by Robert White
“So how long you got left now, Jamie lad?”
Jamie’s cell mate was the talkative type. A small wiry burglar by the name of Cook. In the whole time Jamie had been banged up with the guy, he had never found out his first name.
“I’ve another six months I reckon. Unless this appeal that Birdman has going on gets anywhere. I mean, if they quash his conviction, they have to look at mine too don’t they?”
“Suppose they do Jamie, but you know what these fuckers are like. They can drag out the whole thing for so long, it won’t be any good to you.”
Jamie stretched out on his bunk. “You might be right Cookie, but you never know your luck in a raffle.”
Cook rolled off his own bed, unceremoniously pulled down his trousers and sat on the steel toilet in the corner of the cell. Privacy didn’t come anywhere or anytime in Walton. Over the past ten months, Jamie had become immune to the indignity of it all. He had thought that life in military barracks would have somehow prepared him for prison.
It had not.
“Well you know what I think,” said Cook, wiping and flushing. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You shouldn’t be in here. You and your mate Bird, should have got a fuckin’ medal. That’s just what’s needed with them paddies. They come over here putting bloody bombs all over the place, killing women and kids, and then expect our lads to play by the rules. I tell yer, I’d’ve done the same as your mate. Slotted the fucker there and then.”
Jamie had heard it all before, and not just from Cook. Several other inmates, especially those that had served in Belfast before their fall from grace had intimated their disgust at Jamie and Bird’s treatment.
Even some of the POs had conceded that they felt some sympathy for Jamie. It was of little help. He was still locked in a cell, twenty hours a day watching another guy relieve himself.
There was a knock on the cell door and the hatch opened a split second later. It was Gilbertson, a wise old PO close to retirement. Jamie quite liked the guy, he had a good way about him, treated people with respect and got it back in spades.
“Now then Jamie lad,” he chirped. “You have a visitor.”
Jamie looked puzzled. In the ten months he had been in jail, only his father had visited him, and Harry had already used all his VOs for the month.
“I wasn’t expecting a visit Mr Gilbertson.”
The aging guard took off his cap, and ran gnarled fingers through his silver hair. “Well you have one son, and I think you might enjoy this one too. She’s as bonny a sight as I’ve seen in here in many a year.”
Jamie sprang from his bunk. “You mean a woman?”
Gilbertson laughed. “Aye lad, I mean a woman.”
“From Montague Kane’s office then… about the appeal?”
Gilbertson shrugged. “That, you’ll have to find out for yourself lad.”
Jamie was escorted along the myriad of corridors and through the dozens of locked gates until he reached the visiting area. Gilbertson searched him as per the prison regulations, and would search him again after his visit. Jamie scanned the room for his mystery visitor.
Then he saw her.
Laurie Holland was sitting at table ten. Her beautiful blonde hair flowed over her tanned shoulders. She wore a short white summer dress with thin straps to hold it in place. She was stunning and radiant. Everything Jamie remembered and more. There wasn’t a man in the room that didn’t risk a second look.
When she saw Jamie stride toward her, she stood, revealing those legs of hers. She smiled, a welcoming but apologetic smile. Her dazzling blue eyes glistened with the merest hint of tears. Laurie bit her bottom lip as he closed on her, and opened her arms to hold him.
He took her to him, pulling her into his taut muscular body.
Within seconds, a guard was over. Understanding, but firm. They must release each other and sit.
Jamie wanted to hold Laurie for the rest of his life. He would have given the world just to feel her body next to his for one more second, but he knew he could not, or the visit would be terminated.
They sat.
Laurie gripped his hands across the table. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. He was just as handsome as she’d remembered. The good looks were still there, yet he had matured. He looked even stronger, more rugged than before. She felt her heart would burst.
“How are you Jamie?”
Jamie could barely speak. “I’m okay… how… I mean why… erm… when did…?”
Laurie wiped her cheeks. “I heard that you were in jail at Christmas, but didn’t know where. It… it took me a while to find you… and pluck up the courage to come, of course. I mean, I wasn’t sure you would want to see me again after so long, and well, after, you know… Oh Jamie, I’m so sorry.”
Jamie shook his head. “No need to apologise. It ain’t your fault I’m here is it?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Jamie wore a puzzled frowned.
“I don’t mean that. I mean, I’m sorry for… for everything Jamie. For how we… I… behaved toward you. I never really got the chance to… to… I mean, I was so caught up in wanting a different life from what I’d had as a kid, I didn’t see what was in front of me all the time.”
Jamie waved away the apology. He was far too pleased to see Laurie sitting in front of him, having taken the trouble to find him.
“We were probably too young anyway Laurie. To be honest… I just thought that you didn’t love me anymore, you wanted Frankie Verdi instead of me, end of.”
Laurie visibly stiffened at the mention of Frank’s name.
“You’re right Jamie, we were just kids back then, too young to know better. But let’s not talk about Frankie eh? We ain’t got much time.”
Jamie noticed Laurie’s discomfort instantly. He gripped her hand across the table. “There’s something wrong isn’t there? Between you and Frankie I mean. I can see it in your eyes. I seen the papers and…”
Laurie managed smile and took in the man she had once agreed to wed. She didn’t want to ruin the short visit by discussing Frankie Verdi.
“Like I said Jamie, let’s not talk about him eh? I mean, look at you, you’re certainly not wanting for anything in here Jamie, the size of you.”
Jamie’s muscles bulged, his prison shirt struggling to contain his massive shoulders and arms.
“We’re locked up twenty hours a day. The other four, I train and eat.”
“It must be horrible though.”
“I’ve stayed in better places, yeah.”
“I believe you have another six months.”
“That depends on Birdman’s appeal.”
“Birdman?”
“Richard Valance, the Aussie guy I was partnered with, the guy who shot McGuire.”
“This McGuire was a terrorist, right?”
“Right.”
“So why not shoot him? He’d tried to kill you, hadn’t he?”
“Yes, but he’d thrown down his gun.”
“You mean he’d surrendered?”
“Yes.”
Laurie shrugged as if this information didn’t change anything.
“So, what will the appeal be about?”
“It’s a little complicated, but the lawyers are saying that as Bird only admitted to an accidental discharge of his weapon, he can’t be guilty of manslaughter. In the end, it’s more political than legal. We just have to wait.”
Laurie gazed into his eyes.
“And you are stuck in here for nothing.”
“I knew what he’d done, but…”
“But what?”
“Bird had saved my life Laurie… I owed him… so I lied for him.”
“Always the honourable man eh Jamie?”
“Seems I made the wrong choice this time though.”
Laurie leaned forward. Jamie could smell her, almost taste her.
“It looks like I made the wrong choice too,” she said, her tears falling freely again. “Oh Jamie, could you ever forgive me. I’ve been such a fool.”
Jamie felt his stomach turn. Was he really hearing this, after all this time?
Laurie put her head in her hands for a second before locking eyes with Jamie. She knew it was probably a hopeless cause. No one could forgive a person for being so heartless, so cruel.
“Frankie and me… it’s over Jamie. He hits me, he treats me like dirt. I hate him.” Laurie gripped Jamie’s hand again. “Look, I know what I did to you was horrible and hurtful, but I was young and stupid. I don’t expect anything from you darling, I know it’s probably all too late but I just wanted you to know that…”
Jamie felt all the old emotions come flooding back. He done his best to stop them over the years, but there had never been another woman in his life that could hold a candle to Laurie.
“It’s never too late Laurie… never.”
Jamie wanted the table that separated them to disappear. He wanted to pick it up and hurl it across the room so he could hold her. As Laurie’s tears tore at his heart, he wanted to hurl Frankie Verdi across the room too.
“Look, I’ve read the papers, seen what Frank and the gang are up to. The rumour in here is that they topped Arron Tower, the guy from Toxteth. He was a face, a big player in this part of the world. The word is, it was over drugs, that Tower ordered the attack on Frankie’s place, and they ended up killing that kid by mistake.”
Laurie nodded fiercely, there were more tears.
“I was there Jamie. It was horrible. That poor child.”
Jamie sat back in his seat and blew out his cheeks.
“So, you’ve left Frankie now then?”
For the first time, he saw the slightest indecision in her. She squirmed in her seat, fear in her eyes.
“It’s not so simple Jamie, not so easy. If he knew I was here today, talking to you, I swear he’d kill me. Kill me with his bare hands. You don’t know what he’s capable of Jamie. He doesn’t want me, but nobody else can have me… I made a terrible mistake Jamie. I should have stayed with you, married you.”
She pulled another smile from somewhere deep inside her. “We’d probably have kids by now eh? But I ruined it all, through my stupidity, my greed. I know you could never take me back after everything I’ve done to you, and I deserve everything I’ve got, but I can’t…”
More tears fell. “I just can’t go on Jamie… I…”
Laurie broke down into hacking sobs. Jamie stroked her hair, the way he had back when they were dating. The way he had when she’d broken her heart over what her mother had done to her.
“Don’t worry about Frankie Verdi,” he said flatly. “The minute I’m out of here, we’ll be together and he’ll never hurt you again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
-The Three Dogs sat in the VIP area of the club. They were completely alone. One huge doorman stood at the entrance barring anyone else from entry. This was a private celebration. It was just before two in the morning.
On the table in front of the men were three silver ice buckets, each containing the finest champagne Frankie could find. Nestled next to each bottle was a crystal glass, a small mirror, a razor blade and a small packet of white powder.
“Champagne and cocaine,” toasted Frank. “The breakfast of champions.”
The three chinked their glasses and smiled. The coke had negated the alcohol in the champagne, leaving the men in a permanent state of euphoria.
Tony, who for so long had avoided any drug other than a little cannabis, had found this new powder irresistible. The overwhelming desire to chop out another line after each glass of fizz was too much for him.
He was flying.
“I think we should make a toast for Eddie,” he said, wiping his nose and sniffing loudly. “I mean. It was Eddie who did the deal with the bloke from abroad wasn’t it?”
Frankie’s eyes flashed with a hint of jealousy, but the moment passed and he raised his glass alongside Tony’s.
“To Eddie,” he shouted above the last of the DJ’s offerings for the night.
Tony mimicked his mentor and swallowed the contents of his glass in one gulp.
“Thanks, lads,” said Eddie. Genuinely pleased to have his efforts recognised. “Joe is travelling south tomorrow, to collect the next shipment. A big one, all of fifty grand.”
Tony whistled. “Fucking hell Eddie. Can we shift all that?”
Eddie chopped out a line of his own. “Course we can, and with the festival season here, we could actually move more. By this time next year, we could double that amount, each shipment.
“Joe’s done a great job with the dealers. He’s also a clever guy and spends hours with the music papers finding the right concerts and festivals for his runners to work.
“He keeps all the bulk buyers happy too. Syd Bullen in Skelmersdale, Big Jimmy Glass in Blackpool, Charlie Croft in Blackburn and Sly Smith in Lancaster, they’re all happy as pigs in shit. They love the quality and the price, and that it always shows up on time.”
Frankie nodded. “It’s a smooth operation Eddie, I’ll give you that, and now that we’ve got the newspapers off our backs, we can breathe a bit easier.”
Eddie grimaced. “You’re not still shagging that Maisy are you Frank?”
Verdi took a swig from his glass, placed it on the table and rubbed his hands together like an excited child. “Got her waiting for me in the Tickled Trout Motel, room 103, with a new set of stockings on… That girl can do things with her mouth you wouldn’t believe.”
Tony laughed. “Fuckin’ hell Frank, you have to hope your Laurie don’t find out. She’ll have your balls for breakfast.”
Eddie, was suddenly sullen. “Well I think it’s a risk you don’t need to take Frank. There’s enough pussy about without having an underage. Especially as you are feeding her the charlie like it’s going out of fashion. She could fuck you up big style if she goes to the coppers. And take us all with you.”
Frankie pulled on his jacket, his eyes like coals in the half-light.
“They’ve already tried that, and I sorted it. They couldn’t prove nothing and her mum wouldn’t give a statement so what’s the fucking problem?” Frankie’s line kicked in and his mouth ran away with itself. “You stick to hanging around in gay bars Eddie, and let us real men do what we do best eh?”
Eddie stood up instantly, fists balled, unable to control his anger. “You know I was just there for business Frankie,” he hissed. “I’m as much a man as anyone here.”
Tony did another line, wet his finger, wiped up the remnants of the drug and rubbed it on his gums. Too stoned to know better, he blurted. “Frankie’s pulling your leg Eddie. I know that William was your kid, so you can’t be queer eh?”
Frankie’s eyes widened. He fixed them on Eddie. “This true?”
Eddie calmed some. He didn’t want this conversation, but it was better than the one about gay bars in Liverpool.
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Could have been. Me and Cheryl did have a bit of a thing back then. The kid did look like me, I suppose.”
Frankie laughed. It was a raucous bawdy sound. He slapped Tony on the back and ruffled his hair. “Fuck me Tone… looks like we’ve all shagged her then.”
Faster than his size should allow, Tony grabbed Frankie by the wrist. His sheer power holding him in place. Frankie was unable to release himself.
Tony raised his eyes to meet Frankie’s. “Don’t ever talk about my Cheryl like that again Frank, okay?”
The club’s music was turned off and the lights were raised. The uncomfortable and dangerous stand-off lasted no more than a few seconds, yet it changed a lifetime’s order.
Tony loosened his grip and Franki
e snatched his arm away. He snarled and made for the door.
“If you need me, you know where I am.”
Eddie sat back down and poured more champagne. “Well that went fucking well.”
* * *
James Dunn sat in the car park of The Tickled Trout Motel in his old Cortina.
He could have afforded to buy a Rolls Royce had he so desired, but the old Ford did him just fine. No one noticed it.
Sitting alongside him was Jeff Brown. He’d known Jeff since school, when they’d hung around the playground together at Hackney Secondary. Jeff was the best photographer James had ever seen. He’d covered wars, coups, famines, riots, hangings, murders, and more. But tonight, James Dunn needed Jeff’s uncanny ability to get clear shots in almost total darkness, both with and without using a flash.
Dunn was fifty-five years old. He’d seen the likes of Verdi and his cronies come and go. He’d covered the Kray Twins, the Moors Murders and the rest. He’d seen more blood spilt than some war correspondents. James knew, however, the one thing that tied so many villains, pop stars, politicians and other famous faces together. It was the thing that brought so many down too.
Sex.
Men having sex with boys, girls with girls, orgies, sadomasochism, bondage and blow-jobs, James had seen it all and Jeff had photographed it for him.
These Three Dogs were fucking amateurs compared to The Krays and the like. The day that Eddie Williams pointed his finger at James Dunn was his undoing. But at least he’d had the sense to keep his head down recently. James would have to wait, and be patient, before exacting his revenge on Williams. Frankie Verdi, however, couldn’t keep his dick in his trousers.
Like taking candy from a baby.
Dunn knew Maisy Thomas was in 103. A quick twenty quid to the night porter had seen to that.
Room 103 was on the ground floor of the Tickled Trout Motel. A decent-quality establishment, boasting four stars and a gourmet restaurant. It sat close to the junction of the M6 and M55 and therefore was popular with travelling salesmen.
Jeff Brown had found his way around the back of the block Maisy’s room was in, and despite almost closing her curtains, by using a clever little device fitted to the lens on his camera, had been able to fire off some shots of Maisy dressing in Frankie’s preferred undergarments.
