by Dan Fletcher
Just after eight on Wednesday evening, Max was sitting behind the desk in his office on the first floor talking quietly into the telephone. ‘Four grand or no deal, that’s a genuine fucking Rolex. If he doesn’t like it tell him to fuck off and bring the watch back here,’ he said, hanging up before the stuttering messenger could confirm the instruction. He now turned his attention back to Steve, who had been sitting nervously in the low two seater sofa facing his desk for over ten minutes. Knowing better than to interrupt him or speak out of turn, he was waiting patiently, until Max decided it was time to acknowledge him.
Max held him in his lifeless stare for a few seconds before speaking, ‘So what the fuck do you want Steve, and why didn’t you call?’
Squirming on the sofa, Steve replied, ‘Sorry Max, it’s something I couldn’t talk about on the blower. Nice quick earner and I knew you’d want first shout.’ His eyes shifted from side to side, trying to avoid looking directly at Max like a guilty schoolboy.
‘Well spit it out then, I haven’t got all fucking day,’ snapped Max, who was not in the mood for Steve’s grovelling, and wanted to get on with better things. Such as organising the bondage evening he had planned, with a willing, extremely young, and extremely nubile, local girl.
‘A kilo of coke for thirty-five grand. Absolute top quality. Got it through some public school nonce who likes a bit of charlie,’ Steve, blurted deciding to get on with things as quickly as possible, tapping the side of his nose for effect. ‘Only problem is he wants shot of it by the weekend.’
Considering this before he spoke, Max got up from his desk and walked over to the window. Staring out into the street below, with his back to the room, he asked slowly, ‘Why does he need to get rid of it so quickly?’ Steve didn’t have an answer, and although he badly needed the money and could have made up a convincing story to erase Max’s suspicion, he had seen the consequences for people who lied to Max in the past. It was an avenue he didn’t want to pursue.
‘Don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me. Just said that if I wanted it to be ready on Friday...,’ Steve stammered.
Interrupting, Max said, ‘What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing guv, I aint stupid am I? Told him I’d have to think about it and get back to him.’
Deciding not to give the obvious answer to Steve’s rhetorical question Max mulled things over. He didn’t like dealing with unknowns, but was tempted into meeting since he could treble his investment by the time he had cut the coke up and sold it on in smaller amounts. Quadruple it, if he felt greedy, as long as it really was as good as Steve said it was, and fairly pure.
‘How do you know its top fucking quality? Your nose tell you that did it?’
Steve smiled tentatively for the first time, ‘No, we tested it with the proper bloody kit. Just over ninety percent pure, I kid you not.’
With a lot of substandard stuff floating around at the moment, Max finally decided it was worth giving it a go, ‘Tell him to meet you in the ‘White Swan’ on Friday at seven o’clock and bring the coke with him, I’m holding you personally responsible if it goes tits up. Do you know what I mean,’ not even looking at Steve for acknowledgement, he continued, ‘now fuck off.’
Pleased that Max was interested, Steve said, ‘Thanks you won’t regret it.’
Still facing out the window Max, who already regretted having to see Steve again, said evenly, ‘Which part of fuck off do you not understand?’ Steve seemed to eject from the sofa as he made a hasty retreat from the room, bumping into the corner of the pool table as he did. He hurried down the stairs, through the shop front, and onto the street below.
Max watched him scurry off down the road, and without turning away spoke to the man, who had been sitting silently next to Steve on the sofa for the duration of his visit. ‘I’m not sure I like this Frank. On Friday I want you to make sure you watch this fella. Whoever he is, I haven’t met him so I don’t trust him. Make sure you bring a few of the brighter boys with you just in case.’
Frank had been a heavy-weight battalion champion in the army, and not a bad semi pro boxer afterwards on civvy street. Now forty-eight, Frank retired from the ring over twelve years ago, working as a bouncer at most of the clubs and bars in the East End since. That was until meeting his current boss. Max spotted him as a potential asset six years ago, when he witnessed Frank effortlessly ejecting four reasonably sized punters from a pub, causing them considerable damage in the process.
Max offered him a job there and then. A few weeks later Frank joined the fold and served Max faithfully ever since, his professional approach to violence and unquestioning obedience instilled in him by the army.
Unfortunately all those hits to the head had also left him a little bit slow on the uptake. Looking at Max, he said simply, ‘No worries boss, I’ll take care of it.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Not wanting to use his own phone, Steve stopped off at a pay phone on the way home and dialled John’s number. The box was littered with calling cards offering a variety of sexual services, from what would be considered relatively normal to the completely bizarre. London, like most cities, offered both an anonymous refuge for the seedier side of society, and an enormous client base for them to tap into.
Steve, considering himself to be a devout Nazi, was outraged that a lot of the cards were advertising gay sex. ‘Fucking faggots, shouldn’t be allowed,’ he said, ‘should all have their bollocks cut off!’
Steve was nervous, Max’s threat having not gone unnoticed, and he was becoming more and more agitated as John’s phone seemed to ring for an eternity. When he eventually answered Steve couldn’t help himself, ‘What the fuck took you so long? You think I’ve got all day to wait around for you to pick up the bloody phone? I’ve got better things to be doing.’
John doubted this very much. After all he knew that Steve was pretty small time and this would be a big earner for him. Still they needed Steve so he decided to humour him, ‘Sorry mate, I was in the shower. What’s up?’ He was actually lying in bed with one of the Spanish students from the top floor and had been tempted not to pick up the phone. She wasn’t a knock out, but still tall and pretty there was a grace and poise to her movements that attracted John. He had been trying to seduce her for months and finally succeeded. Max’s phone call had come at a bad moment, but in the end John decided it was important enough to answer.
‘I’ve managed to find a buyer for you. Now this fella don’t mess about so you better make sure you come through with your end of the bargain or there’ll be bleeding hell to pay. He’ll meet you in the ‘White Swan’ in Highbury, Friday at seven sharp, and don’t be late. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I’ll be there to introduce you. As long as everything’s kosher he’ll give you the thirty five grand and sod off with the stuff. You can sort me out after he’s gone, and make sure you don’t say a bloody thing to him about my cut. That’s none of his business,’ Steve said, frowning in the phone box.
John was not surprised that Steve had managed to get thirty-five for the stuff, having held back some of the merchandise and sampling it from between the surprisingly ample breasts of his neighbour not long ago. It was indeed very good. Their senses heightened by the cocaine they were enjoying themselves immensely before the unwanted interruption.
John tried to concentrate on the phone call, and not on the woman next to him teasing his manhood, ‘I thought I said that I’d phone you tomorrow Steve, and that we’d tell you where it was happening? I’m not sure my contact will agree to this. He’s alright your mate is he, not going to try and rip us off? What’s his bloody name anyway?’
The beeps went and Steve was forced to put some more money in the payphone. After fumbling in his pockets and finding some more change he replied, ‘What’s the fucking problem? You’ve got the stuff haven’t you? So long as you keep up your end everything will be fine. As for his name that’s none of your bloody business, and don’t go asking him that or any other stupid questions when you meet him.
Like I said, he doesn’t like fucking about! You got that?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got it. We’ll see you on Friday at seven and we’ll try not to be fashionably late,’ John replied.
‘You better not be!’ Steve shouted, slamming the receiver back into its cradle, not finding him amusing.
If John didn’t show up for some reason, or the deal went sour, then Steve knew that Max would take it out on him. Quite what that would entail Steve shuddered to think.
He left the phone box and crossed the street to where he had parked his car, a Golf GTi. It was pimped out with just about every boy racer accessory possible, including a spoiler that would have looked at home in Formula 1. The sight would have made any self respecting classic car enthusiast cry. His pride and joy, Steve normally loved driving around in it as slowly as possible, with the windows down and the stereo pumping ‘Cypress Hill’ out at full blast. Tonight though Steve was too preoccupied to even turn the music on, and he drove quickly home.
After Steve hung up on him, John worried very briefly about the meeting with the unknown buyer, before returning his attention to his companion for the night. There would be plenty of time for worrying tomorrow after all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In a warehouse in Tilbury, near the docks, Nwake was rolling the last drum of oil from the container. The AK47 machine gun slung over his shoulder was not making it easy. It kept slipping around as he bent over to push the barrel, clanging against the side. He called out to one of the other men, who stood guarding the door to the warehouse. His weapon, identical to Nwake’s, was in his hands ready to use if necessary.
‘That’s it Femi, close the doors then go and start unloading. I’m going over to see Kayin.’
Nwake walked over to the gatehouse on the other side of the floodlit compound. Kayin was sitting inside the small building cradling his AK in his lap. His head hung down, he looked like he might be asleep.
Nwake kicked Kayin’s chair, ‘Go and park the lorry and then let the animals out, I’m going to go and help Femi. Make sure you stay awake this time!’ Kayin had been known to fall asleep during his shift before.
Never having any trouble made the others complacent. They could afford to be, it was Nwake’s head on the chopping block if anything went wrong and one of them would be promoted to fill his place. Nwake didn’t have that luxury, he was responsible for security at the Chief’s storage facility.
‘Nothing ever happens anyway. It’s so boring. You could at least let me have a TV in here to pass the time,’ said Kayin.
‘You are not paid to watch TV you fool! Maybe I should call the Chief and tell him you are not happy in your work? Maybe you would prefer to be in Lagos with him?’ Kayin had straightened up in his chair and was looking considerably more alert.
‘No need for that I was only joking. I’ll go and let the dogs’ out,’ Kayin said, getting up with a wry smile on his face.
‘Park the lorry first!’ said Nwake, who was naturally afraid of dogs and liked to make sure he was back in the building before they were released. Kayin knew this and was winding him up. ‘I’ll send Ogun to relieve you at 2am,’ Nwake said, heading back to the warehouse.
Kayin took a set of keys from a peg on the wall and wandered over to the lorry. He parked it next to the bank of five others and walked towards the kennels beside the warehouse. As he approached the dogs he whistled to them, and then spoke softly, ‘You can come out again now.’ The two Alsatians and the Rottweiler whimpered quietly and wagged their tails. They knew less than ten words, but ‘out’ was definitely one of them. He opened the gate and the dogs offered thanks by turning their heads up, allowing him to scratch underneath their necks.
Giving them each attention he said, ‘Off you go now,’ and retook his post in the gatehouse. The dogs trailed behind and licked his hand, before scampering off.
Inside, Femi opened another barrel with a crowbar and dipped his hand in. He wore an arm-length rubber glove to protect him from the oil. Taking the plastic packet over to an industrial sized sink, he covered it in diluting agent and then used the hose to rinse it off. ‘Ready,’ he said to Nwake, who took the packet and dried it using paper towel, torn from a roll.
Going into an adjacent room he said, ‘Here’s one more. When we’re finished go and get some sleep. You’re next outside.’ He put the packet down on a large rectangular table in the middle of the room, next to another.
The fourth man, who lived and worked at the warehouse, grunted acknowledgement. He was sitting at another similar table, pushed up against the wall. Next to it was a long locked metal unit, resembling a cage with shelves in it. On them was a vast array of weaponry, from handguns to an RPG rocket launcher.
Ogun ignored Nwake leave and continued un-wrapping the multiple layers of plastic from the packet he was already holding. He then stacked it on another table next to him. On top of the packet was a red circle with a triangle in it.
CHAPTER NINE
John spent most of Thursday worrying. It seemed to take an eternity to pass by, as he and Alan completed the final coats on the woodwork in the two bedrooms. By the evening they were almost finished, and only had a bit of touching up and tidying left to do the following day. After clearing as much of their gear out of the apartment as possible, and stowing it in the van, they decided to stop off and discuss the day, and evening, ahead.
Wanting to go somewhere quiet to talk without being overheard, they went to the ‘The Snooty Fox’, not far from John’s room. The pub was virtually empty, as Alan ordered the drinks John found a quiet table in the corner, hung his jacket over the back of the seat, and sat down. As he waited, John admired the extensive collection of rock memorabilia hung on the walls, which wasn’t the usual tat. There was even a drum head signed by Led Zeppelin, one of John’s favourite bands. Chatting briefly with the barman, Alan joined him, putting their two pints of lager on the table in front of them.
The two friends discussed John’s prior conversation with Steve that morning, as they had driven to work. Alan was not impressed that the venue and time were being dictated to them, giving the unknown buyer the upper hand. As they knew no one else to sell it to, and John had known Steve for a few years, Alan reluctantly agreed to the change of plan.
‘I don’t really like it, but I suppose we haven’t got many other options. We’ll just have to take all the precautions possible and get the hell out of there sharpish if it looks like it’s going Pete Tong!’
Sitting down together they started to discuss what those measures were going to involve.
‘I’ll bring a shooter for starters. Something big and ugly I’ve got left over from my banking days. Scare the shit out of them if necessary,’ Alan said, his eyes lighting up.
‘I don’t think we really need to go in tooled up do we? That’s like, asking for trouble. What if they search us and it all kicks off,’ John stammered, slightly shocked and wondering to himself what exactly ‘big and ugly’ meant in Alan’s world.
Looking at him knowingly his friend replied, ‘Just being prepared that’s all. Better to have it and not to use it, than to need it and not to have it, as my old mum used to say.’
John stared at him, ‘Your mother never said any such bloody thing. I know you! Any sign of trouble and you’ll start waiving the damn thing around like Dirty Harry,’ involuntarily imagining Alan waiving a Colt 45 cannon around, he continued, ‘and that’s when they’ll shoot us, probably me first!’
Alan laughed and put his arm around John’s shoulders giving him a strong squeeze, ‘You worry too much. I’ll only pull it out if I need to. Now, where are we going to hide the stuff when we’re in the pub?’
‘What do you mean?’ said John, ‘Steve told me to have it with us?’
Alan looked disbelievingly at his friend ‘Talk about a wasted education. Sometimes I wonder if there’s actually anything inside your head. You can say, and think, the fucking daftest things. If we walk in there with the gear straight away there’s a good chance
they’ll just take the bloody stuff. Like you said, we don’t really know who we’re dealing with.’
Pausing to take a sip from his pint Alan went on, ‘We’ve got to stash it somewhere else near the pub, maybe in the motor. Then, when we’re sure everything’s on the up and up, one of us can go and get it, while the other keeps an eye on them.’
‘I vote for going to get the stuff,’ John said, not liking the idea of being left alone with a gang of criminals, not even holding the baby.
It wasn’t that John didn’t trust Alan implicitly. They had been through enough adventures in the past together, like when John was in trouble with the Russian property developers in Spain and his friend had come out to help him. But what if he got followed and attacked outside, not to come back? On the other hand, what if he went to retrieve the coke and got attacked? Now he wasn’t completely sure which would be better, or worse.
Taking a large gulp of lager, he concluded that going out was marginally less dangerous. ‘The van’s the only place we can put it I suppose, anywhere else there’s a good chance that somebody’ll find it. Unless you can think of anything better?’ John said, looking up from his glass at Alan.
‘The only other place would be your gaff, I suppose, that’s only a couple of minutes drive away, and it might be safer than the van. Steve doesn’t know where you live, does he?’
John thought about this before replying. He had probably told Steve that he lived in Newington Green, but definitely not the address. That might mean moving if things went wrong, but he was planning on moving if they went right anyway, so no loss there.
In the short term there was no way they could find out where he lived, not before tomorrow night. So as far as hiding the powder there until they met Steve’s contact there seemed little risk. Safer than a van parked on a public street in Arsenal by a mile. After contemplating this he said, ‘No, he knows it’s in Newington Green but that’s all. Safe enough for tomorrow night and a damn site better than leaving it unguarded in the van. They might even be watching for us to pull up.’
