Top Hard

by Stephen Booth

  Let me tell you, this is nothing to what happens to British drivers over there. You've heard of the truckers hijacked and their loads of lamb burned at the roadside while the police looked on? You've heard of the haulage firms put out of business because of strikes and blockades by French drivers that their government doesn't do anything about? You've read about the Frog police wading in to open the borders to Germany and Spain, but not bothering about the blockades on Channel ports, because it only affects the English? European unity, this is.

  A couple of years ago a lad from Staffordshire spent months in some arsehole of a French jail before a campaign by his family and public pressure got him out. What had he done? Crossed the Channel and picked up a container unit to bring back. Unknown to him, it contained drugs somebody had stashed in there. He'd been in France twenty minutes and had never even seen inside the trailer, which was locked and sealed when he collected it. How could he have hidden the drugs? But they banged him up straight away, left him shackled in chains without contact with his family and wouldn't let him have a lawyer when he appeared in court. He doesn't fancy going back to France now. You and me both, mate.

  And you know what? We put billions of pounds every year into EU funds, and what do we get out of it? About ten million pounds in subsidies for rich git farmers to grow nothing, and a load of regulations that would stop you having a crap if it wasn't coming out the right shape. There needs to be a bit of equalisation, I reckon. If the French and German governments can subsidise their manufacturing industries, then maybe we ought to be having some of the benefits trickling down to us on the Forest Estate. Those Adidas tracksuits will do, for a start.

  * * * *

  Teri Brooker is a nice girl really, and she doesn't deserve to be a copper. Putting on a hard front is just part of the job description. Really, she's another one with a soft spot for me. We go back quite a long way, actually, and our relationship has been fruitful in more ways than one. Now all we exchange is information, but not for want of trying on my part.

  We were in the car park by the Dukeries Garden Centre. There is nothing else here, on the edge of the Welbeck Abbey grounds, apart from the Harley Gallery. Beyond the high walls at the back of the garden centre there's the Abbey itself, with its vast underground ballroom and the miles of tunnels built by the 5th Duke of Portland. You don't get the chance to get in there to see the place very often, being as how it's leased to the Ministry of Defence as a training college, while the last descendant of the dukes lives in a cottage in the grounds. The MoD don't make much fuss about their presence here - especially since someone strolled in one night and nicked half the Duke's paintings off the walls. Not me, honest.

  I like to come to places like this, where the cops aren't likely to call. They're not generally known for their love of modern art or garden plants. Teri knew this, of course, but she was still edgy. She's been like this around me for a while now. You'd almost think I was the wrong sort of company for an ambitious detective constable.

  I had to wind down the windows of the Subaru because she was smoking, a habit she must have picked up in the CID room to be one of the boys. She didn't smoke when I knew her better, but things have changed since then. She's after a sergeant's job these days. Meanwhile, I've gone right down the nick, of course. Teri was a few relationships before Lisa, probably three or four, maybe five. I lose count. But once they've had a fling with me they don't forget me. The charm works wonders. It always gets me what I want.

  As we sat in the car, we were both watching the traffic coming in and out. Occasionally old couples would totter to their Fiestas and Nissan hatchbacks with armloads of geraniums and bags of compost, and families would emerge from their Peugeot estates, with the kids making a bee-line for the ice cream freezer. The art gallery was as quiet as the grave.

  "I supposed you're going to ask me about Lloyd Thompson," she said.

  "Well, yeah. A bit strange that, wasn't it? They can't have anything on him, not really."

  "Why? Because he works for you? You're always so careful, aren't you, Stones?"

  "It's what my mum always told me to be."

  "No, they had nothing on him. It was Gleeson's idea. Moxon wouldn't have done it."

  "Gleeson? Is he drugs squad?"

  "Drugs squad? What ever gave you that idea?"

  "Er... just a rumour."

  "Detective Inspector Gleeson is Serious Crime."

  "What sort of serious crime?"

  "Can't tell you that, Stones."

  "Shame."

  We jumped as a couple of kids ran round the car, screaming and laughing. Their parents called them away, and Teri relaxed again. Me, I was still on tenterhooks.

  "It was because Thompson's known as a driver," she said. "Gleeson wanted to pick some drivers up and lean on them, to see what it might produce. He was just chancing his arm."

  "Teri - is this all about the new outfit that's supposed to be moving in?"

  "You're not involved in that, are you, Stones? I don't suppose you'd tell me if you were. But I didn't believe the theory. It was just talk on the streets."

  "No, I'm not. You know me better, Teri."

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  "So how come your lot are shooting in the dark looking for drivers? Why haven't they picked up the dealers?"

  "Dealers? You're on about drugs still. What's the matter with you?"

  "Sorry. Not drugs then, something else. Some major consignments of... something you can't tell me about. But you've never picked up the main men?"

  Teri sighed. "We got close. Gleeson's lot had observation on them, but the operation went wrong."

  "Wrong? You mean they spotted your people?"

  "Not exactly."

  "What, then?"

  She sat mum and gazed towards the gallery. There's a nice fountain and some landscaped water gardens. Restful to look at, particularly when you want to avoid answering somebody's question.

  "Teri, I need to know if they've got inside information. Is someone leaking to them from your side?"

  "No, it wasn't that. To tell the truth, someone took our car."

  "What?"

  "Our lot had followed them to a motorway services. For some reason, both officers went into the building and left their vehicle in the car park. It had gone when they got back."

  "Really?"

  "The chief hit the roof. It wasn't the usual type of car either. It was something no one would expect."

  "Oh? What?"

  "A Citroen BX. You know, the one with hydraulic suspension? It's a good car. And nobody ever suspects it's one of ours."

  "Is that right, Teri?"

  Now it was my turn to look away, so I stared at the displays of flowers in the garden centre. The carnations were a lovely blushing pink. Just over the wall were the tunnels built by an eccentric duke to avoid having to see anybody. He must really have had something to be embarrassed about, mustn't he? But I think I knew how he felt.

  "And I suppose the two blokes are in deep trouble for losing it?"

  "Very deep." She sighed at the badness of the world, bless her. "I don't know, Stones. Some folk will nick anything, won't they?"

  "Too true."

  A bloke came past the car carrying an enormous rose bush that hid his face. Just the trick an undercover cop might use. But he wasn't looking at us, and anyway his feet were too small. I came back to a comment that Teri had made a few minutes earlier.

  "This talk on the streets, Teri?"

  "There's a new operation. Well, not new maybe, but expanding fast."

  "Getting serious?"

  "Yes. A few small-scale thefts might go by without attracting too much interest. But once things move up a notch, it's a different matter. That gets attention."

  "And somebody's been saying that I'm involved in this operation, is that what you mean?"

  "So Gleeson says. His lot have informants all over the place. They listen to everything that's being said."

  "Somebody's spreading this delibera
tely. I'm on somebody's shit list."

  "You mean hit list."

  "Not really."

  "Well, the talk is catching. You'd better watch yourself."

  I thought about the German car that had chased us over the heath at Medensworth.

  "Teri - have your lot been tailing me?"

  "Not that I know of. Why?"

  "Just thinking."

  "Don't get paranoid. You're not that important."

  Teri got out of the car, taking her tobacco smoke with her, as well as a certain sense of security.

  "Can't I even buy you a pot plant?" I said.

  "I can't grow pot in the office - not with the drugs squad about."

  "Thanks then, Teri."

  "I can't do any more to help you, Stones. I'm sorry."

  "It's okay, love."

  She drove out of the car park at a sedate pace. Nobody followed her. Yet it was only a matter of seconds before the passenger door of the Subaru opened and somebody slipped into the seat next to me. The smell of tobacco was replaced by motor oil and chips.

  "Copper, ain't she? Nice looking piece, though."

  "Where were you hiding, Trevor?"

  "That'd be telling. I bought this, look, while I was waiting."

  He was clutching a cactus in his grimy hand. It was one of those plants with obscene-looking fleshy fingers. You know the ones - they stand at attention, rigid and spiky, and don't change for what seems like for ever. They burst into flower about once every ten years, then go all limp and drooping. I remember they made quite an impression on my fertile imagination when I was pubescent teenager.

  Trevor's clothes were just as filthy as they'd been at Rufford the day before. I winced at the threat to my seat covers and opened the windows a bit further.

  "It's very nice, Trevor. I suppose you'll put it on expenses?"

  "It's necessary camouflage. Justifiable expenditure."

  "Right." Funny how he slipped into accountant-speak whenever you mentioned money. It was the one weakness in his performance. "Did you get me some stuff on those names?"

  "The names? Of course." He pulled my crumpled bit of paper from his pocket. "One in particular. This name." He pointed at the list. "He's got a bit of a background all right, this bloke. Been away for a bit, but he's back in action. And the word is that he's got his eye on bigger things now."

  "Operating in this area?"

  "Likely."

  "Only likely, Trevor?"

  He shrugged. "You add two and two together, and you've got a likelihood, not a certainty."

  "Really? When I was at school they told me it actually was a certainty. Four, in fact. Every time."

  "You obviously didn't do Differential Calculus, mate."

  "You're bloody right, I didn't."

  "Well, then."

  Trevor was fingering his cactus, rubbing his thumbs over the spines as if he was counting them. Presumably he got a different number each time.

  "So. This is the bloke I'm really looking for, is it?"

  "No, I wouldn't say so."

  "What? Is there someone else on the list you know about?"

  "Well, the rest are low level. I mean there's one who isn't on your list at all. These others are working for him now. They're aiming to be on the up, and he's the one with the right contacts, see."

  "Tell me about him, then."

  "A bloke called Perella. That's all I know."

  "All? All? Not even a first name?"

  He shrugged.

  "Is he Italian or something, with a name like that?"

  He shrugged again.

  "What's up, Trevor? Aren't I paying you enough?"

  "You haven't paid me anything yet."

  "So what's wrong? What's happened to your famous methods?"

  "Well, this Perella - he might be a bloke with contacts, but he also seems to have no past. Not one that I can dig out anyway, so far. Give me time, then maybe. But he hasn't got a record, and he's not been involved in any previous jobs I know of. Basically, no one knows nothing about him. He works through second division blokes like these on your list, and he only contacts them by phone. He's careful. A bit like you, Stones."

  "Yeah, thanks. That was the sort of conclusion Eddie Craig was coming to as well."

  "So you're not Perella, then?"

  "Bloody hell, Trevor."

  "I only asked. Your name has been mentioned, see. In passing."

  "It's about time people stopped mentioning it. All this talk makes me nervous. It could do me damage."

  "I reckon it has already, hasn't it? That's what they're saying. Someone's trying to close you down, Stones. Is it Craig?"

  I could see Trevor working out whether his invoice was going to get paid, or if he'd have to go through the hassle of claiming off my estate after my premature death.

  "Funnily enough, I think Craig's on my side."

  "Lucky you. Because he's not a happy man at the minute."

  "Tell me about it."

  "That's what I'm doing."

  "You could have fooled me. Not unless you're talking in code. So far you've told me sod all. I could have found out more reading the growing instructions on that cactus."

  "There aren't any instructions on it," he said, turning the pot round and nearly skewering my eye with the spikes.

  "That's exactly the point, nerk."

  Trevor looked at me disapprovingly. "As I was saying, Eddie Craig isn't happy. In fact, he's got his blokes running round like idiots. They're liable to flatten anybody who gets in their way, and I don't intend it to be me, Stones."

  "Why the hell should it be?"

  "If you ask questions in the wrong place, it can have consequences. We might have to discuss risk payments."

  He squirmed in agitation, shifting his plant from one hand to the other.

  "Trevor, keep that bloody thing out my face."

  We both struggled with the cactus pot for a minute until we got it firmly wedged through the steering wheel. I started trying to pick the spines out of my hand.

  "So what's up with Eddie Craig exactly?"

  "Craig's hopping mad since one of his clubs was turned over," said Trevor. "They nicked the takings and trashed the place. Right mess, it was."

  "Shit. You mean the Blue Bird? That's one of Craig's places?"

  "That's it. Of course, he's scared that word will get round he did nothing about it, and then his reputation as the top hard man would be completely shot. That would be the end for Craig - all sorts of people would start moving in on him, and his lads would go off to find better jobs with other firms. He has to come down heavy on somebody, but he doesn't know who. Soon he's just going to pick on someone and make a scapegoat of them, I reckon."

  "Right."

  "Might be you, Stones. So they say."

  "That's why I have to prove to him it was someone else, Trevor."

  "I get you."

  "So you have to find more on this Perella for me, mate."

  "Well, I'll do my best. But it gets costly in these circumstances."

  "Do you want to take your cactus and go home and write out your invoice, then?"

  "I've got people to do that for me."

  Trevor tugged the plant free of the steering wheel, leaving a bit of it behind to catch me out later on when I wasn't looking. He got out of the Subaru, carefully manoeuvring his cactus so that it didn't catch on the door frame. The garden centre was closing for the evening, and he hated to look conspicuous.

  "Is that it for now?" he said. "Have you done with me?"

  I looked at him. Was he laughing? "Do you know something else, Trevor?"

  "Well, I know about the job that Perella's lot are planning for tomorrow night," he said. "If you were interested, that is."

  16

  The Jewellery Box had been ram raided before. Watches, rings and necklaces are valuable stuff, easily scooped up in armfuls through a smashed shop window. The council is thinking about extending the anti ram raid bollards down as far as the Jewellery Box, bu
t it hasn't got round to it yet. So it looked as though the shop's insurance premiums were about to go up again.

  The day had been spent making a few preparations, and now it was the early hours, still dark. Even the nightclubbers had long since gone home to their sweaty beds.

  "Hey, they've nicked one of those Mitsubishi Shoguns," said Slow Kid admiringly over the phone next morning. "Nice set of wheels. Brilliant for this job."

  "Yeah, Slow. But what's the getaway car?"

  "Looks like an old Sierra. White." He gave me the registration number. "There's two in the Jap wagon, one in the Sierra. They're about to go for it any minute."

  "Are they pointed the right way?"

  "Sure. Nose towards the roundabout. They won't be wasting any time doing u-turns. This stuff is strictly wham-bam, thank you mam."

  There was no one about on the roads at all, except for those up to no good at all, like the police and milkmen. These lads in the Shogun were relying on having no witnesses when they hit the Jewellery Box, and no cops nearer than Ollerton. They would have been right too, if it hadn't been for Slow Kid, who had an old Astra parked up by the wall of the Dog and Ferret across the road, making it look like the motor of some drunk who had the sense to leave it there and walk home.

  "Wow! Hear that?"

  Even on the mobile I could hear the bang and shattering of glass, followed a second later by the shriek of a burglar alarm. Watches and jewellery would be disappearing about now into a couple of sports bags as the lads grabbed the contents of the window display like supermarket dash contestants on a TV game show.

  They wouldn't be long about it. In a few seconds, they'd be back across the pavement to the Sierra and away, with no lights until they got round the corner and into the back streets. By the time the cops had woken up, had a scratch and cranked the handle on one of their clapped-out Rovers, these lads would be long gone. They hadn't reckoned with me, though.

  Then Slow Kid was back on. "Here they go, legging it for the Sierra. Third bloke's revving the engine, he can't wait. Yeah, in they go. And off."