Cutter's Firm

by Julie Morrigan

Young Jack’s due in shortly and he reckons he has the proof we need to nail Cutter once and for all. I have a word with the boss and explain where I’m up to with everything, then nip down to see Norm and fill him in, too. I also leave the file with him for safe keeping.

  My mobile buzzes to let me know Jack’s arrived. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow with coffee and cake, and the full story,’ I tell Norm as I run back up the stairs to see what Jack’s got for me.

  ‘Hi,’ I say as I see Jack sitting at the side of my desk. Has anyone offered you a coffee?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m okay thanks,’ he says. ‘You said you needed proof; I found it.’ He explains about Cutter and his obsession with cameras, then hands me a flash drive. ‘This is a copy; there’s hours of footage and at some point you might want to sit through it all, but for now these are the times you probably want to look at.’ He hands me a piece of paper with them scribbled down.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, and I go to plug the drive into my computer.

  He looks round the open plan office. ‘I wouldn’t do that here,’ he says. ‘Do you have a private room we can use?’

  I think fast and decide the safest place is the basement. ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘come with me.’

  When Norm sees Jack, he looks at his cheeks and says, ‘You, too, son?’

  Jack nods, and I make a mental note to follow up on the scars before too much longer; there’s obviously a story there, too.

  I hand the flash drive to Norm and explain the situation, and he’s only too happy to oblige. When we see the images on the screen I understand why Jack cautioned me about viewing the footage in the main office. Even just looking at the times Jack’s picked out, I know I have all the proof I need to bring down Cutter and the paedophile gang he’s been supplying.

  Norm squeezes Jack’s shoulder. ‘Well done, lad,’ he tells him, ‘you’ve been very brave.’

  ‘I need to get some stuff to the police as soon as possible,’ I say, ‘so they can get an investigation up and running.’

  ‘Cutter owns some of the coppers, mind,’ Jack cautions.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I tell him, ‘I’m going to go to a guy I’ve been dealing with for years. I trust him completely.’

  Later, back up in the newsroom, I pull together the salient points to hand over to my police contact. There’s more which they can access when they need it, but I have enough for now.

  My phone rings and it’s Claire, Cutter’s ex; she wants to meet. I check the time and I reckon I’ve just got enough time to drop the stuff off with Frank at the police station before I go to see her.

  I grab my bag, coat and keys, and the file, shout goodbye to the boss, and head out to my car.

  34: Cutter

  Tommy proved himself yesterday by offing that scrawny little poof bastard. He took it bad, but I’d expect him to, the two of them have been mates for years, even longer than I’ve known the pair of them. This morning me and Liam took the body to a bloke we know called Dennis, for disposal. Wayne will be drained of any blood he has left in him, which will be fed to Dennis’s prizewinning tomatoes, and then what’s left will be cut up and fed to the pigs. That just left a call to the clean-up crew to come and bleach out the dungeon in the cellar. It’s like Wayne Dobbs never existed and while it might take Tommy a day or two to come round, he knows which side his bread’s buttered.

  Most importantly, there’s been a message sent to anyone foolish enough to think otherwise, that Gordon Cutter is not to be fucked with.

  On the subject of which, there’s another little loose end I want tied up. The ex-wife let slip that the journalist who wrote that news story had been to visit her. There’s no time like the present, so I go round to the house and get her to ring the nosy mare and arrange for her to come round, then I tell the ex to go out shopping. I can take care of things from here on in.

  35: Jack

  Everything seemed to go well with the reporter and I tell Mam and Dad that Cutter will soon be getting investigated by the police and taken off the streets. With what we’ve got between us – me, Millie and Norm – he should get sent away for a long time.

  I’m on a high, right up until the doorbell goes and I answer it to see Cutter’s pet copper standing on the step.

  ‘What do you want?’ I ask him. ‘I’ve done nothing, you have no right to harass me.’

  ‘Just got some info for you,’ he says. ‘That file the Redman woman gave me? I destroyed, every last word and image. And you can keep passing that information in to the police as often as you like; I’ll just keep destroying it.’ He grins. ‘Enjoy your evening, loser.’

  I can’t believe it. The copper Millie trusted with her life is that bent bastard! How could she not know?

  All my hopes go up in smoke … which gives me an idea.

  ***

  In the early hours, around five o’clock, I creep along the alley opposite Cutter’s club. I’ve got a bag with me containing a pile of squares of fabric from a sheet I ripped up, and half a dozen glass bottles, each filled with petrol I siphoned from Bex’s sister’s car. The matches are in my pocket.

  There’s no one around; it’s so quiet it’s eerie. I unscrew the tops from the bottles one by one and stuff the squares of fabric in the necks, then one by one I light them and I hurl them at the club. They fly through the air like blazing retribution, smash through the windows and explode inside with a satisfying bang, and I stand and watch as the flames take a hold. I manage to pitch a couple onto the roof and one rolls down and catches in the guttering. That starts to bubble and burn, and then sparks become flames, which climb up the roof. I watch as the building is engulfed in fire and only when I hear sirens in the distance over the roar of the blaze do I melt away into the shadows.

  It’s not much compared to what needs to be done, but torching the club will hit home. It’ll let Gordon Cutter know that he’s at war, that his days are numbered. Him and every one of his disgusting cronies.

  36: Cutter

  After the fire brigade has left, I stand and look at the ruins of Gold. Ironically the worst of the damage wasn’t even done by the fire, it was done by water and smoke. The whole place will need to be rebuilt from the ground up. I turn my back on it, get in my car and drive home, where I sit in the dark with a whisky, working out who might have done this. The problem is narrowing it down; there’s a long list of possibles.

  One thing’s for sure; whoever it was, the fuckers will rue the day. People always do, whether it’s stupid women, Teesside villains, disloyal members of my own firm or nosy reporters. Sooner or later they all get what’s coming to them.

  Judging by how it’s started out, it’s going to be a busy year. The caravans are burnt out and there’s a camera unaccounted for. I’ve got the new business to get off the ground, the car lot to sort out and now the club to rebuild. Whoever torched Gold declared war, and they’d better believe I’m ready for the fight.

  ###

  Thank you for reading.

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  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Steven Miscandlon not only for doing such a great job of editing the book but also for providing such a fantastic cover.