Undercover

by Joe Carter

  I drove to Watney Market without too many issues. I now knew where the handbrake was and, more importantly, the release for it. I felt a million dollars driving this lovely car – leather throughout – but I was now feeling the nerves and was trying my very best to control them.

  I pulled up at 7.55 and sat in my car waiting; it seemed an age before I got a knock on the window. There was a stocky male with a grey hood pulled over his head, and he was wearing a Lonsdale woollen hat. He climbed into the passenger seat and said, ‘You must be Joe. Go down Lukin Street towards Shadwell.’ I didn’t know this part of East London particularly well, but didn’t think I should tell him that. Our conversation consisted of him telling me he didn’t want to go back to prison and asking me if I could move some ‘puff’, as one of his pals had a load of ‘soaps’ at the moment. I told him that I wanted to get this thing sorted first. He was directing me on a number of left and right turns in quick succession, and I wasn’t really sure where I was.

  After about ten minutes, he told me to pull over and park the car next to a old, red-brick block of flats that had about five floors. The passenger door was right alongside a wide concrete stairwell. He told me to wait in the car and that he’d only be five minutes. Because I was parked alongside the building, I couldn’t see where he went once he leapt two by two up the steps and out of sight. It was just a matter of me sitting tight on a cold November evening in the dark. I remember a number of fireworks going off very close to me, which didn’t help in calming my nerves.

  I reached under my seat to feel if the money was still where I’d placed it. There was absolutely no reason that it wouldn’t be there, and sure enough my hands felt it. I had not given the surveillance team a thought since I’d left their briefing room. I had no idea whether they were watching me at that moment or not. The fella came bounding down the stairs quicker than he had leapt up them. He sat next to me and told me to drive. I asked him if everything was OK and all he said was: ‘Sweet.’ He said he’d taken me on a longer route to get to the flats, and there was a much quicker way back.

  Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I recognised the buildings of Watney Market. He told me to pull over near to where I had picked him up. I parked the car, but it was directly under a street light and he asked me to pull forwards a bit, which I did. He took an A4-sized envelope out of his pocket and asked me for the money. I reached under my seat and gave him the cash as I looked gingerly into the envelope. He counted all the money and then looked at me. I didn’t say a word. He laughed and started nodding his head and said, ‘I get it, come on, let’s go and get the rest.’

  I really didn’t know what he meant, but I started the car and we went the most direct route back to the block of flats. As we drove, he said he realised it had been a test and that there had to be trust between us.

  We were back at the tenement block in no time. He was up the stairs and back much quicker than the first visit. He handed me the same number of bearer bonds that he’d given me already in the envelope. He shook my hand and said, ‘I like you. That was cute, giving me double the amount of dough to see if you could trust me.’ He went on to say, ‘You have them checked out and confirm they’re pukka, and when you’re happy we can trade the rest.’ I really hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, all I knew is that he seemed to be happy with what had just taken place and he was even offering me the remainder of the bonds.

  I dropped him off at Watney Market and said I’d be in touch. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It dawned on me as I drove back to Snow Hill station that I’d given him twice as much money as the bonds were worth, because I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I looked at the envelope and the additional bonds that sat on top, and wondered how I’d explain my inadequacies to the DI and the team. I felt that this might be my first and last deployment. It would surely rank as the shortest undercover career on record.

  I must admit I wasn’t looking forward to explaining myself. I parked a little away from the police station and retrieved my warrant card from the boot of the car. I had the bearer bonds tucked into the inside pocket of my coat.

  I flashed my badge at the front counter and made my way sheepishly to the briefing room. There was a buzz of noise in the room as the surveillance team mingled and chatted with the detectives from the CDU. I sat down at a table and tried to avoid making any eye contact in the room.

  I felt a tap on the shoulder and a very ordinary middle-aged man introduced himself as Mick, the DS of the surveillance team. He sat down next to me and shook my hand. He thanked me for my excellent work tonight and said he was glad that I’d realised the surveillance team had lost me and that I had come back to the place I’d picked the target up from. He said the team had waited there for me on the off chance I’d come back. He apologised, and said that on the second visit his team had managed to identify the flat that he went into. He shook my hand and thanked me again.

  I was unsure whether he was winding me up or not, and I wondered if he saw the bemused look on my face. This was soon answered when the DI called me into his office and thanked me for getting the team out of the shit. He said that it had all worked out in the end, and asked to see the bearer bonds. I showed him them and explained that the fella had told me to check them out and then we could trade for the remainder. I could see him studying them closely – something I hadn’t even bothered to do. He said that he was 99 per cent sure they were spot on. He stood up, gave me an overenthusiastic slap on the back – which caught me by surprise and winded me slightly – and said he owed me a pint and he’d see me in the bar.

  I sat there for a while, confused, relieved and amazed that I had somehow come out of the evening’s catastrophe smelling of roses. I watched the surveillance team leave the room, all of them acknowledging me and some of them congratulating me on their way out. Mick told me they were going to conduct their debrief and he was sure he’d see me again. The exhibits officer sat next to me and took possession of all the bearer bonds, and he told me he would get them officially authenticated in the morning.

  I completed all the necessary paperwork and left it with the exhibits officer. I couldn’t face going down to the bar, so made my excuses and told him to apologise to the boss. I said I had a long drive tonight and that I needed to be back in town by 7 a.m. He shook my hand and thanked me for all I’d done tonight.

  I slipped out of the police station as quietly as I could, walked to my car and climbed inside. I thought I could really do with a drink, and I decided to stop on my way home to have an anonymous drink in a pub where nobody knew me. The fact was that, although I got away with it tonight, I was a fraud to all those new colleagues of mine who thought I’d done such a great job. I’d even managed to blag my luck with the target. I knew I would never let that happen again.

  That was to be a wake-up call for me – from then on, I would be more professional.

  I looked up as the words ‘I got away with it tonight’ were whizzing through my head. Emma was stood in front of me with a huge smile on her face. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, or whether I’d been asleep and had been dreaming. She said, ‘Penny for your thoughts, Joe?’ She laughed and asked me to come and help her carry some shopping in from the car. She said that she’d been knocking on the patio doors but I hadn’t moved. I apologised, and stepped out into the fresh air to help carry the shopping into the kitchen.

  My mind was now focused on today.

  Thirty-five

  A few days later, I was speaking quietly on the phone to Dave as I walked from the office, where I’d just had a Courvoisier and Stone’s with Ray. I had known Ray for about six months now, and we spent most days together. Long periods of time in each other’s company had brought us close – we knew each other, we relied on each other, we trusted each other, though that hadn’t always been the case.

  Ray was a popular guy, and people liked him. I liked him. I still thought to myself that he could have been anything in life. Whatever he wante
d to be, he could’ve chosen whatever job he wanted. I knew he had been a very successful estate agent once upon a time – utilising his charm and charisma to a wholly societal end – but that wasn’t the life he chose.

  Ray confided in me, he spoke about things he hadn’t talked about before, he asked me for advice. He also borrowed money from me, and when he was misbehaving he asked me to cover for him. In another life things would’ve been different. But this was now and he was a career criminal, and I had a trade to do.

  I told Dave in a very matter of fact way that I’d just had a meet with Ray and I was walking back to my gaff to collect some money. I was meeting him again in half an hour at a nearby pub to buy a 9mm handgun with a shusher and eight bullets.

  ‘I take it you’re winding me up,’ Dave said with just an inkling of hope in his voice. I explained that I was collecting £2,100 and then driving to The Railway pub to meet Ray and his associate called Pegg, who I thought had the gun.

  Dave wasn’t happy and didn’t want me to go. He said I needed support and he knew the bosses would insist on an armed team backing me up. I told him to keep it low-key; I didn’t want a big drama made out of it. I wanted to treat the trade as if it was any commodity I was buying. I told him I’d ring him just as I walked into the pub, and to start worrying if he hadn’t heard from me in an hour. I could sense his nervousness and knew he had about a thousand questions he wanted to ask me, but I cut the call short.

  I strode up the driveway to my house and let myself in, and went to the freezer in the kitchen. I removed £2,100 from £5,000 that I had hidden in a box of loose tea leaves. I opened the back door and took the four steps down to the lawn and dug up a handful of soil. I placed the cold earth amongst the £10 and £20 notes and wrapped them all up in a Waitrose bag. I then placed this into a Mulberry leather-handled presentation gift bag, as if I’d just bought a designer handbag from New Bond Street.

  I stepped into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, and when I was happy they were clean I picked up the Mulberry bag and locked up after myself. I pressed the boot release of my car and placed the bag inside; it was made of card and sat up proudly, so I laid it on its side. I got into the driver’s seat and started the engine, then selected a track on the CD and turned the volume up. It was only a short journey to The Railway; there was a small sheltered car park at the back, and I squeezed my car next to an old Luton van that belonged to a local antiques dealer.

  I made a quick phone call to Dave, but before I could speak, he said, ‘You know, you should’ve given me more notice for this, Joe—’

  I stopped him short. ‘I’m here, Dave. I’ll bell you when I’m done, for you to collect the thing. Stop worrying.’

  Leaving the money in the boot of my car, I walked into the pub. Dave knew exactly why I hadn’t given him notice. He knew that I’d dropped it on his toes so that the bosses couldn’t mess it up this time.

  The salon bar was dark – very dark – and it was only because of the sunlight that streamed through the door behind me that I could see anyone. The door stayed open long enough for me to see three figures on high-backed, dark wooden church benches. I recognised two as Ray and Pegg, who Ray was sat next to. I walked slowly over, taking in the surroundings. The third male was a man in a wheelchair. He was at the end of the table, to the right of them.

  I sat down on the bench seat opposite Ray and Pegg. I couldn’t see Pegg’s eyes because of the dark glasses he had on, but Ray had a cheeky smile on his face. ‘Who’s he?’ I said, as if the wheelchair man wasn’t even there. Pegg told me not to worry about him, he was OK.

  Pegg then looked straight at me. ‘You give me the dough, and Ray and I will be about ten minutes and be back with it. The shusher isn’t with it at the moment, but you can have that later.’ I knew by the blasé way he was talking that he wasn’t at all bothered or stressed by this deal, he just wanted it done. I sat back and felt the wood of the bench against my head. I didn’t want to give Pegg my money. I wanted him to go and get the gun and bullets, bring it back to the boozer and we could swap the cash for the gun in the car park.

  I didn’t know Pegg that well; I hadn’t previously traded with him, although I’d met him quite a while ago. What I did know about him didn’t fill me with confidence. He was a thief from East London, and a slight man, but an extremely violent one. He’d stabbed a top Gypsy criminal repeatedly following a feud. It was known that recently he had fired two rounds through the door of a local drug dealer who wouldn’t answer the door when Pegg went to collect a debt.

  I said, ‘I tell you what, you go and get the thing, bring it back here and we can do the trade right here or round the back at my motor. I ain’t just giving you two bags to walk off with.’

  ‘Joe, it ain’t gonna work that way. I need the paperwork up front.’

  Then Ray stepped in and said, ‘Listen, Joe, I want this to happen, there’s a drink in it for me. It’s down to me – if this goes wrong I’ll stand you two bags of sand.’

  I looked over at him and nodded. ‘It’s against my better judgement, Ray, but this is down to you.’ I knew how many previous trades Ray and I had done. I knew he’d grafted with Pegg before and he’d used Pegg to enforce debts for him.

  Ray and I walked out of the pub to the car park, and I popped the boot and got out the Waitrose plastic bag and handed it to Ray. He looked through the bag and could see and feel the soil in his hand. A huge smile came over his face and he laughed out loud. ‘You’ve been digging in that garden again, you dodgy fucker!’ He took the bag and looked over his shoulder as I returned into the pub with the Mulberry carrier bag.

  I asked the wheelchair man if he wanted a drink. He didn’t hesitate, and asked for a double whisky and half a Stella. I looked at him and said, ‘You’re a cheeky fucker!’ Then I walked to the bar and ordered my pint and his drinks.

  I put the drinks down on the table and he said, ‘Thanks, Joe, I’ve heard you’re a good bloke to know.’ I told him not to believe everything he was told. He reached forwards with his right hand and said, ‘I’m Bertie. I used to be a wrong’un – I used to graft with Pegg. I was a hooligan, I loved a tear-up.’ It was hard to put the words to this person sat opposite me in the wheelchair.

  ‘What happened to your legs, Bert?’

  He sipped his Stella as he said, very matter of factly, ‘Someone set them alight ’cos I owed them a bullseye for crack. Poured petrol over them and watched me go up like Guy Fawkes. I was so off my face I just sat and watched them burn till I passed out. Woke up in the hospital like this.’ He pointed at his stubbed legs.

  As far as I was concerned, this whole situation was fucked: the darkness of the pub, the story from Bertie. Something was amiss, and I wasn’t happy that I wasn’t with my money. It didn’t feel right.

  Bertie said he was going out the front for a fag. He wheeled himself away and I found myself alone in the dim light of the pub. I closed my eyes for an instant, but was jolted awake by the sickening sound of the pub door crashing open with a huge bang, which almost rended it from its hinges. I saw Pegg’s silhouette against the sunlight behind him as he stayed there for a brief moment. No more than a second, but long enough for me to see he was wearing a single, black leather glove. Time stood still for me as I pictured a black gun recoiling in Pegg’s gloved hand, painting the walls with claret and fragments of my skull. I sat rooted to the spot.

  Some five metres from where I was sitting was a loaded 9mm held in the hand of a man capable of killing someone. I could see he had the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, and the dark lenses of his glasses broke up his face. I decided I wouldn’t move an inch; I’d look straight at him. The eight strides he took towards me were purposeful, determined steps. And then he was in front of me, with his outstretched hand. He screeched with laughter and threw himself onto the seat opposite me, hiding the 9mm on his lap beneath the table. ‘You thought I was gonna stick one in ya!’ he shouted in his broad East London accent. He pulled down his hood, removed the
black leather glove and said, ‘I wouldn’t do that to you, Joe.’

  ‘Fuck off, Pegg, and next time take your raspberry mate with you.’ I put the Mulberry bag on the table. ‘Put the thing in there.’

  ‘Put it under the table, Joe.’ I moved the bag under the table, and Pegg reached under to drop the gun inside. There was an almighty bang as the gun hit the tiled floor through the bag. Pegg laughed. ‘You’re lucky you’ve still got your bollocks, Joe, ’cos there’s one up the spout.’ He handed me eight bullets wrapped in tissue paper.

  I took one look at Pegg, picked up the bag, put the bullets inside and got up.

  ‘Where you going, Joe – ain’t you have a drink?’

  ‘What d’ya think, Pegg? I’m going to plug this up, and I want the shusher later.’

  I left the pub and bumped into Ray in the car park. I shouted over to him that I wanted to get shot of the metal and I’d ring him later. The fact of the matter was, I was glad to be out of there, away from Pegg. I had thought he was going to shoot me, yet I hadn’t been bothered. I hadn’t felt nervous or worried, even though I’d been aware of what I thought was going to happen to me. Why hadn’t I tried to do something? If I’d thought he was going to shoot me, then surely I could’ve – should’ve – done something.

  Maybe I just didn’t care. Maybe I wasn’t bothered.

  Thirty-six

  Business in the shop was booming. Emma was really keeping on top of things, and when it was really busy Freddie would help out. By now he was an established member of our team. He added a new dimension to the operation and he was good company to be around. Through Ray I had introduced Freddie to Mario, and he was buying heroin from Mario on a regular basis. The heroin was good quality and Mario was reliable; he was sourcing it down the Dirty Dozen, from East London.