Soft Target 04 - The 18th Brigade

by Conrad Jones

  This part of the city was known as the gay village because of the number of gay bars that lined the canal. It had become a popular venue for homosexuals and heterosexuals alike, and the Brigade monitored all but two of the bars. The two bars that were not covered by the Brigade were reggae bars aimed at a predominantly black clientele. Jay looked to the right as he stepped onto the canal side. The walkways on both sides of the canal were cobbled with dark stone, and full of people enjoying the flamboyant atmosphere of the gay quarter. A rainbow of neon lights reflected off the dark waters of the canal. The village had a carnival feel to it, seven nights a week, which kept the pubs and bars busy. Two men walked past arm in arm, looking a little worse for wear, one of them sported a village people handlebar moustache, which made Jay chuckle to himself. `Who said there`s no such thing as a stereotype` he thought.

  About one hundred yards to his left, he could see Danny Holley standing on the cobbled street, talking to two of their doormen. Danny wasn’t as tall as the Brigade men he was talking to, but what he lacked in height he made up for in girth. He had a barrel chest, and a matching beer belly, if trouble ever flared he was like a human bulldozer. All three of them were smoking cigarettes and the conversation was becoming animated. Jay walked toward the men and watched one of them poking Danny in the chest aggressively. They saw him, coming through the crowd, and Danny broke away from the trio to meet him.

  “Alright Jay,” Danny put out his hand in greeting. He looked perturbed.

  “Alright, are they still in there?” Jay shook his hand, and noted that beads of sweat were forming on Danny`s brow.

  “Yes, they`re well pissed apparently, they`ve been buying everyone shots of rum, and flashing money around like it`s going out of fashion. They`ve been winding the doormen up all night too, nothing heavy enough to throw them out, just niggling comments every time they walk past,” Danny explained.

  “Why aren`t they drinking in the black clubs across the canal?” Jay could hear the unmistakable rhythm of a Bob Marley tune drifting from the bar opposite.

  “Apparently they`re not welcome over there, there`s been a lot of hassle between the rival gangs in Moss Side lately, and the doormen won’t let them in, in case they cause trouble,” Danny nodded his head toward the black doormen across the canal. They were big men, wearing tons of gold bling around their necks, and dark shades.

  “Someone should tell them it has gone dark,” Jay commented on the sunglasses, as it was one of his pet hates, sunglasses at night, and even worse Bluetooth ear pieces when you`re not driving. Now that is a killer.

  “It looked like you were having a row with Brendan when I walked up the road,” Jay enquired about the animated conversation he`d witnessed, and broached the subject gently at first.

  “Yes, I was asking about that bank incident and he got a bit lippy,” Danny pulled deeply on his cigarette as he explained. He shrugged his shoulders to excuse the argument as unimportant, but he looked nervous.

  “What was he lippy about? Does he know something about it?” Jay took a stick of chewing gum from his pocket, peeled off the wrapper and rolled it into his mouth. He stared at Danny looking for a reaction.

  “I`m not too sure, but they have heard some details from the fire bomb in Warrington, Brendon has a friend in the fire service. He told them that whoever set the fire bomb had a detailed knowledge of improvised time delayed fuses, and that the bombers had set the vehicle that they arrived in to explode almost simultaneously, probably ex-military,” Danny explained.

  “So why would that piss Brendon off?” Jay asked confused. There was something missing from the conversation. He wasn’t being told the whole truth.

  “His brother has just come out of the army, served in Iraq a couple of times I think,” Danny shrugged again, becoming very vague, and a bead of sweat ran down his cheek.

  “So what?” Jay pressed the issue.

  “Look, I just asked him if he knew anything about it, and he bit my head off,” Danny explained.

  “I don’t see the connection. Why would that piss him off Danny?”

  “Because his brother has been to a few of our 18th Brigade meetings lately, he`s got a real problem with the rag heads, apparently he`s suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome, having counselling and stuff. So I asked him if he thought his brother might have done something on his own back.”

  “I thought I told you to be discreet,” Jay said sternly. He nodded his head as Danny spoke, encouraging him to open up with the truth.

  “It was just an idea, after all the firemen think the bomber has military knowledge, and Brendon`s brother is all fucked up,” Danny looked aggrieved that Jay didn’t appreciate his investigation skills.

  “He isn’t fucked up Danny, he`s just come back from a war. How many of our members have been in the forces?” Jay asked lighting a cigarette.

  “I don’t know, probably a few,” Danny blushed being grilled like this made him feel uncomfortable. Jay was much smarter than he was, and he was making him feel inadequate.

  “More like a few hundred,” Jay said, inhaling deeply on the soothing smoke. He watched the door of the bar behind Danny intently, and a tall black male walked out unsteadily to have a cigarette. As the heavy glass doors closed behind him the music became instantly quieter.

  “Sorry Jay, I was trying to help,” Danny said turning to see what Jay was staring at.

  “We`ll talk about it later,” Jay said pushing past him. The sidewalk was empty except for the tall black man.

  Moments later Brendon opened the front doors and stepped outside. Brendon was tall and lean, his shoulders were always hunched and his head and neck angled forward slightly giving him a hyena appearance. He was known within the Brigade as a loose cannon, showing little or no respect for the organisation hierarchy. It was only the sheer size and brute force of the Brigade`s lieutenants that kept him in line. He looked toward Jay as he approached and indicated with the nod of his head that the black man was one of the Somali Yardies.

  Jay weighed up the situation mentally. The Yardie was tall and skinny, his skin was deep black and almost gloss. He had shoulder length dreadlocks held back in place by a wide Alice band, which stretched from his forehead backwards. He was wearing a Manchester United replica team shirt and black denim jeans. The Yardie smoked his cigarette which was in his right hand, and his left hand held his cell phone. As Jay approached him the mobile phone rang. Jay stepped toward Brendon, waiting to see what happened, before making a move. The Somali answered the phone and walked a few yards away from the noisy club, finding a spot where he could hear the caller. He threw the cigarette away and stuck his index finger into his ear hole, blocking out the noise.

  The telephone conversation started off jovial, but within a few minutes the Somali was becoming very agitated with the caller. He looked confused and annoyed. Jay had a sneaking feeling that the caller was telling him to get out of the city centre. Maybe the Yardies were warning their affiliates that the Brigade would be looking for them. The Somali`s persona changed completely from being a confident drunk to a paranoid and agitated man. He was mid conversation when he turned toward the club. His eyes locked with Jay`s stare. Suddenly he realised that the three huge doormen were watching him intently, and he stopped talking immediately, lowering the cell phone slowly, as if sudden movement could provoke an attack.

  Jay moved first, sensing that the Yardie was suddenly aware of the danger he was in. He was only a second faster, but it was enough to block the Somali`s escape. The man bolted but Jay hit him at speed, wrapping his huge arms around his skinny frame, lifting him from his feet like he was a child. Jay held him in a brutal bear hug, preventing him from shouting out, and squeezing the breath from his lungs. The Somali kicked his feet in mid air trying to break the suffocating hold but to no avail, he was well and truly held. Jay carried the man quickly down the side of the bar into a dark alleyway, out of sight from the revellers on Canal Street. The Yardie`s frantic struggling was becoming more feebl
e by the second, lack of oxygen was sapping his strength. He was baring his teeth and his eyes had become wide and bulbous. Once they were safely out of earshot from the canal area Jay released the Somali, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, gasping to bring air back into his lungs. Brendon took a step toward the prone figure and kicked him square in the groin. The Yardie doubled up in agony, and he vomited on the floor, almost choking to death in the process as his oxygen starved lungs screamed for air.

  “I need him to be able to talk Brendon,” Jay said, pushing him away from the Yardie.

  Brendon snarled at Jay with a twisted sneer, and he tensed as if he were about to attack his much bigger colleague.

  “Don`t even think about it Brendon, I`ll pick you up and break you in half before you can say sorry,” Jay smiled at Brendon as he spoke, but there was no humour in his voice.

  “No offense meant Jay, I`m just wired that`s all. This fucker and his mate have been winding us up all night,” Brendon spat his words and kicked the Yardie in the back. The toecap of his doc martin boots snapped two bones in the man`s rear rib cage. He coughed and vomited again struggling to regain his breath.

  “I`m not going to tell you again Brendon,” Jay stood between the Somali and the young skinhead. “Now go back to your door, and keep your eye on his mate, I want them both.”

  “Great, I get to miss out on all the fun,” Brendon sneered again and spat on the Somali as he turned and headed back into the bright lights on Canal Street. He flicked Jay his middle finger when he was out of reach, a final defiant gesture before he did as he was told, and then he kicked over a crate of empty beer bottles angrily. The crate split and the bottles smashed across the dark alleyway. Brendon giggled like a big kid as he kicked the scattered bottles everywhere.

  “Follow him Danny and make sure he doesn’t mess this up,” Jay turned angrily to face Danny Holley.

  “Do you want us to bring the Somali back here?”

  “No, not unless he tries to leave, and I don’t want the world and his wife to know what is going on Danny. Do you remember discreet Danny?”

  “Yes, I get the message Jay, discreet.” Danny Holley jogged down the dark alleyway, crushing the broken bottles beneath his considerable weight as he headed into the neon lights.

  Jay turned his attention to the Somali on the floor. He had stopped vomiting and his breathing was becoming more regular, although he was still curled up in a foetal position. The smell of acidic vomit mixed with half digested rum was pervading the alleyway. Jay grabbed an empty aluminium beer barrel and dragged it toward the Yardie. He flinched waiting to be hurt again, and relaxed a little when Jay used it as a makeshift stool.

  “You`re one of the Somali gang from Moss Side,” Jay didn’t ask a question, he told him. The Yardie looked up at Jay, his eyes white in the darkness, but he remained silent. He looked around wondering where the other skinheads had gone.

  “It`s just you and me, no one is going to hurt you. I want some information that`s all,” Jay spoke flatly, no anger or aggression in his tone.

  “I`m not in any gang man, I`m a student, init,” the Somali spoke for the first time, and he had already given himself away as a `wannabe gangsta`.

  “That`s funny because you have been telling your friends that your gang is going to take over the city centre. Are you going to invade the math`s class first maybe?” Jay said sarcastically.

  “I`m not in any gang man, init,” He repeated. He wiped the sick from his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at the residue he grimaced, and spat on the floor.

  “I haven’t got a great deal of time to fuck about, you see some of my friends have been badly hurt by your gang tonight, and one of my friends was shot in the head, and she was a pretty girl too,” Jay looked behind him up the alleyway and spoke as if what he had said was of little importance to him.

  “I told you I`m not in a gang, I`m a..........oomph!” he didn’t finish his sentence. Jay moved like lightening for a big man and stomped on the Yardies chest. Once again he was gasping for his breath. Jay sat back down on his beer barrel and waited for the man to regain his composure. Tears started to run down the Somali`s cheek, glistening as they reflected the neon lights from the end of the dark alleyway. His cracked ribs were beginning to hamper his breathing.

  “I need to know the name of your boss, and where we can find him of course,” his voice was as affable as ever, like he was talking to his favourite auntie.

  “They would kill me man, you know that, init,” the Somali sniffled as he spoke, all bravado had gone.

  “They might kill you if they knew that you had told me, it`s possible. If you don’t tell me then I will kill you, and that is an absolute certainty,” Jay took the used chewing gum from his mouth and rolled it between his finger and thumb. He aimed it at the Yardie and then flicked it at his face. The chewing gum hit him in the middle of the forehead, making him flinch in fear.

  “You have got thirty seconds, and then I`ll shoot you. I can always go and start on your friend in there, he may be more cooperative,” Jay cocked his head indicating toward the back of the pub. He reached behind his back and removed the nine millimetre from his waistband. He clicked off the safety, which made a loud metal click in the darkness, and then he noisily slid a round into the breach. The Yardie tried to crawl backward on his elbows, digging his heels into the floor to drive him away from the gun. Jay stood up quickly, grabbed the metal beer barrel with both hands and hurled it at the Somali. He made a muffled cry as it struck him, and it rolled noisily down the alley.

  “Ten seconds left,” Jay pulled his sleeve to look at his watch.

  “I don’t know his name man, init.”

  “Five seconds left,” Jay ignored the Yardie`s pleas.

  The Somali pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them to protect himself. He was groaning loudly as he curled up, hiding from the gunman stood over him.

  “Three seconds, two seconds, one second, you`re dead,” Jay pointed the gun barrel against the Yardie`s elbow joint, digging it into the flesh.

  “Okay okay! Please don’t shoot, His name is Omar, I don’t know his surname, we just call him Omar, init,” the man spoke in garbled English.

  “Where would I find this Omar character?” Jay pushed the barrel hard against his elbow joint.

  “He has a Judy on Peppermint Street, that`s all I know man, init,” the Yardie was still curled up tightly.

  Jay stamped hard on the Somali`s head with the heel of his combat boots. He squealed and released his knees, moving his arms over his head. Jay took a steel suppressor from his jacket and screwed it into the barrel of the Berretta. He pressed the silenced gun against the back of the Yardies exposed knee joint and squeezed the trigger. The bullet ripped the joint apart, smashing the kneecap into shards of bone which were drilled through the surrounding muscle tissue like miniature arrowheads. The Yardie opened his mouth in a silent scream, and a throaty gargle was the only sound that came out.

  “You`re telling me lies, and you have five seconds to tell me the truth before your other knee goes,” Jay spoke in the same affable manner, no malice, no anger or aggression in his voice, which made him far more frightening.

  The Somali was writhing on the floor sobbing. He was grabbing his shattered knee trying to hold his precious life blood in, but he was failing badly, blood pumped between his fingers soaking his black jeans.

  “I`m telling the truth man, his Judy lives at the park end of Peppermint Street,” the Yardie could barley put a sentence together between the sobs. He grimaced and rolled onto his back, writhing in agony.

  “You forgot to say, init, at the end of your sentence,” Jay mocked him.

  “It`s the truth man, It`s the god`s truth,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Jay grabbed the foot of the injured leg and twisted it violently. The shattered joint snapped completely and he turned the foot three hundred and sixty degrees. The Yardie tried to roll with the injury to soften the excruciati
ng pain, but he couldn’t. Jay dropped the floppy leg on the floor, the foot completely reversed on its self, and the Yardie screamed like a banshee.

  “I`ll give you one more chance to tell me where to find Omar, and then the other leg goes the same way as that one,” he stamped on the ruined limb and the Somali screamed again. He burbled something that Jay couldn’t understand.

  “I can`t understand what you`re saying,” Jay said calmly. He righted the beer barrel and placed it close to the writhing Somali. He was gibbering incoherently, trying to twist his leg back to its normal position but the pain was too much for him.

  Jay pointed the Berretta at his other leg and the Yardie`s eyes widened in absolute terror.