The Blood Red Line (A Warren & Jimbo novel)

by Alfie Robins

  ‘Problem?’ asked Trish.

  ‘Who bloody knows? Jimbo, he’s only following Powers.’

  Trish shook her head. ‘You know what the trouble is don’t you?’

  ‘Enlighten me,’ Warren replied leaning forward resting on his elbows.

  ‘He thinks he’s a copper, that’s what,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘You know what? I think you’re right, I’ll have to keep him right when he eventually turns up, if he turns up.’

  Jimbo pulled up the hood of his jacket and walked around the back of the Ford, popped the boot and made as if looking inside, all the while keeping an eye on Powers.

  ‘Shit,’ he said under his breath, Powers was walking toward him, he was carrying a silver aluminium briefcase. He’d been rumbled, his heart skipped a beat or two, then all change, Powers turned into the drive of a semi-detached house. He didn’t ring the front door bell, instead, he walked down the path beside the house, heading towards the backway.

  Jimbo slammed the boot shut, and walked briskly toward the house, he could see Powers at the far end of the garden, he was knocking on the door of a workshop. The door opened. Jimbo did a quick side step out of view, as Powers did a quick look over his shoulder. He watched as the door fully opened, Powers went inside and the door closed behind him.

  The street was quiet, Jimbo was standing out like a spare prick at a wedding, he couldn’t risk watching any longer and walked back to the vehicle. He sighed a sigh of relief, as he dropped into the driving seat. Once more he took out his mobile and dialled.

  ‘It’s me,’ he said into his mobile.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing following on foot …’

  ‘Greg, hang on, I think I’ve found his ‘converter’, looks like a workshop in a bleedin garden shed.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Powers, he was carrying one of those metal briefcases, what else could be in it but firearms?’

  ‘Sounds likely. Leave things be and get back here.’ Warren couldn’t help but smile to himself, Jimbo never ceased to surprise him.

  ‘Well done, Jimbo, good call, you’ve played a blinder. A little praise now and again wouldn’t do any harm,’ Jimbo said into the mobile, even though there was no one at the other end to hear him. He put the mobile on the passenger seat, fastened his seatbelt, turned on the ignition and drove away.

  It was lunch time by the time Jimbo got back to the station. He found Warren in the canteen tucking into an All Day Full English breakfast. ‘That looks good,’ said Jimbo, dropping down into the chair opposite.

  ‘It is,’ Warren speared a piece of sausage, ‘so, you reckon we could be on to something?’ waving the fork in front of Jimbo.

  ‘Yep,’ then, quick as a flash Jimbo reached across and grabbed the sausage off Warren’s fork and stuffed it in his mouth. ‘That’ll teach you.’

  ‘So, you saw Powers go to this house, then what?’

  ‘Like I said, he went down the side of the house, there was this pre-fab type building, he knocked and went in.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Didn’t stop to find out, too conspicuous, so I came back here. Mind you the case he was carrying looked kinda heavy.’ Jimbo stole a piece of Warren’s toast, reached across the table and dipped it in his fried egg.

  ‘You’re on dangerous ground, mate, keep off,’ Warren continued eating. ‘So, I think we should take a closer look at this place. What do you reckon, you up for it?’

  ‘Do you need to ask?’

  ‘Tonight then.’ Jimbo was about to reach across when Warren stabbed the back of his hand with his fork. ‘Warned you, dangerous ground.’

  Back in the office Trish was busy uploading the latest events into the online system. ‘How’s Bernie doing?’ asked Warren.

  ‘So far so good.’

  ‘He’s a nosey bastard, if you ask me,’ Jimbo said, as he sat down.

  ‘Explain?’ Warren told him.

  ‘Just wanted to know the far end of a fart, how come I know you, how long, that sort of stuff.’

  ‘That all? It’s only natural, isn’t it?’ Trish chipped in.

  ‘Can’t help it, just something about the bloke I don’t trust.’ He sat down at his own desk and turned on his iPad, put the earphones on then looked up. ‘Where is he anyway?’

  ‘Like you, he’s entitled to a lunch break,’ Trish said protectively, if truth were known she didn’t have any idea where her prodigy was.

  Warren was quiet, listening. Jimbo was a good judge of character, he’d had to be in his previous career, you had to trust your mates one hundred percent, it was the only way if you didn’t want a tug from the law. Maybe there was something in what Jimbo said, he’d keep an open mind for now, and at the same time keep an eye on PC Philips.

  ‘Trish, don’t take this the wrong way, me and Jimbo are going on a bit of a nocturnal outing, let’s just keep it between the three of us for now. You okay with that?’

  ‘Course, as long as you don’t expect me to come along.’ Warren looked across and smiled. ‘Oh no, you’re not expecting me to, are you?’

  ‘Na, you can sit this one out.’

  ‘Thank Christ for that, the less I know about your escapades the better.’ Trish carried on inputting information. Warren sat and waited. ‘What are you two up to anyway?’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t last, thought it would be a bit longer before your curiosity got the better of you though.’

  ‘So, I’m predictable, tell me.’

  ‘We’re going to pay a visit to the place on Hendon Street, looks like it could be a conversion workshop.’

  ‘Okay that’ll do, don’t tell me anymore.’

  Warren laughed, tapped his keyboard and did a search of the property in Hendon Street. ‘Interesting,’ he said, ‘seems number 56 is owned by a Bill Gardener, and guess what?’ Trish and Jimbo both looked up. ‘He was an Armourer with the Royal Logistic Regiment.’

  ‘Wasn’t expecting that,’ Trish replied, surprised.

  ‘It’s win, win,’ Jimbo said.

  ‘Let’s hope so mate,’ said Warren, eyes fixed on the screen. Now they had a name he could check the National Computer base for any previous criminal activity.

  Chapter 22

  Jimbo had taken Warren’s instructions to wear dark clothing to the extreme. Making an excuse he had left the office early, and visited an army surplus store to kit himself out with a black jump suit, not unlike police issue. ‘I’m sweating bloody cobs,’ Jimbo said as he scratched his head beneath the ski mask and then pulled it down over his face, just holes for his eyes and mouth.

  Warren wanted to laugh, but held it back. ‘You look like a Ninja, I can hardly see you myself,’ he said as he faked feeling about in the dark. ‘Where you gone, oh, there you are,’ he said, as he poked Jimbo in the ribs.

  ‘Piss off. You’re only jealous cos I’ve got the right gear.’

  ‘If you say so, mate.’

  They’d parked the Escort two streets away from Hendon Street, in the shadows of a disused metal box manufacturing company. In the darkness, they’d managed to scale the loose shale railway embankment without too much effort. Luckily the sky remained overcast and the moon didn’t make an appearance. They continued following the railway track until they were at the back of number 59.

  Standing on the disused railway embankment, they had an unobstructed view into armourer’s garden. Warren took out the night vision binoculars from Jimbo’s rucksack and scanned the area below them.

  ‘Looks quiet, no light on in the house. You ready for this?’ asked Warren, as he handed back the binoculars.

  ‘Always am,’ Jimbo replied, as he put them in the pack and hung it over his shoulder.

  ‘Right then, matey, let’s go.’

  Warren went first, Jimbo close behind. Slipping and sliding down the muddy ridge they reached the boundary fence between the embankment and Gardener’s property. The six-foot wooden lap timber fence looked as if it had seen b
etter days. Jimbo held the fence panel rigid. Warren hoisted himself over, then roles reversed, Jimbo slipped over like a cat - this had been his game in a previous life as a burglar.

  ‘Still got it,’ he said as he dropped to the ground behind the bramble bushes and crouched next to Warren.

  ‘You hang on here, I’ll check out the back of the house.’

  ‘Okay, keemosabi.’

  Warren shook his head at the comment and moved off. Crouching low he moved along the garden path keeping to the shadows. Things looked good, no noise from the house no lights suddenly flicking on. He waved an arm to Jimbo. Stealthily, they moved through the darkness towards the workshop. Jimbo knelt by his side, took the rucksack from his shoulder and placed it on the floor beside them and took his picks from the side pocket.

  The workshop was constructed from pre-cast concrete panels, no windows and only one entrance and exit, a solid hardwood door was secured with two heavy security locks. Carefully Jimbo ran his fingers around the door edges, everything seemed okay, no sign of an alarm. He nodded to Warren and started work with his pick.

  Gardener rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, checked the time, it was 2. 15a.m, the room was in darkness. He’d fallen asleep on the settee. A cold mug of tea was on the floor by his side. His wife had already climbed the stairs to bed long ago. He reached down, picked up the mug and placed it on the coffee table, careful to put it on a coaster. He yawned, stretched his arms behind his head. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed the red light flashing on the security control panel. He wasn’t duly worried, it had happened before, it wasn’t unusual for a visit from the odd urban fox to trigger the infra-red alarm system. All the same, he thought it best to make sure. He switched on the laptop to check out what his concealed CCTV system had spotted. There was no fox - on the screen two grainy black and white figures knelt by the workshop door.

  ‘Little sods,’ He watched, they seemed to be having trouble opening the lock, he wasn’t surprised, the locks were the best that money could buy. Not turning the lights on, Gardener went through to the kitchen and put on his boots. He had no intention of letting the little bastards get away with it, they weren’t leaving without a beating. Before he opened the door to the garden, he took the aluminium baseball bat from the corner. Silently he opened the door and gently closed it behind him. Keeping to the shadow of the kitchen extension he edged his way around the back of the house.

  ‘How much longer?’ Warren asked his burglar colleague.

  ‘Nearly there, it’s a tricky one,’ Jimbo replied, concentrating on the lock.

  Then all hell broke loose as Gardener left the shadows. Yelling like a Banshee he ran down the garden path, the baseball bat held in both hands, high above his head. ‘C’mon ya fuckers,’ he yelled, ‘let’s see how hard you are.’

  ‘That’s fucked it,’ said Warren, turning just in time to avoid the swinging aluminium bat.

  Jimbo didn’t even turn his head, he stuffed his picks in his pocket and grabbed his rucksack. Gardener swung the bat, Warren sidestepped the aluminium weapon, unfortunately Jimbo, now on his feet didn’t. The momentum swung Gardener around, the bat connected solidly with Jimbo’s ribs. Warren instinctively reacted, he managed to land a good solid punch in Gardener’s kidneys, followed by a kick to his thigh, he dropped to his knees. No words, just grunts from both Gardener and Jimbo, both nursing their wounds. Again, more by instinct than anything else, Warren grabbed Jimbo by the arm, half running and half dragging Jimbo, they made their escape and scarpered down the side of the house towards the street.

  ‘Thieving …scum,’ Gardener called after them as he knelt on the concrete path winded, panting for breath.

  ‘Take off the balaclava and don’t stop running until we’re well clear,’ said Warren, as they round the front corner of the house and ran into the darkened street. Their luck was holding, no late-night dog walkers, no one, not a person in sight. They kept running until they reached the ten-foot at the bottom of the street. Jimbo almost collapsed. He lay back against a parked car panting, wincing in pain as he caught his breath. Warren wasn’t in much better shape, he bent forward, hands resting on his knees while he gathered his breath. ‘That was bloody close,’ he said between gasps. ‘You okay, mate?’

  Jimbo wrapped his arms around his chest. ‘I think the sods gone and broke a couple of my bleedin ribs.’

  ‘That was something I wasn’t expecting, a baseball bat wielding psychopath. It does prove there’s something in the workshop worth protecting.’

  ‘Greg …I don’t feel so good …think I’m going to be sick …’ Jimbo dropped to the floor.

  ‘Shit, you’ll be alright,’ he said as he helped Jimbo in the sitting position, back against a brick wall with his legs stretched out before him. ‘Just hang on.’ Warren didn’t want to risk dragging Jimbo up and over the embankment to the car. ‘You should be alright here, I’ll go and get the car. Don’t go anywhere,’ he said as he moved off.

  ‘Ha, beedin ha,’ Jimbo said through gritted teeth.

  ‘What’s going on down there?’ Gardener’s missus shouted down the stairs.

  ‘Nothing, go back to bed,’ he called back. Sitting at the kitchen table he remembered a time when he could have taken both of the intruders with one arm tied behind his back. Who the hell were they? not a couple of lads on the rob that’s for sure. And that big bugger who gave him a pasting, he was no street fighter – he was a professional. He checked the time, it was getting on for 3am, there was no point in calling Powers, there was bugger all he could do about it anyway, morning would do.

  ‘You want me to take you to get checked out?’

  Jimbo sat low in the passenger seat, holding his seat belt clear, so as not to let it over tighten.

  ‘Na, just get me home, I’ll pop a couple of pills and I’ll be right.’ Warren very much doubted this.

  ‘Jimbo, you look like shit, you need an x-ray.’

  ‘Look, Greg, just take me home to my bed. Please.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, home it is.’ Jimbo was duly delivered home. ‘Look, mate, if you need anything call me - right?’

  Jimbo groaned as he climbed out of the low sprung Escort. ‘Yeah, will do, see you later.’ The car door slammed shut as the black clad Ninja headed for his bed.

  By the time, Warren reached home he was still wired, the adrenaline was still pumping. He kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket over the back of a chair and headed for the kitchen, his old friend Jim Beam was calling. With a generous measure poured into his glass, he returned to the living room and collapsed onto the settee.

  He was furious with himself for allowing them to get in such a situation. There was no doubt it was all down to lack of preparation, he should have known there would have been an alarm system, of course he bloody should. It was a mistake even a rookie wouldn’t have made. None too pleased with himself, he finished the drink and feeling pissed off with himself he headed off to his bed.

  Jimbo on the other hand, had found himself some Paracetomols, downed a couple and then fallen asleep on his sofa.

  Chapter 23

  Gardener’s wife had gone off to her part-time job at a nearby care home. The morning was damp and miserable, pretty much the way Gardener himself was feeling, as he nursed a bruised ego and face. A close inspection of his workshop showed it none the worse for the attempted break-in. He was glad he’d invested the extra cash in the heavy-duty security locks. Inside the workshop, he sat on a high stool with a brew in front of him. He mulled over the previous night’s events, then picked up his mobile and made a call.

  At the other end the line, Powers recognised the caller ID. ‘And what can I do for you this miserable morning.’

  ‘Had a couple of visitors last night, two tow-rags tried to get in the workshop.’

  ‘Kids?’ asked Powers.

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s what I thought, until I got out there with the bat.’ Powers was intrigued. ‘I’d put my money on them being pros.’
>
  ‘Not seen them hanging around before?’

  ‘No way, the big black guy would have stood out.’

  ‘Black guy you say?’

  ‘Yeah, about five ten - six feet tall, cropped hair, built like a brick shithouse.’

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘Skinny fucker, five sevenish, dressed from head to toe in black, looked like a bloody commando. He’s the one I clobbered, got a good swing in with the bat. The little shit.’

  ‘Okay, mate, thanks for letting me know I’ll put the word out, someone might know who they are. Beef up your security to be on the safe side.’

  ‘No worries, Neil, I’m on it.’ The call ended.

  A big black guy, could it be Ray Cole? Powers didn’t believe in coincidences. Cole was a virtual stranger, an unknown quantity wanting to do business, now this? He would put things on hold, whether Cole would like it or not. Before any business took place between them Powers needed to be doubly sure Cole was kosher.

  ‘I don’t give two fucks, I don’t want your excuses, when I tell you to do something, you do it. Right?’ Pat Conway yelled, into his mobile phone. ‘Just get the job done.’ He ended the call. ‘Wanker.’ When Conway told someone to do something he wanted it done without question, he wasn’t interested in excuses, he didn’t give a toss if the blokes mother had just died.

  He was about to put the mobile in his shirt pocket when it rang once more. Conway checked the screen, no caller ID, he disconnected, he had no intention of answering a call from a stranger.

  The caller was persistent, it rang a further three times, each time he disconnected. Then he received a text message. “PICK UP THE PHONE”. His patience was wearing thin, Conway wasn’t the sort of man who expected to be told what to do, that was his job. Whoever was calling was going to get the sharp side of his tongue. The next time it rang he accepted. ‘Who the hell are you and how did you get this number?’

  ‘No need for that, let’s keep it civil, Patrick,’ Powers replied. Although they hadn’t done business together, they were aware of each other’s existence.