by David Carter
‘There’s no change, and no to the whisky.’
‘It’s early for me too, normally, but not today...’ and Arthur poured himself a large measure and sat in the comfy armchair opposite Midge, and grinned across at the young Vimy clone. Arthur realised he held a moment of power, and always adored being the centre of attention. He loved holding the high ground, as this charismatic young man sat bemused before him. He couldn’t stop milking the moment, as he crossed his legs with a flourish.
‘So you’ve really never heard of me?’
‘No I haven’t. Said so, didn’t I?’
‘That’s perhaps not such a surprise,’ he said, sipping the whisky. Have I some revelations in store for you!
‘He always made me swear never to tell you a thing about our business. Even now I’m wary of saying anything. I half expect him to burst in at any moment and bawl me out for talking to you at all.’
‘You mean dad?’
‘Who else are we talking about?’
‘Well that ain’t going to happen, is it?’
‘I’ve known your father since he was fifteen, since before his voice broke. He was an angel back then, a real angel. We grew up together and we have always been great friends. He looked after me like no one else ever did. Since then I have done my best to return the favour.’
What was the old faggot on about? thought Midge, and for a second the ridiculous idea flashed through Midge’s mind that his father might once have been secretly gay, batting both sides of the wicket. But no, not a chance, and he discarded that ludicrous idea as soon as it appeared. Arthur seemed to read his mind and grinned and reached over and patted Midge’s knee with his outstretched palm. Midge retreated.
‘Don’t worry, Midge, your father’s not gay, never has been, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. I loved him more than anyone, but he didn’t want me, never in that way,’ and he laughed the annoying quasi-feminine laugh he uttered whenever he was nervous or stressed or excited.
‘Your father and I are in business together. Actually, to be strictly truthful, he’s my boss. But he’s everyone’s boss, isn’t he? The man is a God. A living legend. He’s on a different planet to us mere mortals. Always has been.’
‘What kind of business?’ asked Midge, eager to get to the point.
‘Commodities, of course.’
Midge laughed a rough single syllable laugh.
‘Don’t be stupid! Dad runs the best commodity business in the country, Ridge Commodities. You must know that!’
‘No, Midge, you’re wrong. Your dad runs the best two commodity businesses in the country, Ridge Commodities... and Pegasus Trading.’
Midge scoffed. ‘Pegasus Trading? Never heard of it!’
‘That’s not surprising. That’s how it’s supposed to be.’
‘Look fella, is this a wind-up? I don’t know what your game is, but I have a lot on my plate right now. If it’s money you’re after, you’ve come to the wrong place. We have a way of dealing with blackmailers. Is that why you rang this morning? You’re after quick cash?’
‘You’re not listening, Midge; it’s no wind-up. The reason I rang is because we have a serious problem with one of our suppliers. I need your dad’s authorisation to sort it out, and quick.’
‘Which supplier?’
‘Bulent Tarsus, and I must speak to Vimy about it.’
‘You know Bulent Tarsus?’
‘Of course, he’s one of our best suppliers.’
‘Hold on a minute. Hold on! He can’t be! Bulent Tarsus is our best supplier, and not only that, he is contracted to supply us, and us alone,’ said Midge, his voice gaining volume as the sentence progressed. ‘Exclusively! Get my meaning, baldilocks?’
Arthur ignored the cutting rudeness. It was only to be expected, and nothing he hadn’t heard a thousand times before. He grinned and said, ‘Perhaps he’s supplying us with different products.’
Midge stared at Arthur in silence.
A crazy idea germed in the utility room of his mind.
‘Not cotton, right?’
Arthur giggled, nodded theatrically, and slurped what remained of his drink. The picture on his face suggested a man he’d fancied for years had finally succumbed.
‘Right, Midge,’ he drawled. ‘Not cotton.’
There was a brief silence and Arthur smiled in a peculiar way that Midge didn’t care for. Midge could guess what commodity baldy was referring to, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak the name. Arthur was one step ahead of him.
‘Why is it people can never bring themselves to say the word? Heroin! There! I’ve said it out loud. It wasn’t so difficult, was it? It’s not a sin to speak its name. Frigging heroin! Heroin! Heroin! Heroin! You see, you’re not instantly cast to hell for uttering the word.’
‘This is a wind-up, right,’ muttered Midge. ‘Tell me it’s a real bad joke.’
‘Nope. No wind-up. No joke.’
‘And it comes from Bulent?’
Arthur nodded and muttered, ‘Course it does.’
‘How does it come in?’
Arthur clapped his hands together and said, ‘In the early days in a steel box, sealed in the middle of a cotton bale, but in recent times we’ve been more sophisticated. There’s a secret compartment welded into the frame of the wagon. No one would ever find it. There isn’t a sniffer dog alive that can sniff through an inch of solid steel. It’s the reason we’ve never lost a single consignment.’
Midge sat back in his chair and breathed out heavy and scratched his chin. He thought of those Kalamazoo sheets, and that neat handwriting. Pound to a penny it was the faggot’s.
‘So what’s your problem, Arthur?’
Arthur placed a flat hand to the side of his cheek and pursed his lips.
‘The latest supply from Bulent. It’s crap!’ His voice becoming harder and more urgent. ‘The customers won’t stand for it. They want their cash back, and quick. They ain’t messing about, things could get nasty.’
‘Easy answer. Don’t pay Bulent!’
‘We already have.’
‘How much?’
‘Two mill.’
‘Two million! Bloody Norah! Two million quid? You don’t muck about.’
Arthur smiled again. Despite the difficult circumstances he was revelling in his day.
‘When did Vimy Ridge ever muck about with anything?’
Midge knew what he meant by that but didn’t reply, not straight away.
‘What would you normally do in a case like this?’
‘Normally we’d bollock the supplier and ask for a refund, but Bulent is different. We’ve dealt with him right from the start. He got us into this line of trade in the first place.’
‘Thanks a lot, Bulent,’ whispered Midge.
‘Vimy trusts him implicitly; they’re real close, like brothers. But something will have to be done. You’ll have to fly to Turkey to see him. We can’t be supplying this shit.’
‘I can’t go! I’m out on bail. You do read the papers, I take it!’
‘Oh yeah. Forgot about that. Good luck, by the way.’
‘Thanks. You go,’ suggested Midge. ‘Go out there and get it sorted.’
‘I can’t go, I’m gay!’
That didn’t make any sense to Midge, yet strangely it did. He couldn’t envisage Arthur being a forceful negotiator, especially not in Turkey opposite Bulent Tarsus, or anyone else.
‘Give me your number,’ said Midge. ‘I’ll think about it and get back to you.’
Arthur pulled a scented card from his breast pocket with a flourish and handed it to the handsome young man, brushing his wrist with his manicured fingers as he did. Midge tugged the card away and stuffed it into his back trouser pocket.
‘You’ll have to be quick, Midge. I need an answer by five tonight at the latest. Some of our customers are not the kind of people who will accept being kept waiting, if you get my drift.’
‘So you said.’
Arthur pursed his lips and prayed he�
�d done enough. He looked across into the young Ridge’s beautiful dark eyes and wondered what might have been. Midge guessed what he was thinking. Time to go. He nodded one last time and promised to call. Hurried outside and pointed the car towards Caldy and drove home faster than he should, as he tried to make sense of it. What had his father been thinking? What the hell had been going on all these years, and what for deuce’s sake could he do about it?
Chapter Fifty-Five
MORE THAN A QUARTER of a century had passed since Vimy Ridge had driven to Chester with murder in mind. As he lay in bed in Murrayfield hospital with more tubes and wires than an IRA bomb, he cast his mind back to that night, and it seemed like yesterday.
He remembered pressing the green-lit bell that sat to the right of Arthur Harkin’s gate like a solitary green eye. He could hear the bell ringing inside the house, and the big dog barking, and in the next moment Pete Lee opened the door and ambled to the gate. The Chinaman half smiled and muttered, ‘Arthur nearly weddy, please come in.’
Vimy stepped across the crunching gravel and into the hall. He could smell the faintest aroma of stale weed fusing with distinctive Chinese cooking, pork ribs, tangy sauces, and spiced rum.
‘I see how he’s getting on.’
Pete Lee was dressed in black, he often was, as he backed away and disappeared, only to return a moment later with Arthur. He was immaculately dressed, as if he was attending an important interview, his expensive mohair suit highlighting his white shirt and blue silk tie. Always dress well for important meetings, that was Arthur’s way. Executioners traditionally dress well. It was the least they could do for the soon to be departed.
‘Hi,’ whispered Arthur. ‘All right?’
Vimy nodded. It felt as if they were preparing to attend a funeral, as they stood nervously together beside the front door.
‘Have you got everything?’ whispered Pete, sounding like one of their mothers before they set off for school.
‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘Clean underpants,’ and he grinned and winked at Vimy.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come?’
It was a touching thought for Pete clearly knew what was going down, but what that slight Chinaman might bring to the party, Vimy couldn’t imagine.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Vimy.
Pete nodded through a concerned face and reached up and looked into Arthur’s eyes. He wasn’t going to be put off from showing his affection for his life partner in front of Vimy Ridge. Pete straightened Arthur’s tie, stood on tiptoe and kissed Arthur on the cheek. Arthur hugged him on the back with one hand, pulling him close. Vimy glanced away. He could avert his eyes but not ears, and heard Pete whisper, ‘I love you so much, Arthur. Come home safe.’
Arthur nodded, glanced at Vimy, and back at Pete, and muttered, ‘You bet, make sure the shampoo is on ice.’
They left the house and jumped aboard the Japanese 4x4 that Vimy had rented in an untraceable name. There was a spring in their steps, booted and suited men on business. Vimy started the engine and pointed the vehicle south toward Chester.
‘He really cares for you,’ said Vimy, as they accelerated past the garden centres on the wide, straight, and flat Chester High Road.
‘He does. And I for him.’
‘You’re a lucky man, Arth.’
Arthur thought that a strange thing to say. Did Vimy not have people who cared for him? Laura for one; and heaven knows how many others. There had always been rumours of numerous mistresses scattered around the city. Arthur could write a salacious brick-like novel on Vimy Ridge’s love life going back years, not that he ever would.
Vimy nodded hard as if to bring the topic to a close, and said, ‘Let’s get tuned in.’
He buzzed down the window and fresh air crashed through the cabin.
‘Open the glove compartment.’
Arthur flipped open the storage cupboard. Inside was a Ridge Commodities’ linen sample bag, a miniature cotton sack with string-pull fastening tops. He undid the cord and peeked inside. Two Smith and Wesson handguns gleamed back.
‘Careful, they’re loaded,’ said Vimy.
Arthur smirked and nodded, removed the first gun, and slipped it in his jacket pocket. He returned for the second pistol and settled it on his lap and caressed it like a kitten, as they hurtled south into the blackness of the night.
‘So what’s the plan?’ he asked.
‘I’ve arranged to meet them at a local beauty spot down by the river. It’s close to town but surprisingly remote. No one ever goes there at night.’
‘What makes you so sure they’ll come?’
‘I’ve told them I’ve a new supply of Columbian gear. If they don’t take it I’ll offer it to the competition. They’ll come.’
‘How are we going to play it?’
‘We’ll take the lads out first. Leave Ma till last, she’s mine. As we look at it, you take the lad on the left, I’ll take the one on the right, and then I’ll deal with Ma. All you have to think about is dealing with the kid on the left. That’s all you have to do, he’s yours, lefty. You can leave the rest to me. Got it?’
Arthur pursed his lips and kissed fresh air in approval.
‘No worries, boss. Do you think they’ll be armed?’
‘Probably. She might not, but the lads will.’
‘When are we going to do it?’
‘When I shout Now! you do it. Don’t hesitate for a second; it could cost you your life. Understand?’
‘I get ya.’
‘Three shots, rapid succession, into the chest. Fill ’em up.’
Arthur nodded again. His armpits were overwhelming his deodorant and he hoped it didn’t show. He always hated to think he might smell, especially of fear. His palms were moistening and a large bead of sweat formed above his nose.
‘It seems odd, us driving to Chester to do murder. Never thought I’d see the day.’
‘They’ve already tried to murder me, Arth. That’s all you need think about. They’ll try again, for sure. Once I’m out of the way, they’ll come for you. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I guessed as much, that scenario had crossed my mind. No wonder I don’t sleep.’
‘They mean to take over, Arth. They mean to grab everything.’
‘Greedy bastards!’
‘It’s not too late to change your mind. I can stop the car, you can get out and I’ll do it alone. I’m capable of that. I wouldn’t think any the less of you.’
Arthur scoffed. He couldn’t abandon his lifelong friend at his greatest hour of need, no matter how much he might like the idea, not after all he’d done for him.
‘Get out of it! Behave yourself!’ he said, full of braggadocio. ‘If you must know, I’m looking forward to it. Come on! Bring it on! Let’s get it done and finished. Can’t come soon enough! They’ve had it coming for years!’
They cruised the remainder of the journey in silent thought, crossed the canal. and drove through the city that was lit up like Christmas, short-skirted revellers strolling through the streets chased by wide-eyed lads, intent on bedding them. Arthur’s eyes widened. He was a night person. It brought back many happy memories for he knew all the Gay bars in the city. Oscar’s and Rikki’s, not to mention the Blue Bear, and the straight clubs too that were truthfully gay but hadn’t the courage to admit it. Arthur knew them all, and they knew him.
They crossed the river on the old single lane mediaeval bridge that led to Handbridge, followed the bend right, up the slight hill, before turning sharp left onto the back road that led away from the city. It was quiet and dark, a road only locals knew, and used. An occasional rabbit dashed for cover from the grass verge, white tails highlighted in the powerful headlights. A young fox intent on blood scurried across the road in chase, oblivious to the danger of the whirling wheels.
The 4x4 hurtled over the by-pass bridge and reached the end of a long straight stretch of tarmac. The road curved away to the right. All through traffic went that way. Vimy g
lanced in the rear-view mirror, nothing behind, not a light anywhere, nothing ahead, no streetlights, darkness everywhere. He turned sharp left, off the road, and meandered down a twisty track through thick woodland, as it sloped gently down towards the gloomy river.
At the end of the track was a square car park, a dead end; a car park often full of picnickers with young children and loving couples during the day. But few ventured there at night, no one other than occasional courting couples. But even they had been frightened away by a spate of weird surprise attacks through carelessly unlocked car doors.
They were early, as Vimy planned, and the car park was empty. The 4x4 swept menacingly about, the tyres scrunching on the sparse gravel, the headlights on full beam. The light blistered through the trees picking out crazy shapes in the darkness. He backed the vehicle in against the trees, facing the single entrance that came down from the lane, turned off the engine and lights, and the bonnet groaned and grunted as it slowly cooled.
It was a clear night and a little illumination came from the quarter moon that stared coldly down from the north. Close by, the river gurgled slowly on. Some places were quite different at night.
They waited in silence, changing their sweaty handled weapons from one hand to the other, not speaking, as they envisioned murder. The squeezing of the trigger, the flash and bang, shells ripping home, bursting blood, stunned faces, tumbling abandoned bodies, and job done, and a big puzzle for the Chester police. Couldn’t come soon enough, and dash home for a glass of ice-cold shampoo, a hot shower, change of clothes, and someone else’s warm body.
‘It’s quite a spot,’ whispered Arthur, breaking the silence.
Vimy nodded but didn’t speak. His eyes were fixed on the lane, his ears straining to pick up any sound through the open windows. Two wood pigeons flapped noisily away, startled by a hungry water rat. Arthur jumped in his seat.
‘Shit!’ he whispered. ‘Come on you prats!’
‘Relax,’ encouraged Vimy. ‘They’ll be here. They’re too greedy not to come.’
They waited twenty minutes that seemed like hours and nothing happened. In the distance, Vimy picked up the quiet purring of an off roader.
