by KERRY BARNES
Stoneham flared his nostrils. ‘I’m not asking your opinion, detective. I asked you when he will be released.’
‘Well, now, I guess.’
Mike stood up to leave. ‘I’ll call you later if I have anything. I hope you’ll return the favour.’
Stoneham nodded.
Mike was on his way to the door when he turned and said, ‘Lowry, could you make it an hour, mate? We don’t want our paths to cross, do we?’
It took a moment before Lowry realized what Mike was getting at.
‘Dreadlocks, did you say?’
Lowry frowned again, until he understood the cryptic message. ‘No, I didn’t. He’s wearing a Rasta hat and a heavy gold chain.’
***
As soon as Mike was outside the police station, he turned his phone on and called Staffie, Willie, and Lou to meet him. With his mind on the lads, he disregarded for now the missed calls and text messages he’d received.
He waited in his car, dead opposite the front entrance to the police station, and watched just in case Lowry decided to let the informant out early. He didn’t trust the police. Not only that, he didn’t have much confidence in their efforts to get around thorny issues. However, he thought the Commissioner had played a blinder at the end of the meeting. As he surveyed his surroundings, he spotted two black guys a short distance away. Blinking, he had to squint to confirm he wasn’t seeing things. One had long dreadlocks, the other had shorter ones. ‘Fuck me, if it ain’t Dez and his brother,’ he mumbled under his breath. It was obvious from the facial characteristics that this must be Randy, Dez’s brother, even though he’d never met him. But he’d made it his business to know exactly who Dez’s brothers were, and now he was going to kill two birds with one stone – literally.
Dez had been the one man he detested the most, all the while he was in prison. The evil bastard had burned nearly all of his photos of Ricky and held a knife to his son’s throat. A sly smirk eased along his lips as he watched and waited. No doubt Dez and Randy were waiting outside for their eldest brother. He laughed to himself. Now he realized who the informant was. The so-called nasty, hard Yardie who everyone knew and feared was Woodrow. What a turn-up for the books – he was nothing more than a snitch. He looked down at the passenger’s footwell – at his arsenal. The heavy chain, the metal cosh, and his torque wrench were all there. All he needed now was to get the bastard – and his brothers – to a place where he could fucking do what he did best – extract information.
Lou drove past Mike and parked in a side street. He was followed by Staffie and Willie in a separate car. They slowed up alongside Mike and lowered the window.
‘Are you gonna take the grass to the lock-up?’
‘Behind you, Staffie, are Dez and Randy, his brother. I want them too. Tell Lou to come with me. I want the cunts alive.’
Staffie grinned and Willie suddenly scooped a lump of cocaine from his pouch and snorted it hard.
Mike laughed. Willie hadn’t changed a bit, always being ready for any action to be had. But before he did, he loved to pep himself up with his livener, as he called it. Staffie drove on ahead and turned into a side street to inform Lou what was going on.
Within a few seconds, the brothers, who up to now had just been hovering around, began to walk towards the police station, passing Mike’s car. Too busy chatting, they didn’t notice Mike. Quietly, he slipped out of the car and followed the unsuspecting prey.
Once Staffie and Willie had delivered the message to Lou, they returned in their car, they stopped in the middle of the road, ahead of Mike’s Porsche, and stepped out, looking nothing less than daring.
It gave Dez and his younger brother a reason to look up. It took a second before Dez recognized both men and then another before his brain kicked in and told him to run. He was totally unprepared for a battle; he’d left his knife in his car, just in case the police wanted to frisk him.
Randy and Woodrow had a dangerous reputation – Dez had lived off it for years – but Willie Ritz, Ted Stafford, and Mike Regan were well known to him from his prison days.
Willie might look like an ugly, lanky dope, but he was a reckless maniac, a downright fearless fucker. Dez certainly didn’t want a fight with him in the middle of the street because he was aware that Willie wouldn’t give a flying fuck that they were close to the cop shop. And as for Staffie, he was another strong bastard who would never back down. It would take more than a lead cosh around the head to bring him to his knees. He just hoped that Regan wasn’t with them, having been on the end of his sledgehammer fists. Another punch like that from Regan and it would be game over.
Without even considering Randy, Dez was quick on his toes to scarper. As he turned and sprinted in the direction he’d come from, he didn’t see Mike, who, with one hand, stopped Dez in his tracks. ‘You no-good, spunk-faced prick. You’re captured, mate.’
Dez tried to struggle, but it was like fighting with a metal vice. Suddenly, one mighty fist came down and struck him so hard on the collarbone that he instantly yelled in pain and felt the strength in his arm disappear. Mike had snapped his bone clean in half. The pain intensified, and the blood drained, leaving his face almost grey.
Mike then grabbed him by the throat and dragged him back to Staffie’s car. Meanwhile, Staffie was standing up against Randy; the only sound was Willie, who was blowing his nose. Mike opened the back of Staffie’s car and threw Dez inside. He nodded to Willie to make sure that Dez didn’t do a runner.
As Willie opened the back door, he leaned in and smiled. ‘Well, if it ain’t the stinking, fucking paedophile. This is a nice surprise.’ Mike pulled Willie back as Staffie gestured for Randy to climb in next to his brother. Randy’s eyes were glued to the gun in Staffie’s hand.
Willie got into the driver’s seat and pulled out his own gun. ‘Move, either of ya, and I’ll shoot ya!’ He was giving his best sadistic laugh, and both Randy and Dez knew then that one false move and nutty Willie could easily fire a bullet.
Staffie hopped in the front passenger seat and then took over. ‘Right, you two fuckers are coming with us. We need a word.’ He didn’t take his eyes off his captives all the time it took for Willie to drive like a madman to the lock-up in Knatts Valley.
***
Lou and Mike sat patiently, waiting for Woodrow, the eldest brother. ‘Nice suit, Lou, but it’s gonna get kinda messy because I’m gonna fuck that Dez up, and I’m also assuming it’s gonna take more than pulling a couple of teeth out to get information from this prick . . . There he is, look! Take a fucking butcher’s at that swanky cunt.’
Lou peered across the road at the tall, slim Rasta, his dreadlocks piled high inside a Jamaican woollen hat. His long white shirt was open at the waist, revealing a black vest and a heavy gold chain. He walked with such a swagger, he was almost doing the moonwalk. They watched as Woodrow stopped for a moment. He pulled out his skunk from inside his hat and rolled a fat spliff while he leaned against the wall.
He looked up and down the road. Mike guessed he was waiting for his brothers. ‘Right, let’s make our acquaintance, then, shall we?’
Lou got out first and headed towards Woodrow with a smile on his face.
‘Hello, mate, I’m Lou Baker, your friendly adviser.’
Woodrow stopped licking the fag paper and frowned. ‘Sorry, but you got the wrong bloke.’
Mike was laughing to himself. Lou could always pull off a city slicker or a lawyer when the need arose, like now.
‘No, mate, I’ve got the right bloke.’
Woodrow glowered at Lou, with his eyes twitching. ‘Fuck off. I don’t know you.’
Lou, the smallest of the firm, stood defiantly with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. ‘No can do. You need some advice and me and me pal are gonna give ya some. End of.’
Woodrow looked over Lou’s shoulder to find a massive man with a chest the size of a fridge-freezer and hands like whitewater rafting paddles. The Yardie’s eyes protruded, and his heart raced. Pushing
himself away from the wall, he was stopped by Lou, who suddenly whipped a blade from his pocket.
‘I wouldn’t, mate, if I were you.’
Woodrow looked down at the knife, and then he heard a click; it was a recognizable sound that turned him to stone. As his eyes slowly looked up, the huge man was holding a gun in his hand.
‘What the fuck is this all about?’
Mike didn’t answer; he flicked his gun to indicate that Woodrow should follow him. ‘You’re gonna shut ya fucking mouth and get in that motor over there. You even think of trying anything clever to escape, or hurt either of us, and I’ll rip your lungs right out through your scrawny chest and shove ’em down your throat.’
Woodrow glared at them, but his heart rate was at full throttle and he looked what he was, a scared and defeated man. Until now, he’d never come face-to-face with somebody who would give Satan the shits.
Without a struggle, he nervously walked forward and did as he was ordered.
Mike shoved the gun in Woodrow’s face and clambered in after him, while Lou hopped in the driver’s seat and adjusted the positioning, since he was so much smaller than Mike. As he pulled away, he looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled.
Woodrow looked like a frightened lamb: beads of sweat covered his brow and his nostrils opened and closed as he breathed.
Mike held the gun now at the man’s stomach, away from any public view. There was a cruel smirk on Mike’s face but also a self-satisfied one, indicating a job well done.
After about ten minutes, Woodrow managed to control his breathing. ‘Who are you guys and what do you want from me?’ His voice remained on an even keel, unusual for someone with a gun still aimed at his stomach.
The smirk left Mike’s face, and he let his lips fall into their natural position. ‘It’s simple, really. You won’t tell the Ol’ Bill who this man they call the Governor is, but you will tell me.’
Now looking visibly shaken, Woodrow shrank further into his seat as if Mike had held a naked flame to his face. ‘I don’t know who—’
‘Don’t even attempt to tell me you don’t know who the man is because this is where me and you are gonna get off to a fucking bad start. You see, you really don’t wanna piss me off just when we’re getting acquainted because I’m a fair man but not when I’m upset, am I, Lou?’
Lou glanced into the rear-view mirror once more and could see the blinding whites of the man’s eyes. ‘A little friendly advice. Don’t upset him, ’cos he don’t have a reset button.’
For a moment, Woodrow saw the man as Robocop, and he instantly shuddered.
‘So now you can see where I’m coming from, I need answers and the right ones. You even try and give me a load of ol’ bollocks and me and you are gonna fall out big time. Now, here’s your starter for ten. I know that you must be fucking thinking that this Governor bloke will cause you harm . . . even maybe your family, but I’m gonna rip the guy apart with my bare hands after I’ve tortured his family in front of him. So, you decide who the fuck you should be more scared of.’
Woodrow felt his limbs weaken so much that his hands flopped down by his sides as if he’d just had a stroke. Pins and needles pricked every bit of his skull, and his skin glistened with sweat. He felt his stomach contents begin to rise, and he knew he could be sick at any moment. He told himself he needed to breathe evenly and bring his heart rate back down to a more manageable level, but he was under such intense pressure, and what was worse, he couldn’t see any way out of this nightmare that had unfolded in the space of twenty minutes. There was no escaping, fighting, or even bullshitting this man because the calm but terrifying glint in his eyes spoke volumes.
‘So now we’ve cleared that up, we’re gonna have a nice chat at my premises, and you’re gonna tell me everything you have on this cunt.’
Woodrow looked around out of the windows, and his hands began to shake. He wasn’t blindfolded, he would know where these men worked from, he could tell the police, he could tell anyone. So, all of this amounted to just one thing: he wasn’t getting out of this alive. Panic well and truly set in. His cocky manner, put on for his own crew, wasn’t going to work with Regan, that was a given. The big man was obviously old school, the most dangerous kind of gangster. Those brooding eyes told him one thing: the man was fearless and angry.
‘Look, bruv . . . ’
‘Shut it with the bruv, bro, or any other form of family reference. I ain’t your family, got it? You wanna address me, you call me Mr Regan.’
Woodrow’s eyes widened. He’d never met any of the Regans face-to-face, but he knew exactly who they were, and worse, what they were capable of. His brother Dez had stupidly pissed off Mike Regan and learned the hard way with a scar down his face to prove it.
‘So are you Mike Regan, then?’
‘Yeah, I am. So now I want some answers.’
‘Er, I ain’t getting out of this alive, am I? Even if I tell you all you want to know, my life’s over, in it?’
The devastating realization was evident and mirrored in Woodrow’s eyes.
‘That all depends, really. If you’re upfront and I don’t smell any bull, there ain’t any reason why I should top you off, is there?’
Woodrow frowned. ‘But I’ll still know where your place is.’
Mike laughed aloud and made Woodrow jump. ‘Come on, I already know you’re a police informant. I came from the cop shop. How the fuck did you think I knew where you were?’
Woodrow was confused, but as long as he could escape with his life, he really didn’t give a shit. Then it occurred to him that if Regan was prepared to spare him his life, why would he do so when the location of his lock-up could be revealed?
The answer came as soon as they entered the place. Woodrow wasn’t used to the countryside and wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone where he was, even if he’d had the mind to do so. The location was unusual, but anything outside of London was completely alien to him. Surrounding cabins and acres of land disguised the large metal lock-up. It would appear to the unsuspecting Joe Public as a garage for the car collector enthusiast. Yet once inside the building, it was a very different picture.
Mike prodded Woodrow in the back, forcing him to walk through the doorway.
Staffie and Willie were inside, standing over Dez and Randy, who were tied to chairs. They were gagged, and yet they were still trying to run their mouths.
Woodrow slumped his shoulders. ‘Jesus, man, what the fuck?’ His words were slow and drawn out.
‘Sit down!’ demanded Mike, as he placed the gun back inside his belt. Staffie and Willie stood alongside Mike, while Lou stayed outside the lock-up, keeping watch.
‘Right, now you tell me what I wanna know, and if you try and fuck me over, then your brothers here will get hurt.’
Woodrow was seated on a chair opposite his brothers. He averted his eyes from them. There was no way he could witness his siblings getting tortured, and he fervently wished Dez would remove the cocky expression from his face.
Mike towered over the man. ‘Right, question number one: who’s the Governor?’
‘Fuck, I dunno, man,’ replied Woodrow, unconvincingly.
‘Wrong answer, mate.’
Mike’s cold dove-grey eyes penetrated those of Woodrow’s, who gulped in pitiful terror at those chilling words.
The sizeable tool racks were filled with everything from screwdrivers to nail guns, all housed in the familiar red Snap-on toolboxes. Mike pulled out a heavy-duty spanner. In one quick movement, he cracked Dez across the left kneecap. Everyone except Mike cringed at the sound of the bone splitting.
‘No!’ screamed Woodrow. ‘Come on, man, I really don’t know who he is!’
The spanner was lifted high and swung again as if Mike was playing cricket. This time, the tool connected with Dez’s right kneecap and left him writhing in pain.
‘Please no, please! You don’t understand. I really don’t fucking know who he is. I’ll tell you everything I know, but, I swear
, I promise on my baby’s life, I don’t know his real name. I know what he’s doing, though. He’s going to take over South-East London and then the whole of the city. He’s done a deal with Tiggy Marlon from North London and Spider Day from the west side. He’s swapping all their supplies of cocaine for Flakka and also giving them a good cut of the profits.’
Staffie stepped forward and looked into Woodrow’s eyes. ‘Are you fucking shitting me?’
Mike pulled Staffie back. ‘I know who Marlon is, but who’s Spider?’
Staffie licked his teeth. ‘He’s a fucking nightmare of a man. He runs the Hells Angels.’
‘Well, the cunts have done away with Kai Lin an’ all. Him and Tiggy had split North London right down the middle.’
Staffie shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, it looks like Kai Lin wasn’t gonna follow suit, but I don’t reckon it was Tiggy that killed him either because they were two men with respect for each other. So, I guess this Governor bloke is not only taking over but causing a shitstorm as well, yeah?’
Mike rubbed his bristles and sighed. ‘Right, then, let’s get this straight. This Governor geezer is trading the cocaine for Flakka with the Yardies and the fucking Hells Angels. Who else?’ He glared at Woodrow.
‘Anyone who has any power and influence, the Governor will take over. Any businesses that deal in cocaine will either be burned to the ground or taken over. He’s totally ruthless. I tell ya, man, he’s fucking mental.’
‘Your DNA was found at the cottage. That’s why you were taken down the nick for questioning. Why were you at the cottage?’
Woodrow looked shamefully at the floor. ‘I’m a dealer. My supplier gave me a phone number to call if I needed gear . . . ’ He looked at Dez. ‘My supplier disappeared shortly afterwards. He was found dead with a sack over his head. The Governor is like Banksy. He can create a masterpiece, but no one sees him do it.’
Mike was listening and watching for any sign that the man was lying. His instincts told him that Woodrow was not.
‘Did you ever meet this man?’
‘I only saw the back of him. But he’s a big lump with broad shoulders, cropped hair, and he’s white.’
