The Rule of Fear

by Luke Delaney

  ‘Jesus.’ She looked up and smiled, taking care not to split open a painful-looking gash on her bottom lip. ‘Wondered when I was going to see you again.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he apologized. ‘Work’s been a nightmare.’

  ‘Ah,’ she suddenly looked serious. ‘Work.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he confirmed, pulling up a chair next to her. ‘Speaking of which – any idea when you’ll be back?’

  ‘I …’ she stuttered a little ‘… I’m not sure.’

  ‘Doctors give you any idea?’

  ‘Another few weeks and I should be fine, apparently,’ she answered unconvincingly, ‘but …’

  ‘But what?’ he pressed.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll be coming back,’ she finally admitted.

  ‘No one would expect you to come back to the Unit,’ he smiled understandingly. ‘You could go back to your team or even another borough.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she told him with her eyes closed. ‘It wouldn’t be the same.’

  ‘You just need to take your time,’ he insisted. ‘That’s what I did. There were times when I thought I’d never walk the streets again, but now it’s fine. Time’s a great healer.’

  ‘I know,’ she answered sadly, ‘but what they did to me … what they were going to do to me. I can still see their faces … whether I’m awake or asleep, I can still see their faces.’

  ‘The chances of something like that ever happening again are millions to one,’ he tried to explain. ‘It was a one-off freak occurrence. You’re a good cop.’

  ‘A good cop wouldn’t have walked into that trap,’ she argued. ‘I should have seen it coming.’

  ‘You did what any good cop would do. You wanted to find out what was going on so you checked it out. Butler and the others got the drop on you this time. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘No it won’t,’ she agreed, ‘because there won’t be a next time. Let somebody else do this shit. I’m going to work for my uncle’s business. Twice as much money and no more sneaking around in the dark.’

  ‘You like sneaking around in the dark,’ he tried to cajole. ‘You’re good at it.’

  ‘Not any more,’ she cut him cold.

  He could see she’d all but made her mind up. He had only one more thing to try. ‘If you’re worried about Butler, you needn’t be.’

  ‘I heard,’ she answered, looking hard into his eyes. ‘They say it was vigilantes,’ she said disbelievingly, ‘upset by a woman cop being attacked.’

  ‘That’s what we think,’ he lied.

  ‘Bollocks,’ she told him. ‘No one on the Grove Wood’s going to get pissed off about a cop being done – male or female. Someone else took care of Butler.’

  He wanted to tell her the truth, but he knew her integrity was unbending. He wouldn’t burden her with what really happened. Even though he knew she suspected as much, knowing would put her under a different pressure altogether. ‘All that matters is Butler got what he had coming to him.’

  ‘Not in my name. I want to see him arrested and prosecuted. I want to see his face when he goes down for ten years. I don’t want to see him beaten by the mob for what he did. I don’t believe in summary justice. That makes us no better than them. I believe in the system, despite all its faults.’

  ‘Sometimes the law’s not enough,’ he found himself arguing. ‘Sometimes people like Butler need something they can … feel.’

  ‘He’ll get ten years locked in a cell the size of a shoebox,’ she reminded him. ‘Imagine what that must be like. The only thing that can help him now is the fact someone beat the crap out of him. Whoever thought they were helping me have done the exact opposite.’

  King felt an anger and resentment rising towards her he hadn’t expected. The risks he’d taken to punish Butler had all been for her. It had even put Marino on his tail. And now he realized it wasn’t even appreciated.

  ‘Butler was laughing at you,’ he tried to convince her. ‘He was laughing at all of us. He’s not laughing any more.’

  ‘He’ll be laughing if the CPS drop the case to save too many awkward questions being asked in open court about who it really was attacked him,’ she warned him. ‘He may not have thought of it yet, but as his trial gets closer and no one’s been arrested for nearly killing him, sooner or later his barrister’s going to start having their suspicions. If Butler thinks it’ll save him ten years in prison he’ll start making allegations. Just you wait and see.’

  ‘Butler won’t say anything,’ he told her without conviction.

  ‘We’ll see,’ she said before reaching out and resting her hand on his. ‘Even lying here I hear things,’ she explained. ‘Break up the Unit. Move somewhere else and concentrate on your promotion. Get off that estate. Place like that’s poisonous. You stay there too long it’ll destroy you, like it destroys everything. Go back to being the person you used to be.’

  King felt his chest constricting uncomfortably as her words sunk in, making him suddenly and unexpectedly long for the simple person he’d once been, living in a black and white world of good and bad, unlike the universe of grey he now inhabited. He felt tears welling in his eyes and he found it difficult to speak. ‘I don’t think I can ever be that person again,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not sure I even want to be. Too much has happened.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she whispered intently. ‘Just get off the Grove Wood.’

  ‘And do what? Get a desk job? Go home to Sara at six o’clock every night? Have kids we can’t afford?’

  ‘Is that so bad?’ Renita asked.

  ‘But it’s not living,’ he insisted, his doubts falling away as quickly as they’d come. ‘I’m doing things I could never have dreamed of and it feels good. It feels right.’

  ‘Jesus, Jack,’ she asked. ‘What things are you doing?’

  ‘Things that make it all worthwhile,’ he smiled almost manically. ‘Things that mean no one even takes a piss on the estate without me knowing about it.’

  ‘On second thoughts,’ she shook her head, ‘I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing – just so long as none of it’s being done in my name.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ he assured her, rising to leave, knowing they had nothing more to say. Neither of them recognized the people they used to be. ‘Nothing will come back to you. No need to worry about anything. You just rest and get yourself back to duty.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ she answered, although they both knew it would never happen and that the chances were they’d never see each other again. Just as he reached the door she couldn’t help call out to him one last time. ‘Take care, Jack,’ was all she wanted to say.

  He turned back and looked at her, the sorrow returning to his young face. ‘I always do,’ he lied to her. ‘I always do.’

  A short time later King walked through the estate – the memory of the conversation with Renita and the oppressive heat of the late afternoon intensifying his headache. He needed to take something and take something soon before his head burst open. The sound of his own mobile ringing on the shoulder of his body armour momentarily distracted him. He already had an ear and mouth piece attached to the device so he could speak without talking into his shoulder. He slid his finger across the screen to answer.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Jack, it’s your mother,’ she announced, making him regret not checking the caller ID before answering.

  ‘Now’s not a great time,’ he told her. ‘I’m at work – out and about.’

  ‘There’s never a good time to call you, Jack,’ she complained. ‘Anyway, it’s just a quick call to remind you we’re expecting you and Sara for dinner tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’ he questioned before he could stop himself.

  ‘Yes,’ his mother told him with some irritation. ‘Tonight. You haven’t forgotten, have you?’

  ‘No,’ he lied, his heart sinking as he recalled some distant memory of agreeing to meet up. Unable to think of a good excuse not to go, he found himself agreeing in the hope he could think
of something later. ‘We’ll be there.’

  ‘Good,’ she said with some relief. ‘About seven then.’

  ‘Fine,’ he agreed before the line went dead. He tried to remember when he’d ever had a long and meaningful conversation with his mother over the phone, but couldn’t, which reminded him he hadn’t had a proper conversation with Sara for weeks and hadn’t seen her in days. Even if he had forgotten about dinner, he was sure she wouldn’t have and imagined her waiting for him in their small flat, dressed attractively, but conservatively – her soft blonde hair framing her pretty face. Yet the thought of her stirred no feelings in him – no life. Quickly her image faded to be replaced by Kelly, almost naked, lying on her front across the kitchen table offering herself to him – wanting him as much as he wanted her – an almost animalistic passion enveloping them as they came together. She was so alive, making all that had gone before her seem lifeless – including Sara. He vowed to take a hit of something to get him through the night of small talk and veiled criticisms – while all the time he’d be thinking of Kelly.

  He tried to shake the picture from his mind and calm his rising excitement as he realized he’d almost reached Dougie O’Neil’s front door. Once his mind was clear he knocked and waited a long time for an answer – O’Neil eventually opening the door and standing behind his new metal security grid.

  ‘Oh,’ O’Neil said with barely disguised disappointment. ‘It’s you.’

  ‘You were expecting someone else?’ King asked, stepping closer to the grid in anticipation.

  ‘Another punter maybe,’ O’Neil answered.

  ‘I take it business is up and running then?’

  ‘No problems,’ O’Neil smiled before King barked at him.

  ‘You going to open this fucking door then?’

  ‘Yeah.’ O’Neil jumped to action. ‘Sorry,’ he apologized as he fumbled in his trouser pocket for the key. King waited impatiently – looking back and forth along the walkway until the grid finally swung open and he was able to step inside.

  ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t you going to lock it?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ O’Neil realized his mistake and pulled the grid over and secured it.

  ‘You need to switch on a bit more,’ King told him as they moved deeper into the filthy flat. ‘You leave the door open like that when the wrong people are watching you’re going to get robbed – robbed of things that belong to me.’

  ‘No one’s going to rob me now they know you’re my protection,’ O’Neil argued.

  ‘Assume nothing,’ said King. ‘There’s always the chance of a bunch of cowboys coming in from outside and trying a hit and run. The grid stays shut all the time. Understand?’

  ‘But what if I need to go out?’ O’Neil asked.

  ‘Lock the grid behind you,’ King answered as if it was obvious.

  ‘But I’ll have the key on me,’ O’Neil explained. ‘What’s to stop someone robbing me in the street and taking the key?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ King saw his point. ‘If you need to go out you call me first and I’ll babysit the flat and key while you’re gone, or I’ll send Brown or Williams if I’m not around. But I don’t want to see you out and about partying with my cash or getting stoned on my drugs. Understand? You can have a rock a day, that’s it.’

  ‘One a day,’ O’Neil enthusiastically agreed. ‘Got it.’

  ‘Now how’s business going?’

  ‘Good,’ O’Neil assured him. ‘I’ve almost sold the gear you gave me.’ He pulled a mixture of small notes and coins from his pocket and offered it to King. ‘You want to take your cut now?’

  ‘No,’ King told him, eyeing the dirty-looking cash. ‘I need you to take it to your contacts in North London and buy some more gear.’ He shook his head at the sight of the cash all dealers had to trade in. ‘Look at this shit,’ he complained. ‘Fivers and loose change. Once the cash comes rolling in we’re gonna have to clean it up. I can’t be walking around with pockets full of coins.’

  ‘How you gonna do that?’ O’Neil asked. ‘You try and change it in any bank and they’ll tell the Old Bill – guaranteed.’

  ‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ King reminded him. ‘I am the Old Bill. I’ll tell them I run the station social fund and tea club. They won’t question it. I’ll even be able to open a bank account so we can get the cash into the banking system. All things our competitors can’t do. Which means we can offer clean cash in large denominations or even bank transfers and therefore demand a lower retail price – which means more profit for us.’

  ‘Sounds like you got it all worked out,’ O’Neil replied.

  ‘I’m not here to make pennies,’ King told him. ‘I’m here to make as much as I can as quickly as I can before they shut the Unit down and move us all somewhere else. When that happens I’ll never get my hands dirty again. Once I’ve cleared a few debts I’ll be OK and can move on. I’ll be finished with this shit.’

  ‘Move on?’ O’Neil asked, concerned. ‘But if you go what am I supposed to do? Without protection I’m a dead man.’

  ‘You stop dealing,’ King explained without sympathy. ‘You be glad of the cash you made and go back to being a small-time thief.’

  ‘Shit,’ O’Neil complained. ‘I thought we were in this for the long run. I thought we were partners.’

  ‘Don’t be so fucking naïve,’ King chastised him. ‘They’re not going to leave me down here forever, you moron. But while I’m here this estate belongs to me, and everything on it. Speaking of which, tell me what you know about Susie Ubana.’

  ‘What you want to know?’

  ‘Everything,’ he insisted. ‘Anything.’

  ‘She’s a dealer,’ O’Neil shrugged. ‘Has been for years. Cannabis only – she never touches anything class A. Guess she thinks the Old Bill will leave her alone if she keeps to puff. At the end of the day, who cares about puff, right?’

  ‘What about other dealers?’ King pressed. ‘How come she’s never been turned over by a crew looking to take her business?’

  ‘Because she’s got protection,’ O’Neil answered as if it were obvious.

  ‘Who from?’ King demanded.

  ‘I hear the Campbells,’ O’Neil warned him. ‘They may have moved off the estate years ago, once they started earning large, but they still run things around here, or least they did, till you turned up. But chances are she’s got police protection too.’

  ‘Oh?’ King was interested. ‘How so?’

  ‘Never met a puff dealer who wasn’t a grass,’ O’Neil grinned. ‘They throw their police handlers a bone now and then – usually a crack or heroin dealer – and in exchange they get left alone. Susie’s been in the game so long she must have some tame Old Bill looking out for her. Must have.’

  Marino immediately jumped into King’s mind. He’d be just the sort to have someone like Ubana keeping an eye on things on the estate for him. Could that be how he seemed to know so much already?

  ‘You’re not thinking of messing with Susie, are you?’ O’Neil asked worriedly. ‘Better to let that sleeping dog lie, if you ask me.’

  ‘I’m not asking you,’ King told him. ‘Why shouldn’t she pay? You want to deal on this estate you pay me my cut. Ubana’s been having it her own way too long. Time she fell into line with everyone else.’

  ‘You sure that’s wise?’ O’Neil warned him. ‘If she’s got protection from Old Bill and the Campbells – especially the Campbells? For all we know you may have already pissed on their chips when you cleaned out Astill. They’re not just gonna sit around and let you mess with their business.’

  ‘What they going to do?’ King asked, spreading his arms for emphasis. ‘I’m a cop. They can’t touch me … and they know it.’

  14

  Inspector Johnston sat at the desk in her office reading through the borough’s latest expenditure on diesel fuel and dreaming of the day she’d have an even bigger office, hopefully at the Yard if everything worked out well. Her work and dreams w
ere interrupted by an unexpected knock at the door. She cleared her throat before calling out, ‘Come in.’ The door opened and Marino entered, making Johnston lean forward in surprise.

  ‘Guv’nor,’ Marino greeted her.

  ‘Frank,’ Johnston replied, hiding her concern. Visits from the CID were rarely good news. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure? Please. Come in. Take a seat.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Marino replied, taking up the offer before getting straight to the point. ‘I was wondering if you’d heard about the incident involving a man called Alan Swinton on the Grove Wood Estate last night?’

  ‘I heard about it,’ Johnston replied. ‘An unfortunate incident. Sounds like the same vigilante gang who attacked that nasty little Butler character. Still, vigilantes cannot be tolerated on the streets of Newham. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before Sergeant King and his unit bring them to heel.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the problem,’ Marino told her.

  ‘What are you saying, Frank?’ Johnston calmly asked.

  ‘I mean I find it difficult to believe there could be a vigilante gang on the Grove Wood without the Unit knowing about it.’

  Johnston eyed him with suspicion before speaking. ‘Are you suggesting someone is turning a blind eye to a group of vigilante thugs? Or worse still – that there is some degree of cooperation or complicity involved?’

  ‘No,’ Marino answered deadpan. ‘Not cooperating with them.’

  ‘Then we have nothing to worry about,’ Johnston smiled.

  ‘I’m saying it’s more than cooperation,’ Marino quickly added. ‘More than complicity.’ For a second he thought he saw a moment of fear and panic in the previously unshakeable Johnston, but she recovered quickly.

  ‘Do you know what you’re saying?’ she questioned him.

  ‘Yes.’ Marino answered.

  Johnston leaned back in her chair and locked eyes with Marino. ‘As far as I’m concerned no one has made any allegations yet. Including you, Frank. If you were to get up and leave my office now then that’s how things would remain. Do we understand each other?’

  Marino sighed deeply before answering – fully aware of the offer she was making. ‘I can’t do that.’