by Robert White
Joe looked over his shoulder and saw Jamie with his head between his knees.
He was getting paid to get an address for Frankie, not spend it all trying to get the smell of puke from his carpets.
“Just a sec, hold on pal, don’t throw up in here, just let me pull over!”
The car swerved to the left and screeched to a halt. Bird was out in a flash and ran around the car to open Jamie’s door.
He grabbed at his mate’s shoulders and kept up the charade. “Come on pal, be sick out here, I don’t want to pay to clean the fuckin’ cab.”
Jamie was coming around. His brain was telling him something wasn’t right. He followed Bird’s lead, staggered into a cobbled alley and started to cough violently. Bird played the concerned friend and rested a hand on his back.
“It’s not a fuckin’ cab,” he hissed.
“Who is he then, a moonlighter?” whispered Jamie between pretend retches.
“Dunno, but the more I look at the fucker, the more I’m sure I saw him in the club. He was talkin’ to some big blonde guy in a suit; looked a proper bad boy.”
Jamie straightened and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Let’s find out then eh?”
Bird sauntered to the back of the car.
No taxi plate.
No surprise.
Madden sat in the driver’s seat unconcerned and confident his twenty was coming his way. He rolled a fag, head down concentrating on his task. As he raised the paper to his lips to lick it, Bird almost ripped the door from its hinges.
“Wha…!”
Joe was cut short as Bird’s massive fist caught him square on the jaw.
Madden felt dizzy and sick in equal proportions. He was pulled from the car and out into the cold. His legs wouldn’t work, but he was conscious enough to see cobbles on the floor. They were dragging him down the alley.
“Hey lads,” he managed. “…Come on… Come on, stop this eh? Look… you can have me takings.”
“You ain’t got any takings,” growled Bird. “You ain’t a fuckin’ taxi.”
Madden did his best. “I am… I’m new is all, I just ain’t picked up my badge and stuff yet.”
Bird slammed him against the wall, knocking the wind from his body. As he fell forward Jamie stepped in, grabbed him by the hair, lifted his knee with thunderous force and smashed it into Madden’s face.
This time they let him fall. Blood poured from Madden’s ruined nose dripping black onto the shining cobbles as he tried to clamber on all fours.
“Now… what are you up to?” asked Bird flatly.
Joe spat blood from his mouth. “Fuck you.”
Bird lifted a leg and penalty-kicked him in the ribs. There was a sickening snapping sound as Madden fell sideways.
Jamie stood over him as he fought for breath. “That’s your ribs broke, to go with your nose pal. What else do we have to break before you tell us what you’re up to?”
Joe Madden was a tough lad; well known in town as a hardman. He’d had kickings before.
He lay on his back and found a smile. His teeth were covered in claret. He turned his head and spat a second time.
“Like I said… fuck you!”
Jamie grabbed at Madden and tore off his jacket, dragging him around the floor like a rag doll and sending rivers of pain through his ribcage.
He swiftly searched the pockets, found what he was looking for, opened the wallet and pulled out a driving licence.
“Joseph Francis Madden,” he pronounced, throwing the wallet to Bird and rooting elsewhere in the coat. “What do we call you then eh? Joey… Joe?… Frank… Frankie?” Jamie leaned in, the influence of drink fazing his judgement and fuelling his anger; a dangerous combination. His voice was cold, menacing. “No… not Frankie… They won’t call you Frankie, will they? Coz that’s who you work for isn’t it? Frankie Verdi?”
Madden remained tight-lipped.
Jamie managed a snort. “Of course, how stupid of me… Toast isn’t Laurie Holland’s gaff at all is it? She’s Frankie’s girl now eh? It’s all a front for the Dogs!”
He pointed, “And Bird here… well he tells me, he saw you in the club talking to a big blonde gangster in a suit… let me think Joey… Joe… would that be Eddie Williams? Am I warm?”
Jamie checked the last of the pockets in Madden’s coat and removed a clear plastic bag with several smaller packages inside; some in foil, some in paper.
“Oh, this just gets better and better for you Joey… Joe eh? How much is in here, a good couple of hundred? What will happen if you don’t tip up to Eddie eh?”
Madden again remained silent. Jamie was impressed, but not beaten. He grabbed him by the hair a second time and delivered another vicious blow to his face. Madden cried out and scrabbled on the floor helpless.
Jamie dropped on his haunches, his voice flat, matter of fact. “Joey… Joe… let me explain something. I am going to beat you to death in this piss-filled back alley if you don’t tell me what that fucker Verdi is up to. I mean it sunshine. It’s a promise… on my mother’s grave, you will die tonight. Do you understand me?”
Madden managed a deep breath despite the agony from his ribs.
“I don’t… don’t… know anyone called Verdi.”
Jamie cocked his head to one side so he could look into Madden’s face.
“That’s a shame Joey.” He stood and turned to Bird. “Okay, let’s do his ankles first, find two house bricks.”
“No!” shouted Madden.
Jamie grabbed Joe’s leg and started to drag him further into the alley on his back. Every bump was agony; he found it hard to breathe. He tried to kick Jamie’s hand with his free leg, but the marine simply stamped on his groin causing him to dry retch.
Bird found what he was looking for, rested one brick on the cobbles and held the other in his massive hand.
Madden’s face was etched in fear. “No… no… please… look… no…”
Jamie rested Joe’s ankle joint on the edge of the brick. Madden tried to wrestle free, but his opponent was just too strong.
Bird raised the other brick in his fist.
Jamie halted proceedings. “Just a minute Bird; this fucker’s gonna scream the place down when we do this. You got a rag or somethin’ for his mouth?”
Bird shook his head. “Stuff his jacket sleeve in there.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Good idea pal.”
Madden raised a hand. “Stop… okay… just… please… okay… Frankie…”
“Frankie what?” spat Jamie.
“He… he… wanted to know where you lived… he asked me to follow you… that’s all, I swear, that’s all.”
The two men strode from the alley leaving Madden to scrabble about for his drug stash in the dark.
“He won’t mind us taking his car, will he?” asked Bird.
“Nah,” said Jamie.
* * *
The boys had dumped Madden’s car and left it for the kids to destroy.
Bird stood in Harry Strange’s kitchen and dropped sugar into instant coffee.
Jamie set down his cup as quietly as he could and poured washing powder into the sink where his trousers were soaking. He only hoped his dad stayed firmly asleep. The last thing he needed was Harry catching him trying to wash blood from his clothes.
Bird read his mind.
“Bloodstains or not, you’re gonna have to tell your old man, Strange Brew. We can’t have Frankie Verdi turning up on the doorstep when we’re away. Harry needs to know what the crack is.”
Jamie felt slightly sick. He couldn’t comprehend Frankie hurting his father. He shivered slightly.
“I’ll deal with it.”
Bird leaned against the fridge and studied his friend.
“So, Frankie Verdi stole Laur
ie from you?”
Jamie shrugged.
“Not exactly Bird. I think she left because I was going to be away so often. That was the main thing. That and money.”
“Ah, that old chestnut… money… the root of all evil; funny how women that look like Laurie Holland always seem to be driving around in Range Rovers and Jags eh? Rich men and beautiful women always go together.”
Jamie screwed up his face.
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
Bird held up his hands. “Apologies to the wounded there blue, but come on pal, it’s been two years and not so much as a phone call. She’s moved on… so should you.”
“Yeah… I know what you’re sayin Birdman, but I tell you, she didn’t have the best of starts in life mate. Her mum was a druggie and Laurie had to be taken into care. She didn’t talk about it too much, but I reckon she had a bad time. Maybe the thought of struggling on a marine’s pay didn’t appeal. Maybe once you’ve had so little, the appeal of a lot is too good to turn down.”
“Maybe,” countered Bird. “But I don’t see taking up with a psychotic gangster as the preferred option. I mean, she ain’t stupid. I only caught a glimpse of her… and what a glimpse it was by the way… and from what I saw, she seemed to have a clever head on that absolutely perfect body.”
Bird cupped his hands in front of his chest and stuck out his lips in mental appreciation of Laurie’s assets.
Jamie couldn’t help but smile. That’s what Bird did for you, made you laugh when things were shit.
“You don’t need to remind me how beautiful she is Bird. And I don’t have an answer when it comes to Verdi. The moment she set eyes on him, I knew I’d lost her. It was like some kind of animal attraction. She probably dropped me without a second thought. In fact, I know she did. She even sold her engagement ring the same fuckin’ day she dumped me… like we’d never even existed.”
Jamie jutted his square jaw. “But there was something going on there tonight, I reckon her and Frankie may be wearing thin.”
Bird shook his head. He’d seen this kind of blind love and false hope from soldiers and sailors before. Being away from home for months at a time was not conducive to good relationships and he’d heard many a tale of woe from devastated young men as a result.
“Oh yeah, and what super power did you suddenly obtain, that enabled you to read the mind of the beautiful Laurie?”
“Come on Bird, give me a break here… Yes, I admit, it was partly the way she looked at me and… Yes… I know she could be just playing with me, but… but… look… we saw her at what… ten forty-five, eleven at the latest yes?”
“Affirmative.”
“Well immediately after she saw us, she walked straight to the office, and never came out.”
“You certain of that?”
“Pretty certain.”
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“Ten or fifteen minutes after she entered the office, Frankie came out looking like a bulldog chewing a wasp and wiping something from his suit.”
“They had a row.”
“Two points.”
“You’re good Strange Brew. You should be on some cop show.”
“Bird!”
“Okay… go on.”
“Frankie went straight to the VIP area to meet with Eddie and Tony. Then he asks Eddie to get Joe, the unfortunate drug dealer, to follow us home and find out where I live.”
“…and your point is?”
“Frankie could have just asked Laurie, couldn’t he? She knows exactly where I live. So, I’m thinking, maybe he did ask Laurie… and she refused to tell him.”
“Hence the row.”
“Hence the row.”
“Because she still loves you.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh, Jamie mate… come on…”
Jamie held up his hand. The conversation was over, his point made. He examined his trousers soaking in the kitchen sink.
“This blood isn’t coming out.”
“Bed time,” said Bird.
Jamie almost had the chain of events nailed.
* * *
Frankie nearly took the office door off its hinges; it slammed against the wall punching a hole in the plaster.
Laurie was still sitting behind the desk. She’d emptied the bottle of Jack and was drunk. The alcohol coursed through her veins and gave her courage; but the sight and sound of Verdi charging into the room like a marauding bull, still made her jump.
He stormed to the desk and pointed a finger. “I want to know where your soldier boy lives, and I want to know now!”
Laurie sat back in her chair and took a sip from the last drops of whiskey.
“Oh dear,” she mocked. “What’s happened? Has poor Frankie not got his own way?”
Verdi’s eyes were pure jet. “What the fuck do you know about it?”
The alcohol had done its job. Laurie was feeling no pain, no fear. Her head fell forward and she snorted a laugh.
“I saw what you did.” She waved an arm at the television monitors in front of her. “On here! It’s all on here. What you did; you and your silly little… Dogs. You sent out a boy to do a man’s job Frankie.”
Verdi took a wild swing at her head, but he was equally inebriated and missed. “Bitch!” he shouted, staggering backward to retain his balance.
Laurie was unfazed. She stood up with some help from the desk.
“I saw you arrange for Joe Madden to follow Jamie home, and I’ve just seen him fall back in the door with a face like a burst tomato. What’s happened Frankie? He get sussed? He’s had a beating, that’s for sure; he’s a real mess; took a proper kicking eh?”
Frankie faced Laurie, fists clenched, just as he had hours earlier. “It’s none of your fuckin’ business. Now, like I said before, give me the fucker’s address.”
Laurie smiled sarcastically, and despite the danger, taunted him.
“He’s got one over on you ain’t he Frank; stuck one up you. He’s a hard lad is Jamie y’know. I wouldn’t mess with him if I were you. He’s not some fat has-been street fighter isn’t Jamie Strange.
“What you gonna do, gang up on him three on one? It’ll take all three of you Frank… he’d eat you for fuckin’ breakfast.”
Verdi thought his head would explode. The bitch was goading him; standing in his office, in his fuckin’ club and fronting up to him.
He drew back his fist.
Instead of shying away Laurie stuck out her chin.
“Go on Frankie, fuckin’ hit me! Punch me! Go on, show what a big fuckin’ hardman you are!”
Verdi stood stock still; he shook with anger, his mouth turned down in a vicious sneer.
“I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” countered Laurie. “Kill me? Is that it, you’re going to kill me?”
She raised her arms out. “Go ahead Frank, do your best. Come on, no witnesses!”
Laurie had suffered enough. She hadn’t escaped one brutal household, just to exchange it for another, no matter how plush. She moved even closer to Verdi, her lips touching his cheek; her voice a flat, low whisper.
“The next time you hit me Frankie, you better had kill me, or so help me, I’ll cut off your cock as you sleep and laugh as you bleed out.”
She took a step back. Walked to the desk, and picked up her bag.
“I’m going home. I suggest you get your head down here at the club. Tony’s off with some little tart and I want my bed to myself.”
Making for the door, she turned as she opened it.
“Oh, and as for Jamie’s address. I won’t need to tell you where he lives. After what you and your bozos did tonight… he’ll come find you himself.”
She gave one last false smile. “Good luck with that.”
* * *
D
etective Jim Hacker
On 17th July 1983, I was promoted to inspector and took up my posting with Lancashire Constabulary’s Regional Drug Squad based in Hutton. It was just two miles from where we had bought our house in Penwortham and life was good again.
I had two detective sergeants and seven detective constables working under me. Together, we covered a massive area which included Blackpool and Fylde, Preston, Chorley and Skelmersdale, the new town built to accommodate the overspill of people in need of social housing in Liverpool.
I had a small party to celebrate my promotion. Nothing major, just a few close colleagues, their wives and of course, Harry Strange.
I hadn’t seen much of Harry since Jamie had been posted to Northern Ireland. Other than a quick pint or two one night before Christmas, we’d hardly spoken.
As we tucked ourselves away in the corner of Headquarters Social Club, it turned out I’d missed some interesting times.
Jamie had been given leave back in January after an “incident” in Crossmaglen. The way Harry described it, I presumed it involved a shooting. He remained tight-lipped about the details, and I didn’t pry.
Whilst Jamie, and another marine, Richard “Birdman” Valance, were at Harry’s house, they got a visit from a very hush-hush type.
Harry described him as “Firm”. It wasn’t a term I was familiar with until Harry enlightened me that “The Firm”, aka MI5, worked hand in hand with the SAS in running covert intelligence operations in Northern Ireland.
In addition to the Secret Service, and a fully deniable squadron of Special Air Service soldiers, another little-known intelligence unit, called the Det or 14th Intelligence Company worked undercover, in three locations in the Province.
The mystery man wanted to recruit Jamie and Bird to the ranks of this company.
I had never heard of the Det, but Harry had.
Unknown to me, sometime prior to 1973, Harry Strange had worked in a unit called the Military Reconnaissance Force. The MRF ran informers and lived undercover in some of the worst areas of Belfast.
Harry explained that, after months of painstaking work, his team had managed to turn two IRA players and were receiving regular intelligence from them. Unfortunately, the operation was somehow compromised. The men were discovered by the Provos and interrogated. During the horrific beatings they endured, the men gave up the MRF operation, which was based in the rear of a coffee bar, in north Belfast. The IRA ambushed an MRF van leaving the plot. Harry was wounded, and his partner was killed.
