The Front

by Mandasue Heller

Kissing his teeth, the driver crunched into first gear and edged away from the kerb as if he had all the time in the world. Stevo fought down a mad urge to batter him around the back of his head to make him get a move on. Instead, he slid further down in his seat and peered out into the darkness – hoping with all his heart that he wasn’t being followed.

  Max had given him until seven to find out where the rest of the money was, but he didn’t know anything about it. He hadn’t even heard about Pasha getting shot until Max had told him. And it had really freaked him out when Max said The Man was blaming him for it! How the hell was he supposed to prove it wasn’t him when he’d been on his own watching videos when it happened? He knew what would happen if The Man got his hands on him now. He’d be very, very dead! And it wouldn’t matter what he said, The Man would never believe him, because, as Max had pointed out, he’d had that marked money.

  Fucking Mal! This was all his doing. He’d given him the bloody money. Stevo had told Max this, but Max hadn’t wanted to bother tracking Mal down. He wanted Stevo to sort it out. But sack that! Stevo knew better than to hang around to get his head blown off for something that was nothing to do with him. He was off. Max had Mal’s address. Let him sort his own shit out.

  ‘Goin’ to Jamaica?’ the old driver chuckled, looking at Stevo’s shades in his rear-view. ‘Somewhere warm?’

  ‘Uh? What? Oh, aye . . . aye.’ Stevo nodded, pulling the cap down further.

  ‘Best time of year.’ The old guy wanted to chat. ‘Plenty a gal a-wigglin’ theirselves up dem beaches. Sheesh, y’ should see ’em!’ Slapping his hand down on the wheel, he launched into an account of his youthful exploits back home, growing more unintelligible with each word.

  Stevo switched off, hearing nothing but his own heavy breathing and the unsteady pounding of his heart. He began to relax a little as they crossed over the Mancunian Way. Halfway there. He sighed heavily. Once he was on that train back to Glasgow, he was never coming back to Manchester. Never!

  Half an hour later, Max rounded the corner to Stevo’s flat. Finding the door ajar, he knew immediately that Stevo had done a runner. Cursing angrily, he kicked the door open and stormed inside to confirm his suspicions.

  For a second he was confused. He’d expected the place to be cleaned out, but everything still seemed to be there. Furniture, TV, hi-fi – even the lamp was on. He wondered if he was wrong and Stevo was still out trying to track down the money, but on closer inspection he knew this wasn’t the case. All the tell-tale signs were there. The yucca, which always stood in the corner beneath the window, was on its side halfway across the floor, its leaves twisted and mangled, its soil spilled out in an untidy heap. And the carpet was pulled back from the corner, revealing the gap where the floorboard should have been.

  Max raced through to the bedroom, and found it in the same state. The bed was still there, as was the wardrobe, and the bedside cabinet with Stevo’s things still littering its top: ashtray, skins, lighter, dirty mags, pile of half-full cups and glasses. The only sign of disturbance was the chest of drawers, which had the few clothes Stevo had left behind spilling from its dragged-out drawers. The shit-head had definitely done one!

  ‘NO!’ Max shouted in despair. ‘No . . . No!’

  He kicked the chest savagely, grabbing at the few remaining rags and tearing them to shreds in a frenzy. Then, in a blind rage, he made his way through the flat, wreaking destruction, only stopping when it was a chaos of broken glass, splintered wood and torn material.

  Taking a breather, he considered his position. He had a real problem now. Not only had he lost the ounce of coke he’d laid on Stevo that morning, he now had to tell The Man that he’d let Stevo get away with all his money. This was not going to be easy.

  12

  At seven-fifteen, Jackson and Mac trailed wearily into Jackson’s messy office. They looked and felt like a couple of whipped dogs, having spent a good part of the day at the murder scene and the rest trooping around the immediate area, taking statements. Things were pretty much back to normal now for the residents of Hulme, although Jackson suspected that the calm wouldn’t last too long. Areas like that tended to have little time between major incidents.

  Dropping the huge bundle of statements and notes onto his desk, Jackson flopped into his chair and took out the bottle of Scotch he kept in his drawer. Pouring two healthy slugs into a couple of already used plastic cups, he handed one across to Mac.

  ‘You beaut!’ Mac said, taking a drink and leaning back heavily in his chair. ‘So what have we got?’ he asked with a yawn. ‘Apart from a bad case of being absolutely shagged out!’

  Jackson rolled his head on his shoulders. ‘Tell me about it! I’ve been on since six.’ Grimacing at his warm drink, he slammed his cup down and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. ‘I could do with a freezing cold beer – and a bloody shower,’ he added, sniffing himself with disgust.

  Mac yawned again. ‘Fancy popping down to The George? Nothing like a noisy watering hole to wake you up and get the grey stuff grinding.’

  ‘Sounds good, said Jackson. ‘But I’d better give this a once-over first.’

  Reluctantly, he pulled the paperwork towards him and read through the first sheet, snorting cynically every couple of seconds. When he’d finished he flipped it across to Mac. ‘Biggest load of tosh I ever saw in my life! Eyewitness, my arse! She made every word of it up.’

  Mac nodded. ‘She didn’t even know he’d been shot, silly bint. Baseball bats, I ask you! There was no evidence of a beating, was there?’

  ‘None whatsoever. Only bruise on that body came from falling heavily on the concrete.’

  ‘And that was definitely out back, where he was found?’

  ‘Definitely. Not even the remotest sign of any sort of anything inside. Nah! She’s talking bollocks, me old son. File it under miscellaneous!’ Jackson nodded towards the bin.

  Mac grinned, slapping the paper back on the pile. ‘Best place for it, but I don’t think the Super would be too pleased. So what have we got?’ he asked then. ‘Real stuff, that is?’

  Jackson pulled another sheet from the pile. ‘According to the lab prelim on those blood samples you got – thanks for that, by the way – there were definitely two different sources. The stiff was O-neg. And the other wasn’t!’

  Mac grinned. ‘Human or animal?’

  ‘Oh, definitely human,’ Jackson said, adding with a scowl: ‘If that’s what you call the type of scum who pull off shit like this. Yep. Human – with a pretty bad wound, I’d say.’

  ‘So where did they get to?’

  Jackson shrugged. ‘Lot of blood lost. You’d have thought they’d have been in a pretty bad way. But if they crawled off, they didn’t leave any trace. No drag trail.’

  ‘Maybe someone helped them?’

  ‘Probably,’ Jackson agreed. ‘Remember all those prints in the bushes.’

  ‘Mmm. So we’ve got at least one injured, and a helper. Have we checked the hospitals?’

  ‘Someone should have done by now,’ Jackson said. ‘Remind me to check in the morning.’

  ‘You know Graves gave heart failure as cause of death?’ said Mac, smirking.

  ‘Dickhead!’ Jackson shook his head.

  ‘Mind you . . .’ Mac went on. ‘I think my ticker would fail if I got blasted in the mug!’

  ‘What heart?’ Jackson jeered. Pushing his chair back, he stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here before I fall asleep.’

  Just down the corridor, PC Paul Dalton was hanging up his uniform. He was dog-tired. All that standing around had wiped him out – and he’d had a bellyful of listening to the local women gossiping. Load of know-it-all bitches – and all of them claiming to know something scandalous about the shopkeeper. Poor sod! Dead less than twenty-four hours and villainized for ever. And as for the so-called grieving family – he’d never known the like. Opening the bloody shop just hours after the head of their family got murdered!

  Closing his locker with
a weary sigh, Paul wondered what he’d let himself in for by taking a placement in this murderers’ paradise. Just thirty-odd miles away from his native Warrington, it felt like the other side of the Earth. Everywhere you turned someone was getting mugged, attacked, stabbed, raped or shot. He’d taken Moss Side because he’d liked the idea of working in a challenging environment. And the ghetto of the north was certainly proving to be that. In just three months he’d been to nine murders – five shootings, two machete attacks, a stabbing and a petrol-dousing.

  The first was the one he’d never forget. A fifteen-year-old girl caught in a hail of bullets meant for her boyfriend – who had immediately denied all knowledge of her, claiming to be an innocent passer-by. If she’d died instantly, he’d have got away with it, too. But she hadn’t. She’d lain on the floor in a widening pool of her own lifeblood, her pretty face ripped to shreds and bits of her stomach leaking out, crying out for ‘Peppy’ – which just happened to be this innocent bystander’s rather distinctive name. Surprise, surprise!

  Paul shook his head to clear his mind of the image of the girl. The first was always the worst, they’d been told in training. And it was true. But now he knew what a scummy world it really could be, he was hardening.

  Going across to the sink, he splashed cold water onto his face to wake himself up. He really needed a shower, but that would have to wait until he got home.

  The door opened as he reached for the towel, and Eddie Walker popped his head in. ‘You all set for tonight?’ he said.

  ‘Why, what’s tonight?’ Paul asked.

  ‘The party,’ Eddie reminded him. ‘At the nurses’ home?’

  ‘Shit!’ Paul muttered. He’d forgotten all about the party, and he really didn’t feel like going. ‘Oh, look, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’m knackered. It’s been a rough day.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Eddie laughed. ‘I’ve been down at Maine Road all day, kicking arse at the City match. Sad lot, the City fans. Don’t know why they bother – they never win. They only end up getting pissed off and laying into each other outside. Still, can’t complain, eh? Keeps me fit, all that aggro.’

  Paul shook his head. ‘I thought we were supposed to stop the aggro, not join in with it!’

  ‘Perks of the job!’ Eddie winked. ‘You’ll learn. Anyhow, what are you doing? You’ll be sorry if you miss it. Those nurses are a rum bunch!’

  ‘What time?’ Paul asked. ‘I need a shower.’

  ‘It doesn’t start till nine,’ Eddie said. ‘We’re meeting up at The George for a quick one before we go.’

  ‘All right.’ Paul nodded. ‘I’ll meet you there at half-eight.’

  ‘Good man!’

  As Eddie left to get ready, Paul tried to make himself feel enthusiastic. It was difficult when all he wanted to do was slope off home and get his head down. He hoped Eddie wouldn’t mind too much if he left early. Pulling on his jacket, he flipped the light off and headed out.

  Turning his car onto the Princess Parkway a few minutes later, his spirits lifted when he saw that, for once, he had a clear road ahead. He’d have plenty of time to get home, take a shower and change before coming back.

  As Paul Dalton drove by below, The Man was furiously pacing his living-room floor. He looked ready to explode, the veins in his face engorged, his neck cords standing out like rigid bars.

  Max had never seen him so livid, and he’d certainly never been the cause – either directly or indirectly. He was terrified. And Jake standing behind the couch watching his discomfort with a gleeful smirk wasn’t helping matters.

  ‘What do you mean, “gone”?’ The Man thundered. ‘How’d he manage that when I told you to stay with ’im?’

  ‘I did!’ Max spluttered. ‘Well . . . for a bit, like. But he said he had nothing to do with it, and—’

  ‘And you just believed him, like a raas sap!’ Jake snorted incredulously. Turning to The Man, he thumbed towards Max, sneering. ‘For all we know it was him all along! Did you think to ask him where he got all the sponds to be laying an ounce of coke on this scally dealer, eh?’

  ‘Man, I swear to Jah, this ain’t nutt’n to do with me!’ Max protested his innocence to The Man. Then, jumping to his feet, he turned on Jake, spitting vehemently: ‘No way are you setting me up for this! You can think what you like, but I ain’t taking the rap for this!’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Jake hissed, his eyes glittering dangerously. ‘So how come you—’

  ‘Shut it!’ The Man bellowed. Standing between them, he glared at each of them until they snapped their mouths shut, staring at each other in sullen silence.

  Turning to Jake, he said, ‘It wasn’t Max. He wouldn’t have risked his neck going back to check on Pasha last night if it was. Now just cool it, ’cos we gotta sort this. Some little cunt is having a game at my expense, and I aim to find out who.’

  Jake sniffed. He knew The Man was right, but it bugged him that Max had let Stevo get away so easily.

  The Man sat down heavily. ‘I need a minute to think this through.’

  Max sat down on the edge of the seat and waited while The Man brooded. He shot a look at Jake who was leaning against the door casually twiddling his dreads, and thought if he wasn’t so close to The Man he’d be getting a good kicking right now. He was well out of order with his snide remarks.

  Not that Jake worried him. What did was knowing that this would escalate before it got sorted. And knowing that he was only tangled up in it because of his own big mouth really pissed him off. He’d lost his ounce, and now he’d lost his two hundred quid – all because he’d tried to do The Man a favour. Well, he wouldn’t be that stupid again. The Man he could do nothing about, but if he ever got his hands on Stevo he was going to cut him up into a million pieces!

  ‘Where did this Stevo say he got my money?’ The Man asked, his voice calmer, if still sharp.

  Max let out a breath. ‘Some guy called Millie, or Melly? I think it was Melly. Stevo said he lived over in the Crescents. Robert Adam, I think. I forget what number.’

  Jake snorted. ‘No kidding!’

  The Man turned on him. ‘If you got nothing better to do, Jake, go make a drink.’

  He waited until Jake had gone into the kitchen, then sat forward and took a spliff from his box. ‘Don’t pay no mind to Jake,’ he told Max. ‘He’s just looking out for me. He’ll come round in time.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ Max conceded. ‘But you do know it wasn’t me, don’t you? And you understand what kind of position Jake is putting me in, saying shit like that.’

  ‘Yeah.’ The Man glanced up from beneath his brows. ‘Like you must understand the predicament I’m in? You’re the only one who knows how to trace where my money came from, and where the rest of it is. That’s why I want you to stay on this, Max. I want you to keep digging until you find the thieving muthafucker who wasted my man and took what’s mine. And when you find him, you let me know. I’ll take it from there, yeah?’

  Max nodded reluctantly and sat back, pondering his position. It wasn’t good. Finally, he cleared his throat and asked the question that had been burning away inside him.

  ‘Look, man – no offence, but what about my money? When I brought that two hundred round, it was only to show you.’

  The Man looked up, his brow creased, his eyes narrowed. ‘So what you saying, Max? You want me to give you my money?’

  Max shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, no, not exactly. It’s just that . . . well, it was your money, but at the same time it wasn’t. I mean, it was mine too, wasn’t it? Part of what Stevo owed me. It wasn’t like he just gave it me for nothing. He owed it, man. I’m sorry it turned out to be part of the shit you lost, but I don’t think it’s right that I should lose out.’

  The Man didn’t answer. He carried on smoking his spliff, only looking up to take his glass from Jake when he came in.

  Jake had also made a drink for Max – despite a burning desire to cut him up bad. He handed it to him without looking at him and took his own o
ver to the window. Leaning against the wall, he stared out through the crack in the curtain.

  Max sipped at the drink and waited. A few minutes passed before The Man finally looked up.

  ‘Right. I’ve thought about what you said, and I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to do. I’ll split the difference. I’ll give you a ton back now, and the rest when you find out where Stevo is – and who this Melly guy is. Lead me to my money, and I’ll make it worth your while. What do you say?’

  Jake shook his head in disgust. The Man was definitely going soft. He should be forcing Max to take him to these people, not offering a reward and asking him. If he had his way, Max wouldn’t see a penny out of this – and he’d be out there now, sorting it out – or he’d be getting some concrete boots for breakfast.

  Max wasn’t altogether happy with the deal either, but he knew it was better than he could have reasonably expected, given the circumstances. He wasn’t happy that The Man expected him to go searching, either. He wished he’d never got involved, and made a mental note to do for both Stevo and Melly when this was sorted – guilty or not.

  The Man counted out a hundred and handed it across to Max, secreting the other hundred in his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘Just keep hold of it for now,’ he said. ‘I want to be sure none of this marked money gets on the street, so I can keep track of it. Is it a deal?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ Max said, stashing the money quickly before The Man changed his mind.

  Just then, the intercom buzzer sounded. The Man motioned Jake to answer it, and watched, frowning, as he took his sweet time sauntering out. The vibes weren’t right. Something was shifting between them, and it didn’t bode well. If Jake started playing up, he’d have to be taught a serious lesson. Rebellion in his team was the one thing The Man couldn’t afford right now. If word got about that his right-hander was hanging loose, the other posses would take it as a sign of weakness and start fucking him up. If that happened he’d end up killing someone, and that was the last thing he needed. He’d worked hard to rise above all that shit.