled.
"There's na problem Bill, Eddie's had me followin’ this guy, and we're not the only folk he's been talkin' to, he's bin hawkin' his information all over toon."
"What do you mean, I've been ..."
Quilter shot Chris Benson three times without removing the handgun from his coat pocket.
Franklin' just sat there, mouth agape. Benson slumped onto Franklin's colleague Norman Sands. Sands righted him in his seat as if by doing so it would somehow make things alright.
"What the fuck?" Franklin finally managed, by which time he'd realised that Moores had done as much shooting as he intended to. He thought about taking him out but then thought better of it. The lad was pretty well in with Eddie, and upsetting Eddie was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Fred Tolson was gibbering away to his right. "Shut the fuck up Fred and give me a chance to think." Franklin said.
Kevin Marsden, one of the lookout guys, had joined the scene. "Jesus, we should've stopped him Bill. I didn't know he was going to ice the guy."
Franklin waved a hand at him. "You've got some explaining' to do mister," he said addressing Quilter, "and trust me, for your sake, it had better be good."
"Like Ah sez Bill, I've been tailin' this bastard aal day, on Eddie's instructions leek and he's bin meetin' wi every bugger in toon tryin' te sell info. Ah reported back to Eddie, an he telt me te tyek him oot an dump the body. He sez tha you'd naa where." Quilter read mistrust in Franklin's eyes. "If yee dowent believe me Bill, giz Eddie a call."
Franklin nodded to Kev Marsden who set off for the phone.
"But he did syah tha he had things te sort oot wi the Scousers, an tha ye were mowa than capable of handlin' the situation."
Marsden picked up the phone.
"Hold on a minute Kev, let's just put things into perspective."
Marsden put the receiver back in its cradle but didn't release it from his grip.
"We've got a stiff to get rid of that's all. I presume you've got a car Craig, and you've not been tailing this fucker on your push-bike."
"Yeah Bill, am parked up just around the corner leek."
"Kev, you and that other numb fuck out in the car park, go back with Craig in his car, leave the fuckin' Rover, and me and Norman will sort the rest. I'll take your gun as well Craig, better safe than sorry."
Quilter placed the handgun on the table with a clunk.
"Fred fetch us a trunk." Franklin bellowed.
Fred held out his arms in a gesture that said he didn't have a trunk and Franklin shot a round over his head. A bottle of whiskey exploded behind him. "Now unless you want me to set a match to that, you'll find me a fuckin' trunk."
Fred scuttled off and Franklin nodded at Kev Marsden to follow him. Marsden walked away from the phone and followed Fred Tolson into the back. Quilter sighed inwardly. He had to get out of here and fast, Franklin's thoughts were clearing. Franklin was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. Furthermore, Quilter knew that if he didn't think it would piss Eddie off, he would kill him without batting an eyelid.
Tolson and Marsden emerged from the kitchen with a large wicker laundry basket. Franklin smiled. "Okay lads, stick the poor bastard, Branson whatever his name was in the basket and put it in the Rover's boot, don't fuck this up, and make absolutely sure that no-one sees him - not you Craig, you come here and keep me company."
Shit, Quilter thought turning around, I think he’s rumbled me. "Na problem Bill."
"For fuck sake Fred clean up this mess." Franklin said pointing at the blood that was spattered up the wall. "You come over here Craig and take a seat."
Quilter pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Eddie thinks a great deal of you Craig, he's always going on about you."
Quilter nodded.
"But the next time he sends you on a job like this, you let me know about it first, okay?" Franklin bent over and tapped the side of Quilter's face, Quilter got a whiff of cologne. "You see, it doesn't look good, me not knowing what the fuck's going on in front of my own men."
Tolson started to sponge the wall turning the bloodstains from red to pink.
"Sure Bill, ya knows a wouldna gan bheend yer back, divvent ye? But yer reet, Ah should've foond a way of letting ye naa what wez gannin on, Ahm sorry."
"Good lad, now you drive the boys back to Diamonds and I'll catch up with you later.”
"I will do Bill." Quilter said getting up.
"Oh, Craig." Franklin called out as Quilter walked towards the door.
"Yes Bill." Quilter said turning back to face him.
Franklin lifted the gun up. "Where did you get the piece?"
"From a guy called Jeffers, Eddie sorted it for me."
Franklin nodded.
Where the fuck did that just come from, Quilter thought as he walked out of the front door. Thank God he'd been paying attention these last few weeks he thought with a sigh of relief.
"Where a bouts are you parked?" Marsden asked rubbing his hands together. Quilter mimicked his gesture, "Just around the corna." he said.
As they reached the car, he noticed his two companions exchanging glances with one another. "This it?" the one whose name he didn't know asked.
"Yeah, I wanna be a mo lads." Quilter said going to retrieve the other handgun which he'd stowed under the back of the driver's seat.
"Okay Bill, I'll make sure it gets done." he heard Kev Marsden say. Fuckin' hell Quilter raised his head to see Franklin's Rover pulled up alongside them. Just piss off will you, he thought frantically.
"See you later Bill." Marsden said, and thankfully the Rover pulled away. "Come on Craig, it's fuckin' freezing out here. Hey, what the fuck are these?"
Quilter had to go for it, they'd obviously spotted the rifles, he must've dislodged the sheet somehow whilst retrieving the handgun. He just prayed Franklin's Rover was out of sight. He laid the barrel of the gun on the roof of the car. "Get ova there both of ye, na." he said pointing with his free hand to an alleyway that ran between two terraced houses on the opposite side of the road. "Danna raise your fuckin' hands ye prick, yer not in America."
It was beginning to drizzle, Quilter Jockeyed them across the street.
"Don't shoot us Craig, please." Marsden pleaded.
"Do exactly as I say, both of ye, an ye may just get oot a this alive. One false move an aal do ye both. Now strip naked."
"What?"
"You've got ten seconds. Ten ... nine ... eight ... Ye can leave yer crackers on, we danna want ye getting’ done fo indecent exposer na, do we. Okay, stan well back." Quilter bundled their clothes up.
The two men were both shivering uncontrollably in the cold.
"When ah give the word start to run, and danna stop. Those rifles ye spied in me car are pump-action, five bullets a second, with a range of ova five hundred yards. I swear to God, I'll cut ye both doon if you’re not out of me sight within two minutes. Now go! Go, go, go!"
Both men set off at a pace neither of them wanting to discover whether the mad Geordie bastard meant what he said or not.
Quilter ran to the car, tossed the clothes onto the back seat and took a look up the street. The two men were running for all they were worth. He couldn't resist a little chuckle to himself as he jumped into the car and threw it into reverse.
12
Jack, Jane, and Sally arrived at the Phillip's house at just after eight thirty. It was the night of Emily Phillip's eighteenth birthday party. Emily was an old school friend of Sally's and the daughter of Alan Phillip's Jack's dentist. "Some house." Jack said as they walked up the drive. The weather was miserable, but the atmosphere was lifted by the streamers and balloons which were festooned around the house and front garden. They could hear the steady pump of music coming from inside. Jack shook his head; he'd expected a sit-down meal and polite conversation. He suddenly felt much better about the whole evening. He'd almost cancelled and would've if Jane and Sally hadn't been looking forward to it so much.
A girl emerged from the front door wearing an extremely low cut white sparkly dress. She smiled as she passed them on the way to her car. Jack and Jane exchanged glances and she pinched his bum so hard that he almost let out a yelp.
"Don't worry sis," Sally said, "I believe there's loads of gorgeous men been invited."
"Good because I think this model's just about ready to be traded in." Jane said giving Jack a false but friendly smile.
Jack knocked on the door. Alan Phillips answered, "Hello Jack, girls, come on in."
"Hi Alan."
"Hi Mr Phillips." The girls said.
