by Ray Banks
The dryer wound down. Gav didn't react.
"But most of that credibility came from your community work. Which was very valuable work, but let's be honest, it didn't exactly help your business, did it?"
Gav kept quiet. He tried not to let the contempt show on his face.
"In fact, I think we could say that all your good work had an adverse effect on your business. I think we could say that far from helping you out, that community of yours got you in trouble with the law. And that's bad business, Gavin."
"I told you about that. I said it was sorted."
"Of course you did. What else were you going to tell me? The truth?"
"That was the truth."
King smiled with yellow teeth. "Just because we're in a bog, doesn't mean you have to hand me shit, Gavin. I didn't get rich by ignoring the grapevine. I couldn't have sold to you. Not with the situation the way it was. Can't sell to a criminal, can I?"
"I'm not a criminal."
"I know you don't think you are." King stared at him. Said nothing until Gav looked away. "But you can understand that having Michael on board is the best thing, can't you? He's my guarantee. Listen, I know you wanted to do this yourself, but that was never going to happen. Accept the compromise, and don't chuck your bloody toys out of the pram just because you need a little bit of help."
King clapped a hand on Gav's shoulder and ushered him to the door.
"Telling you, Gavin. Investors like Michael Crosby come and go, but it's those men who do the graft who end up with the real power."
Gav pushed out of the toilet. "You really believe that?"
"I'm walking proof, Gavin. There isn't a great man who ever existed who didn't have to work for it."
Gav nodded and returned to the brandy in a slightly better mood. The three men drank until Gav felt warm enough to smile again, and then they left the club.
But now that the alcohol had left his system and he was stuck in a freezing back office, Gav couldn't help but feel he'd been fucked over. Because this compromise King had mentioned didn't feel like a compromise at all. A compromise was when you decided to lose something small in order to gain something large. It was a decision. What Crosby had offered him wasn't so much a compromise as it was blackmail. And he couldn't stop thinking that this was just the tip of the fucking iceberg. Move him out to Benwell, take Five Star to the next level, and meanwhile there was Phil Cruddas minding the fort on the estate. That didn't sit right. He didn't like the sound of that at all, especially since King had been so adamant about not handing the business over to a criminal. Maybe Crosby planned on fucking Phil over too. That would make sense. It was what Gav would have done. Christ, it was what he had done. Use him to get what you want, and then retire him once you have it.
Gav's phone rang. He watched it ring for a few seconds before he picked it up.
"Gav." It was Fiona. "You coming home tonight?"
He glanced at his watch. "Not yet. Got work."
"At the office?"
"No, I need to take some fares."
"All right. Listen, if you're going on shift, could you keep an eye out for Andy?"
"Why?"
"He's not in his room."
Fuck's sake. It was after nine o'clock. "You asked Kevin?"
"He doesn't know."
"Why not?"
"Andy's not going to tell anything, is he?"
Gav frowned. No, he wouldn't. "You been over to the Ortons'?"
"I don't want to go over there."
"I'll go, then."
"He's probably not there."
"Of course he's fuckin' there."
"I don't want any trouble, Gavin."
Gav moved in his seat. She didn't want any trouble, but he was itching for something. Not that he fancied knocking up the Orton house if he could help it. Wouldn't do him any good to be seen bawling at that lot over a kid. He sniffed. "Give it until midnight, all right?"
"Gav—"
"Give him rope. He's not back by midnight, give us another ring. Tell Rosie that he's not back, and she'll pass the message on."
There was a pause. Then a worried sigh. "Okay."
"Okay." He hung up.
Sat in his chair for a moment and stared at a stain on the far wall. She said she didn't want trouble, but he could tell that she still wanted him to go over there and drag Andy out of the Orton house by the ear. She was becoming more concerned with her kids than she was her husband. That was understandable. He wasn't around as much as the kids, and Fiona was becoming one of those bored, soft wives who clung to their kids like lifebelts. She'd have to toughen up, just like the rest of them. He couldn't waste his time running after one spoiled brat in the middle of the fucking night, not when he had money to earn. And by Christ, he needed plenty of that. He hadn't managed to get out in the cab much the last couple of weeks, and it was beginning to show in his bank balance.
Gav grabbed his tabs and pushed out of the office. He was passing the dispatcher's office when he stopped and knocked on the glass.
Rosie frowned at him, finished her call.
"I'm going out." Gav held the keys to his cab. "My missus might phone in later on."
"Right."
"Phil on tonight?"
Rosie ran a thick finger along the rota and nodded.
"Okay, ta." He pushed away from the glass, then stopped once more. "Brian Turner hasn't been in, has he?"
"I haven't seen him."
"You see him around, or you hear his voice on the radio, you let me know, all right?"
"What's he done, like?"
"Nothing. Yet." Gav stalked to the door and out.
He crunched across the gravel to his cab. The way he'd left things with Brian, he wouldn't be surprised if the bloke had decided to come in and do a couple of shifts on the fly. Gav felt rotten about suspending him like that, but he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Just like he wouldn't have a choice in the matter when he finally got round to sacking the poor bastard. For someone who'd been a victim as long as Gav had known him, Brian had a way of picking up enemies, and Crosby was right at the top of the list. Gav had suspected that they knew each other even before Brian told him that Crosby was banging his ex-wife, but he hadn't really known the depth of feeling until Gav and Crosby were walking out of Greys.
"You talk to Brian Turner yet?" Crosby waved as King got into a black cab.
"Talked to him after I talked to you. He's on suspension."
"Really?"
"Can't drive a cab without a licence, can he?"
"That's true." King's car disappeared. "And how are the licence applications coming along?"
"I thought you were going to take care of that. You said you knew—"
"No, I will." Crosby smiled. "But there are only so many favours I can call in."
"How many can you get done?"
"Pretty much all of them. Give or take one or two."
"Any particular one or two you have in mind?"
"Well, I think it should be a case of first-in, last-out, don't you? So who did you hire most recently?"
Gav smiled. "He said you'd do something like this."
"Well, it won't come as a surprise, then."
"Why him?"
Crosby's placid expression twitched darker, a split-second tantrum, before he managed to control himself. "Let's just say it'll be less stressful for everyone concerned. Brian's a clever man. He's educated. He should be doing something more fulfilling than driving a cab."
"I'll have a word with him."
"Great." Crosby headed for his car. "Glad we're on the same page. And hey, congratulations, Gavin!"
Congratulations. It sounded sarcastic in retrospect. Congratulations on what? On doing exactly what he was told.
Gav drove around the estate. He thought about heading out towards town, but as much as he'd said he needed the money, he needed the time alone more. Literally couldn't take a piss these days without someone giving him business advice. He was full of it now; it had sta
rted to make his stomach hurt.
If you wanted to move on in this world, you had to take on a partner. If you wanted to keep that partner, you had to agree to fire those people he didn't want on board, and promote those he did, even if you disagreed with every syllable of the request. These compromises might have been dressed up all business-like, but there was a petulance about it that made Gav break out in a cold sweat. He didn't want to sack Brian Turner. He'd wanted to help him out, after all. So the only thing he could do was postpone the inevitable, maybe send a bit more money his way. Christ, you only needed to look at him these days to know how fucked the rest of his life was. Why should Gav have to add to it?
And then there was Phil Cruddas. He was the reason all this was happening. If it hadn't been for Phil, Gav could've parlayed that credibility King had been so keen on into a proper deal, instead of having to beg for fucking scraps. It was Phil who'd pushed it all too far, Phil who'd wrecked Gav's chances of being seen as a proper businessman, tarnished his image to the point where he'd had to bring in a policeman to make sure the criminal element was under control.
Leave him in charge of the Derwent Hall office? Like fuck he would. And he'd have a word with Crosby to make sure it didn't happen.
Gav nodded to himself and pulled onto Elswick Way.
"... pick-up. Got a pick-up, Dunston Park."
Gav frowned. Wasn't sure he'd heard right. Turned up the radio.
And there it was again, Phil's voice: "Dunston Park, aye. Anyone out in ten? Anyone?"
There were a few other voices in quick succession. Fat Bob was one of them. Viv Francis was another. Gav had the mike in his hand and was about to tell them to get their arses back to the office, but then stopped himself. He'd talked to them before. He'd had some of them arrested. All it had done was make them think he was a coward. This was the kind of thing that needed to be dealt with in person.
Gav turned the wheel, headed out towards Dunston Park. When he drew close, he killed his lights and pulled up onto the grass. And there he sat, his hands tightly clenched around the steering wheel, until the other cabs started to arrive.
51
Brian had to come along on the Dunston Park pick-ups now. No fucking argument. Phil wasn't going to hear it, and neither were Viv and Bob. "Tell you, that wanker Scott, he's going to get his, you mark my words." Waving his hand to gesture way into the future, his eyes half-closed with the beer. "One of these days soon, he's going to get a kick up the arse so hard he won't know what's happening. So this suspension you're on, I wouldn't think about that too much. It's temporary. Don't worry about it. We'll sort it out." Phil tapped the side of his nose. "Me and you. We'll work something out. And in the meantime, mate, you've got to earn, don't you?"
Brian looked at the pub table. "He gave me some money."
"Fuckin' pay-off, is it?" Viv sucked his teeth.
"It's not like that. I think—"
"It's exactly like that." Phil snapped his fingers until Brian looked at him. "You listen to me, Brian. You're one of us. We look after our own, don't we, lads?"
A couple of nods, murmured agreement.
"Don't you worry about Gavin fuckin' Scott. He's one of them now. He's made his fuckin' choices. Next Dunston Park we get, I'm going to get one of the lads to swing by and knock you up. You don't want to do it, that's fine. But if you feel in the mood to get your hands dirty and pick up a few extra quid, then we're here for you, mate."
Phil was as good as his drunken word. Brian was halfway through his bottle when he heard a swift rap on the front door. When he opened up, Fat Bob was waiting for him."
"Got a pick-up." Fat Bob looked at his watch. "They give us ten."
Brian grabbed his coat, slipped the bottle into the side pocket, and closed the door behind him. It was a short drive out to the park. He could see a couple of cabs already parked, their lights off. Fat Bob pulled in beside Phil's cab. They waited.
Headlights in the distance, growing larger and dipping as the car bundled over the grass. There was muffled shouting coming from inside, which only stopped when the surrounding headlights went up full beam. The cab rolled to a halt and the driver's door flew open. Brian watched two other drivers – one of them Viv Francis, the other a pudgy bloke with a shining bald head – run for the stranded cab. The passenger had the back door open, but Viv put the boot in and the passenger slipped to the mud. A male scream, sounded young, carried on a gust of wind as Viv kicked him in the guts. The scream turned to an aggressive belch, and the sound of spewing came shortly after. Brian and Fat Bob got out of the cab. Viv and Baldy dragged the passenger round into the centre of the circle. The passenger was young, dishevelled, blood on brown skin and white teeth. He kicked, screamed, obviously still had a bit of fight in him. Baldy showed something heavy and metallic and rapped it across the back of each of the passenger's legs. The passenger dropped to the ground, and his screams became a series of low, pained whimpers.
Phil stood watching the passenger, a cricket bat in his hands. He shot an angry look at the driver who'd called in the pick-up; he was a white-haired ferret of a man, visibly shaking in the wind. "Gordon, what the fuck is this?"
Gordon didn't know how to react. He threw his hand at the passenger. "You wanted a dealer."
"He's a dealer, is he?"
"Aye."
"What'd he say?"
"Didn't say nowt. You don't need to—"
"Is it because he's a Paki?"
"Howeh, I'm not a racialist, am I?"
"Fuckin' looks like it." Phil hit Gordon in the arm. Gordon's face crumpled. "Fuck's the matter with you?"
"He said, didn't he?" Gordon swallowed.
"He said? You just told me he didn't say nowt. What'd he say?" Phil moved away from Gordon, turned to the beaten passenger. "What'd you say?"
The passenger held up both hands. He shook his head. "Nuh-nuh-nuh—"
"What's that?"
"Nuh-nuh—"
Back to Gordon. "He can't even talk English, Gordon."
"Swear to God he was telling us about his deals an' that."
"He's not saying much now, is he?" Phil glanced at Brian. "Do his pockets."
Brian stepped forward. Viv grabbed the passenger and held his arms. The passenger looked around, trying to see in the glare. Brian stooped and tugged at the passenger's jacket.
"All right, Brian. You can leave him now."
Brian looked up, saw Gav emerge from the shadows. The other drivers had frozen.
Phil was the only one who hadn't changed. He watched Gav approach as if nothing was wrong. "What's up, Gav?"
"What's going on?"
"What does it look like?"
Brian noticed that Gav was holding something, but it was a blur against the shadows on his leg.
"I thought we said that this kind of thing wasn't going to happen anymore."
Phil shrugged. "We said a lot of things, mate. Had a lot of discussions."
"And we agreed—"
"We never agreed nowt, son."
Gav bristled at the "son", and he tried to cover it with a smile. "You want me to call it in, is that it?"
"Call it in where? The office?"
"The police."
Phil laughed. "You're not going to do that."
"Give me one good reason."
"Because this has been going on for ages, and you know it. And because if you call the police, there's going to be five fuckin' witnesses saying it was your idea and one copper willing to back 'em up. Besides, you're standing there with a fuckin' bat in your hand like you want to do something. So howeh, Gav. Let's see what happens."
Gav looked around at the drivers. The drivers looked away. Fat Bob's face picked up the light and showed an echo of the expressions on the other – pale, moon-like, frightened. Gav turned to the Asian lad, shook his head. "You never could leave well enough alone, could you, Phil?"
"What's that?"
"Always had to push it. Every fuckin' time—"
"Aye, right, like
it's all—"
"Doesn't matter what I have to say about it." Gav's voice jumped in volume as Phil tried to talk over him. "You don't listen to fuckin' reason. You don't seem to realise that this is a fuckin' business I'm running here, eh?" He whirled around, glared at the drivers. "The fuck is this supposed to be?"
Phil sneered at him. "You never complained when you were getting paid."
"That was then."
"And this is now. We're supposed to just forget—"
"Things are different. I told you."
"Aye, you told us. And look how much we give a shit."
"I warned you what would happen."
"Howeh." Phil pushed away from the cab, approaching Gav. "Fuck you think you're going to do about it, eh? Come here with that fuckin' bat. Last time you used that, you got your arse handed to you."
Gav's hand clenched around the handle of the bat. He held it out to one side. Looked like he was going to use it.
Phil obviously thought otherwise. He leaned in, got in Gav's face. "When're you going to get it, eh? It's fuckin' over, all right? Didn't our mutual friend make that clear to you? It's been decided. You're going north of the river. I'm running the show down here and there's fuck all you can do about it. So how about you pack up your bat, get back in your cab and fuck off home, eh? Cunt."
Gav didn't move. When he spoke again, his voice was low and controlled. "Gordon, if you want to stay out of prison, you'll help Viv with that lad there and you'll put him in the back of your cab, and then you'll drive him home or as near as he wants. If he needs a hospital more than he needs home, then you take care of that an' all. Whatever he wants, you give it to him, do you understand me?"
Gordon stammered for a moment, then: "Gav, I never took—"
"You want to keep your fuckin' job, Gordon?"
