Bloodline

by Carl Hancock

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said on reflection. ‘And I don’t believe Mickey or Keith would have turned either.’

  ‘Mickey has got a sick kid though, moneys always tight,’ Dave suggested.

  Matt shook his head. ‘Nah, Jack would have sensed something was up. There must be another explanation.’

  It was a scenario neither of them could fathom, as far as they were aware only five people on their end knew of the shipments details.

  Dave poured himself a drink and topped up Matt’s glass too, both men were mulling over the events. Dave sipped his drink and sat down on the sofa.

  ‘There is one other person who may have known something,’ Dave admitted.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Well when I was filling Jack in on the details in the office I heard a noise from outside the door, when I went to check on it no-one was there.’

  ‘And your point is?’ Matt asked.

  ‘I looked up and down the corridor, and then Cyrus came out of the toilets. He was the only one about, he could have heard it all,’ he confessed. ‘Damn I’m sorry Matt.’

  Matt was unsure, although Cyrus was always short of money he doubted very much the lack of it would be enough to convince him to pull a stroke like this.

  ‘He’s tight with Billy remember,’ said Dave. ‘And that’s certainly a possibility.’

  That suggestion was unarguable, the thought had crossed his own mind on the drive over yet he had dismissed it as implausible, now because Billy could have had the Intel he had to reconsider the possibility that he was responsible.

  ‘If he did it,’ he finally said. ‘Then he did it to get O’Donnell’s money together.’

  ‘Just like you wanted, that’s a good thing right?’

  Matt shook his head. ‘No, it isn’t because all he’s done is shift the problem officially over to me and reneged on our deal in the process!’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Matt shrugged his shoulders, many thoughts were playing out in his mind but he needed confirmation first.

  ‘Nothing just yet, not until we’re sure.’

  ‘And Suzy…are you going to confess his big secret?’

  Matt shook his head; Billy had called his bluff as he had no true intention to expose his past to her.

  ‘What is it anyway, you never did tell me?’

  ‘Less people know about it the better, trust me it’s better for yourself to remain ignorant of the facts.’

  Five minutes later he was preparing to leave as quickly as he had entered, he put on his jacket in the hallway, time was getting on and he knew he would have to endure an early start in order to implement any plans. Dave joined him keen to lock down for the night, saying goodbye on the doorstep the flow of words was interrupted by a ringing from Dave’s trousers. Reading the display he sent it straight to voicemail. ‘Tele marketing at this time of night!’

  ‘Yeah, they can be a pest cant they?’ Matt replied. ‘But at least your phones working Ok now though.’

  Having only just got his head straight about the course of action required he now had to contend with the possibility that his trusted right hand man was purposely lying to him.

  Chapter Twelve

  The venue stood ahead of him, the glowing neon sign flickering wildly above the door, Hicks nightclub was a popular place to be and the only place he felt sure to get honest answers.

  Matt pushed his way straight through the expanding and carefree crowd, mostly young singletons out on the pull or the local university students just after an escape from their monotonous and pointless education.

  A dark suited broadset individual stood at the head of the queue, his shaven head and earpiece were tools of his trade. Charged with restricting the flow of customers into the licensed premises, it was his responsibility to insure the club remained trouble free.

  Matt approached the man; he stood closer than was usually permitted or comfortable for the doorman and whispered something in his ear.

  The man nodded and pulled the barrier away from the entrance door to allow him through amidst cries of unfairness and queue jumping from the intoxicated baying crowd, something which he was more than accustomed to handling.

  Matt declined the services offered by the ladies behind the coat counter and by passed that queue with similar urgency as he had the other. Following the loud hum of music he burst through the swinging doors to the large dance room and scanned the dimly lit area for the person he sought.

  Knowing better than think he would be amidst the crowd he wasted no time in switching his attention to the private seated booths, more to the liking and taste of his contact because of the safety and privacy they offered.

  Winston Johnson was a fence of the highest standard with no consignment too big or too expensive for his vast network to handle. Most things passed through his hands, knock off perfume, high end electrical goods and mobile phones, gold jewellery and sometimes even human cargo and firearms were rumoured to have passed through him.

  Highly successful and revered for his relatively young age, he had taken over the reins after his father retired; he had returned to Trinidad to recover from a shooting and decided to stay. Three bullets to the chest had seen him nearly lose his life at the hands of a jealous rival.

  With his father safely out of the way and his own large family protected in a safe house Winston had risen to his sudden responsibility and hunted down the trigger men and disposed of them before turning his attention toward the organizer. Hearing his men had been systematically wiped out he feared for his own life, underestimating the families reach he sought safety by handing himself into the police on an outstanding warrant hoping to bide time to recoup his gang. Hours after settling into the holding cell he was found in a bloodied pool on the cold concrete floor, his life taking wounds mirroring those of Winston’s Father, yet still locked in his cell with no witnesses recorded as seeing or hearing anything at all.

  In the two years since, Winston had built the business up, moved into areas his father had repeatedly declined to explore or even consider investing in. Those on the outside liked nothing more than to spread conspiracy theories around, gossiping that the old man had held back the natural expansion for so long that his own son had turned against him and only disposed of the triggermen and their boss to cover his tracks after ordering the hit himself. A mean feat for even the toughest and hardest of person to arrange the killing of their own parent, an impossible suggestion to believe for those that knew Winston best.

  Most people would say it was stupidity to drop by unannounced and alone to demand an audience with him, his reputation alone kept many men at arm’s length. Matt had no choice but to do what many were too afraid or too sensible to do.

  Setting eyes on Winston seated and surrounded by three women of considerable beauty enjoying bottles of the best champagne and showering him with their attention he made a bee line toward him. Mindful of the strategically placed minders already with a watchful eye on his movements he felt confident that his presence had already been announced.

  Winston was often paranoid, although whatever he usually suspected of someone proved to be correct and therefore not paranoia if it’s true. He trusted few people, had more enemies than most so his security detail had a tough job and required all those on it to be informed and alert at all times.

  Matt approached the table, a minder on the left sprung up and held out his left arm to keep him at bay while placing his right hand behind his back.

  Matt knew the casual dressed man was silently informing him he was armed, something he had already taken for granted.

  Winston was seated set back from the thoroughfare, oblivious to his attendance and out of earshot busy enjoying the affection from a young blonde practicing her lap dancing skills on him.

  Hired muscle rarely appreciated or even knew who they were denying access to, Winston was no more successful than those that sought his attention but he was certainly more prolific. He didn’t hide away from
prying eyes denying who or what he really was, not anymore. It would have been pointless for him to act out pretence of an honest law abiding life, his family’s name had been known for generations at home and abroad as a criminal dynasty.

  Matt urged the minder to announce his presence, to pry his boss away from the intoxicating movements of the voluptuous female and tell him someone needed a word.

  The man did as instructed, Matt looked on and noted the nervous manner in which he interrupted Winston’s pleasure. His gruff, thick Jamaican accent filling the air, his subordinates drew themselves to attention as he vocally displayed his annoyance at being separated from the young woman.

  The minder returned and ushered Matt forward, he retook his position and signed a breath of relief. Interrupting Winston was not something any of them took pleasure in doing especially when he was obviously enjoying himself so much.

  Matt made his way forward as the girls were dismissed; Winston’s large hand that resembled a shovel smacking their backsides in turn as they hurried past him with plans to regroup later in the evening.

  Several bottles of champagne stood on the table, many unopened and glasses untouched as Winston swigged from a bottle. His bare chest was exposed; a simple waistcoat and jeans that were slightly unbuttoned were all that he wore. The sparkling drink spilt down from his mouth as he gulped it like water, two minders remained present and alert standing on either side of him.

  ‘So what’s so important then man?’ He asked wiping the champagne into his chest as it made its way down his torso. Winston placed the bottle on the table and did up his trouser buttons and tightened his belt.

  ‘Looking for a bit more than a dance then?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Gotta get it where you can! Never know when the next time might be huh!’ he retaliated. ‘Go on now. Fuck off with you!’ He gestured to his men who looked to each other in doubt, unsure that they heard correctly. ‘What? You need me to say it again?’

  The two men left. ‘They looked a bit confused, either that or you’ve got some right simpletons working for you these days,’ Matt commented.

  ‘Nah man, they just not used to leaving me all alone like, only with the ladies you know?’ Winston replied.

  ‘I’m not a threat then?’ Matt asked curiously.

  Winston laughed. ‘They may think so mate, but I know better than that don’t I?’

  Winston offered a seat that Matt took advantage of; he poured himself a glass of the expensive bubbly and one for his guest. He passed it to Matt who gratefully accepted it.

  ‘Hows the family? Any word from the old man?’ Matt enquired.

  ‘The old man’s fine Matt, thanks for asking. Most people either choose not to mention him or have genuinely forgotten him, either way it’s downright disrespectful aint it?’

  Matt nodded in agreement, not because he felt he had to but because he genuinely agreed. Many people agreed with Winston on everything that he said purely out of fear of disagreeing with him. But Matt knew him better than that, he had no reason to fear or mean him any harm and Winston knew that and respected that.

  ‘Got another little Winston on the way with the old lady, should drop in a couple of months.’

  ‘Which ones that then? Last I heard you had four old ladies!’

  ‘Yeah man, I fucked one of them bitches off, found out she was hitting the Charlie too much. I’m down to just three at the moment,’ he replied with unashamed honesty.

  Matt swigged his drink as Winston bragged of his women and kids, so far he had seven between the three of them and they all lived alongside each other in the row of terraced houses that he had knocked through specially to house them. He had two boys the same age but with different Mothers, one followed his own skin tone while the other favoured his Mothers, yet despite the boy’s differences they couldn’t have been better friends. He took delight in referring to then as his wicked little urns as he spoke of their continuous tales of havoc. Winston had had it tough in the beginning of his young life, his mother had died giving birth to him and in some way his two elder brothers held him accountable, although not in their father’s earshot.

  When he was twelve years old the two of them botched an armed blag, a feeble attempt for some extra cash that resulted in them being ghosted back to their homeland to evade the pursuing authorities. Left alone with his busy father, he led a solitary existence leaving the house only to attend school so he wouldn’t bring any unwanted attention to his home life. With no friends or siblings to look out for him, it didn’t take long for the bullies to target him, tormenting him daily and ruthlessly. Unable to confide in his father for fear of failing him, he suffered alone turning his anger and hatred onto himself.

  Lacking in confidence the situation rapidly progressed, the more he hid away the more his behaviour was deemed strange and weird, then the pursuing numbers increased. Wherever he went, whatever diversion he took to avoid crowds, they always found him. His school bags were routinely stolen and his lunch money taken, the persecution seemed never ending and carried on until he could stomach no more.

  His lonely life had led him to breaking point, but as usual he blamed himself, he felt he had failed his father, his role model and the only person he looked up to. He would watch his father on the rare occasion that he accompanied him on an outing, the way he walked with his head held high, the natural confidence he seemed to project and the fact that he commanded such respect whilst fearing no man big or small.

  There was only one way he could see to deal with the shame he felt at allowing himself to be treated in such a way, he knew his father would never allow himself to be disrespected and neither would his absent siblings. Winston had hatched a plan to deal with his tormentors once and for all, a way to punish them publically for the way he felt. Armed with a rounder’s bat he was going to wade into the main group of lads during assembly, take down as many as he could in one swoop before he got disarmed. Suspension would be unavoidable but on his return he would be feared and respected, maybe even make his father proud.

  Hands trembling, gripping the bat and pulling it from his rucksack beads of nervous sweat had dripped down his forehead, his actions would seem drastic to many people but alone in the toilet cubicle he knew what he was doing was the only answer.

  He was interrupted by the outer door swinging closed, the noise of a urinal being used indicated the presence of another person, he waited patiently to hear them exit, the only sound was of running water gushing from the taps as he looked at his watch in desperation. Vital seconds ticked by, his one chance of revenge slipping by because of a stray pupil holding up his plans.

  Finally the door swung shut, alone at last he exited the cubicle and placed one hand on the door handle and with a deep breath urged himself to be brave. The hall was just outside the door and 100 yards down the corridor, with a brief sprint past the teacher manning the double entrance doors he would have moments to inflict as much damage as possible.

  Tugging gently on the handle and peering his head around the corridor to check the area was clear, a noise from behind startled him. Spinning around he saw a fellow pupil, a boy he had seen only recently, leaning against the wall.

  The intruder was not afraid of him, he remained calm and he seemed to know just what Winston had planned and why. He calmed Winston down, explained to him that there was a better way to deal with it, a way that wouldn’t end up with severe punishment for himself.

  He extended his hand of friendship, promised to aid and assist him for nothing in return, having witnessed the treatment he had suffered he too felt justified in taking extreme measures but wished to do so with no risk to their own liberty.

  With his time passed, Winston had no other option than to postpone his plans, take a chance on the offer of companionship. What emerged from that small room that day grew stronger and stronger over the next few days, with someone watching his back Winston changed overnight, he flourished and his natural leadership skills shone through only equaled by his one and o
nly friend, Matt McQuaid.

  Revenge was bitter sweet; his tormentors fell by the wayside as he dealt out his own unique brand of justice certain that they would never forget his name.

  Within a small space of time, the tough comprehensive school was their new workplace, with his family’s contacts Winston could get hold of anything and everything that the pupils desired. If it was wanted then they could get it, even the teachers approached them first before visiting the High Street.

  ‘So what can I do for you then Matt? It’s been a long time since you called by, this aint no social call is it?’

  Matt shook his head, it had been a few years since their paths had crossed but he hoped he could still count on his old friend for a favour or two. ‘You’re right, as always!’

  ‘Less flattery, what’ll you need?’ Winston replied straight to the point.

  ‘A cargo of mine got hijacked this morning, on the way from Dover and I need it back as soon as. I was hoping you’d been approached to fence it.’

  ‘That side of my business relies on confidentiality Matt, you know that! If I go shouting my mouth off then people will understandably go elsewhere, then how will I feed my family?’

  Matt placed his glass down on the table and loosed his tie and top button of his shirt.

  ‘I do know that Winston, but it’s important that I find that cargo and those who are responsible. A few of my men, good men got taken down during the heist and I need to send a clear message that it’s not acceptable.’

  ‘Crack a few heads you mean?’

  ‘Simply put...Yes! And regain my merchandise in the process.’

  Winston thought for a few seconds mulling over his few options. ‘Ok Matt, but you didn’t get it from me right?’ he insisted. ‘What is it and in what volume are we talking?’

  Matt understood the need for discretion. ‘It’s pretty distinctive,’ he said. ‘If you’ve been offered it then you’ll know without a doubt,’ he added and inhaled a long deep breath before continuing. ‘2000 plus top spec laptops with a retail price in excess of two million, street price in the region of one mill, a layout cost to my client of £500k that I’ll personally be liable for if I don’t get them back!’