by Alfie Robins
‘Nice of you to say so.’
‘Yeah, well, I kinda got the taste for all the ducking and diving we did.’
‘Jimbo, you’ve always been one for ducking and diving, that’s how you survived.’
‘Yeah, I know, but what we did was sort of legal, and we made a great team, right? When me and DI Grimes had finished sorting all the shit out you left, he asked if I’d fancy doing a bit of work, unofficial like, off the books. I told him straight, I’m no grass, not even for a mate of yours. He explained he didn’t want a “grass”, he had plenty of those, he just wanted sound info, so I said I’d give it a go. At first it was things like who’s new on the streets - had I heard anything about so and so, stuff like that.’
‘When was all this made official?’
‘Soon after, he said there was a new department starting up and he’d be running it, asked if I’d fancy making it permanent. He reckoned he could get me a job as a civilian advisor, like, I mean, me, working for the Police. No way, I said - not for me. But he told me he could help look after my interests, keep my name out of the shit we got into. I owed him. He reckons if it hadn’t been for him sticking his neck out, I could have been charged with all sorts of crap that could have put me away for a long time, and I have my mum to think about.
Well, it got me to re-think things; I did need to get my life sorted and when he said he was in a position to get you assigned to the team, well that clinched the deal.’ Jimbo sat back in his chair and smiled as he carried on. ‘It went something like, “no other idiot would be prepared to take you on”, and if he didn’t you would be heading to the Job Centre to sign on. So, I said okay.’
‘Cheers for that.’ Warren was genuinely touched by the comment. At least he still had two mates who were willing to stick their necks out for him. ‘You’ll have me getting all sentimental in a minute.’
‘You sentimental? The bloke who took out a hit-man, shot a spook in the foot, and broke another officer's legs, in several places I might add - like fuck you’re sentimental.’
‘Correction - who drove a van into the bloke breaking his legs?’
‘Yeah, well, I was saving your life, man, you’d be brown bread if I hadn’t.’
Warren smiled, he couldn’t do anything but agree with Jimbo’s comments, his association with the clandestine operation run by Gemmell Strategies, had been nothing less than a total fiasco from start to finish.
‘Touché. So, how’s your mum doing?’ Warren said, changing the subject.
‘Tops, really good thanks to the help you gave me.’ During their previous escapade, a quantity of illegal Blood Diamonds had come into their possession, which, with the help of Pat Conway, were turned into a very substantial amount of cash. Warren, not too sure of how his own future would pan out, gave the lion’s share of the proceeds to Jimbo. ‘Thanks to you, and the cash you gave me I managed to get her into a first-class nursing home, they really look after her. Plus, I got myself a SmartCar.’
‘Good on you, what sort?’
‘Just said, a SmartCar.’
‘Yeah, but what make?’
‘Told you, a SmartCar.’
‘You are taking the piss?’ Warren started laughing out loud.
‘No, seriously it’s cool - and economical.’ He was surprised Jimbo knew what the word economical meant.
Warren did his best to curb the laughter. ‘I’m pleased things have turned out okay for you. And I see you lost a few of the piercings along the way?’
‘Yeah, well, I didn’t want to look too obvious working in a nick, thought they might take one look at me and throw me in the cells.’ Jimbo subconsciously touched his left ear that used to be decorated with rings and studs.
‘DC James, what’s she like?’ asked Warren.
‘Trish, she’s cool, hot, out of your league, man. Now it’s my turn to ask a question, how come you didn’t get in touch?’
‘It was nothing personal, mate. Once the shit hit the fan they kept me incommunicado for a while in a safe house. Then I thought it best if I kept my head down for a while, didn’t contact anyone - especially didn’t want to get you involved more than you had been. To be honest with you, I thought about my future, what was going to happen to me, and, what would I do if I got kicked off the force.’ A short silence followed. ‘I would have got in touch - eventually. Anyway, it’s all academic now, water under the bridge; I’m here now, aren’t I?’ Warren picked up his coffee cup and held it high. ‘Here’s to us, and our future. We’ll have a proper catch up later over a pint in The Eagle.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Jimbo replied, holding his cup high in a toast.
The office door opened. ‘You two caught up?’ asked Grimes as he and Trish came back into the squad room. He smiled. ‘I’ll take the grins to mean yes.’ The DI went over to his desk and picked up a buff coloured folder. ‘Right, work to do. Trish, will you do the honours?’ Grimes passed the folder over.
Trish pulled out a chair and sat opposite Warren and Jimbo. She flicked dark curls from her face, as she laid the folder on the desk. She opened the file and spread out a batch of crime scene photographs. ‘These are the stills taken from the helmet-cams of an armed response unit who stopped a 4X4 they’d had under surveillance.’ She shuffled the photographs across the desk. ‘The vehicle was driven by David Scabies, he’s better known on the streets as Scabby Dave.’ Jimbo raised his eyebrow, that was a blast from the past that he wasn’t expecting.
‘Nice name,’ Warren said.
‘Yeah, well, following an anonymous tip off, an armed response was dispatched to intercept his vehicle.’
‘Some tip off,’ said Warren.
‘Intelligence verified the information.’
‘How?’
‘Come on, Greg,’ said Grimes, ‘as if they’d tell me - way beyond my pay grade.’
Trish carried on. ‘As you can see the operation was text book. Everything went like clockwork. Then the shit hit the fan. Scabies attempted to discharge his weapon at one of the team as he approached the vehicle. Luckily for our bloke the gun blew to bits in Scabies’ hand as it was discharged, not so lucky for him, it blew his hand off.’ Trish placed her hand palm down on one of the photographs then slid it across the desk.
‘Jesus, Trish, it’s not long since I had my breakfast,’ Warren grumbled when he saw the close-up photograph of Scabies’s bloody stump, mangled bits of flesh and ligament hanging where his hand used to be. He pushed the photograph back across the table and turned to Jimbo. ‘You know him, Scabby Dave?’
‘I sort of know of him. A little shit who pretends to be a big shit. Never worked with him though, too much of an arse even for my liking.’
Warren picked up his coffee and sipped, spat it back in the cup, it was cold. ‘This Scabby, has he any history with firearms?’
‘No, not that we’re aware of but he isn’t opposed to violence, this is the first we’ve heard of him branching out.’ Trish gathered up the photographs.
Grimes stood up and put his hands in his pockets. ‘The thing is, there’s been a couple of these exploding firearms. If the intelligence is right, it looks like we might be expecting more incidents like this in our neck of the woods. What’s more worrying are the non-exploding weapons.’
‘Never knew there was a gun culture in our neck of the woods,’ Warren said, as he made eye contact with the DI.
‘As I said before, you’ve been out of it a while, Greg, things move on quickly. Intelligence suggests there are more weapons out there than we know about. But saying that, not all the firearms out there are actually fired, just used to define status, kudos, earn respect from other gang members.’
‘Respect - respect my arse, if you carry a weapon, at some point in time you’ll use it.’
‘And you’d know all about that,’ Grimes said sarcastically, referring to an incident where Warren had shot and killed in cold blood the man sent to gun him down.
Warren ignored the jibe. ‘What type of firearms are we lo
oking at here?’
‘You name it and it seems to be on the streets. The trend seems to be supplier driven, whatever the dealer can get hold of. The flavour of the past few months are Eastern European blank firing pistols, the Baikal. A Russian weapon originally used for crowd control firing gas cartridges, that was until someone cottoned on to how easy they are to convert. They’re bought for next to nowt on the continent, sometimes converted over there, others when they get them back in the country. To put it simply, we’ve been asked to do our bit in nipping it the bud.’
‘Why us?’ asked Warren.
‘Why not us, we’ve got to earn our keep.’
‘Fair enough.’
Warren was the first to admit that it was good to catch up with Jimbo, but at the same time he was sceptical about him being a police employee. He could understand the logic behind the idea, but for Christ’s sake he was a villain, thief, burglar and everything else in between. Before things went any further, he needed to clear the air with Grimes. Turning to Jimbo, he asked. ‘Are we having another coffee, mate?’
‘Here we go, things never change, Jimbo do this - Jimbo do that…’
‘Oh, stop the whining, you know you’re glad to see me,’ Warren joked.
‘Yeah… yeah.’ Jimbo stood up and razzed to himself. ‘Glorified office boy, that’s me,’ they heard him say as he closed the door behind him.
‘More coffee?’ asked Grimes.
‘No, not really, I just wanted him out of the way while we had a chat.’
‘O-k-a-y, what’s bothering you?’
‘Jimbo, just how far are you willing to go with him? I mean he’s a good lad and I wouldn’t like to see anyone taking advantage of him.’
‘Like you did?’ Grimes answered back.
‘Come on, that’s not fair, you know that was different; he was on the other side of the fence then.’
The DI stood up. ‘I’ll use him as far as he’s willing to go.’
‘What’s your take on this, Trish?’ Warren asked.
‘Not for me to say, is it?’
‘That’s right, just sit on the fence…’
‘Now hang on a minute, Greg, you know very well Trish has no say in this whatsoever. Let’s get this much clear, I’m the SIO and Jimbo is employed as a Civilian Advisor…’
‘I can sense a “but” coming.’
‘Greg, let me finish. I know the term advisor can be used to cover a multitude of things, but I can assure you, I have no intention of putting Jimbo in any situation that he’s uncomfortable with, or, any position that would knowingly put him in danger. After all, as you’ve just pointed out he is a civilian and not a copper.’
‘We got there in the end, that’s all I wanted to know. As you’ve probably found out already, he’s keen and just wants to please. If you keep it that way I’ll have no problems.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that - now can we concentrate on the job in hand?’ The tension now eased, Grime took his seat again.
‘Yep, as soon as the coffee arrives.’
Jimbo came back with a tray of coffees no one wanted and placed them on the desk where they remained to congeal.
Trish stood up and went across to the whiteboard and attached the photographs of the armed “stop and search”.
‘So, back to what we were talking about. The latest trend is to have the weapons dismantled and sent into the country by post, bit by bit, concealed with car parts and agricultural machines seem to a good favourite. God knows how many have come in that way.’
Warren sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk and faced the DI. ‘I take it you have a plan? Other than open all the parcels sent via Royal Mail.’
Grimes sat back and folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’d hardly call it a plan, but I do have an idea to help get the ball rolling,’ he turned to face Jimbo. ‘I was thinking along the lines that Jimbo hit the streets and start asking around.’ Jimbo nodded. Grimes hesitated slightly before carrying on. ‘Also, I was thinking maybe, and it’s only a maybe, that’s if you agree…’
‘Stop waffling, Bill.’
‘How do you fancy contacting your old pal Conway - see if he knows anything?’
Warren sat upright in his chair, this was not what he was expecting. ‘For fuck’s sake, Bill, you don’t make life easy, do you? He’s the last person I want any contact with.’ Warren had been taken by surprise, first day back on the job and the DI wanted him to face his nemesis. Pat Conway was a significant player in the world of organised crime in the north of England. A man with fingers in many pies, a dangerous man to cross. ‘I take it by contact, you mean you want me to bring Raymond Cole out of retirement?’ Warren unfortunately had an uncanny resemblance to Raymond Cole, a villain in the know, one with many Stratergies in the underworld, this resemblance led to Warren being recruited into Gemmell Stratergies. Thus Warren’s alter ego, Raymond Cole was created, and created very successfully.
Raymond Cole, the real Raymond Cole was dead - murdered. He died in prison whilst being held on unofficial remand, all it took was a bent screw with a gambling problem, and a ‘lifer’ who wanted his wife to be rewarded financially for his deed. She was - handsomely and anonymously, she never knew where the nest egg came from.
In his foray into the underworld, Warren had formed an unusual relationship with Conway. Assuming the identity of the fugitive on the run from the law, he had wormed his way into Conway’s trust. Surprisingly, Warren had taken to the role like a fish to water and became ‘close’ to Conway, for a while anyway. Then, as quick as he’d appeared on the scene, Warren, still in his assumed role of Cole, disappeared from circulation. Now Bill wanted him to reappear. Warren was not a happy man.
‘You have objections?’ Grimes wasn’t surprised at the response.
‘Only the obvious ones.’
‘Such as?’ asked Grimes.
‘How long have we got - you know bloody well the history between us,’ Warren protested.
‘I appreciate where you’re coming from, Greg, but you’ve got to admit, if anyone knows anything, there’s a damn good chance it will be Conway.’
‘I’m not disagreeing with you, Bill. I just don’t fancy getting reacquainted. What do you reckon, Jimbo?’ Boland shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. He was glad he hadn’t been tasked with contacting his old employer. ‘If, and I say if, I was to make contact, I’ll need a decent back-story.’
‘Thought about that, we book you a few sessions on a sun bed and to all intents and purposes you’ve been sunning yourself on the Costas.’ Warren shook his head at the comment. He came from a mixed-race family; his father was Jamaican and his mother was the stereotypical blonde English rose. Warren had inherited his father’s dark genes, but he had his mother’s blue eyes. What was stranger, so did the ‘real’ Raymond Cole. ‘Just thought you’d enjoy a couple of sessions on a sun bed, brighten you up a bit,’ Grimes said, through a smile.
Warren tried to put on a serious face but failed. ‘You disrespecting my heritage?’ He responded giving the DI a serious look. Then laughed out loud.
‘Prat,’ said the DI, turning to the younger man. ‘That leaves you, Jimbo.’
‘Wondered when you’d get around to me. So, what have you got in mind for a civilian advisor?’ Boland asked sarcastically.
‘Come on, mate, don’t be like that, you’ve just got to do what you do best - hit the streets and see who knows what, you know the game, you did it for long enough.’
Jimbo nodded his agreement, at least it was better than being cooped up in the office.
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and a uniformed constable entered. ‘Sir,’ he said as he crossed the room and handed a file to the DI. ‘Just been asked to give you this,’ he nodded, turned and left the room.
‘Cheers,’ Grimes said as he accepted the file and opened it. ‘Shit,’ he said, when he looked at a full colour crime scene photograph.
A young man lay in a pool of blood, he couldn’t have been o
lder than seventeen, a dark red stain in the front of his chest. He took out the photograph and placed it on the desk.
Warren leaned across the desk. ‘Where is this?’
‘The McDonalds’ car park, Hessle Road. It was a drive-by, seems he was shot in the early hours of this morning, 2am.’
‘Apparently, some of these guns do work,’ Trish chipped in.
‘So it would seem,’ Warren picked up the report and read out loud. ‘Witness said he heard two shots, turned and saw a vehicle drive away at high speed. He thinks it was a dark blue or black 4X4, possibly an Audi, with two male occupants. The witness went to see if he could help, but no joy. Paramedics confirmed him dead at the scene.’
‘What was the witness doing at McDonalds at that time in the morning?’ asked Trish, sceptically.
‘He was a member of staff. The restaurant is open 24 hours. The bloke was just coming off shift.’
‘That’s a crime in itself.’
‘What is?’ Warren asked, puzzled.
‘Calling McDonalds a restaurant. The dead lad, who is he?’
Grimes read from the folder. ‘Alan Browning, 22 years old, he has a record for possession. He’d been pulled in a couple of time on suspicion to supply, clever lad, he was never caught with a significant amount on him. Browning - had a flat on Hawthorn Avenue.’
‘Is he one of your old pals?’ Trish asked Jimbo.
‘No, never heard of him.’
Grimes closed the folder and handed it to Trish. ‘Have a look on the PNC and see what you can come up with. Check for any known Strategies, family background, the usual stuff, specifically is there a link with Scabies. Looks like we’re going to be busy.’ He closed the folder.
Chapter 4
Warren took a breath, put on his best smile and pushed open the door to their old haunt, The Eagle on the corner of Coltman Street, mid-way along Anlaby Road.
‘Haven’t seen you for a while,’ said Kirsty, the young barmaid. Her face lighting up as Warren and Jimbo walked towards the bar.
‘Hi, it’s good to see you, too,’ Warren said, a broad smile on his face. Resting an elbow on the mahogany bar top he looked around the room, just the same old.
