The Blood Red Line (A Warren & Jimbo novel)

by Alfie Robins

  ‘Hell, Greg, you been here all night?’ Trish asked, as she walked in carrying her own cardboard cup of coffee in one hand and a file in the other and set both down on the desk.

  ‘Can’t wind me up to day, Constable,’ he replied with a smile on his face.

  ‘Someone must have had a good night, who was she?’

  ‘Nothing like that, Trish, not at all. Just feeling good.’

  ‘Well, let’s see if I can wipe the smile from your face, I was handed this when I walked through the main office,’ she passed over the file.

  Warren reached across and took a hold of the file and opened it. He knew what he would see inside. ‘Well, well, well, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke,’ he said as he opened the file.

  ‘You don’t seem surprised?’

  ‘What’s to be surprised about? Someone like Sebastian London? It was only a matter of time before someone took a pop at him, it had to happen.’

  ‘Suppose, this comes under our remit?’

  ‘Of course, it’s more than likely tied into our investigation, we know he was known to Dooley, along with a strong link to Powers.’

  ‘Don’t forget young Joey,’ Trish reminded him.

  ‘And Joey. I’ll leave this one to you and Bernie,’ Warren looked at the clock on the wall. ‘When he decides to join us.’

  Five minutes later Jimbo and Bernie walked into the office together, laughing. ‘Good of you to join us,’ he said with a trace of sarcasm.

  ‘Just bumped into Jimbo in the car park, so we called in at the canteen on the way up,’ Bernie replied, setting down a tray of drinks and warm croissants on the desk.

  ‘That’s okay then.’ Warren helped himself. ‘Bernie, you’re with Trish, apparently, someone put a couple of bullets into Sebastian London last night.’

  The expression on Jimbo’s face didn’t budge.

  ‘Didn’t know about this, did you Jimbo?’ Trish asked him.

  ‘Me, no, what makes you think I would?’ he replied a little sharpish.

  ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ The comment brought a smile to Warren’s face. ‘Just thought, you know, you knowing him, that someone might have been in touch?’

  ‘I might know him, but he’s hardly a mate, is he?’ Jimbo looked towards Warren for reassurance.

  ‘So, Jimbo, me and you are going on a hospital visit, see if we can get any more out of Dooley, he’s had a bit of time to stew, we’ll pay a visit and see if we can wind him up.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Jimbo said, dunking his herbal tea bag up and down in his cup.

  Bernie looked over to Trish and raised his eyebrows, even he could sense the atmosphere change. Warren and Jimbo didn’t finish their drinks, just grabbed what they needed and left the office.

  ‘Now, you can’t tell me that wasn’t weird?’ Bernie said to Trish as the door closed. ‘Beyond weird. You going to tell me what’s with those two?’

  ‘Nothing to tell as far as I know.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Bernie, you’ve got to remember Greg sometimes does things that are a little unorthodox at times, just give him space.’

  ‘Hmm, I’ll remember that. Right, Mr London,’ Bernie said, holding out his hand for the file.

  ‘Not a great deal in it, looks like some sort of punishment to me,’ Trish replied as she passed it across.

  ‘Ouch,’ Bernie said, as he saw the photographs of London, taken in the hospital. ‘Kneecapped, think you could be right about it being a punishment. I suppose this could be termed as unorthodox, don’t you think?’ he waited for some reaction but didn’t get one.

  Trish hoped to Christ, Warren and Jimbo didn’t have anything to do with the kneecapping of London. But somewhere in the back of her mind something niggled.

  ‘I thought that went out in the 80s with the IRA. Fancy a visit to the Rose, see if anyone’s talking?’

  ‘Might be worthwhile waiting a couple of hours.’

  ‘Why?’ Trish questioned.

  ‘Give us time to go and get matching tattoos so that we can blend in.’

  ‘Now, that would be a novel idea. How about we settle for another coffee instead, then we’ll head out?’

  Chapter 27

  ‘Jimbo, mate, you really have got to try to keep a grip,’ Warren told him as they walked through the station corridors.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he answered, playing dumb.

  ‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about - Mouse. You let Trish rattle your cage, just keep it cool that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘So, are we going to the hospital or not?’

  ‘We are, but you’ll be going for one of your herbal teas, while I have a word with Dooley.’

  ‘That’s fine by me.’

  Robert Dooley was still wired up to various machines, but looking a damn sight better than he did the last time Warren had seen him. ‘Robbo,’ Warren said as he entered the room, ‘I can call you Robbo?’

  ‘You again,’ was the only response he got back.

  ‘So,’ said Warren, as he pulled over a tubular chair and sat down. ‘Quite a good set up you have back in your lock-up.’

  ‘I liked it.’

  Warren took out his note book and opened it. ‘Let’s see what we have here. The illegal importation of firearms …’

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s not illegal to bring unconverted Baikals into the country, and besides, I’m not the importer,’ he replied confidently.

  ‘Ah, now that’s where I beg to differ but we can come back to that one, however it is illegal to convert them, now you can’t deny that one?’ Robbo shrugged. ‘Have you any idea of how long a sentence it carries?’ Robbo was silent. ‘Thought not, my best guess is that you’re looking at ten - twelve years. On the other hand, if you were to give us something that could help, a reduced sentence might be in order. See, I don’t believe you’re in this on your own. So, what I say is why take all the responsibility? You know it makes sense, Robbo? You scratch my back and I’ll do what I can to help. How does that sound? Because once we get confirmation from the Crown Prosecution Service you’ll be arrested, and there will be nothing I can do to try and lessen your sentence, think about it?’

  Warren had struck a chord. Robbo was quiet, pensive, he knew he was as deep in the shit as he could possibly be, but give up the guy responsible for supplying him with the Baikals? That was a matter he’d have to give some serious thought to.

  Dooley had known the risks right from the beginning, it had been too good an opportunity to miss, it was either carry on making pin money or step things up a little. It was a no-brainer.

  ‘Look, detective, if, and I say if, I was to supply you with information, how would it stand with the charges against me?’

  ‘Robbo, let’s face it, there’s no conceivable way you can avoid a custodial sentence, possibly a long one, and, to be truthful I really don’t know how long.’

  ‘Earlier you said you could help?’

  ‘What I can do to help is let the prosecution know how helpful you’ve been, as I said before it could go a long way to help getting a reduced sentence, but I can’t guarantee it.’

  Warren could almost hear the cogs turning in Robbo’s head. ‘Okay, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Good man. Now why don’t you start at the beginning?’

  What other choice did he have? He settled back as best he could on the pillows. ‘When I was made redundant cash was tight, you know, once I’d equipped the workshop I had next to bugger all left, anyway, a mate said he knew someone who was expanding his interests and needed a job doing.’

  ‘And that job was converting automatic weapons?’

  ‘It was just the one at first, a sort of trial, things went on from there.’

  ‘These weapons that - what shall we say, malfunctioned, you carried out the conversion?’

  ‘I can put my hands up to the one Joey had, any others I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘This mate of yours
, what’s his name?’

  ‘Ahh c’mon, I’m not dropping him in it.’

  ‘Then this is going nowhere, seems I’m wasting my time.’ Warren makes to stand up.

  ‘Listen, my mate was only involved in introducing me, he never got involved any further. All other dealings were done direct over the phone.’

  ‘You have a name for this contact?’

  ‘No, I never met the guy, just a voice on the other end of the phone.’

  ‘If you weren’t responsible for the importation, how did the goods reach you?’

  ‘He’d always phone first and the Baikals would be delivered by taxi.’

  ‘Collection the same?’

  ‘Yeah, I’d ring the number and a taxi came to collect the ones I was contracted to convert at a pre-arranged time and dropped off my cut.’

  ‘Just so I’m clear, you don’t know the bloke, you never met him and all arrangements were made over the phone?’

  ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘One more question, what’s the number?’

  Warren passed over his note pad and Robbo scribbled down the number. ‘Thanks, Robbo, you will have to make and sign a full statement in due course.’

  ‘Yeah, I gathered that.’

  Warren stood up to leave. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to get some rest, I’ll be in touch.’ With his hand on the door handle he turned. ‘Out of curiosity, how many weapons have you converted for the man on the phone?’ he asked.

  ‘Sixty, give or take. There is one more thing detective.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘I don’t believe I’m the only converter working for him.’

  Shit, that was something he’d never given any thought to.

  The number given to Warren was for a mobile, but whose? Although he was itching to dial it, he put temptation aside until he got back to the office.

  Chapter 28

  Lee Etherington was still coughing and barking when he heard a key turning in the door.

  ‘Only me, mate,’ Albie Drury called out. The warped wooden door stuck, Albie gave it a boot, shaking the door on its hinges, then slammed it shut behind him. Albie had at one time shared the flat with Lee before moving for pastures new.

  ‘Didn’t know you still had a key?’ Lee said, between bouts of coughing and then spitting into a dirty handkerchief. He reaches down to the floor and picked up his tobacco tin

  ‘Let you have it back if you want,’ he said as he sat down on the settee next to Lee, splitting a four pack of Carlsberg Export Lager and handing one over.

  ‘Cool.’

  Albie popped the tab on his own can. ‘So, how’s it going?’

  ‘You know, mate, same old, same old, nothing ever happens these days,’ he said as he popped his own can.

  ‘A bit of excitement, that’s what you need, something to get your adrenaline going.’

  ‘Okay, where’s this going?’ Lee asked, as he put down the can and rolled himself a fag. ‘I’ve known you too long for all this bullshit.’ He lit the rollie stuck to his lip and started coughing once again. With the dirty handkerchief, he wiped his lips.

  He took the Baikal from beneath his jacket and held it like his prize possession. ‘Only gone and got meself one of these bad boys, haven’t I?’

  ‘Shit, man, where did that come from?’ He asked when the coughing bout stopped.

  ‘Mouse.’

  Lee picked up the can and took a swallow. ‘Mouse?’

  ‘Yeah, we did a job together and he let me keep it.’

  ‘What job?’ he asked knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  ‘The Face …’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Albie, what’s with the Martina Cole speak?’

  ‘What you on about?’

  ‘Face – where’s that come from?’ Albie had been spending too much time with Mouse, the pair of numpties thought they were straight out of a Cole gangland novel.

  ‘Fucked if I know, it’s what Mouse calls the bloke we do jobs for.’

  ‘What’s his real name?’

  ‘Mr Powers, is all I know him by, anyway, we do some work for him, he wanted someone sorting,’ getting animated as he relived the job. ‘Man, it was wicked,’ he said, holding the weapon ‘gangsta style’.

  ‘That bloke up North Hull, it was you and Mouse?’

  ‘None other, it was fucking terrific, boom, boom, he went down like a bag of shit, blood and shit all over the pavement.’

  ‘You do know you’re supposed to keep this kind of shit to yourself? Mouse will rip your head off if he finds out you’ve opened your gob.’

  ‘No way, man. Haven’t you heard?’

  ‘Told you I don’t get out much do I.’

  ‘Someone took him out, kneecapped him, both legs. Gonna be a long time before he’s back on the scene.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘A couple of nights ago, back of the Swan.’

  ‘Shit, any idea who it was?’

  ‘Rumour has it was a mate of Jimbo Boland, some black fella called Cole. Only a rumour like. Cheers,’ he said, as they clanked tinnies.

  ‘Cheers.’ Lee didn’t like the way the conversation was going, Albie was unstable at the best of times, too much substance abuse over the years had left him drug puddled, what brains he had left were nigh on scrambled.

  ‘So, I got to thinking,’ he continued, ‘now that Mouse is off the scene, why not make use of this beaut?’ he said, fondling the Baikal.

  Lee took a big swallow of lager, he hoped Albie was only talking the talk. Albie with a gun, fucking hell it couldn’t get any worse. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Barclays, the one in the town. Giz another can.’

  Albie’s face showed he was deadly serious. It took Lee all his time not to burst out laughing.

  ‘Thing is like, the security in banks, mate, it’s not like it was back in the 1960s, like you see on telly.’

  ‘How’d you mean?’

  Bloody numpty thought Lee. If Albie had one less brain cell he could have been on the reality show, ‘Love Island’. ‘Cameras, alarms, metal grills, come on, Albie, maybe you should aim a little lower and you might get away with it.’

  ‘Lower, you mean a building society?’

  Lee couldn’t believe what he was hearing, Albie’s brain was definitely scrambled.

  ‘Maybe not, mate, I was thinking more along the lines of a mini-market or a post office.’

  ‘You reckon they keep much money on the premises?’

  ‘If you hit a post-office on pension day you’d be quids in. Okay, they will have CCTV and alarms, but we – you could be in and out in minutes, well before the alarm registers at the cop shop or security company.’

  ‘We, are you being serious?’ Albie asked getting lively, waving the Baikal. ‘You and me, it’ll be like Butch and Sundance.’

  ‘Didn’t they go down in a hail of bullets?’

  ‘Dunno, never saw the ending, too pissed I fell asleep.’

  Oh shit, thought Lee, he’d opened his big gob before thinking it through, but maybe, just maybe… ‘Look, put that thing, away will you? Let’s give it some serious thought. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.’

  Warren sat at his desk with the phone held to his ear. ‘Cheers, on our way,’ he said, he ended the call and put the handset back on the cradle. ‘Elvis, what are you on with?’

  ‘Just doing my homework on the arms trade.’

  ‘Something a bit more interesting has come in, an attempted raid on a sub-post office.’

  ‘Right, ready when you are, boss,’ he said, standing up and pushing his chair back. ‘Hang on, Sarge’ Warren was already out of the office door heading for the car park.

  ‘This bleedin car stinks,’ Warren said as he settled into the passenger seat of the pool car.

  ‘Nothing new there, Sarge,’ he replied as he pushed back the driving seat to get some extra leg room, turned the ignition key, then slipped the car into gear and drove out
of the station car park.

  ‘So, what do you make of our small team?’ Warren asked, as Elvis pulled the pool car close to the kerb.

  Elvis turned off the ignition, unfastened his seatbelt and turned to face Warren. ‘Trish, she’s cool, Jimbo, well he’s Jimbo what can I say?’

  Warren laughed as he shifted in his seat. ‘Good enough answer. You’ve left someone out, what do you make of Bernie?’

  He turned to face his senior colleague. ‘Hmm, I was hoping I could swerve that one.’

  ‘C’mon, spit it out.’

  ‘Sarge, it’s not my place now is it, I hardly know the bloke, what’s more it’s not as if I’m officially on the team yet,’ he took the keys from the ignition and climbed out of the pool car.

  ‘Just interested in your thoughts,’ Warren said, as they walked toward the blue and white crime scene tape cordoning off the pavement from the public. ‘Between you and me, it’ll go no further.’

  Elvis knew it was a lie, Trish would be told at the first opportunity. ‘Well, if you want my honest answer, he’s a total wanker, lazy, full of bullshit and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’

  ‘No, tell me what you really think?’ The tension was relieved and they both laughed.

  ‘There’s just something about him, boss, the word wanker comes to mind.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he left it at that. ‘C’mon, let’s go and see what the state of play is, and what the hell are they filming?’ Members of the public stood at the road side, mothers with kids in buggies, shoppers, even the grannies and grandads had their mobile phones out videoing anything and everything that was happening.

  Warren and Elvis ducked under the tape.

  ‘Oi,’ Elvis shouted to a uniformed officer, ‘get this lot shifted farther back.’

  The officer moved towards the gathering crowd. ‘That’s it, show over. Move on please unless you want arresting for obstruction.’

  Warren nodded his thanks. ‘Just look, I’ve never seen so many old buggers with Smart phones.’

  ‘Steady up, boss, you’ll get done for being ‘ageist’.’