by Joe Carter
The café was just around the corner from Pimlico tube station and was quite tight for space, although there was a basement with some computer terminals for customers to access the Internet – £1 for ten minutes. At the back of the café, I saw a man sitting with a small espresso cup in front of him; there was another cup and saucer in front of the vacant seat opposite him. I walked over to the clean white Formica table, which had a fresh pink gerbera in a small glass vase sat proudly in the middle. The café was spotless, and there was a tall, skinny, overenthusiastic Eastern European girl busying herself at every opportunity, cleaning the tables with a bright-pink J-cloth. I thought that it was probably her first day or she was determined to keep her job – or maybe she just loved cleaning tables.
I sat opposite the man, held out my hand and said, ‘Pino, good to meet you.’ We shook hands. Pino was much younger than I had imagined – he was probably thirty years old. His jet-black hair had a natural curl; it was scraped back and hung just above the collar of his denim jacket. He had transition lenses, and they looked dark in the confines of the café.
I waited for him to talk as I broke a corner off a cube of demerara sugar and slowly stirred it into my coffee. I looked up at him as I did this; the clinking of my spoon on the china cup was annoying me, so I knew he would be hoping I stopped. I did, and I sucked the froth off the spoon and placed it on the saucer.
Pino broke the silence by asking me if I had any kids. Not the question I was expecting, but nevertheless I answered him. He said that he had a boy and a girl, and he loved them very much and would do anything for them. We then talked for fifteen minutes or so about his family – about the fact that he had been in London for eight years and they were still back home in Colombia. He spoke warmly about the village he was from and the simple way of life there, so different from his life in London. I purposely waited until he turned the conversation to business. It felt right to let him talk, let him control the tempo of the conversation. I knew he liked to talk, and that certainly suited me.
I studied him for a moment whilst he spoke so freely. He was very dark-skinned and had a slim build – I could see he didn’t throw weights around in the gym. He had nicotine-stained fingers, and I could also see three letters tattooed on the inside of his left wrist: ‘NFC’. It was a homemade tattoo, the sort Borstal boys or sailors used to have back in the day. He asked me if I smoked as he stood up to go outside. I didn’t join him. I hated smoking, and would rather wait and finish my latte whilst he sucked on the Mustang cigarettes he removed from his jacket pocket.
I looked at his shoes as he walked out; I always liked to look at the quality of a man’s shoes. He was wearing a traditional black Gucci trainer, with the red band sandwiched by the two green ones. You wouldn’t get much change from £350 if you went to New Bond Street to buy them.
I could see him looking at me through the window as he smoked his cigarette and spoke on his mobile phone. Then he threw his cigarette into the street and re-entered the café. He sat back down, and I could smell the smoke from across the table. He looked at me and asked how much I wanted. I had decided before I arrived that I’d ask for two kilos, but I wasn’t going to do it today.
I looked at him and waited for the skinny girl to wipe our table and get out of earshot before I replied: ‘I tell you what, Pino. I want two units a week – regular, no nonsense, a reliable grown-up relationship – but before I do that, I want to be sure the car drives as well as I hope it does. I want a sample today. Can you get me an ounce, so that I can road test it over the weekend and this time next week we can do the two units.’
He asked why I hadn’t said on the phone to bring it with him. I explained that until we’d sat down and chatted and got to know each other I wouldn’t do that, but now I was asking him if he could get me an ounce as a sample. He got up and said, ‘Give me ten minutes.’ He told me it’d be £1,800. Pino then left the café, and I watched him cross the road and get into a green BMW that had another dark male sat in the driver’s seat. I noted the registration number and allowed myself a little smirk, knowing that we had a ‘job’ on now.
About fifteen minutes later, Pino rang me and asked me to come outside the café. I could see him in the BMW’s passenger seat, the same driver alongside him. I got into the back of the car behind the driver. The car smelt of a showroom, it had rubber see-through covers on the seats, and the wood veneer gleamed from a recent polish. Pino opened the glovebox and I could see a number of folded Costa Coffee napkins and a tube of wet wipes. He took out a knotted, white plastic bag and handed it to me. I was confident that the weight was about right, and the smell of cocaine was pungent so I passed him £1,800 in £20 notes. Pino counted them and put them into his trouser pocket.
I leant forward between the two front seats, apologised to Pino for the inconvenience and thanked him. I said that if I was happy with the ‘thing’ then we could make arrangements for two units next Thursday. I held out my hand and he shook it firmly. I told him not to phone me Saturday as I was at a family christening but I would ring him Sunday evening. I put the bag in my inside jacket pocket and got out of the car.
I crossed the road, waved down the first ‘flounder’ I could see and told the cabbie: ‘St Thomas’ Hospital, please.’ I had no intention of going there, but I wanted to ensure Pino and his sidekick weren’t following me. Once I had satisfied myself that the two South Americans were nowhere near me, I told the cabbie to pull over. I paid the fare and alighted on a quiet side street just round the corner from Shepherd’s restaurant. Then I phoned Roger and told him to come and meet me at The Barley Mow on Horseferry Road. He said to give him ten minutes.
I took a slow stroll, knowing that I’d get there before Roger. I ordered a pint for myself and a lime and soda water for Roger, as he’d said earlier he wasn’t drinking. I sat in a quiet corner and read the Standard until Roger joined me. I explained what had happened, went through all the intelligence, and passed the knotted bag under the table. He asked me if I thought Pino was for real. I told him that I thought he was capable of two kilos a week, and that the sample was definitely ‘off the block’. Roger said he’d have to let me know the quality of the cocaine tomorrow, as he had his weigh-in tonight and didn’t want to miss it.
We said our goodbyes and Roger disappeared. I was quietly pleased with my day’s work. It made me smile that I was so matter of fact that a Colombian gang had agreed to sell me two kilos of their finest cocaine every week. But I knew that I should really get back to the job I was officially on. Roger and the team were unaware that I was moonlighting in London but – as I was often told – what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. I finished my pint and ordered another, wondering what the remainder of the day would hold for me.
Forty-two
Following a series of meetings amongst senior officers, a decision had been made that the operation Emma and I were on should be brought to a conclusion. It was probably the correct decision for the police force we were working for, but I felt that as an undercover operation we were on the cusp of compromising a number of significant national targets.
This is where the difficulty lay. We were employed by the police force to combat a particular problem. This force had to justify their spending to a police authority (a separate organisation responsible for overseeing the activities of the police force), and also to evidence their reduction in crime figures and the increase in clear-ups of recorded crimes. With that in mind, this operation had more than achieved its targets. So for a parochial senior officer, responsible for only that force, why should he or she be concerned with a drug dealer who is operating on a national basis? That dealer does not directly affect any of the figures that the senior command team’s performance is assessed against. Sad as it seems, drug dealers are not on the radar for most senior officers, as they don’t impact on their performance indicators.
This was very frustrating because all I’d ever wanted to do was put bad guys behind bars – the badder the better, to my mi
nd. Dave was equally frustrated, but we had both been around the block long enough to know that we were far too low on the food chain to have an influence on the decision.
Emma was gutted that the job was coming to an end. She had put her heart and soul into the operation and had sacrificed many things at home to ensure the job was a success. She also had a huge amount of work to do to make sure that everything was brought to a close professionally. She was meticulous in dealing with the important matters that needed to be tied up before the end of the job.
The senior management team had decided the specific date that the arrests would take place. This involved a planning team, and the assistance of staff from a number of other police forces. The logistical support needed in order to conclude the arrest phase was enormous.
Now that the arrest date was confirmed, Dave asked me to try and work out a way that the main subjects could all be together in the same place the night before. He wanted to be in a position where he could arrest Ray, Mario and Pegg all at the same time, and he asked if I could make that happen. I assured him I would come up with a cunning and devious plan, and to leave it with me. This was one problem that I could take off his hands.
We had about six weeks until the date when the operation was going to close. Ray and I continued our daily activities together, and Emma worked hard in the shop. We had become truly settled in the area. After a year; it felt comfortable and it was a really nice place to live. It was going to be hard for both Emma and me to return to the reality of our own lives. This had been the norm now for such a long time. I had already received phone calls about the possibility of me starting another long-term job once this one had concluded. But I wanted to concentrate on bringing this operation to a successful and professional ending before I let my mind drift on to the next.
Emma and I proposed that we would try and get the three main players and their respective girlfriends to a formal meal. We would make it a special occasion and let them know that we were picking up the tab. We decided to choose somewhere out of town that was quite exclusive – somewhere we knew they would be excited about having dinner at. Emma picked the perfect place: a secluded, red brick manor-house hotel, covered in ivy and steeped in history. The grounds were stunning, and there was a beautiful walled garden, overlooking a lake, where drinks could be served. It was a picture, and if the weather remained as expected it would be a glorious evening. The hotel’s dining room was traditional and stylish: wood-panelled walls that dated back centuries; elegant, white linen tablecloths topped by immaculate glassware and gleaming cutlery. It was the perfect place for a special meal.
Emma told Dave what she’d decided and that she planned to ask people to come to ours first for drinks. She thought that Ray and Mario would probably go straight to the hotel, as it was closer to their houses, but Pegg and his girlfriend would probably enjoy a drink at ours and a lift in our car. Emma had suggested that I should leave her speak to the girlfriends and invite the men through them, and she would make out that it was a bit of a surprise for me.
Dave insisted that he would have to visit the restaurant to satisfy himself that it was a suitable place to make a number of arrests safely. Emma and I both knew that meant that Dave would be eating dinner in the restaurant one day this week. Dave also needed to be sure of exactly who was attending. Emma was happy with this, as it was natural to need numbers when one was booking a decent restaurant.
After Dave had eaten at the restaurant and the head of the tactical arrest team had checked it out, Emma was given the green light to make the arrangements. I knew that as soon as Ray was told about the meal, he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret and he would tell me immediately. Sure enough, that’s exactly what happened. He also confided to me that Chloe was pregnant and that everything was OK after the first scan. I knew that Chloe had told Emma, but I made out that I hadn’t a clue. I congratulated him, but inside I really felt bad. I knew what was coming for Ray – in three weeks he would be going to prison for a very long time.
Ray said that he fancied a drink, and asked if we could pop down to the office. I could see the happiness in his face and I wanted to share in that, but I knew that I was being completely two-faced. I really liked Ray – he was a funny, happy, full-of-life character. He had a family and a mortgage and bills to pay, just like everyone else. Only Ray had made the decision to support his family by committing crimes. I didn’t have a problem with that – it was his choice, he knew the potential consequences of his actions and he would have to live with them.
However, I understood the reality of those consequences. The fact was, Ray’s son or daughter would be born whilst he was in prison. Chloe would have to fend for herself and her life would become unrecognisable overnight. She would struggle to bring up a new baby whilst trying to pay the bills. She was a tough woman, but the challenge that she was soon to meet would break most people. She had done nothing to deserve the pain that was coming her way, and the child that was soon to enter this world would now have a completely different start to their life.
All these things hurt me – they tugged at my heartstrings and they played on my mind. Ray was my pal, and him being in this position was entirely my fault. I was ruining a number of lives just by doing my job well. At that exact moment, I wished I hadn’t done a good job, and I wondered if I could somehow tell him, warn him what was coming. But I knew I couldn’t and I wouldn’t do such a thing. I just had to get on with it, and deal with the emotional fallout, which was considerably less than what Chloe and the kids were going to have to cope with.
I came up with a lame excuse not to go to the pub, and told Ray that I’d meet him the next day and we’d have a proper catch-up then.
My job would have been so much easier if I had no emotions, no heart, no feelings – if I could just say, ‘It doesn’t bother me, and he got exactly what he deserves.’ But the reality of life is very different, and if anyone thinks that they will never be affected by the fallout from relationships that they develop on these types of operations, they’re very wrong.
Finding a mechanism to cope with the way I would inevitably feel was essential, but I was yet to find the perfect technique. Perhaps my way was to submerge myself into the next job.
I met Ray for a drink the following day, and as usual he had another dealer that he wanted to introduce me to. He said that he had been put in contact with this fella by chance. He had known him from years back but they had lost contact, and that he trusted him. He said that the fella had ‘trainers’ that came as a pair, and also some good-quality powder. I laughed at him and said, ‘Ray, has anyone ever told you this is really shit gear – everyone just tells you it’s good quality.’
The trainers were kilos of amphetamine and were sold in pairs, so you had to buy two kilos at a time. I was aware that the team had enough work to be getting on with, so I told Ray I’d have a think about it. I used the Frank situation to my advantage, saying that I was keeping my head down until the heat blew over. In the back of my mind, I thought it would be a good idea to try and tie up this proposed trade on the evening of our meal.
Emma was up to her eyes in organising our move and shutting the shop. There was also a phenomenal amount of paperwork involved that would be needed in court. Everyone was working flat out to ensure that we were ready for the arrest date. And it was very important to keep up the story that we were settling permanently in the area. We didn’t want any alarm bells to ring or for people to think that we were suddenly upping sticks.
There was a lot of pressure on everyone involved at this time. It was the hard, gritty part of the investigation, ensuring that all the ‘T’s were crossed and the ‘I’s dotted. But, ultimately, it was Dave’s job to ensure that everyone was doing his or her job properly, and that the paperwork was up to the required standard.
The days were passing us by, and Emma and I spent a lot of time sat with the team, trawling through paperwork. If truth be told, neither Emma nor I wanted this job to finish. We understood t
hat it had been a tremendous success, but we both felt that we were in a good position to take it to the next stage and the next tier of criminality. We got on very well and gelled as a team, and we had certainly settled into a routine. There were very few people that I liked deploying with, but it seemed to have worked really well with Emma. This was unusual as I preferred to work on my own. That way I didn’t have to rely on anyone’s ability except mine. And I didn’t have to worry what a colleague was saying in another part of the room or to a separate baddy. I was confident in my own skills, in my personality and my ability to talk to people naturally. I always had a nagging worry in my mind when I was working with someone else.
I had decided that my best mate Don should come to the meal as well. He had met Ray before, and his presence would show some depth to my background. He was one of the few people that I could go anywhere with; he could speak to anyone and I’d never worry about what he was saying. We had known one another so long that everything was completely natural.
I had also managed to arrange a trade with Ray for nine ounces of cocaine on the evening of the meal. I had told him that one of my people was travelling down from Manchester and that he would be at a particular hotel close to the Dirty Dozen at 8 p.m. I said I’d give Ray the fella’s number that evening, and he could forward it to his man. The two of them could conduct the transaction whilst we were enjoying a sumptuous feast at the manor house. It was clear that Ray was on an earner again for the introduction on this transaction as he was overly keen to make sure it happened. If he’d had his way, Ray, his fella and me would have done the trade ourselves, then gone on to the meal.
