Undercover

by Joe Carter

  It was pointless me staying any longer, as they were yet to make up their minds whether this was just a coincidence or something else. I felt that nothing I said at that moment would help them make up their minds. ‘Nice as it is seeing you boys, I’m running a bit late and the KFC isn’t doing it for me.’ I looked at Ray and said, ‘Ring me if you need anything up there.’ Neither Mario nor Amnesia said a word.

  I left my KFC on the table and walked slowly to my car. As I drove out of the car park, I saw Ray standing in the doorway of the services watching me go. I felt so relieved that I was using the same car that Ray always saw me in.

  I now wondered whether, following this encounter, the suspicions that Ray had about me would have increased. The only thing I was pleased about was the fact that I had already been in the service station when they arrived. If it had been the other way round, they may have thought that I was following them. It was a small consolation, but one that I would hold onto.

  Once I was back on the motorway and knew that the three of them weren’t following me, I phoned Dave to explain the downside of having a KFC lunch at Corley services. At first he didn’t believe a word I said, but I was insistent, though he still found it hard to comprehend what the chances of that happening were. I left out the small detail of the laptop.

  We both second-guessed what the fallout of this encounter would be for the operation. Just as we thought we had settled suspicions down, everything had been thrown off balance. We would just have to wait and see. It was out of our hands.

  I continued on the journey to Manchester and arrived about teatime. I sat and had a brew with the training staff, and we caught up on the course and all the operations. It was great to see the boys again. I was told that I had a four-hour window starting at 8 a.m. to deliver my lecture. It was one that I had delivered many times, and so I had nothing I needed to prepare for it.

  As we were chatting away, my phone rang and it was Ray. I told the boys it was a work call and they understood that they shouldn’t say anything stupid. Ray asked me where I was and I told him I was sat with my pal having a cuppa, and I asked him, ‘Why?’ He explained that they had a bit of a problem. They were sat in a pub in Salford waiting to ‘back’ some gear to a firm from up here, but the gear couldn’t be collected until the morning. He said that the three of them had come up in one van and the other two had to get back tonight. He asked if he could stay with me.

  I pondered Ray’s request and asked him the name of the pub he was at, and told him that I’d be there in an hour and a half. He thanked me and said he’d sit tight with the other two until I got there, as the pub was a complete shithole. The guys who I was with knew the place well, and told me that I couldn’t have chosen a worse pub in Manchester. There had been a number of shootings there, and it was mainly used by criminals.

  I grabbed Don, who was sat quite comfortably, enjoying the prospect of a few days observing the course. I told him he was coming out to work with me tonight. I filled him in on the background of the operation and the sequence of events that had led up to this evening’s meeting. He wasn’t overly enthusiastic about the deployment, but as we were so close, he said he’d help me out. I explained that I had told Ray that Don had just got back from Spain, and that was the reason I was in Manchester. Don was as South London as anyone could possibly be, and what he knew about Manchester was minimal. We agreed that we’d tell Ray that Don’s girlfriend lived here and that she didn’t like me. That would be a reason for me not to be staying with Don.

  We were both very relaxed about things as we drove to Salford. The pub was indeed a shithole, and as I pulled up outside, three or four faces came from the side of the pub to check out who we were. I rang Ray and told him that I was parked outside. A few minutes later, Amnesia, Mario and him walked out of the pub. Ray was pleased to see us, but the other two didn’t even acknowledge we were there. All three of them went to a white Transit van that was parked under a lean-to at the side of the pub. Ray came away from the passenger side carrying a weighted Sainsbury’s bag in his right hand. The Transit van pulled away, with Amnesia doing his best to stare me down as he drove away.

  Ray walked over to the driver’s door of my car and I put down the window. I introduced him to Don, and I could sense that he was relieved that I had arrived. It was just getting dark and the area was becoming more eerie by the minute.

  Ray held up the Sainsbury’s bag, leant through my window and said, ‘This is my responsibility.’ Don and I both laughed and said, almost in harmony, ‘Fucking right it is.’ I popped the boot and told him to stick it in the compartment with the spare wheel.

  He climbed into the back of the car and sat in the gap between the two front seats, then leant forwards to explain his predicament to us both. They had bought some base amphetamine that was supposed to be the bollocks. It hadn’t turned out to be the quality that they’d expected and Ray had got a number of complaints from his customers. He had four kilos in the bag in the boot that the firm had said he could back, but no one could take it off his hands until tomorrow morning. We had a discussion about Amnesia, and I asked Ray what his problem was with me. He told me that Amnesia was the same with everyone, psychotic and completely paranoid, but he was the best skunk farmer and dealer in the area. The problem was he had never adhered to the rule ‘Don’t get high on your own supply’, and he was permanently off his nut.

  I drove straight to the car park of the Malmaison hotel and asked Don to take Ray into the bar area to the left of reception. I booked two separate rooms for Ray and myself, and then joined the two of them in the bar. Conversation was really relaxed, and we spoke openly about criminality. Then one of the fellas from a local band came over to our table and was a little worse for wear. Ray said he couldn’t understand a word he said. We sent him on his way when he started slagging off cockneys.

  Later, we went by taxi to Chinatown and the three of us enjoyed a huge table of food together. It was the only thing I’d eaten all day apart from the one or two bites of KFC at Corley services. That seemed a lifetime ago.

  Don left the two of us in the restaurant and I promised to see him early the next morning for a breakfast meet. He apologised for me having to stay at the hotel, but I told him I’d rather that than having my ear bitten off by his missus, and in any case I’d give him the bill at breakfast tomorrow. Ray shook Don’s hand and the restaurant owner showed him to his cab. I saw Don give the owner a wedge of money to cover the meal and a hefty tip.

  As we sat there, Ray told me how much he liked Don. I explained that we’d known each other all our lives, and our dads had grafted together back in the day. We were offered a free taxi back to our hotel, which we accepted; it was lazy really, but I didn’t fancy the walk.

  We went straight to my car in the car park and I removed my overnight bag, and I told Ray to grab his Sainsbury’s bag. I handed him the paper wallet containing the key card for his room. He was a happy man, that’s for sure. We walked into reception, and I was just about to say goodnight when Ray sheepishly said, ‘I know you’ve done me a massive favour, but I’ve got no wash stuff for the morning.’ I told him not to worry, I would be up and away before he had even thought about getting up, so I’d leave my washbag outside his room in the morning. He was so grateful and said, ‘Thanks for everything today, mate, you’re a lifesaver.’ He disappeared clutching the rolled-up Sainsbury’s bag with both his hands into his chest.

  The rooms at the Malmaison were always sumptuous and decadent, and the beds were so comfortable. As I set my alarm for 6.30 a.m., it pained me that I was to spend so little time making the most of this bed.

  Before I knew it, I was up and in the shower and scrubbing the tiredness out of my body. I dried myself and put on fresh clothes, then brushed my teeth, carefully folded my dirty clothes and placed everything neatly back in my overnight bag. I used the stairs to drop down one floor and left my washbag outside Ray’s room. I settled the bill at reception, and walked to my car.

  I
drove back to where the course was being held, parked my car and was escorted into the training team’s office. The guys were keen to know exactly what had developed overnight. They all agreed that you couldn’t make something like this up, and it would be a brilliant scenario to give the students once the operation was concluded. I had a cup of tea with the team, and Don came and joined us. I gave him £75 in cash back for the meal he had paid for last night, and £20 for his cab fare. He told me to leave him in peace from now on, and that he was quite happy stepping aside and leaving it to the ‘new kids on the block’.

  Don and I went for a quiet chat alone about our meeting last night. I was keen to get his opinion, as a fresh set of eyes and ears always helped. Don told me he thought that there was a lot of respect from Ray towards me. He said that he hadn’t sensed or noticed a single thing that pointed to Ray being suspicious. He said if I hadn’t told him to the contrary, he would have thought Ray and I had known each other for many years. There was no doubt in his mind that Ray liked and trusted me very much. I respected Don’s opinion; he had the experience and depth of knowledge to make very sound judgements. I felt that the previous day had concluded in a very positive way. I laughed to myself thinking that Ray would be lying in his king-size bed, with four kilos of base amphetamine under the duck-feather pillows. Then PK interrupted us and said, ‘Enough about real operations – you’ve got a lecture to deliver, now get on with it.’

  I spent the next four hours giving an interactive lecture on drugs operations. The students realised that this would be the bread and butter of many of their future operations, and took part throughout. The time flew past and there were constant questions. My motto in such lectures was to never tell the students anything that I had not done myself or witnessed with my own eyes. I had seen too many people over the years say things that were untrue or that had never happened, just to make themselves look better in the eyes of the students.

  I thanked all of the students for their input, and wished them all success in passing the course. PK then thanked me and asked if I had any expenses. Just then, my phone rang again and it was Ray. PK shook his head in amazement. Ray told me that he was on his way to Haydock and asked if I could pick him up at the petrol station just off the motorway. I told him I was just having a cup of tea with someone, but would see him within the hour. PK looked at me and said, ‘Are you winding me up – does he know the timetable of the course or what?’ He gave me directions to Haydock and said it was about a thirty-five-minute drive. We shook hands, and he told me to be careful and – as he always said – to ‘keep it real’.

  I hadn’t had the chance to fill Dave in on the previous evening’s events, but I utilised the next half an hour to bring him right up to speed. He was really happy with the outcome of the previous day.

  I now had a five-hour journey to look forward to with Ray. I arrived quicker than expected, and Ray was sat in the rear of a blacked-out Range Rover. I chuckled at the obvious look of the drug dealer’s car as he got out of the back. There were no big handshakes; all Ray had in his hand was my Louis Vuitton washbag. The Range Rover drove off, and Ray climbed in the passenger seat of my car and said, ‘Good to see a friendly face. Fucking scousers, I hate them – they’re messers.’

  Ray explained that it really had been a long morning. He had sat in the hotel until about eleven o’clock, but he’d got proper paranoid and was sure there were a couple of plain-clothes coppers watching him. So he’d left the hotel to kill an hour before the Scousers were supposed to pick him up. He said that was when the deep paranoia set in. He was convinced that the base was illuminating the bag from the inside and that the four-kilo blocks could be clearly seen through the bag. He even went and bought a thick fifty-pence bag from Tesco to put the Sainsbury’s bag in. He looked at me and said that he’d never been so glad to see the back of four kilos of anything before in his life.

  I told him to relax and enjoy the journey; there was nothing for him to worry about now. He then gave a full and comprehensive review of his hotel room and raved about it. When he paused for breath and there was silence in the car, he patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘Joe, do you know what – you’re a proper mate, and I mean that.’

  Twenty-seven

  The journey back with Ray was arduous and testing to say the least, as we talked for the entire journey. I cannot recall a single awkward silence or a pause for breath. The conversation was continuous and the vast proportion of things we talked about were nothing to do with criminality – in fact I would say only about 10 per cent related to anything other than innocent chat.

  This is the type of situation where your skills are tested to the extreme. I find it far easier to deal with direct confrontation than having to carefully recall minute details of forgettable conversations that took place over a protracted period of time. It’s the subtle conversations and harmless questions and spontaneous replies that can lead you into danger. You have to remember exactly what you have said at previous meetings and during innocent conversations.

  I dropped Ray off at his house and Chloe came out to say hello. He thanked me and told me that he owed me proper for the last couple of days. He said he’d ring me tomorrow. I drove off but stopped in the car park of the first pub I saw. I felt drained by the journey. It seems crazy to say, but five hours of non-stop chatting when you are pretending to be someone you’re not is exhausting. I just wanted to enjoy five minutes’ peace and quiet before I got home and had to tell Emma everything. For some reason, as I closed my eyes, my mind focused on a job that I had done many years before.

  It was the 1990s and I was meeting a lovely East End villain in the Cumberland Hotel in Marble Arch. He was about sixty years old and he had a twinkle in his eye. He was already sat close to the huge piano that was the centrepiece of the bar. He had a pint of light and bitter in front of him, and a copy of Sporting Life. His name was Billy, and he was smartly dressed, with a spotted handkerchief in the pocket of his burgundy blazer. He had an open-neck black shirt on, and a huge gold belcher chain with a heavy pair of gold boxing gloves hanging from it. He had been expecting me, and he stood up and shook my hand, and insisted on me sitting down whilst he went to the bar and got me a drink.

  I looked at the Sporting Life that was open at the greyhound-racing pages. He brought my drink back and asked me if I liked a flutter. He then educated me about the dogs for at least half an hour. He advised me never to bet on anything other than the longest dog races. He explained that even the best dogs can get bumped on the first two bends, but in the longer races there are enough bends for the best dogs to survive a bump and come through and win. I loved a bet, but stuck with the horses unless I had a tip. Billy concluded this conversation by saying, ‘Anyway, there’s far more money to be made on this project.’

  He leant forwards, and in his deep, gravelly East London accent he explained that the people he represented had a large amount of isosafrole. He told me that this was the main ingredient needed to make Ecstasy. His people had a large amount of the compound, but did not have the knowledge to convert it into the rave drug. I knew they needed a chemist, and the potential earnings from this project were huge. Pills were the most popular drug at that moment, and every weekend huge raves were being organised, where people spent the night in a dancey, happy place after popping a decent E or two. People wanted good quality E, and were prepared to pay top money for it.

  I leant back in my chair and said, ‘Hypothetically speaking, if I did know a chemist that was willing to help, what’s the plan?’ Billy explained that they would find a suitable place to set up the lab and would pay for all the necessary stock to get it up and running. I said I took those requirements for granted in a project like this, but I was more interested in the payday at the end. Billy threw it back in my court and asked what I wanted out of it. I liked his style.

  I said if I provided the ‘chef’, I wanted either a third of the profit from the completed commodity or a third of the merchandise. Billy said it was h
im and two others in on this bit of work. He said he would have to meet with the two of them and put my proposal to them. He knew they would want to meet me and my chef, and he asked if I would be available to go to his gaff later in the week. I said I’d give it some thought and I’d phone him tomorrow, so Billy gave me his home phone number and asked me to ring between 10 and 10.15 in the morning.

  I shook Billy’s hand and left him sat there, studying form whilst sipping his pint. He was an interesting character and I liked him. He was a gentleman villain; he knew all the faces and gangsters from the 1960s and had spent considerable time in prison with them. He was trusted, and had been given the job of putting this bit of work together. But I knew that there must be a bigger player who sat above Billy and actually had control of these chemicals.

  I had done my research through the precursor unit at the Yard, and I knew that isosafrole was mainly used in the perfume industry and had a fragrance of anise or liquorice. It required a permit to buy, and as such was monitored. It was also one of the main chemicals that could be converted to MDMA or Ecstasy. It was clear that this firm could smell the money, if they could just find a chemist with the talent and balls to convert it for them. Without the chemist, they could achieve very little. All the advice I was getting said that the whole process was extremely dangerous, as isosafrole was highly volatile. We would have to be very careful as we progressed with the operation.