by Robert White
“They look a right pair of darlings,” said Sellers.
“Pair of pussycats,” said Des. “But what the young Sean doesn’t appear to grasp, is that even if he pays the boys, they’ll still make an example of him.”
“You mean kill him?” asked Lauren.
“Oh aye, ne bother,” said Des. “And I’m not about to let that happen, eh?”
This was going to be a devil of a job and I knew it, but as I sat there in that poky terrace, I also believed I had the right crew and the right kit to make enough waves to draw out our enemies.
The game was well and truly on.
Des Cogan’s Story:
We all piled into the Discovery, Victoria driving, Rick directing, with Lauren and I stuffed in the back. The old 4x4 needed a valet as much as the gaff on Longden Road had needed a clean. It smelled of wet dog and fags.
I opened a window for good measure. With the evening traffic, the drive to Salford would take forty minutes.
We were bound for an infamous boozer called The Flat Iron.
The pub had started its life as a hotel, called the Royal, but it never did well, being situated in one of the roughest areas in the city. In the late sixties, the hotel was re developed and The Flat Iron was born, designed to fit in with the more modern market area.
It was an ‘early’ bar, similar to those found in Scotland and Ireland, with an 8.00am licence. This did not help its reputation for being full of drunks and ne’er do wells. Folklore would have it that the local thieves would ravage the nearby market stalls to order. The receiver of those said stolen goods simply sat and enjoyed a pint or two in the ‘Flatty,’ whilst waiting for his knock off items to arrive.
All in all. My kind of gaff.
However, I did feel that Victoria and Lauren would get far more attention than the average imbiber. Even though both had dressed down, they couldn’t hide their beauty and lithe frames. I just hoped young Sean was on time and on message, and that our visit would be brief. If not, I could easily envisage things getting naughty.
As we stepped inside, all heads turned. If it hadn’t been for the jukebox blasting ‘Dirty Old Town,’ you would have heard the tumbleweed. The girls went to find a seat and every male eye followed each step they took to get there. Rick and I went to the bar to order. One very rough looking boy with a face full of scar tissue and more busted knuckles than a blind cobbler was straight in.
“Not seen you before, lads,” he growled.
“First visit,” said Rick.
“What brings yer?” said the bruiser.
The landlady pulling our drinks must have had one ear on the conversation. She dropped my pint in front of me and looked over to our inquisitor.
“Play nice now, Billy,” she said. “Let these folks about their business.”
“Aye,” I said. “Best ye do that, son.”
He looked at Rick and me in turn, seemed to weigh up his options, and decided to leave well alone.
As I pushed the girls’ drinks across the table, Victoria managed a smile. “Lovely,” she said through gritted teeth. “You bring a girl to the nicest places, Cogan.”
“I try my best,” I said, taking a sip of a very well kept pint of Guinness.
Rick checked his watch. “The boy’s late,” he said.
I shrugged. “Give him a few minutes, pal. You were young once, eh?”
I could see Rick was uncomfortable. I knew it wasn’t the pub, or the clientele. After all, we’d both been in worse places and all four of us could handle anything the locals could throw at us. No, I knew the reason he wasn’t happy was that we were relying on an outsider, and one prone to snorting his own product.
“Five more minutes,” he said with a grimace.
Thirty seconds later, in walked Sean. He wore the same clothes that he had on his back in the Indian. The same skinny jeans, the same floppy woollen hat. More importantly, he wore the same stoned expression.
“Fuck’s sake,” spat Rick. “Look at the state of the kid.”
Sean was unsteady, eyes like piss holes in the snow. He stood at the bar; feet planted doing his best to fish a fiver from his tight trouser pocket. The boy looked over to our table and raised an arm.
“Yo,” he exclaimed.
“I’m going to slot the fucker myself,” said Rick.
We waited until Sean was served and made it over to our table.
“Sit down before you fall down, son,” I said.
He waved an arm. “I’m cool, man. Honest I am.”
Rick was on him in an instant. “What did I say to you? You’re fucking off your face. You are no good to us. A waste of our time.”
Sean was indifferent, the coke boosting his already cocky attitude. “Look, dude. That’s what I’m here to tell you. I already said, your gig is not my scene, man. It ain’t for me. I work alone, I’m a lone wolf, me. So if you could just see your way for the five large, y’know. sort us out, I’ll pay you back soon as.”
Victoria was unimpressed.
“As I understand it, Mr Ryan, this deal was non-negotiable. The money will not be forthcoming. For this arrangement to work, you had a task to complete and from then on, we would look after your wellbeing. However, from what I can see, you aren’t fit to tie your shoelaces, never mind do our bidding.”
The cocaine coursing through Sean’s system was overpowering his common sense.
“Listen, babe… and you are hot by the way, I can look after myself. No one messes with Sean Ryan in these parts. Know what? I say me and you get out of this shithole, lose these donkeys and hit the town. What d’ya think, sweet cheeks?”
Victoria managed that grim smile again. “I’d say you were delusional, Ryan. A stupid boy who can’t control his urges.” She looked over to Rick. “Well, I don’t know about you, Fuller, but I’ve seen enough. I say we re-group, re-think and leave Mr Ryan here to his own devices. You know what they say, horses to water and all that?”
I knew she was right of course. I’d seen this many a time, with boys who drank too much, never mind drugs. Every time they had a skin full, they thought they were ten men. That said, I’d made a promise to Estelle that we’d look out for the kid, and a promise is a promise.
“You need to keep your head down for a few days son,” I said reluctantly. “Lay low, and we’ll sort your problem.”
The rest of the team looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but I had no choice. “You just tell us where to find Arti,” I said, “And he’ll have his cash by tomorrow.”
Sean sat back in his chair and smiled. He really was playing the big I am.
“I told you, I ain’t playing your game, Jock. I ain’t no grass. I saw Arti earlier, man. He was cool about the dough, just as I said he would be. He’ll wait for his cash, no problem.”
Sean leaned forwards and lowered his voice.
“Listen, Jock, baby. I reckon me and you will get on just fine. You’re a businessman, just like me. What d’ya say, Desmondo, you front me the five g, I turn it into ten, slip Arti a few quid to keep him sweet and then everyone gets a drink. What d’ya think? Bangin’ idea or what?”
Lauren North’s Story:
Maybe it was the subject matter. Maybe it was just that Sean Ryan was the most irritating young man I’d ever met, or maybe it was just because we were sitting in Manchester’s answer to the Wild West Saloon, but I’d zoned out and was checking the comings and goings at the front door.
At some point since we’d sat down, a doorman had arrived, and he stood at the entrance giving all new arrivals the hard stare, flexing his muscles and checking the odd ID.
I watched him as two young lads arrived. Both were early twenties and despite the warm weather had their hoods up. Again, not that unusual in this part of town, but the doorman had been making all the other youngsters take theirs down on entry.
Not th
is pair. No ID check, no hard look, just a courteous nod and a step away.
Rick sat side on to the door, but Sean had his back to it.
The two new arrivals looked to our table and simultaneously lifted their hoodies at the waist to reveal a pair of SLP’s. I went from zoned out to switched on in the time it took the gangbangers to take a single stride. Sellers instantly picked up the vibe too. She launched herself forwards and grabbed Rick by the collar, dragging him towards her. I threw myself to my left, pushing Des downwards as I did so. It all happened too fast for me to see what exactly the boys were waving about, but by the time they let go their first rounds, all our team were on the floor.
Except Sean Ryan.
The sound of any unsuppressed weapon being fired in an enclosed space is painful on the ears. Indeed, most of the Flat Iron’s drinkers would have been instantly suffering from tinnitus. Both young hooded assassins opened up at close range and kept pulling the trigger until Sean fell. Then, one of the boys calmly walked over to his convulsing body and put two rounds into his skull.
The place was pandemonium, chairs and tables were knocked over. Broken glass crunched underfoot as drinkers clambered over each other to escape the violence. This was a tough area, and the Flat Iron was a rough pub, used to fists flying, however, a right hook is no match for a nine millimetre and the customers knew it.
The two boys turned, still holding their SLP’s in their fists and walked calmly to the door. One gave the doorman a nod and he held back the panicking customers as the pair sauntered out into the evening sunshine.
I crawled over to Sean Ryan’s body, already knowing the outcome, yet praying for a different one. As I did so, I felt a strong pair of hands grab me and lift me to my feet.
“He’s gone,” said Rick. “Leave him.”
I nodded. “I know.” I’d gotten used to witnessing violence and death, but it never got any easier.
“We all okay?” he asked the team.
“Aye,” said Des.
“Tip top,” said Sellers, sarcastically as she brushed broken glass from her jeans. She looked at me and nodded towards the exit. “I say, you and I go and get our car, whilst the boys ensure that bouncer over there joins us back at the ranch. We need a chat with that chap.”
“Aye,” said Des ominously. “I’m wanting a wee word with Mr Muscles, myself.”
Des Cogan’s Story:
I looked down at Sean Ryan’s bullet riddled body, his blood slowly seeping into the purple carpet beneath him, and I felt true sorrow. The boy wasnea my flavour of the month, that was fer sure, but he didnea deserve what he got.
Things were not going too well for me. My head was all over the place and I was beginning to question whether I still had the mental capability to function under such pressures. Losing Ann, JJ, Maggie, Kaya’s kidnap, they all weighed me down. I knew that there had been times of late, when I hadn’t been in control, and that was a very dangerous situation for everyone in the team, not just yours truly.
I’d made young Estelle a promise to look after her wee brother, and now, as she was soaking up the Spanish sunshine, the dreadful carpet on the floor of The Flat Iron soaked up Sean Ryan’s life blood.
I forced my eyes away from the boy’s corpse and took a long look at the guy who had not only let his killers into the bar but aided their escape so casually.
He was a thirty something. A gym bunny. Not overly tall, with short cropped blond hair and a well-trimmed full set. He wore the bouncers uniform, black shirt, trousers, boots, and sported his SIA licence on an armband around his left bicep. All nice and legal, like. Except he wasnea, was he?
As the girls pushed their way through what was left of the pub’s terrified punters, he eyed them with what appeared to me a mixture of appreciation and suspicion. Maybe Sean’s killers knew where their target would be, but not who he was there to meet. One thing was fer sure, our bouncer pal, was about to find out a whole lot more about the company young Sean was keeping.
With the girls safely outside, Rick moved, edging his way towards the door, glass cracking under his feet. The bouncer was giving the odd drinker a casual shove towards the exit, not that anyone needed encouragement to leave. As I got closer to the door, I heard the first sirens. If we were going to do this, we needed to be quick about it.
“You have a word and I’ll get in behind him,” I said to Rick’s back.
“No problem,” he said.
I dawdled as Rick pushed his way forwards. He stopped right in front of the boy. “What company do you work for?” he asked, head cocked.
“Get yourself outside, mate,” said the bouncer and went to push Rick towards the exit.
The boy was way too casual. Rick simply planted his feet and stood his ground.
The guy bared his teeth. “Are you fuckin’ deaf, pal?”
He was about to try and push Rick for a second time but in dealing with the imposing figure of Mr Fuller, hadn’t noticed me at all. I pulled my Browning from my belt and stuck the muzzle in the small of the boy’s back.
“Now, dinnea fuck about there, son,” I said. “You just follow my friend there outside and be a good boy. I’m just in the mood to put a couple of rounds in yer spine. They might just kill you, but then again, ye might just end up a cripple.”
The bouncer was unmoved and twisted his head to look into my face. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with here, Jock,” he hissed.
I eyeballed him and clicked off the safety. “Really? How about I dinnea fucking care?”
That did the trick and moments later the three of us were outside.
Surprisingly, it was pandemonium. The punters hadn’t left at all, most were still on the pavement, talking on their mobiles. A few were even taking fucking selfies. The birth of the smart phone had given ghoulishness a whole new meaning. Mercifully, seconds later, Victoria pulled up in the Discovery and we bundled our new friend into the back.
“You won’t get away with this,” he said. “You’re all as dead as that loser in the pub.”
I tore his SIA licence from the holder on his arm and scanned it.
“Michael Forrest,” I read out loud. I looked in his face, checked the picture on the licence. “You got a wife, Michael? Kids?”
“Fuck you,” he spat.
Sellers put her foot down as three police vehicles sped by, heading back towards the scene. She looked in the rear view mirror at our prisoner.
“Best you change your attitude, darling,” she said.
Twenty minutes later, Longden Road, had its first visitor.
Rick sat Forrest on a wooden dining chair in the kitchen, whilst I found cable ties.
“No proper cuffs, I’m afraid,” I said, zipping the boy’s wrists behind him and then looping another tie to the spindles of the chair.
Forrest grimaced as I did so.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I said. “Did that hurt?”
Rick gave me a nod and we joined the girls in the living room. We didn’t have long to formulate an interrogation strategy, and there were a few doubters when young Victoria came up with her plan, but we all agreed, it was all we had. Five minutes later, Rick and I stepped back into the kitchen with a ploy to either kill or turn our visitor. His choice.
Forrest had been taking in his surroundings but was still surprisingly confident.
“Nice place you got here,” he said. “I like what you’ve done with it. Now, when you two have finished playing the hard arse, let me tell you something…”
Rick punched Forrest square in the face. It was a huge blow with all his weight behind it. The boy lolled forwards, semi-conscious, blood pouring from his mouth.
We waited for him to come to his senses in more ways than one. Finally, he opened his eyes and spat a tooth out onto the carpet.
“You were going to tell us something?” said Rick.
The
boy stayed quiet a moment; the sudden realisation of his situation etched across his face.
“Look, lads,” he began. “I’m just a hired hand here.” He spun his head and looked at me. “You were right before, Jock. I’ve a wife. Come on, I don’t need this shit.”
“Names of the two shooters?” asked Rick quietly.
Forrest blew air down his nose.
“Aww come on, man. If I tell you anything, I’m dead.”
“What about Sean Ryan?” I asked. “He’s dead… and you helped kill him. What about him?”
Forrest ran his tongue over his teeth, eyes closed, checking the damage. When he was done, he looked me in the eye again.
“The boy was a fool. He took the piss. Owed money and took the piss. You can’t do that in these parts, pal.”
“The two shooters?” said Rick, irritation creeping into his voice. “Names, and where to find them, tonight.”
Forrest gave another snort of derision. “You think that you can go back into Salford tonight and take those boys on? Fuck off. You’re dreaming. I told you, you don’t know…”
The second punch was even harder. This time Forrest was out cold.
At that, Sellers popped her head around the door of the kitchen. She looked at Forrest for a moment, then smiled.
“Any chance of a cup of tea, whilst you’re at it chaps?”
Rick shook his head at Sellers’ indifference, ran his fist under the cold tap, then filled the kettle.
Victoria pulled up a chair and sat herself in front of our boy. This was her field and her plan. An army intelligence officer, battle hardened. She knew all about the psychology of interrogation.
Forrest began to come around again. He raised his head and squinted at Victoria, one eye beginning to close from Rick’s second blow.
The boy was tougher than I thought he’d be. He actually managed a smile.
“You the good cop then, Ma’am?” he asked. “Cos that’s what you are… or were, I’ll bet… a Rupert.”
Sellers stayed silent.
Forrest did not. He looked at Rick, and me, then back to Sellers.
