by V E Rooney
The plan is that the lorry comes off the ferry at Felixstowe down south, then goes up the M1, onto the M6, then onto the westbound M62 until it gets to Burtonwood Service Station near Warrington. When the lorry gets to Burtonwood, another two-man crew swaps with the lorry driver to take the lorry on to a building supplies warehouse (owned by one of Sean’s mates) in Huyton Industrial Estate.
Once the lorry arrives at the Huyton warehouse, Sean and his crew arrive and we all unload the goods and retrieve the pills. Once that’s done, we reassemble the goods and take them away for scrap. Sean’s already sorted that end of things.
Once the lorry has been emptied, the two-man crew will take it away and park it back at Burtonwood. The lorry driver will head back down south and then back out of the country with a big wad of cash for his troubles.
The plan is simple enough but there are a lot of variables which could fuck the whole thing. The lorry could get collared by the cuzzies in either Rotterdam or Felixstowe, in which case the driver takes the fall and we write off the shipment. The lorry could be under surveillance by the cuzzies or the busies to see who’s taking delivery, in which case we’re all fucked, or the lorry could get heisted by a rival crew which has got wind of the whole thing, in which case they’re fucked when Sean catches up with them.
Sean starts delegating tasks to each member of the crew. “Gary and Baz do the lorry hand-over at Burtonwood, with Mitch driving their motor back. Tommy, Stanno, Rolo and Jaffa, you lot are in the car with me. Paul and Lee are doing security on the warehouse. Richie and Ali? You two are on surveillance in the tail car at Felixstowe.”
I’m one half of the surveillance crew which will be following the lorry in a car in case it’s being followed by law enforcement. At Sean’s command, Richie sneaks a sideways look of incredulity at me. “Richie, you’re driving, as per fucking usual, Ali, you’re the eyes on this one. The second you think that anyone’s up your arses, that the lorry’s being checked out, you call it off and you get the fuck out of there.”
Richie is twitching at this. He leans forward and pipes up. “Hang on a minute. Are you saying it’s down to her to give the green light on this?” he says, cocking his thumb at me without looking at me.
“Yeah Rich, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sean says.
Richie sits back and snorts.
“I’m not getting the odds off some fucking bird.”
Sean’s about to rebuke him when I jump in before he can say anything. I’ve been waiting for Richie to get the bollocks to actually say something, instead of carrying on like some snide, bitchy schoolgirl.
“Actually, Rich, it’s all to do with science. Evolutionary biology, in fact.”
Silence from everyone around the sofas. Richie, ever so slowly and deliberately, twists his head to look at me, his eyes barely even squinting at me.
“You see, Rich, it’s a little-known fact that women have better peripheral vision than men.”
I decide to let that hang there, just to fuck with him a little bit. He’s looking at me like I’m speaking Mongolian.
“You what?”
“Corner of the eye stuff.”
“What the fuck are you on about?”
“See, back in the stone age, when you men were off hunting and gathering, your eyes evolved to have better depth of vision to help you track and hunt your prey. That’s why you lot are so good at driving, shooting, playing snooker and shit like that.”
Now I have everyone’s attention.
“Meanwhile, back at the cave, the women like me, the mums, we were all sat outside, chinwaggingg to each other, watching the kids play footie with a dead rabbit. But then, all of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, in the distance, I spot something moving in the trees beyond. And then I’m like, ‘fuck, it’s a sabre tooth tiger! Quick, kids, get the fuck back in the cave.’”
Richie’s looking at me like I’m speaking in tongues now. I lean forward and fix him in my sights. “Which is why, Richie, fucking birds like me are boss at surveillance. So you just worry about driving in a straight line and I’ll worry about spotting shit that isn’t supposed to be there.”
His face has gone red. It’s hard to say whether it’s embarrassment or anger but either way, I’ve made my point.
Sean slaps Richie’s back. “See, lads? Everyone’s playing to their strengths. Now get a fucking move on.” As one we rise from the sofas and head for the front door. Richie is shaking his head as the others take the piss out of him. As the others go out, Sean turns to me.
“Is that true? That eye shit?”
“Fuck knows. Think I read it in one of my Mum’s magazines once.”
One time, Sean and I were hanging out at his Albert Dock pad and I was having a moan about Richie. I was just as unhappy as Richie was about us two being lumbered with each other on these chaperone runs. Truth be told, I wasn’t expecting sympathy from Sean. I just needed to let off steam and he indulged me.
“Fucking hell,” I said in disgust. “Did you tell Richie to be the biggest fucking pig he could be, Sean? Like some sort of test? The way he leaves those wank mags all over the car. I think he’s actually scared of real women, do you know that? He’s probably only used to the inflatable kind.”
Sean just laughed at me. “Listen, girl. I know it’s hard for you to believe but Richie is a sound lad. Best getaway driver I’ve ever known. Honestly, girl, he’s like Ayrton Senna with diarrhoea. If you need to a do a dusty away from the busies, he’s your man. He’s my wheels and you’re my eyes and ears.”
I tutted and turned my head away from Sean, crossing my arms like a toddler about to have a tantrum. “Anyway,” Sean continued, “the only way you get good teamwork is by getting that team to work together. It’s like any fucking job, girl. From time to time you have to deal with people you don’t get on with. And you have to learn to work with them. Greater good and all that, yeah?”
I knew he was right. The reasonable twat.
26. RISK ASSESSMENT
One day after the crew meeting, we receive word from Paul and Lee in Holland that the ferry has left Rotterdam on time, with our precious cargo on board untroubled. They’ll be heading back to Liverpool to link up with us.
Felixstowe docks. It’s 6.20am. Richie and I are parked up in the lorry park and service area on Trinity Avenue near to the port, which the lorry will hopefully make its way into to fill up the tank for the trip up north.
Let’s just say it isn’t the most enjoyable drive down here in the early hours of the morning. Richie may have well been in the car by himself for all the interaction that takes place between us. A few grunts and a few farts every so often. I’m content just to listen to the radio and take in the scenery as we motor down south, only stopping at a service station once along the way to stock up on snacks and have a toilet break.
Richie does try to break the silence at one point.
“So, tell me something, girl. Do you like anal?” he says with a sneer on his face. I don’t even look at him.
“Oh, I love anal,” I say casually. He jerks his head round at me.
“Oh aye?”
“Oh yeah. There’s nothing I love more than strapping on a 10-inch dildo and fucking a fella until he bleeds out of his arse and squeals like a pig.”
That shuts him up.
We know which lorry to look out for. A 1989 Austrian reg plate white DAF van driven by a driver that Sean has used before. When we see it driving from the direction of the dock gates and into the lorry service area, we get lively. We wait for the driver to fill up his tank. When the driver finishes paying and jumps back in the lorry cab, that’s our cue to get our arses in gear as well.
“Aye aye, we’re on,” Richie says as he turns the key in the ignition and sets off behind the lorry at a safe distance along Trinity Avenue and then the A14 which leads onto the M1 up north. We’ve already filled up with petrol for the return journey, so there will be no unscheduled stops on the way to Liverpool.
We ke
ep a few cars back behind the lorry, which remains in the slow lane as we alternate lanes and slow down and speed up, just like all the other motorway traffic. I’ve got my eyes on the mirrors all the time, making sure that no other cars are in pursuit of the lorry. To be honest, Richie could speed the car over the edge of a cliff and I wouldn’t even notice, I’m so fixed on the mirrors.
I can’t tell whether it’s nerves or adrenaline, but I am hyper-alert. There are a few times when I tense up, seeing cars following us for long stretches, but then I relax when I see them pulling off junctions or into the service stations that line the motorway. Every so often, a few Police patrol vehicles come into view, sirens blaring, but then speed past us, oblivious to what we’re chaperoning up north. Richie knows to burn rubber should the busies pull the van over. All we need to worry about are accidents, breakdowns or traffic jams which could delay us.
We get onto the M6 and then the westbound M62. It feels like only minutes since we left Felixstowe, and it’s only when the stiffness in my back forces me to readjust my posture that I realise I’ve been in this car for a good 10 hours already. We’re almost there, but I slap down any inner feelings of relief or euphoria. We’re not quite home and dry yet.
The signs for Burtonwood services come into view. At the last sign, the lorry indicates left and pulls into the service sliproad. There are no cars between us and the lorry. We keep a few car lengths behind and eye it as it slows and parks up in the lorry area. There’s nothing following us. Richie parks up in the main car park, in full view of the lorry. We can see the driver in his cab stretching his arms up and yawning, then he steps out of the lorry, locks up and heads into the service station.
What happens now is that he will go to the toilets and hand the lorry keys to Gary and Baz who are already parked up somewhere else in the car park. Lorry driver will get his envelope of cash off them and then fuck off for the night before picking the lorry up again here in the morning.
Gary and Baz come out of the service station and get into the lorry. They set off and once again we follow behind at a safe distance as they drive along the M62 and turn off onto the M57, then turning off there towards Huyton Industrial Estate.
Nearly there, lads, nearly there.
The lorry pulls into the warehouse yard, with us following behind. Paul and Lee immediately shut the gates and lock them, standing guard outside the warehouse. Tyson and Floyd are also here to sniff out intruders. But there’s no time to ruffle their heads and coo at them. The lorry is driven inside the warehouse and parks up, with us following. Baz shuts the warehouse door and then it’s just me, Richie, Gary and Baz.
Gary and Baz jump out of the lorry cab and they are fucking buzzing, they’re jumping around, they’re hugging each other, whooping and high-fiving each other. When Richie and I step out of the car, we get the same treatment. I even get picked up by Gary and swung around. And it’s only now that I can relax, breathe a sigh of relief and congratulate us on a job well done.
“We did it! We fucking did it!” Gary says before whooping again.
Baz is clapping his hands at nothing in particular. “Fucking brewstied, lads!” Baz yells. It’s while we’re back-slapping each other that we see the warehouse door open to allow Sean’s car to come in and park up by us.
Sean steps out followed by the rest of the boys. Paul, Lee and the dogs stay outside to act as security guards.
Sean is smiling. I mean properly smiling. The rest of the boys join in with the celebrations as he makes his way over to me and Richie.
“Any problems on the way up?” he asks, even though he knows that the lorry being here is evidence that there wasn’t.
“Nope, nothing. No tails, I was watching the whole time,” I say truthfully.
“She was like fucking Rainman, mate,” Richie says as he strides off to join the others.
With that, Sean clasps my head with both hands, pulls me towards him and plants a kiss on the top of my head. Then he spins around and whistles loudly to get everyone’s attention.
“Settle down, lads. Celebration time later, yeah? We’ve still got work to do. I want us in and out of here in three hours, got that?”
A chorus of “yeah boss” echoes around the warehouse.
“Right then,” Sean says as he walks towards the rear of the lorry. “Start unloading. Line them all up single file and take them apart. Come on, lads, get your arses in gear.”
With that, we open up the lorry, unload the fridges, the washing machines and freezers, and we line them up side by side outside the lorry. Then we all take hold of some screwdrivers and other tools and start disassembling the goods.
This is one of the lengthy parts of the job. As metal panels are slammed onto the floor, as various components and wiring are pulled out, there are accompanying rallying calls from Sean. “Come on lads, no slacking, keep the pace up.” The bright fluorescent strip lights on the ceiling of the warehouse are glinting off the gloss white surfaces and the metal panels make loud clangs as they are thrown onto the concrete floor.
The pills are wrapped in tightly-bound packets of metal foil and cellophane, secreted in the hollow rims of the washing machine drums and in the back and sides of the fridges and freezers. Once the pill packets are removed, they’re placed on a table in the warehouse where the pills can be counted with the help of a professional pharmacist counting machine. With all the pills removed and counted (200,000 pills – not one of them missing), we hastily reassemble the white goods and line them up near one of the other warehouse loading bays, where another lorry will come to take them away as scrap.
The pills are stashed in various bags and holdalls and then into the car boots. The pills will be taken to different storage locations around the city. The final part of the plan? Once the pills are safely delivered to each location, every member of the crew, including Ste, Brian and John, has been given instructions to meet up at the Woolton house for the celebration party. And there’s a lot to celebrate. Not only have we successfully smuggled 200,000 top quality Es into the country, we’re all looking at paydays running into tens of thousands of pounds.
Before we all set off in our respective vehicles from the warehouse, I step outside to get some fresh air. Tyson and Floyd come bounding over to greet me, licking my hands and nuzzling me.
Everyone is happy.
Everything starts with an E.
Paul and Lee are stood with me and the dogs. Lee is planning what to do on payday. “Gonna get a Ducati. You know, a proper superbike,” he says.
“A Ducati? You can’t even ride a pushbike without falling off,” Paul says.
“Maybe you can get a pair of Armani stabilisers to go with it,” I say to Lee who gives me a sarky grin.
Behind us, I can hear Sean telling the lads to drive slowly and safely as always. “Like you’re driving your granny to Mass on Sunday morning,” he implores as he gets into his car. Vehicle by vehicle, we set off and head off in different directions. An hour later, a procession of vehicles is turning into the driveway of the Woolton house.
Sean himself opens the front door to me and the boys. Compared to his joyous demeanour before, he now looks serious. Almost pissed off, even. Shit. Did one of the cars get pulled over by the busies? What’s happened? Before I can ask, he’s beckoned us to come in and then marches off into the kitchen, leaving us to shut the door behind us. I have a bad feeling about this.
As I turn into the kitchen, all the crew turn to look at me in silence, faces like stone. What the fuck now? Oh no…the pills were duds, weren’t they? I feel my stomach sinking.
“What is it?” I say, looking from man to man.
Silence.
“Will someone tell me what the fuck’s going on?” I say, trying not to let my voice tremble.
Just then, Paul raises his hands in the air and starts bellowing: “Foooorrrrr….she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow…”
The whole crew are singing to me, including Sean, and then Ste, John and
Brian hoist me into the air and carry me through the adoring crowd. Even Richie raises his beer bottle to me but only when someone else prompts him. Miserable git.
Later on, with the crew in various states of inebriation, Sean takes me to one side in the kitchen.
“We fucking did it, girl, we fucking did it!” he says, rubbing his hands together.
“I can’t believe it. Seriously can’t believe how easy that was.”
“This is the start of something big. We’ve fucking made it,” he says, putting his arm around me.
“Don’t be tempting fate, Sean. Let’s not get too carried away just yet,” I caution, although I already know he’s putting together more deals in his mind.
“You see? That’s why you’re needed, girl. You’re always thinking of the bigger picture. But for once, just fucking enjoy yourself, will you?” he says, pinching my cheek before heading out into the garden.
27. CAPITAL EXPANSION
It was only a few days after that first run when the money started rolling in. Obviously Sean got the lion’s share, some of which he distributed generously to the grateful crew and some of which he invested in expanding his property and business empire. Simon got his cut and the promise of more to come.
I got my £150,000 return on my original investment within a couple of weeks and placed various amounts in phantom business accounts in false names. I began scouring the classified announcement ads in the Echo and Daily Post, looking for details of deaths. Even took to going into graveyards and checking out gravestones. Then I would send off for copies of those people’s birth certificates and use those to open phantom bank accounts all over the place.
At times I would feel a tinge of discomfort…using someone’s dead baby as a fake front person to store my money for me. But I would put any discomfort to one side immediately. This is the nature of the business. There isn’t much room for your conscience to get the better of you, not when you’re playing this game and reaping the rewards from it.
