The Blood Red Line

by Alfie Robins

  Conway didn’t recognise the voice at the other end. ‘I won’t ask again, who the fuck is this?’ again on the verge of hanging up.

  ‘Neil Powers, now, Patrick, or may I call you Pat?’

  ‘You can call me what you want, as long as it doesn’t rhyme with hunt. What do you want?’

  ‘I want to ask you about someone, someone I believe worked for you for a while back?’

  ‘So, ask, it doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer,’ this was one gangster even Conway didn’t want to do business with, all the same he wasn’t going to let Powers walk all over him.

  ‘Ray Cole, I believe he worked for you?’

  Ray Cole, was also someone Conway didn’t want to get on the wrong side of. They may be friends, but friendship only extended so far, but he wasn’t the sort to piss up your back as soon as it was turned.

  ‘Cole, we go way back. What’s it to you?’

  ‘I’m interested, a business opportunity has arisen and I like to know who I’m dealing with. Would you say he was trustworthy?’

  ‘He’s a crim for fuck’s sake, how can he be trustworthy?’

  ‘But do you trust him, that’s my question?’

  ‘The answer to that is yes, I did and I do, Cole has done the type of jobs that I wouldn’t have trusted to anyone else. If an opportunity to work with him comes up I’d have no problem with it, that’s if our paths should cross again.’

  ‘That’s all I wanted to know, thanks for sharing.’

  ‘No problem, anytime,’ Conway lied into the mobile.

  Powers thought he’d give Conway something to think about. ‘Give my regards to Rachell,’ he hung up, not giving Conway a chance to respond.

  The remark sent shivers down Conway’s spine. What did Powers know about his daughter? He hoped to Christ that it didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance. He sat back in his chair, passing the mobile from hand to hand - then sent a text message. “Call me.”

  Neil Powers went through to the kitchen, filled the kettle and turned it on, spooned fresh coffee into the cafetiere then poured in the scalding water. He thought things over while he waited a couple of minutes then depressed the plunger. Then he made another call.

  ‘Mouse, or are you Seb today?’ he asked, sarcastically when the call was answered.

  ‘Told you, boss, it’s Seb, now.’

  Powers wasn’t interested one way or the other. He switched the mobile to loud speaker while he sorted his coffee. ‘Listen, whoever the fuck you are, did you get that job sorted?’ Powers was referring to Dooley, who still lay in his hospital bed. No response. ‘I’ll take that as a no, never mind, he’ll keep,’ he said, before Mouse had chance to make an excuse. Mouse was relieved when he heard the words. Powers needed to know the things about Raymond Cole, that others didn’t. ‘Got another job that needs sorting. I want you to find out what you can about a fella called Ray Cole, who his Stratergies are, colour of his socks, anything and everything.’ Mouse was quiet, these things he wanted to know himself. ‘You hear me?’

  ‘I hear you, boss, leave it with me.’ He hated it when Powers talked to him that way, as if he was nothing better than dog shit. Then again the money was good.

  Jimbo didn’t rush to get into work, he couldn’t have if he tried. The previous night’s encounter with a baseball bat wielding maniac had taken it out of him, what’s more he still refused to go to the hospital.

  ‘Bloody hell, Jimbo, you look in a right state,’ Trish said as he walked into the office and dropped into his seat.

  Warren looked up. ‘You should have stayed in bed.’

  ‘Okay, so what happened?’ Trish asked. ‘I take it this has something to do with last night’s escapade.’

  Jimbo looked to Warren, he nodded. ‘The others about?’

  ‘Canteen,’ she told him.

  ‘Best be quick then.’ He didn’t want the new team members to know he’d been twatted. ‘Me and our leader,’ nodding towards Warren, ‘went on a late-night jaunt to check out Gardener’s workshop, it was going okay until the crazy twat came running down the garden path screaming like a madman. Guess who got clobbered with a baseball bat? Yep, me.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Yeah, bloody ouch, my ribs are killing me.’

  ‘To be fair, we didn’t stand a chance, he caught us by surprise, Jimbo copped it in the ribs and I managed to get a couple of good hits into Gardener,’ Warren told her.

  ‘Then we legged it.’

  ‘The workshop, did you get inside?’

  ‘Never got a sniff. I think it best if we keep this to ourselves, Trish.’

  ‘No problem. You sure you don’t want to go to the Infirmary, Jimbo?’

  ‘Na, I’ll be okay.’

  ‘Greg, he shouldn’t be here,’ Trish said with genuine concern.

  Warren had to agree with her, he did look rough. ‘Jimbo, get yourself off home and have a kip, I’ll meet you for a pint tonight if you’re up to it.’

  ‘Think I will, didn’t sleep too good last night. Thanks, see you later.’

  ‘You know, Greg, you have double standards,’ Trish said getting all uppity.

  ‘Why?’ he asked as he sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

  ‘You had a go at Bill about putting Jimbo in dangerous situations, and what do you do? You do exactly that, the lad could have been seriously injured.’

  ‘C’mon, Trish, it wasn’t exactly planned. It turned out Gardener had some sophisticated security we didn’t know about.’ He protested.

  ‘Just saying that’s all.’

  Chapter 24

  When Warren first took on the role of his alter ego Raymond Cole, The Eagle had become his local, he had grown to like the place, it was much like the boozers in North London or was it perhaps down to Kirsty, the attractive young woman who worked behind the bar? Warren, in the guise of Cole nodded to a couple of the regulars as he walked across to the bar.

  ‘Alright, pal?’ asked an old codger, whose name Warren could never remember.

  ‘Not so bad, mate, and you?’

  The man shrugged his shoulders. ‘Same old, same old.’

  Kirsty gave a warm smile, and automatically pulled two pints of lager before they even ordered.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ said Warren.

  ‘I know my regulars,’ she put their drinks on the bar top.

  ‘Take one for yourself, my mate’s paying.’

  She looked to Jimbo for confirmation. ‘Suppose.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll just take for a half.’

  ‘See you in a bit,’ said Warren as he and Jimbo picked up their drinks and found a vacant table. Warren’s head turned, he winked over at Kirsty as he sat down.

  ‘I just don’t know how you do it?’

  ‘Can’t help it if the ladies find me appealing,’ Warren said with a broad smile on his face.

  ‘Not that you’re a vain sod, I mean the accent. Here you are, a southerner who speaks ‘ull with a southern twang, and as soon as Cole comes onto the scene, you speak like a Wessie,’ Jimbo said, referring to Warren’s ability to change to a West Yorkshire accent at will.

  ‘Never thought about it, been doing it so long its automatic,’ he said as he turned towards the bar.

  ‘C’mon Greg, give it a rest, you’re not going to sit ogling Kirsty all night, are you?’

  Warren smiled. ‘You have my undivided attention, mate.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Have you heard anymore from Conway?’

  ‘Nope, not that I’m grumbling.’

  ‘Let’s hope it keeps that way.’ Jimbo picked up his pint and sipped through the frothy head. He could see that there was only one thing on Warren’s mind, and it wasn’t Pat Conway. ‘You’re thinking about bloody Kirsty again, aren’t you?’

  ‘Far from it, I was thinking back to the time when we were sat in this very pub, and I told you I was a copper, remember?’

  ‘Remember, are you serious? It nearly blew my bloody mind. What’s brought this on?’<
br />
  ‘Life, you know, one minute you are okay with things, then wham, all change – changed forever.’

  ‘Sort of like us.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean, just like us.’

  Jimbo let the silence hang for a minute or two. ‘This is getting a bit too heavy for me. So, what’s your thoughts on Bernie?’ he asked, attempting to change the subject.

  ‘Seems to be doing okay, competent at the job, Trish seems to rate him. Why do you ask?’ Warren sat back in his chair.

  ‘Just something about him, can’t put my finger on it.’

  Warren folded his arms across his chest, studying the younger man. ‘You’re serious aren’t you?’ He trusted Jimbo’s instinct, after all, that’s what had kept him out of the clink in his previous life.

  ‘Don’t trust the bloke, he asks too many questions.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s a copper he’s bound to, it’s in his nature.’

  ‘Maybe. I feel crap, knew I shouldn’t have come, think I might head off.’ Jimbo picked up his pint, drank half down and put the glass on the table.

  ‘Can’t tempt you to stay for another?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m going for some fish and chips and then back home to watch the telly.’

  They both stood up, Warren gave his pal a slap on the back and Jimbo winced.

  ‘Okay, think I’ll have another, see you in the morning.’

  Jimbo stood up, gave Kirsty a wave and smile. ‘I’ll leave you to the delectable Kirsty, see ya,’ he said as he made a quick exit.

  Smiling to himself, Jimbo let the pub door close behind him. His SmartCar was parked a little way down Coltman Street. He fiddled in his pocket for the keys as he walked.

  ‘Jimbo,’ a voice called from behind, ‘hang on a minute.’

  ‘Shit,’ that was the last voice he wanted to hear. It was Mouse. He put a smile on his face and turned. ‘Sorry about what happened the other night. How are you doing, mate?’ he asked feigning concern.

  ‘Not your fault that the bloke’s a psycho, anyway I’m a lot better than your pal will be when I catch up with him,’ he almost spat the words out. ‘But he’ll keep,’ he said as he fell in step with Jimbo, arm around his shoulder in a show of faux friendship.

  Jimbo almost cringed.

  ‘So, what can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s about your mate that I want a word, what was his name again?’

  ‘Ray, Ray Cole.’

  ‘Ahh, yeah, that’s it. What can you tell me about him?’

  Jimbo went on the defensive. ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘A bloke I do some work for, seems he’s got an interest in the bla …’ then thought better of it, ‘this Cole bloke.’

  ‘Can’t tell you too much, mate, first met him a while back when I was working for Pat, you know, Pat Conway?’

  ‘Can’t say I know him, but heard of him, a piece of work by all accounts.’

  ‘He’s alright, if you keep on the right side of him, not the sort of bloke you want to cross, much like Ray.’ He hoped the comment might put Mouse off asking too many more questions.

  ‘So, can you tell me anything about him?’

  ‘Gangster, a real one, got a nasty temper on him.’

  ‘No need to tell me.’

  ‘I did a couple of jobs with him when we both worked for Conway. He’s done time for topping some bloke and organised an escape from the inside while he was on remand. An Irish team, flew in, did the job and flew out again. Oh yeah, do you remember my cousin, Billybob?’

  ‘Yeah, likes to wave a Stanley knife about.’

  ‘That’s him, but not anymore. Cole only went and crippled him - the quacks had to rebuild his leg with scrap iron. He uses a stick to walk now.’ Jimbo was silent for a few seconds, hoping he was getting his message across before he continued. ‘Seriously, Mouse, he’s got connections you don’t want to know about, that should tell you all you need to know about him. My advice would be, tell whoever wants to know to stay well fucking clear.’

  Jimbo was relieved when they reached his car, all he wanted to do was climb in and drive away.

  ‘I want you pass on a message to Ray Cole, you’ll do that?’ Before Jimbo had a chance to reply, Mouse kneed him in the groin, as he doubled he brought the knee up into Jimbo’s face. ‘Tell your pal, I don’t care how hard he thinks he is - I’m harder, get it?’

  Jimbo was still on his knees as Mouse walked away, laughing. He seriously thought he was a match for Ray Cole. Jimbo managed to get to his feet and leaned back against the car. Wiping his hand across his face, it came away smeared with blood. ‘Shit,’ he spat into the gutter. His ribs still hurt from the pasting with the baseball bat, now this. The fish and chips would have to wait, he wouldn’t have been able to eat them anyway. Pulling himself together, he made his way back to the Eagle.

  Warren was standing at the bar, chatting with Kirsty and the old bloke whose name he could never remember, when Jimbo opened the pub door. The old man, nosey as ever, turned automatically when he heard the door open.

  ‘Bloody hell, lad, what’s happened to you?’ he limped across on arthritic legs to help Jimbo. Kirsty and Warren turned to see who he was talking to.

  ‘Bloody hell, what happened to you?

  ‘Mouse.’

  ‘A mouse, you say?’ said the old bloke, not understand the significance.

  ‘A long story, gramps,’ said Jimbo.

  ‘The little shit. Get him a brandy, please, Kirsty.’

  ‘Make it a double, seeing as though Ray’s paying,’ Jimbo said through his swelling lips. ‘He was asking questions about you.’ Kirsty passed a box of tissues across the bar, then turned to the optics. ‘Thanks,’ he pulled a couple out and wiped his mouth, ‘said a bloke he works for wanted info.’

  ‘Powers?’

  ‘Didn’t give a name, but I reckon so.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘The truth, that you’re a short tempered nasty bastard and not to get involved with you at any cost.’ Blood continued to dribble from his split lip.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, it’s the truth,’ Jimbo replied, trying to smile as he eased himself onto a bar stool. ‘Don’t suppose it’ll put Powers off, I reckon I’ve just put your rep up a notch or two.’

  Kirsty stood listening, she took it all in, wondering what the hell it was all about. What she’d heard didn’t sound a bit like the Ray she thought she knew.

  ‘You okay?’ she asked Jimbo. He nodded. ‘See you in a bit. Yes love, what can I get you,’ she asked a customer waiting to be served at the other end of the bar.

  ‘How long have we been teamed up again?’ Jimbo asked seriously. ‘No need to answer that one, two fucking minutes that’s how long.’ Warren looked puzzled. ‘Two fucking minutes and I’ve already got a cracked bloody rib, maybe two, and had my head kicked in!’

  ‘Look, mate, you know the score, you can back off anytime you want.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and what sort of mess would you get into on your own? You’re not getting rid of me that easy. Some fucker’s got to watch your back.’

  ‘Then what the hell are you griping about?’

  ‘Just trying to make you feel guilty,’ he said, with a chuckle.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing for free, Jimbo, that fucking little turd Mouse, he’ll wish he never messed with us – you. That’s a promise.’

  Warren already had Mouse’s punishment lined up, and it would be a bit more significant than just a hiding.

  ‘Isn’t that your mobile?’ Kirsty said, nodding towards the mobile phone vibrating its way along the bar top. In all the commotion, he hadn’t noticed his phone heading towards a beer spill.

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’ Warren made a grab for the phone before it drowned itself in beer. He checked the display screen, a text message. ‘Pat Conway,’ he said to Jimbo, who was sat holding a paper tissue to his lips.

  ‘What’s he after?’

  ‘Just says, “call me”,’ He walked to
the far end of the bar for privacy and dialled Conway’s number. The call was picked up immediately. ‘Pat, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Powers, he’s been asking questions…’

  ‘What sort of questions?’

  ‘What do you think? About you, who are you, can you be trusted, he wanted to know the far end of a fart.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I lied, told him you’re as sound as a fucking pound, as if …, but what concerns me, is, before he hung up he asked how Rachell was keeping. How the fuck does he know about her?’

  ‘Search me.’

  ‘Yeah, well, what I want to know is, have you been speaking out of turn? Cos I’ve not told anyone - only you.’

  ‘Listen to me, Pat, I can tell you for free, I haven’t told anyone. Why the hell should I?’

  Silence on the line.

  ‘Ray, I’m worried, what the hell does he actually know? You’ve got to get her back.’

  ‘You know I can’t do that,’ Warren’s voice dropped to whisper, ‘I can’t take the chance in case I get picked up, technically I am still a wanted man.’

  ‘Then what the hell am I to do?’

  ‘You know where she is, go collect her yourself.’

  ‘ME?’

  ‘Well, let’s face it, you are her father. Send her a text, tell her how you feel, that you’re worried, all the things a dad would say. You never know she might reply this time. Anyway, gotta go.’

  Warren hung up the call, he was sure this wouldn’t be the last he heard from Conway. He turned, smiled at Kirsty and went back to carry on the conversation with Jimbo.

  ‘What was the fat twat after?’ Jimbo asked, hardly legible as he swilled brandy around his mouth, wincing as the alcohol stung the cut in his lip.

  ‘You weren’t the only one being quizzed about me. Seems Powers has been sounding out Pat, pretty much along the lines of the conversation you’ve just had, without the violence.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing, he was cool about it. Can you believe he gave me a glowing reference? What is strange, is, before Powers hung up he asked how Rachell was keeping. Now, my question is the same as the one Pat just asked me, how the hell does he know about Rachell? And what’s the significance?’