‘Follow me,’ Spencer said, leading them into his office. Once they were all in the room (which was also filled with boxes and an assortment of goods), he opened his arms wide again. ‘Now, what can I do you for?’
Derek said, ‘We need guns. And lots of ‘em.’
‘Big ones,’ Chris said. ‘Biggest you’ve got.’
‘A sub machine gun,’ Nelson said, ‘if you can manage it.’
‘A bazooka would be nice, too,’ Willis said.
‘Any guns will do,’ Jevon said. ‘As long as they’re capable of putting a hole in someone, they’ll do.’
‘Whoa!’ Spencer said, making a time-out gesture. ‘Hollld on a minute. Machine guns? Bazookas? Are you people for real? You in a war or something?’
‘Yes,’ they all said in unison.
‘D’you have any guns?’ Derek asked Spencer.
‘I’ve got one, but it’s my own. A Browning 9mm. For self defence. It’s not the best, but it’ll do the job. If I ever need it, God forbid.’ He made the sign of the cross on his chest, then looked towards the ceiling, clasping his hands together and offering up a quick, silent prayer. ‘When you’ve got a place full of expensive gear, you need protection.’ He was wearing a gold cross on a chain around his neck. Holding it, he added, ‘More protection than this can offer.’ He muttered another prayer, as if he’d been blasphemes.
‘You’ve got one shooter?’ Chris said. ‘That’s all? Surely you must get people asking for ‘em all the time.’
‘Of course I do,’ Spencer admitted, ‘but I don’t like keeping an arsenal stocked here. Imagine if the police bust in. They’d put me away for years. If someone needs something and I haven’t got it, I get it for ‘em. That’s how it works. You know that.’
‘How long will it take?’ Nelson enquired. ‘We need ‘em quick. As in like yesterday.’
Spencer said, ‘How many?’
‘Six,’ Jevon said. ‘One each, plus a spare.’
‘What the heck have you guys got yourselves into?’ Spencer asked.
‘Some deep shit,’ Derek said. ‘Heard of Charles Byron?’
‘Yeah,’ Spencer replied. ‘Gangster from Boxford. Big in that area.’ He saw Chris taking an interest in some car stereos. ‘They’re twenty-five quid each. Normal retail is seventy. Good quality, them. Selling like mad.’
‘Never mind stereos,’ Jevon said. ‘When can you get us the shooters?’
There was a desk in the corner. Seating himself on it, Spencer flicked his dreads back and said, ‘By this evening, no problem. Is there a particular model you’ve got in mind? Or will anything do?’
‘Anything will do,’ Derek said. ‘So long as they work, I don’t give a toss.’
‘Charles Byron,’ Spencer said. ‘Likes getting folk to wear concrete shoes, if I remember right.’ Raising his eyebrows, he took everyone in, one by one. ‘You’re going to war with him – how come? What’s happened? Something to do with the snooker club, right?’
‘Yes,’ Derek sighed. ‘It’s to do with the club.’
He explained the situation to Spencer. Told him everything that’d happened.
‘You’re in deep,’ Spencer said.
‘Which is why we need those guns fast,’ Chris said.
Spencer said, ‘I can get you Berettas for three-hundred a piece.’ He did the maths. ‘That’s eighteen-hundred for six. How’s that for a good price, my people?’
‘That’s great,’ Willis said, ‘but can’t you do ‘em cheaper? Fifteen hundred?’
Pursing his lips together, Spencer sucked air in. ‘I have to make a profit,’ he said. ‘Risky business getting hold of those things. Least I can do is seventeen and you’re cutting my throat at that. Hardly worth my while, really.’
Jevon gave Willis a nod. They looked at Derek.
‘I’ll pay you back,’ he said. ‘Every penny. I promise.’
‘Don’t worry about it for now,’ Jevon said.
Nelson said, ‘Let’s not forget the two hundred I’m stumping up. S’all I’ve got!’
‘We won’t forget,’ Chris assured him. ‘I just hope we’re all alive by the end of this so these debts can be squared.’
‘Me and Chris would contribute, but everything we had went into the club,’ Derek said.
‘Forget about money for now,’ Willis said. ‘We’ve got bigger issues to deal with.’
Spencer cleared his throat, ‘Ah-hum! I’m afraid I can’t forget about money,’ he said. ‘I need wonga up front before I get the merchandise. That’s not to say I don’t trust you; it’s just that … well, if you guys are locking horns with a gangster, you might not be around to pay tomorrow. Sorry to sound so harsh. You understand, eh?’
‘No need to worry,’ Jevon said. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out three wads of cash. Threw them on the desk. ‘There’s a thousand-five there.’
Nelson added his two-hundred.
‘Feel free to count it,’ Willis said to Spencer. ‘Think you’ll find it’s all there.’
‘S’okay,’ Spencer said, picking up a wad, thumbing through the notes. ‘I trust you.’ He turned his attention to Derek. ‘I’ll call you as soon as they’re here, blood. Should have ‘em about six o’clock, all being well. I’d offer to help you, but I’ve got two young ‘uns to look after. Young ‘uns that are gonna need a father around for the foreseeable.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Derek said. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to help. Just get us what we want. We’ll do the rest.’
‘I’ll have ‘em for you,’ Spencer promised.
####
The next day, Dawn was up and out of the house early.
First place of call: Chief Reinbeck’s office. She knocked on his door.
‘Come in!’ he barked.
Dawn entered. Shut the door behind her.
Reinbeck was sitting at his desk, hunched over, sifting through a thick wad of paperwork. He didn’t look up. Just carried on scrutinizing sheet after sheet of A4, whispering to himself. His bushy mono-brow was furrowed. His dark, greasy hair hung down over his eyes like a pair of partially drawn curtains.
‘If you’re busy I can pop back in a bit,’ Dawn said.
‘Unlike most men, I can multi-task,’ Reinbeck responded, still sifting. ‘Say what you’ve got to say, detective inspector. Time’s precious, as I’m sure you’re aware. This is about Luke Armstrong – am I right or am I right?’
‘Yes, you're right. As ever.’
‘Dwayne Locke and Brian Parsons are dealing with the Armstrong case; I’ve assigned it to them.’
'They're useless; I’m better equipped to handle this and you know it.’
‘Are you questioning my judgement again?’
‘I’m stating a fact.’
‘You’re once again in my office bandying your opinions around, is what you’re doing.’
‘A lot of good it does me.’
‘Egg-zactly.’
‘There’s no point arguing this with you, is there?’
‘No. There’s no point. You can deal with the Face Book Killer. Find him, bring him in.’
‘That bomb at Lavadres. Jenkins and I think it was a diversion for the convoy attack.’
Reinbeck stopped sifting. Looked up. ‘What has that got to do with James Ward?’ he asked. ‘Why do my words fall on deaf ears with you? I don’t take this shit from anyone else, so why should you I take it from you?’
‘Someone needs to go over the store’s CCTV footage and there’s bound to be street cameras.’
‘Don’t you think we’ve already thought of that?’
‘Yes, but I just wanted to make you aware that the bombing was a diversion.’
Resuming his search through the paperwork, Reinbeck said, ‘And I want to make you aware that I’m a gnat’s bullock away from losing my rag. Just so you know.’
‘Neither Ward nor Armstrong would have got away if we had the resources we need. More men and vehicles. More of everything, really. We’re losing out there and things are only going
to get worse.’
‘You’re whinging to the wrong person. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t set the budget for the police force. You should send a letter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer or whoever the hell sets our budget. We manage with what we’ve got, because we have no choice. Best thing you can do is get on with it. With that in mind, are you still here?’
Dawn swept from the room. Slammed the door behind her.
####
Angels was renowned as the best whorehouse in Boxford. Along with the casino, it was one of Byron’s favourite haunts. The sauna invigorated him. The massage relaxed him. Relieved his tension. Face down on a table, he was enjoying the attentions of a busty blond whilst thinking about one thing: the blacks.
They had turned his boys over, given them a spanking. Something had to be done about that. An example would have to be made. Byron needed show people what happens when they cross him. Beatings wouldn’t cut it. Not now. Things had gone beyond that. If the niggers got away with just bruises and broken bones, folk might think Byron had gone soft. He couldn’t risk that. They would be taken care of.
Silenced.
####
‘What’s his name?’ Dawn asked Jenkins. ‘Remind me.’
‘York,’ Jenkins replied. ‘Ryan York.’
They were at the City Hospital, in an elevator, heading up towards Ward C.
‘Now I’m not precognitive or anything,’ Dawn said, ‘but I’m going to make a prediction. I think there’ll be a whiff of bullshit in a few minutes. What do you reckon?’
Adjusting his glasses on his nose, Jenkins gave her a knowing smile. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘Although, if there’s a smell, I’m sure it’ll be more of a stench than a whiff. And mentioning shit, it’s going to hit the fan if Reinbeck finds out you’re questioning witnesses when he told you not to pursue the Armstrong case.’
‘Let me worry about that.’
‘That’s all good and well, but he’ll take a chunk out of me as well. I am your partner, after all.’
‘Go back to the car, then. I won’t be long.’
‘Nonsense. I’m not missing this.’
A ghost of a smile touched Dawn’s lips.
The elevator juddered to a halt – a ping announced their arrival. The doors slid open. They stepped out and went towards the enquiry desk. A red-haired nurse greeted them. Asked them if she could help. Dawn explained the purpose of their visit and the nurse pointed along the corridor.
‘He’s down there,’ she said. ‘Third room on the left. He was asleep about fifteen minutes ago, when I passed. Hopefully he’ll be awake now. I can’t believe what happened. All those officers killed, murdered in cold blood. He’s very lucky to be alive, our Mr. York.’
‘Yes,’ Dawn said, giving Jenkins a look. ‘Very lucky, indeed.’
York was still asleep. On his back, snoring his head off. As he exhaled, he made a whistling sound, like a deflating tyre. Standing in the doorway of his room, Dawn looked on with a little shake of her head. There were two beds. The one next to York was unoccupied.
Peering over Dawn’s shoulder, Jenkins said, ‘Ah, didums, what a shame that we’re going to have to wake him. He’s probably having a nice dream, too. I do feel bad.’
‘I don’t,’ Dawn said, clapping her hands as she entered. ‘Wakey, wakey! Time to get up! Rise and shine!’
York opened his eyes a bit. Slowly, he raised his head. For a moment he seemed not to know where he was. Glancing around through slitted eyes, he looked panicked.
‘Wha’s … wha’s all the noise?’ he managed to say. ‘Wha’s with the racket?’
Dawn loomed over him. Flashed her badge and said, ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr. York, but we’d like to talk to you about what happened yesterday. It won’t take long. Five minutes of your time, that’s all we need. I’m Detective Inspector Dawn Shelshar and this is my partner, Samuel Jenkins.’ They both flashed their badges.
‘I was asleep!’ York blurted.
‘We know,’ Jenkins said.
‘Can’t this wait?’ York moaned. ‘I’ve been shot; I need time to recuperate.’
He pulled himself up into a sitting position, then rested his back against the headboard with a rattling thud. He yawned, his mouth opening wide to reveal teeth blackened by fillings.
‘You were shot in the leg,’ Dawn stated. ‘Hardly a life-threatening injury.’ Out the corner of her eye she saw Jenkins was ready with his notepad and pen, so she commenced the interrogation. ‘Take us through the attack, from beginning to end. We want to know everything, no matter how insignificant. You were driving the transport vehicle, yes?’
‘That’s right,’ York said. ‘To be honest, it’s all a bit of a blur. I remember very little. It happened so fast. One minute we were chugging along, through the woods. Next thing I knew, we were under attack, lead flying everywhere.’ He looked solemn and reflective as he continued to explain: ‘I didn’t think I’d live to see another day. Eleven of my comrades lost their lives. They were just mown down.’
‘You’re guardian angel was certainly watching out for you,’ Dawn said. ‘So you were driving along and,’ she shrugged, ‘what happened, exactly? Did the assailants drop out of the sky from a UFO? Did they pop up out of the ground? Tell me what happened first?’
York’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not sure I like your tone, detective inspector,’ he said. ‘I told you I can’t recall much. Which part of that don’t you understand?’
Jenkins was scribbling away. He stopped and asked, ‘Does a black 4x4 ring any bells?’
‘Yeah, I remember the 4x4,’ York admitted. ‘It t-boned the lead car. Masked men got out and began shooting at anything that moved. Others came out of the trees. We didn’t stand a chance.’
‘There you go,’ Dawn said, ‘your mind isn’t the blank canvas you thought it was. So the lead car was taken out and men flooded out of the woods. What next?’
York still seemed a little groggy, but well-prepared. Dawn was sure he had thought through every question he was liable to be asked. With time to kill in hospital, there was nothing else to do.
‘I remember slamming the brakes on and getting out of the truck,’ he explained. ‘There was gunfire all around. Officers screaming. I ran round the truck’s rear, clutching my gun. I was ready to put a bullet in one of those bastards. And I would have, if I hadn’t got hit in the leg. The last thing I recall before blacking out is the blood on the inside of a squad car I was near. It amazes me how anyone could be so brutal. The people that did this need to be caught! Tell me you’ve got some leads, officers?’
‘There’s that funny smell you were on about,’ Jenkins said to Dawn.
‘Hmm,’ she replied. ‘It’s strong around here.’
York looked puzzled. ‘What smell?’ He sniffed his armpits. ‘Are you saying I stink? I’ve been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. Apologies if I’ve let my personal hygiene slip. A bed bath from a nurse could be in order, me thinks.’ He grinned at the prospect.
This made Dawn cringe.
She said, ‘Was there anything distinct about the men who attacked the convoy? I know they were wearing masks, but did any of them say anything? And if they did, could you make out an accent?’
‘They did their talking with their guns,’ York said.
‘Was there anyone particularly tall or short?’ Jenkins said. ‘Fat or thin? Can you give us anything to go on, Mr. York?’
Shrugging, he offered an apologetic grin. ‘I’ve told you everything I know. Sorry I’m not much help.’ He looked back and forth, from Dawn to Jenkins, as if to say: is that all?
No, Dawn thought. That’s not all. ‘You were the driver of the truck, yes?’
‘I’ve already told you I was,’ York said, sighing deeply.
‘There would have been an officer riding shotgun with you, wouldn’t there?’ Dawn asked.
‘Yeah,’ York said.
Jenkins was taking more notes. He stopped, his pen
poised over the paper, looking over the rim of his glasses at York. ‘So what did he do when it started?’ he said. ‘Did he climb out and start shooting or hide under the dashboard?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ York said. ‘I was too preoccupied with what was going on.’ There was a glass of water on the stand next to his bed. He reached for it and Dawn noticed his hands were shaking. ‘My nerves are shot to shit. Yours would be too, if you’d been through what I’ve been through. Anymore questions?’
‘Yes,’ Dawn said. ‘At least one. Why didn’t the attackers kill you?’ She watched York closely to gauge his response. ‘How did you manage to get away with just a leg wound? If you were in my shoes, I’m guessing you’d think that was a bit suspicious. You’re either very fortunate, or …’
‘Or what?’ York snapped. His glass made a hollow thud as he put it down on the stand. Water sloshed over the rim. ‘Are you trying to accuse me of something? Are you saying I was in on it? If so, blurt it out. I don’t like people who pussyfoot around. I’d rather you got to the point, detective inspector. But just so you know, I didn’t have anything to do with it. And I feel insulted that you think I did. I mean, really!’ He folded his arms. Turned away with a disgusted look on his face.
‘Can’t stand the smell any longer,’ Jenkins said. ‘Must be time to leave.’
Raising his arm, York sniffed his armpit again. He opened his mouth to say something, but a nurse entered the room. There was a chart hanging from the end of York’s bed. The nurse picked it up. Perused it.
‘Are we feeling any better?’ she asked him. ‘Is your leg still hurting?’
‘Yeah, it’s still hurting,’ he said.
‘I’ll see if the doctor can prescribe you something stronger,’ the nurse said.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You do that. Much appreciated.’ He gestured towards Dawn, then Jenkins. ‘This pair have overstayed their welcome. They’re giving me a headache. I’ve got a bad injury and I’m trying to rest. Can you make them sod off, please?’
The nurse went to speak, but Dawn beat her to it.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, ‘don’t worry, we’re going. Our business is concluded here anyway. You rest that leg, Mr. York. Me and my partner will be seeing you soon, after we’ve done more investigating.’
Face Book: A disturbing novel full of shocking twists Page 14
