Undercover

by Joe Carter

  I fought with issues like this in my own head. I never shared them with anyone; I kept them inside, I battled with them alone. Why was I working undercover, anyway – who was I doing it for?

  I knew the answers, but I didn’t want to admit them. I buried my head in the sand, said I’d make it up to my little girl one day: put it right, make amends for all the times I wasn’t there for her. If I kept telling myself that, it must come true.

  Thankfully, my sad thoughts were interrupted by a text from Dave: glass of Peroni here for you, how long you gonna be? I was only ten minutes away, so I didn’t bother responding.

  I pulled into the underground car park and could see Emma’s car parked. I wasn’t expecting her to be there. I got the lift up to the office, where it appeared the whole team was awaiting my arrival. ‘What are you lot doing here on a Friday evening?’

  The sharpest young lad from the support team, Carl, quipped, ‘Waiting for you – what took you so long?’ The rest of the team laughed, as did I. He brought me a glass of ice-cold Peroni, and I could tell they had all sunk one or two already.

  Then Emma came over and sneakily gave my hand a squeeze. ‘I’ve been beside myself. Don’t do that again.’

  We dealt with all the formalities of the operation, and then Dave took me into a side office and shut the door behind him. We stood close to each other and he told me that he was sorry that I’d been put in the position I had today. He said that most of the bosses wanted to shut the job down. He said it had taken balls to go to that meet today and to tough it out. He was really pleased, and he said he just wanted to say thank you. I looked at him and said, ‘Shut up. When did you go all lesbian on me?’

  He laughed and, as I opened the door, said, ‘I mean it.’

  We went back into the main office, where Carl was sat at the table with three mobiles lined up on the desk in front of him. The rest of the team was gathered round watching his impression of Dave throughout the afternoon and evening. He kept repeating in Dave’s local accent: ‘I knew this was a bad idea, and who’s arse is on the line when it goes wrong? Mine.’ The team was laughing, and Carl looked at me. ‘Honestly, if he said that once he said it a hundred times.’

  Carl then lifted his glass and said, ‘Can we agree now, never to deploy on Friday the thirteenth again.’ I wasn’t superstitious in the slightest, but I could see from some of the team that they clearly were and it wouldn’t happen again.

  We tidied things up in the office, and Emma and I left before the rest of the team. She followed me back home, where I was so relieved just to lie back on the sofa and sink into the sumptuous cushions. I knew she would have a thousand questions for me, but I shut my eyes tightly, breathed in the aroma of the Molton Brown candles that were flickering on the mantelpiece, and forgot about everything that had happened that day.

  Twenty-five

  I was driving up the Dirty Dozen far too fast to stay anywhere near the speed limit, in an attempt to make up for time lost and the terrible journey I’d had to endure on the M25. The loudness of my Kill Bill ringtone interrupted the soothing Scottish voice of Alan Brazil waxing lyrical about the raw talent of Wayne Rooney. The call provided the perfect reason to turn the radio off. It was Dave, who asked me where I was. When I told him, he said not to go straight to my house, but to pull off the A12 and meet him at a very discreet café.

  I liked meeting at this particular café, which was a beautiful converted stables. It was a stone’s throw away from the main thoroughfare to London, yet it could have been miles away, in the middle of the countryside.

  I drove around the horseshoe driveway just as Dave was getting out of his car. I loved the sight of the vast cedar trees that surrounded the stables. I got out of my car and sucked in the smell of the cedars. I could hear the sound of the wind blowing gently through their branches, and I could see that the lawns had just been cut to a pristine standard any golf course would’ve been proud of. Dave was already on his way into the coffee shop, and I knew the reason why.

  Over the last eight months, Dave had shed a lot of weight – he now realised that it was possible to see his toes when naked and no longer needed assistance with putting his socks on. He had even started running. It was a tremendous achievement, but Dave didn’t always see it that way. Dave loved his food, and he really missed cooked breakfasts, Chinese takeaways and sit-down Ruby’s. But most of all, he missed cake – my God, did he go on about cake – and I knew he would be gutted that I’d just pulled in, because he would’ve been hoping to attack a vast slice of carrot cake before I got there.

  I pushed open the stable door, and the chime of the bell echoed around the vaulted ceiling. Dave looked over from the counter at me and said, ‘I’ve ordered your usual with an extra shot, and I remembered, not in a poncy glass.’ He was overkeen for me to find a table and he said he’d bring the drinks over. I sat down in the corner and looked out through the gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows, admiring the garden. I heard the local twang of the lady serving saying, ‘That’ll be nine pounds, eighty pence please, sir.’ I purposely didn’t look over at Dave, but it didn’t take a mathematician to work out that a cup of tea and a cappuccino wasn’t that price. I chuckled to myself, knowing that he had paid for a slice of the freshest, sweetest cake for him to take away once I’d left.

  It was always good to see Dave, but he seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. His glass was often half empty, and he was a worrier. We worked well together because I never really worried about anything, but he took on worrying for the two of us. Dave was in a difficult position because he was responsible for the operation. From a policing point of view, the buck stopped with him, and he knew that. He said that he had been offered another pair of hands to come and help me on the operation. I explained that this was all very sudden, and I questioned whether we needed anyone else. I said that Emma was doing a brilliant job in the shop, and my side of things was expanding every day.

  Dave said that he felt the job was moving so quickly that someone helping me with the drugs side had to be of benefit. He wanted to attack the lower-level dealers and that certainly wasn’t my style. Before our discussion went any further, a battered Berlingo van pulled into the driveway and carefully parked next to my car. A skinny, long-haired man got out and stopped to roll a cigarette. I could see that his jeans were saggy at the back, as if someone had made off with his arse. He looked like he needed a good meal. At that moment, I was slightly worried that I hadn’t locked my car and this fella would nick something out of it. I stared at the man as he pulled on his roll-up, then got up from my seat and went even closer.

  It was only then I recognised him – it was Freddie, a guy I hadn’t seen for many years. I liked Freddie, and he was good at his job; his profile was very different to mine, but it was unique and I would be glad to have him on board.

  I went outside and shouted, ‘Oi, mate! Keep your filthy hands off my motor.’ He looked over at me and was about to shout abuse back when I saw a big smile break out across his face.

  ‘Fuck me, if I knew it was working with you, I’d have hired a Boss suit.’ He walked over to me and we hugged each other. It must have been at least four years since we had seen each other.

  I said, ‘Don’t worry, Freddie. You won’t be needing a whistle – in fact you’re dressed just fine as you are. Once a smackhead, always a smackhead. You’ll go down a treat.’

  As Freddie and I chatted non-stop, I saw Dave walking to his car hoping that we hadn’t noticed him or the white cake box he had concealed behind his back. He got to his car, and was just placing the box onto the passenger seat, when I shouted out, ‘I take it that’s a pressie for her indoors, is it, Dave?’

  He looked at me and said, ‘Do you know what – life’s too short. How can a slice of chocolate cake do that much damage … I’m gonna savour every bite.’ He said he’d leave Freddie and me to chat things through, but that he’d sorted the paperwork for Freddie to start from next week.

  We bo
th shook Dave’s hand and I thanked him for the coffee. I knew that he would be pulling into the first available lay-by and devouring the chocolate cake in no more than four mouthfuls.

  Freddie and I used our time wisely. I brought him up to date with where I was at with the job, and how Emma had been running the shop on her own and had done a great job. We agreed that I would paint the picture that Freddie was a thief and a recovering heroin addict who now wanted to make some money. I would say that I’d known him many years and wanted to give him a second chance, as I trusted him. I would also say that Emma had a soft spot for him and wanted me to help him get back on his feet. There was no need for Freddie to know who the bad guys were: if he didn’t then he could react naturally when he met them.

  It had been so good to see Freddie again, and I was looking forward to seeing how he fitted in with Emma and me. My only disappointment was that Emma hadn’t been part of this meeting, as it was her who had started the whole job in the beginning. Freddie smoked another roll-up and we agreed that I would meet him with Emma first thing next week, and then get him started on the job. We shook hands, and as he walked away I called out: ‘Freddie, this is going really well. Whatever you do, don’t fuck it up.’

  He laughed a little nervously and replied, ‘No pressure then.’

  It is fair to say that Ray was more than pleased when I spoke to him about our trip to the Essex coast the previous day. He said that Dazza had plenty of work for us, and that he was working for a good firm. He said the gear would be regular and good quality. I had differing feelings about our ‘little trip to the coast’ – it had not been my favourite seaside memory, but I knew it would stay with me for a long time.

  We were having coffee together at the Spanish café in town, and the atmosphere was considerably different from the last time we had sat opposite each other. Ray had his usual beam on his face and upbeat outlook on life. He had colour in his cheeks, and life seemed good for him.

  I thought I would test the water and asked him why Ricardo had come on our outing yesterday. He said that it was only right that he did under the circumstances, as he’d intro’d me to him. ‘Anyway, like I said yesterday, that’s dealt with and we won’t talk about it ever again.’

  I said that I didn’t like Ricardo’s attitude and I was sure that he hadn’t ‘buried’ it like Ray had. He explained that it was up to Ricardo what he did with me, but as far as Ray was concerned, him and I would make lots of money together. I was happy to drink to that, and I tapped his cup of cappuccino with my latte and toasted those words.

  I told Ray that Emma was going to join us for a coffee and that she might ask what we were doing at the seaside yesterday, as she had spoken to Ricardo on the phone. I said to tell her that we had been to see a car that he wanted to buy, and Ricardo had come along for the trip. Ray laughed and said he hoped she didn’t ask any difficult questions. I was hoping she did ask a few questions, and I’d let Ray squirm his way out on his own.

  Twenty-six

  I travelled up the M6, looking in awe at the huge red kites as they circled gracefully in the skies above the motorway. It had been a whistlestop visit home that had probably caused more damage, not repaired things as I’d hoped it would. How did I think one night at home would do anything but aggravate a developing situation, one that needed my full attention? I should have dropped everything to put right what I had allowed to happen in my marriage. My wife had not done a single thing wrong. To me, Sarah was the perfect mother: a loving, caring and nurturing mum. I could never have chosen anyone better to have children with or to bring them up in the best possible way. I didn’t understand why I was allowing all of that to crumble in front of my eyes. It was my fault, my responsibility, and it was in my court to put things right.

  I was driving with a set of headphones plugged into a laptop that I had on the passenger seat next to me. I was making use of the five-hour journey to review some of the conversations I’d had about a ‘contract killing’ that I had deployed on. I shouldn’t have been doing this, other than under secure conditions, but I had been so busy that it was now a necessity. I listened to a man calmly telling me that he wanted his wife and the mother of his two young children murdered. He was emotionless and matter of fact, and was more concerned about how quickly he could raise the money to take her life away. I had purported to be the person who would kill his wife, the cold-blooded murderer capable of taking the life of another human being for money. It was surreal listening to such a conversation with thoughts of my own family spinning around in my head. It was hard to comprehend the contrast between the two separate lives I was leading.

  I was driving to Manchester to help with the national undercover course. I was looking forward to seeing many of the friends I had in the north. Good undercover officers that I had done many operations with over the years.

  My best mate Don was also observing the course, so tonight would be a great opportunity to catch up with him. The course was professional and tough, and an incredible challenge for prospective undercover officers. At the time, it was run by a number of my really good friends. They had a massive amount of pride in the course; it took months to organise, and dedication and commitment to deliver it. I was glad that I could help them.

  The sergeant who ran the course ran it very well. He was a good motivator and an even better delegator; this man had a great talent for getting people to happily do his work for him. In actual fact, many would volunteer to do things on his behalf. I called him PK (or ‘Parker Knoll’), as he was always so laid-back about everything.

  At the time, there were two undercover courses running annually in the country. There was this one in Manchester and another in London. I had been involved in running the London one for ten years. Both sets of staff were very proud of the reputation of their respective courses, which were run by the most experienced operatives. This was not textbook learning – it was very hands-on, with the students dealing with live situations.

  As I drove up the M6 listening to the conversation through my headphones, it dawned on me that it seemed such a long time ago, and my thoughts had been on more recent events with Ray. I felt that having got through the aborted gun purchase, the compromise of the surveillance team and my trip to the Essex coast, maybe I had settled Ray and Co. down. In any case, I was glad of the break from them for a few days. It would give me a chance to clear my head and to plan ahead.

  I was desperate for the toilet and saw the sign for Corley services. At the last minute I decided to pull in, rather than pressing on and waiting until I arrived in Manchester. Against my better judgement, I left the laptop in the footwell of the passenger seat with the headphones still attached. I parked as close as I could to the service station and made a dash for the Gents. I ran past an RAC man touting for new customers, and nipped ahead of a coach full of Welsh pensioners who were slowly making their way towards the toilets. I did what I had to, and then marvelled at the power of the Dyson dryer as I watched a teenager drying his hands.

  I came out into the food hall, and the waft of KFC tempted my taste buds. I found myself arguing in my head about the pros and cons of grabbing a takeaway. The end result was that I decided I needed something in my stomach. I ordered and paid for two pieces of chicken, fries and a Diet Coke, and grabbed a handful of hand wipes and serviettes and a straw before heading outside. I held the paper KFC bag in one hand and my car keys in the other as I strode towards the exit.

  As I looked up, ten feet from me in a row of three was Ray, his mate Mario and the biggest skunk dealer in the area – a guy I referred to as ‘Amnesia’, due to the strain of skunk he sold by the kilo and smoked like a train. All four of us stopped in our tracks and the three of them stared at me.

  Ray broke the silence: ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Joe?’ I was calm, but the main focus of my attention was the laptop that I’d left in my car. I looked at Ray and replied, ‘I was about to ask you the same.’ Mario and Amnesia just stared at me. I could smell the skunk that
clung to the green duffle coat that Amnesia never took off.

  I had met him on a number of occasions previously, but he had never uttered a word to me. He reminded of the character from the Ready Brek TV advert in the 1980s. It featured a schoolboy walking to school in the winter, a red glow surrounding his body after eating a bowl of Ready Brek. The slogan was ‘Central heating for kids’. Well, Amnesia walked around with a permanent green glow surrounding his body, from all the skunk that he smoked. He appeared to be constantly on a different planet and slightly unhinged. He made me feel a little uncomfortable.

  I told them that I was on my way to Manchester, but the name of the city had barely left my mouth when Ray replied that so were they. There was a long pause before I said, ‘I’m just gonna grab my “dog and bone”, and I’ll come back and eat this with you.’ I raised my KFC bag in the air to indicate what I meant.

  I didn’t look back until I got to the boot of my car, which afforded me a clear view to see if anyone had followed me. I left the boot up, quickly opened the passenger door, grabbed the laptop, and threw it in the boot under my overnight bag. I shut the boot and took my phone from my pocket, then locked the car and walked back to the services. I knew that the next ten minutes were going to be uncomfortable for me, but I needed to face the three of them.

  What were the chances of bumping into those three, at that time, at that place? Of all the service stations in the country, how did we both happen to stop there at the same time? I didn’t believe in coincidences, but I had one to deal with now.

  The three of them were next to each other on a raised wooden table and bench. They were just opening their KFC bags as I sat on my own opposite them. I could sense that they had already had a conversation about me, and that it hadn’t quite been concluded. I started to tuck into my first bit of chicken, and Amnesia’s eyes were concentrated totally on my face. I didn’t want to be too interested in where they were going, so purposely didn’t ask any questions. But Ray asked me what I was doing in Manchester. I explained that I was going to see a pal I hadn’t seen for a while, who had just come back from Spain. I didn’t want to expand any further, and I asked what they were going to Manchester for. Ray looked at the other two before answering: ‘Just a bit of business.’