by D J Harrison
42
Jim Almond looks as if he hasn’t been enjoying himself either. Normally morose, Jim brings a new level of dissatisfaction with him this afternoon. Wherever he’s been all morning, it doesn’t appear to have agreed with him. He slumps down in his seat opposite mine and stares glumly at me.
‘Well,’ I ask, ‘what’s your problem?’ I’m in no mood to put up with someone else’s tantrums, not after the way Alex left me last night. There is a gaping hole in my being that can’t be filled by anything but Alex.
‘How long have you got?’ Jim grimaces. There’s an air of resignation about him today that I like even less than his usual pessimism.
‘As long as it takes. Tell me about it, Jim.’
‘I’ve been to Trafford Trailers, they asked me in for a meeting.’
‘Oh really, I normally deal with George.’
‘George isn’t there any more, his director knows me from when I worked at SG, wanted to tell me personally.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘That we are no longer required, that GOD Security is out and SG are in.’
‘Oh shit!’ I feel uneasy on two counts. Firstly we need the work and secondly I now have no direct access to George, when I know he’s implicated in the trailer theft and Alan’s death and who knows what else.
‘It’s a big loss, three jobs gone, three men we don’t need any more. I’ve already told the men involved, dished out the bad news. It’s a tough situation, but it has to be managed properly, swift action taken, you understand?’
I’m only glad I don’t have to do all the dirty work myself for a change. I forgive Jim his miserable face, any man who looks happy after he’s made people redundant can’t be trusted.
‘Who did you lay off?’ I asked.
‘Johnny Harris, Danny Williams and Mick.’
‘Mick?’ My heart stops.
‘Yes, Mick. He’s overweight, his knees are so bad he can hardly walk. He’s been a passenger since I got here.’
‘Now hang on,’ I say, feeling very aggrieved. ‘Mick is practically management these days, you can’t just fire him.’
‘Yes I can and I did. You hired me as manager, not Mick; if you would rather he did this job you only have to say.’
‘That’s not an issue, it’s just that Mick and I worked closely together, have done for a while. I owe him a lot. What did he say when you told him?’
‘He seemed happy enough, said he’d been wanting to spend more time at home. His wife isn’t well and there’s his motorbikes to keep him busy.’
‘I don’t care, I need him here. I’ll tell him if you don’t want to.’
‘That would undermine my credibility.’ Jim’s eyes narrow. ‘You put me in charge of the personnel, I’ve hired and fired dozens of men for you. You can’t expect me to run everything by you first, you might as well not employ me. I am sorry, Jenny, but it’s a point of principle for me. Either you let me do the job you pay me for or I might as well go now. If you want Mick back, you’ll have to do without me.’
‘It’s my business, I decide who stays and who goes.’ I’m getting riled at his pompous attitude.
‘I never said it wasn’t your choice.’ Jim remains stony-faced. I have to leave my own office before I burst with frustration.
43
Mick is sitting in John’s Diner with several more GOD Security men clustered around him. When he sees me he brings his mug of tea over and ushers me to an empty table.
‘I’m so sorry, Mick, Jim’s way out of order on this one. He never consulted me.’
‘That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. Jim’s done me a favour, I should have left ages ago, it’s just that…’ He looks down awkwardly and stops in mid-sentence.
‘What?’ I ask, suspecting that I’m not going to be happy with his explanation.
‘Well you know, after what happened to you and Gary being gone and all.’
‘You think I need looking after, is that it?’
‘Not exactly.’ He looks up, round head nestling in concentric rings of flab.
‘Then what exactly?’
‘Well, sort of that I suppose. I thought you needed back-up, it’s a tough world.’
‘I did.’ I smile at his concerned look. ‘I still do, but you really need to take care of yourself, Mick, and your Joan.’ A flicker of concern across that big open face tells me that he’s not convinced I can look after myself. He’s absolutely right but I can’t have his life compromised by the danger I’ve put myself in. These are dangerous criminals with guns, I can’t have Mick taking them on and getting himself killed.
‘You’ve done well for me, Mick,’ I continue. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without your support. But you’ve no need to worry about me any more, though you can have your old job back any time you like.’ And to hell with Jim Almond.
‘Thanks, Jenny, but no thanks. I’m already too old for the business. My hip is giving me bother, never mind my blasted knees. Okay, I guess it’s the easy life for me from now on.’
‘How will you manage for money?’
‘I’m fine.’ He nods. ‘We aren’t short, don’t worry, we’ll manage.’
‘Listen, Mick, I’ll split the football with you. You organise it, sort it out as usual, and I’ll give you a cut of the proceeds. It’s the least I can do. That will give you enough to get by on.’
‘Thanks.’ Mick looks unimpressed by my generous offer. ‘But I can’t see there being any parking for much longer, it’s getting too dangerous even for me.’ He grins.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you remember Deelon Carruthers?’ he asks.
‘Can’t say I do.’
‘He did a few shifts for us last year, helped out on the riots.’
‘Was he a big black lad?’ I ask.
‘That’s a fair description. Long dreadlocks, in a big pony tail.’
‘Yes, I remember him, didn’t I sack him for stealing?’
‘Yes, you did. It was only a minor incident, a bit of petty theft.’ Mick smiles.
‘If I remember rightly, he stole Alan’s leather jacket then turned up to work in it, swore it was his own.’
‘Ah poor Alan, I miss him.’ Mick sighs. ‘Deelon was twice his size, didn’t stop Alan having a real go when he saw him wearing that jacket. There was a right old barney. We all laughed about it afterwards.’
‘What’s Deelon got to do with the match day parking?’ I remembered Deelon as a troubled young man with no obvious redeeming features. ‘Is he threatening us?’
‘No,’ Mick laughs. A large waitress in a large pinafore with large blue checks hovers, dripping dishcloth in hand. She smiles coquettishly at Mick, leans over the table and flicks soggy crumbs on my lap.
‘Hello, Mick,’ she says. ‘Who’s your girlfriend?’
I presume she means me. I am toying with appropriate uses for that dishcloth involving her fat mouth when Mick answers.
‘You are, Sadie, you are the woman of my dreams.’ She waddles over to the next table and repeats her performance. Mick’s eyes follow her as she goes by.
‘Deelon,’ I bring him back to the matter in hand. ‘You were telling me about him.’
‘Oh yes, he’s a good lad really, never means any harm,’ Mick answers. ‘Anyway he tells me there’s a bit of trouble brewing. Apparently Leroy is a bit of a player...’
‘Then he should limp back to Moss Side and stay there,’ I say. ‘Do we know how he is, whether he’s recovered from his self-inflicted injury?’
‘It seems you got him in the crown jewels.’ Mick’s eyes twinkle. ‘Shot off his bollocks. He’s not best pleased by all accounts. Facing a long stay in hospital while they try to patch him up.’
‘So he’s not dead then? That’s a relief.’
‘Not necessarily, Jenny. He’ll no doubt have another go at the football parking when he’s recovered. And he’s going to be looking for you. Might be best if you lay low for a while, maybe go up to Fleetwoo
d again.’
‘No, not there, the last time I tried to hide there it didn’t work out at all well, did it?’
‘True.’ Mick grimaces at the memory. ‘If not Fleetwood, somewhere then. It’ll not take long for him to find out where you are. He probably saw the GOD Security van anyway. That would tell him all he needs to know.’
‘I still don’t see why we have to give up our car parks just because some teenage hoodlum decides he wants to take over. This must have happened before, what did Gary do?’
‘Gary brought in Popov to deal with it last time. Those East Europeans don’t like blacks and the feeling is mutual. Popov’s men are very scary, even to the Moss Side gangs. Just having them on site was enough of a deterrent.’
‘So we do the same. Get Popov.’
‘No can do. He only dealt with Gary as some sort of favour, something he owed him personally. Popov won’t deal with you or me.’
‘Then we turf them off ourselves, like we did with Leroy.’ I can’t help my feelings of resentment at the prospect of having to relinquish Gary’s long established business.
‘That’s not what we do, Jenny, you know that well enough. They’re not going to hesitate to use their firearms, we can’t compete with that. We’ll be getting our lads killed.’
‘I suppose you’re right. But there must be something we can do.’
‘If there is I can’t think of it,’ Mick says.
His friendly waitress brings him a plate piled with three donuts. ‘Made fresh,’ she simpers. Mick pops one into his mouth as if it might aid his thought process.
‘This Leroy, how serious a threat do you think he is?’ I ask.
‘Bad, I reckon. If he’s permanently damaged his love life and holds you responsible, he’ll not rest until he gets revenge and according to Deelon he’s a total nutter. They say he’s shot a few people.’
‘Thanks, Mick, let me know if you hear anything else.’
‘Well, there’s old George. Funny business, that.’
‘He’s left Trafford Trailers, that’s all I heard.’
‘Died last Wednesday. Car accident, hit and run. He wasn’t far from his home, just popped round to fetch a paper. That’s why SG are in and we’re out. He was always good to us was George.’
My heart freezes as I recall the squealing of tyres and the sightless eyes beneath the fur-trimmed hood. George as well. He must have upset them too. Maybe carrying the tracker to them was enough to get him killed. In that case, I’m to blame.
Mick is looking at me with concern on his face and a frosting of sugar around his mouth.
‘What are you going to do, Jenny?’ Mick sounds even more worried than when I arrived.
‘I’ll think of something,’ I say. ‘I’ll not let go of the football income if I can help it. As for you, there’s a job at GOD Security for you as long as you want it, just say the word and you’re back on the payroll.’
‘Thanks, Jenny, I’ll keep in touch.’
44
Alex is on his way. I’m tidying up frantically. The flat looks like it hasn’t been cleaned for months. Come to think of it, I’ve not felt inclined to hoover or polish since the break-in. My ear is an excuse I have relied on, but one that’s now well past its sell-by date. I ought to concentrate on getting the living room shipshape, leave the bedroom and kitchen, but I’m tidying my clothes, changing the sheets, plumping the pillows. My priorities are obvious, even though I won’t admit them, even to myself. It’s been a very long time since I felt this way.
The thought that this might change tonight leaves me frozen with terror. Unless I can be open and honest with Alex, my body is back to its closed, clenched, defensive norm. Nothing is allowed through, not even the man I most desperately need. My automatic systems kick in, I can’t help it if I’m withholding my true self. If I tell him who I really am he’s going to run a mile. At the moment he is a little bit in love with a bright, business-like, interesting career woman, divorced with one estranged child. What he is really cosying up to is a habitual criminal, a jail bird, engaged in serious money-laundering and outrageous fraud, a woman who is being hunted by gangs of organised criminals and who shot and seriously wounded a child only two days ago.
If I don’t tell him I seize up and any meaningful relationship is over. If I do tell him he’ll be party to information that would lock me up and throw away the key. It feels like every word I say to Alex has to be carefully weighed and selected in case I give myself away.
I desperately need Alex, I want to be close to him. I have to be honest and open to achieve these things. There’s only one choice – tell him everything and be prepared to take the consequences. If he runs away, even if he puts me back in prison, it’s a chance I’m willing to take. My life without Alex is not good enough to warrant preservation at all costs. I will tell him all, every bit, nothing left out – but only if he asks. I’ll truthfully answer any of his questions, but my life story can wait for the right moment.
I feel a sense of release, a lightness as if I’ve shed a heavy load from my shoulders. My breathing is deeper, my anticipation of his imminent arrival turns from trepidation and uncertainty to excitement and joy.
‘Wow!’ Alex returns my hug with interest. ‘You seem glad to see me.’ He looks me in the eyes, holds me by the shoulders. ‘Amazing, you’ve lost that faraway look.’ He smiles. ‘Nice to see you again, Jenny Parker.’
His words have an instant effect, I melt into him. Only he exists and only now. As we make love there is only Alex’s touch left in my world. Every doubt, care and worry has evaporated.
45
Alex puts a sheet of paper on the table.
‘What’s that?’ I ask.
‘The information I promised you,’ he grins smugly.
‘Oh. The house where George took the disc, what did you find?’ Using the poor man’s name makes shudder. It’s quite possible that I’m at least partially responsible for his death and that thought really saddens me. Maybe if I’d left things as they were, neither of us would have become a target.
‘I checked out the electoral roll.’ He picks up the top sheet and hands it to me. ‘Looks like a normal family; father, mother and two daughters. The name is Wasiewicz.’
The last name gives me a jolt big enough for Alex to notice.
‘What’s up,’ he asks, ‘do you recognise them?’
‘Yes, I think so. I’ve seen that name somewhere before, I’m sure I have.’
‘Where?’ Alex asks.
It comes to me in a flood of certainty and a gush of relief. I no longer need to speculate, now I can be sure that the brothel keepers are involved with Trafford Trailers. Wasiewicz is the name on the letters that Mick found in Mrs Mather’s flat.
I want to talk to Alex about everything, to involve him fully in my world, but I can’t be entirely sure about George’s death and I’m not certain how he’s going to react when he finds out his girlfriend has recently shot a teenager in the genitals. My thoughts turn to Leroy and what I need to do about him.
46
Hospitals are very much like hotels. They were conceived, designed and built in an age when fairness and honesty were the norm. In other words, their security is almost non-existent. Okay, there are a few bits of sticking plaster over some of the biggest holes, but the overall situation remains the same. Anyone can wander freely, take what they like and leave. This includes furniture, valuables and even the occasional patient. The security guards they employ are few and far between. I have even known them help carry stolen items for a thief who appears to be struggling a bit.
The pity is that act of kindness nearly lost GOD Security the contract at Salford Royal. I managed to persuade them to give us another chance, to be a little more heartless and a tiny bit thorough. The fact that their previous security firm was caught actually doing the stealing might have swung it my way. I’m in the fortunate position today where if I get into a situation where the staff decide they need to call for security, I do at least
have that aspect covered.
They used to call this place Hope Hospital, aptly named on two counts. First this area of Salford between Weaste and Eccles is actually called Hope. Secondly there is something uplifting about hope that fits in nicely with a medical establishment. Without hope we are all lost. I sometimes wonder where mine went.
Unfortunately, they renamed it Salford Royal Hospital when they converted what was Salford’s main hospital into apartments which would fit nicely into a Stephen King novel. I walk into the main entrance and follow signs for the Hope Building where I believe the answer to my most pressing question may lie.
The Hope Building is ultra modern, everything a new hospital is designed to be. Soulless, antiseptic, unwelcoming and irresponsibly bright. If the shock of admission here isn’t enough to kill you, then your soul is of a less sensitive nature than mine. The person I am looking for is insensitive enough to be immune, if my assessment based on a very brief acquaintance is correct.
It’s very quiet in here. A few inhabitants sit quietly as if in a library or hide in alcoves behind computer screens. Nobody is interested in a woman with a security pass around her neck carrying a black leather briefcase and looking like she is none too happy about life in general and being here in particular. If they knew I had a loaded firearm in the bag they might take a different view.
There is a nurse sitting at a desk in the entrance to Ward H3. I smile at her and breeze past. She makes an inquisitive face but no other movement. There are two private rooms at the entrance to the general ward, both empty. I walk slowly along the line of beds examining each occupant in turn. The last bed on the left has curtains drawn around it, hiding the incumbent from view.
I march over and pull them open. The black youth is lying in a half-slumber, his eyes flick towards me as I appear, his face screws up as if in pain or it might be recognition. I take the gun, wrapped in a piece of cloth, and slide it gently into his bedside cabinet.
‘Hello Leroy,’ I speak softly, then leave before I get an answer.
