The Blood Red Line (A Warren & Jimbo novel)

by Alfie Robins

  ‘That’s all there is to it, London train 10am tomorrow, coffee, show her the city’s sights then back to his place - all done and back here for lunch time.’

  ‘Why you and not one of his own blokes?’ Jimbo asked.

  ‘Jimbo, you’ve worked for him, would you trust any of them?

  ‘Point taken.’

  ‘Right, Jimbo me lad, your turn what did you find out?’ Trish asked, pen poised over the logbook.

  ‘I paid a visit to an old dope head friend of mine, Lee Etherington, you should have seen the fucking state of him. Half stoned and coughing up phlegm, I didn’t get a great deal out of him. The best was that a psycho who goes by the name of Mouse…’

  ‘For the log, what’s his real name?’

  ‘Sebastian London.’

  ‘Ooh, Sebastian, sounds a posh boy,’ said Trish.

  ‘Hardly, that’s why he goes by a nickname.’

  ‘Why Mouse?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t really know, cos he’s got a face more like a bleedin rat, pointy and big ears,’ he shuddered at the thought. ‘Anyway, Lee, reckons Mouse keeps going on about some bloke he’s working for, ‘a face’.

  ‘Sounds as if he’s been reading too many Martina Cole novels,’ Trish managed to mutter through the cream.

  ‘That’s what I thought, great minds and all that. So, it seems Mouse is flashing the cash. Believe me, from what I remember about him it’s not like him having any cash to brag about. He’s the sort of piss head psycho who can’t hang on to it.’

  ‘Worth checking him out?’ asked Trish.

  ‘Somewhere to start at least.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Warren turned face her, ‘what are you doing tonight?’

  ‘Washing my cat - take Jimbo.’

  ‘Thought you might say that - what do you reckon Jimbo, me and you, a night on the town?’

  ‘Like a date, you mean?’ He tried his best not to crack his face into a smile.

  Jimbo winked across at Trish. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, fella, I’ve told you before, you’re not my type. Seriously, Mouse is one nasty fucker. We’ll probably find him in the Rose on Beverley Road, he usually ends up in there at some point.’

  ‘Okay, matey, I’ll see you in the Eagle about eight? Sure, you won’t come, Trish, so I don’t have to look at his ugly mug all night?’

  ‘I’d like to, Greg, but like I said, I’m bathing the cat tonight.’

  ‘Nice one, Trish,’ then Jimbo turned to Warren. ‘Ugly mug, me, wait until you see Mouse.’

  ‘Why wait?’ said Trish as she brought his details from the PNC up on her laptop. ‘You have something there Jimbo, it’s a face only a mother could love - I think.’

  ‘What’s his form?’ Warren asked as he helped himself to the remaining cream cake, Trish threw him a look, she obviously intended working her way through everything on the plate.

  ‘GBH, ABH, TWOKING, burglary, possession with intent, you name it this lad has done it and got the tee-shirt, but no mention of firearms.’ She turned to Jimbo. ‘How the hell did you get involved with a scrote like him?’

  Jimbo just shrugged his shoulders. There had been times when Jimbo had been desperate for cash, and, needs must as the saying goes, but he wasn’t going to expand on the subject.

  ‘What about this Scabby and the lad shot in McDonalds, Alan?’

  Trish opened her A4 pad. ‘I’ve done a bit of trawling about but there’s not much to link them together apart from the obvious, namely they both did a bit of dealing. Scabies and the lad did run in the same gang when they were younger, but parted ways a while back.’

  As arranged Warren and Jimbo met up for a pint in the Eagle, the place was quiet. They sat at a table with a good view of the exits. ‘How do you want to play this? And will you please stop eyeing up that barmaid?’ Jimbo taunted, as he picked up his glass.

  ‘Window shopping, just window shopping,’ he turned and smiled across at the girl and back again. ‘As to how we play this, the ball is in your court - he’s your mate.’

  ‘I tell you he’s no bleedin mate of mine, well not for yonks, he’s a nasty twat.’ Warren kept looking across toward the bar. ‘Oh c’mon, you look as if you’re getting settled in here, let’s get going before you try and get into her knickers,’ Jimbo said, being the responsible one.

  ‘Crude, Jimbo, that’s what you are.’ Warren picked up his glass, finished it one swallow and stood up and gave the girl another wink. ‘Well what are we waiting for?’

  Jimbo sighed, shook his head, gave the girl a wave of the hand and followed him out of the door.

  ‘Been a while since we last drove through the city,’ Warren said as he negotiated the Escort through the town centre traffic.

  ‘Hmm, at least we haven’t got anybody shooting at us and no one tucked up in the boot.’

  Warren drove along Beverley Road, the main road north out of the city centre. Polish supermarkets, Romanian bakeries, and various eastern European shops now dominated the area. Turkish barbers seemed to be the flavour of the moment. Warren turned the Escort into Park Lane, pulling up around the corner of the Rose.

  ‘You ready for this?’ he asked as he killed the engine. Jimbo nodded, he wasn’t looking forward to it one little bit. ‘Right, let’s see if this Mouse is in his hole.’

  ‘If that was your attempt at a joke, it was sad, even for you,’ Jimbo said, as they climbed out of the low-slung car. ‘And Greg - if he’s there, let me do the talking.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘You can come across as sort of - aggressive at times.’

  ‘Cheeky, sod. You really know how to hurt me, hurt me right here,’ Warren punched himself in the chest, all the time suppressing a laugh. ‘But can I smack him one if he gets too clever?’

  ‘Fucking southerner, always want to let your fists do the talking.’ Jimbo said just loud enough for Warren to hear. The Rose was an old-fashioned pub, the exterior, cracked green glazed bricks with frosted glass windows.

  At the green painted door Jimbo stopped and paused, took a breath, then pushed the door open. The voices stopped and heads turned as they walked in.

  Warren didn’t much take notice, just stared straight ahead, ignoring the British National Party poster on the wall. He’d seen it all before. Where he came from, it was a usual occurrence when a stranger walked in for voices to pause, especially when it was a tall, handy looking black guy. The Rose was no different - a “locals” pub although it did look a little on the racist side. Ignoring the stares they went across to the bar and stood side by side, resting their elbows on the mahogany bar top. Jimbo constantly looked about.

  ‘Two pints of lager please, mate,’ Warren said to the scruffy fat youth of a barman.

  ‘Yes, pal, what can I get you?’

  ‘I just told you …’ said Warren, looking the barman in the eye.

  The youth completely blanked him - looked over Warren’s shoulder as if he didn’t exist and proceeded to serve the skinhead who’d followed them in, this to Warren, was like showing a red rag to a bull. ‘Hey, fat boy, you deaf or what?’

  The barman carried on pulling the skinheads pint. Enough was enough. Warren reached across the bar with both arms and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, glasses clattered to the floor as he was hoisted half way across the bar top, and spilling beer as he did. Heads turned. In the mirror behind the bar, Jimbo could see movement.

  ‘I knew it - I fucking knew it,’ he said under his breath. Warren obviously didn’t have the anger management thing under control.

  Two of the regulars stood and pushed back their chairs as if they were going to intervene. They were stopped in their tracks as a smaller figure pushed between them.

  ‘Oh shit, shit, shit,’ Jimbo said in a low voice. Warren immediately looked at the reflection coming toward them. It was Mouse.

  ‘What’s goin’ on here, Jimbo? And YOU, let go of fucking Charlie,’ said the smaller man as he prodded Warren in the back. Mouse was small in
stature, but hard with it. His motto was the bigger they are the harder they fall.

  ‘With pleasure.’

  With an exaggerated flourish, Warren flexed his arms and pulled Charlie forward and then threw him backwards to his own side of the bar, taking half a dozen bottles of beer with him as he crashed into the bottle shelf behind him before collapsing to the floor in a heap.

  ‘Look, Mouse, we just came in for a quiet …’

  ‘And this is a quiet drink?’ Mouse questioned threateningly, holding his arms wide looking up at Warren.

  Warren was struggling to keep his temper in check, arms down by his side clenching and unclenching his fists, breathing slow and deep, just like his therapist had shown him. In his previous life his fists and his feet had landed him in more trouble than he cared to admit.

  ‘If this is your idea of a quiet friggin drink - I’d like to see it when you have a proper night out!’

  Warren stared into the smaller man’s eyes willing him to try and throw a punch, it may have been something subliminal that Mouse recognised in the gaze.

  ‘Well, get up off your arse Charlie and get these blokes a drink,’ he told the barman. ‘When you do have a proper night out you let me know, cos I like a fucking good fight.’ Mouse laughed and gave Jimbo a man-hug. Jimbo reluctantly responded at the same time turning his face away from the coffin breath and blackened teeth.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ Warren asked, standing to his full height of five eleven, to emphasise Mouse’s short stature.

  ‘Yeah, right, Ray, this Mouse - Mouse, Ray.’ Warren reluctantly held out his hand, he was pleased when Mouse ignored the gesture.

  ‘Sebastian,’ corrected Mouse.

  Warren was now in full character. ‘Some fucking pub this is when the barman ignores the customers,’ he said looking down on Mouse. He could see a swastika tat on the side of Mouse’s neck, boldly placed for all to admire or loath.

  ‘We don’t get many of your sort in here,’ Mouse told him.

  ‘What do you mean - my sort?’

  ‘Take a look around, mate, what do you think I’m on about?’

  Warren turned, looked at the walls covered in BNP and Keep England White posters. He gave Jimbo a look that said, what the fuck are we doing in here? Before he counted to ten.

  ‘Sorry,’ he silently mouthed an apology.

  Mouse stood between Jimbo and Warren and put his arms around their shoulders, sort of in a group hug. ‘But then again, any mate of Jimbo’s and all that, even if he is black.’ Warren was really itching to give the bloke a smack in the face.

  ‘C’mon, Charlie, chop, chop, get them pints, these blokes are dying of thirst here.’ Warren watched closely, never taking his eyes off the barman, he wouldn’t have put it past him to spit in his glass. Once Charlie passed over their pints, Mouse then led them down the pub between the staring faces. Faces that questioned why Warren was even being allowed in the place never mind drinking their beer. With full lager glasses before them, they sat at a table as far from the front door as possible - not where Warren would have chosen to sit in any pub, never mind in a den like the Rose. He preferred quick access and an even quicker get away.

  ‘So, Jimbo, what’s the idea, bringing your mate in here?’

  ‘Business, what else?’ Jimbo had regained his composure, and his confidence. ‘Ray’s looking for a certain type of merchandise, I told him, there’s only one bloke in the city with those sort of contacts - you.’

  Mouse loved the praise, his strangely sculptured face glowed with pride, this was what he liked to hear. ‘So, Mr Ray, what sort of business you looking to do, drugs, a white girl, or maybe a little white boy?’

  The fist clenching continued, it was taking all of Warren’s willpower to stop himself from reaching across the table and pounding the shit out of Mouse’s face. Jimbo’s brain was working overtime, it could turn volatile at any moment, he was just waiting for things to explode - he’d seen it happen once too often. Sensing what was about to happen next he briefly placed a hand on Warren’s arm. Warren relaxed at the touch. He rested his elbows on the table amongst the beer spills and took a few deep breaths before he dared speak.

  ‘I’m looking for a new supplier. Jimbo here reckons you might be able to put me on to someone.’

  ‘Depends what you want supplying with, I don’t usually do business with … people like you, know what I mean?’

  ‘People like me?’

  ‘Yeah, people like you. Look around the place, you stand out like a vicar in a brothel, know what I mean?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ All the time Warren could feel the tension still building inside. With his right hand, he picked up his pint and sipped to stop himself from reaching across the table and throttling the little bastard. His left hand, under the table, was still clenching and unclenching

  ‘So, tell me, what you after?’ Mouse asked cockily.

  ‘A colleague of mine is in the market for firearms, his current – former supplier can’t deliver.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘If you really want to know - I ripped his fucking head off and shit down his neck for selling shite.’

  A long silence followed while Mouse digested what he’d just heard. Then he made a loud forced laugh.

  ‘If, and I say if, I was to put you on to someone it’ll cost ya, I don’t do owt for nowt, know what I mean?

  Warren smiled. Oh, I know what you mean, wanker, and I’ll let you know what I mean once this deals sorted. He could see the rough prison tats on Mouse’s fingers as he grasped his glass. He was tempted to reach over and squeeze Mouse’s hand until the glass shattered. He liked the idea, he was in half a mind to do it but held back.

  ‘So, are we doing business or are we gonna fuck off and I find someone else who wants to make some easy money?’

  ‘Don’t get arsey, man, I reckon we can do a deal, but it’ll cost you a ton.’ Warren put his hand in his jacket inside pocket to get his wallet. ‘Fucking hell, man, not in here, I’ll meet you outside in five.’

  Without saying another word, Warren and Jimbo finished their drinks and stood up.

  ‘In five, know what I mean?’ Warren said.

  They left the pub to racist chants of hoots and jeers.

  ‘Fucking hell, that was scary, I know he’s a twat but I didn’t reckon on any of that,’ Jimbo said, and sighed with relief as the pub door closed behind them.

  ‘Yeah, well, we ain't there yet, keep your eyes open in case any of those Neanderthals fancy taking a pop at us.’

  They walked a short way down the side of the Rose and stood by the side of the Escort. Jimbo took out his tobacco tin and skinned up while they waited. ‘Here he comes,’ said Jimbo and lit his fag.

  Mouse nodded for them to walk further down the street. Warren half expected to be jumped on by the racist morons any minute.

  ‘Got my money?’ Mouse held out his hand.

  Warren shook his head. ‘When you give me the number, you get your cash.’

  Mouse glanced over his shoulder, satisfied no one was watching the transaction, he didn’t want to be seen doing a deal with a black man. ‘Fair enough.’ He shrugged his shoulders, then passed over a scrap of paper with a mobile telephone number scrawled on it. Mouse held out his hand, rubbing his fingers together. ‘Money?’

  ‘Who is this bloke?’ Warren kept a firm grip on the notes.

  ‘Someone you really don’t want to know, know what I mean?’

  ‘Just give him the fucking name, Mouse, then we can all be on our way,’ Jimbo said, as he continued scanning around.

  ‘Told you before, it’s Sebastian now. The bloke you want is called Powers, Neil Powers, now where’s my fucking money?’

  ‘Just one more thing.’

  Mouse sighed and rocked back on one leg showing disinterest, he just wanted his money and to get back to his beer. Then, caught off guard, he was floored by a quick one two - one in the gut and number two to the face. The
fist smacked him in the mouth splitting his lip and loosened a couple of teeth at the same time.

  Now on his knees, Mouse brought his hands to his face. ‘Bastard,’ he mumbled through his fingers, his lips swelling immediately.

  All the time Jimbo was hopping from one foot to the other, looking over his shoulder expecting the pub’s heavy mob to come around the corner any second.

  Warren crouched down in front of him and stuffed two fifty-pound notes into his bloody mouth. ‘Here you go, pal, KNOW WHAT I MEAN?’ Then he gave Mouse an extra kick that sent him sprawling across the paving stones.

  ‘Well, I think that went well, don’t you?’ Warren said, as they drove away. In the rear-view mirror, he could see Mouse getting to his feet.

  ‘Went well? I was near on shitting myself. I thought you was gonna pummel him while we were in the pub.’

  ‘Nearly did, mate, had to take a few deep breaths I can tell you, the only thing that stopped me was the other dozen blokes itching to have a go at us. You heard of this Powers?’

  ‘Can’t say as I know the fella.’

  ‘When you get into the office in the morning, ask Trish to do a PNC check on him, see what it throws up. And I’ll give Conway a call and see if I can get the real story.’

  ‘And you’ll be doing what?’

  ‘Doing that favour for your mate - meeting his daughter off the London train. Fancy a pint in the Eagle?’

  ‘Fancy that bird behind the bar more like!’

  His second day back in the job was one to remember - despite everything that had happened, he’d enjoyed it.

  Chapter 7

  Warren woke early, he was looking forward to work. If the previous day was anything to go by, anything could happen. This was the day he was determined to return to some sort of routine, he was resolute to get back into the habit of looking after himself, with early morning pounding of the pavements and maybe find himself a gym. As his trainers slapped the flagstones he knew he’d made the right decision by coming back to the “job”, on the other hand, maybe he should have given it more thought? Too late now, a couple of days in and he was already up to his neck in the mire and he’d let his quick temper get the better of him - not a good thing. Too many questions were cluttering his head, he even wondered how Mouse was feeling? Not too good, hopefully.