The Fighter

by Robert White

  She looked over at our target, then to me.

  “You need to wash that blood off, darling,” she said. “No saying what this pervert has got.”

  I nodded.

  “You okay? They were some punches you took.”

  “Bit fuzzy, but I’ll live. Cocked up a bit there, eh?” she said, recovering her SLP from the corner.

  I smiled.

  “No one’s perfect, Victoria. Nimble for a big lad, isn’t he? Keep an eye whist I find the sink, honey.”

  When I returned, mercifully blood free, Jonas was still in situ, but he’d been sick.

  “I think you may have fractured his skull, darling,” said Sellers. “Watch…” she said as she addressed our target. “Who do you buy your cocaine from, Mr Jonas?”

  “Fuck you,” he slurred.”

  “See,” said Victoria. “I would suggest he’s concussed at best, otherwise I’m sure he’d be only happy to help us, eh?”

  I pulled the silver laptop from the open safe and lay it on the table next to my baton. Once I had it fired up, I was met by a password pop up.

  “Care to tell me?” I asked Jonas pointing at the screen, or shall I take a hammer to your testicles?”

  “Fuck you,” he repeated slowly.

  “Like a stuck record, darling,” offered Sellers.

  “Hmm,” I offered pulling out my mobile and dialling Egghead.

  He answered on the second ring. “Always a delight to speak to you, Miss North, a real pleasure, just a shame it’s not face to face like.”

  “I’m sure, Simon.”

  “How can I be of assistance?”

  I looked over to our prostrate target.

  “Well, I’m in possession of a gentleman’s laptop, and he’s reluctant to give me his password to let me look at his content.”

  “Really? And this gentleman’s name?”

  “Jonas.”

  “Ah, Mr Alajos Nagy, a fine upstanding individual if ever there was one, Miss. Well, try the obvious, 1234.”

  I did.

  “No.”

  “Not so lucky, eh. Okay, try Alajos,” he spelled it for me.

  “No,”

  “Hmm… Hungary?”

  “Bingo, Simon, you are a star.”

  “No worries, Miss. I erm, I take it Mr Fuller will recompense me?”

  “Of course, Simon.” I said, and I closed the call.

  Sellers was busy tying Jonas’ feet together. “You could have guessed that yourself, darling,” she complained.

  “He just has a knack,” I said.

  “Nice work if you can get it,” she offered, standing up and admiring her handicraft.

  Jonas’ wallpaper was innocent enough, a serene picture of a lake with sail boats doing their thing. Then I clicked on his documents only to find everything was in Hungarian. Closing that page, I hovered the mouse over his pictures folder, where we considered that we may find enough material to loosen his tongue.

  Sellers stood by my side.

  “I’m not quite sure I can do this,” I said.

  She nodded. “Look, darling, the big brute isn’t going anywhere, why don’t you have a look in his freezer, see if you can find me a bag of peas for this eye of mine?”

  I looked up at her and managed a smile. She was a tough cookie that was for sure.

  “Thanks,” I said, and did just that.

  When I returned, Sellers was still sitting at the laptop, her face pale, lips pressed tightly together. She looked like she may cry.

  She shot an evil glance across the room to Jonas, then looked back at me as I stood, rooted to the spot.

  “There are thousands of pictures,” she said quietly. “Hundreds of videos.”

  I held out the bag of frozen peas, arm’s length, not wanting to approach the machine, as if, somehow, I might be contaminated by it.

  “I don’t want to see,” I said.

  Sellers swallowed hard.

  “It’s bad,” she said. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  “How old are they…?”

  “From… from babies,” she said. “Tots… to… oh God.”

  She stopped herself, shook her head, took a deep breath, and straightened her clothes as she stood. Somehow, Sellers the officer had returned.

  “I can’t describe it, darling, just can’t, so let’s deal with this animal and get on with our business, eh?”

  Jonas looked in a bad way. The blow he’d taken to his head had obviously caused him some serious damage and he now bled from his ears. He sat on the floor in the same spot he’d fallen, legs tied in front of him, propping his body up with one arm, his back to the wall. He was mumbling, but it was in his mother tongue, so we had no way of knowing what he was saying.

  Sellers hunkered down in front of him, grabbed at his forehead and slammed his already damaged skull against the wall.

  “Two choices, you piece of shit,” she hissed. “You name your dealer and where to find him, and I put a bullet in your brain, all nice and quick. Or I will call you an ambulance right now and leave the pictures of those kiddies on display for all to see. Hopefully, you’ll live long enough for the boys in the nick to get to you. You do know what they will do to you in there, don’t you? What do you say, sunshine?”

  Jonas coughed and tried to bat Sellers away with his arm, but he had no co-ordination, no depth of vision. He was bleeding on the brain, and without treatment, dying slowly. She pushed his arm away like swatting a fly and gave him an almighty slap.

  “What’s it to be?” she spat. “You don’t have time to think about this one.”

  He groaned and moved his head so he could look past Sellers to me. He did his best to focus.

  “You… you don’t understand,” he whispered.

  I was shaking with anger. I hated him.

  “The innocence,” he said. “I crave it. We all crave it, all our kind, and only the very young can give that gift.”

  The bastard actually managed to smile.

  “They are my children,” he said. “And I love them.”

  I pulled my Colt from my bag, took two steps forwards, put the barrel to his head and shot him at point blank range.

  Sellers lifted herself away from his body and looked at me, inquisitive, head cocked. “That went well,” she said.

  “I’m feeling impatient, today,” I offered.

  She nodded.

  “Fair enough, darling. Let’s fuck off and give the boys a reality check.”

  Rick Fuller’s Story:

  As Lauren drove my 944, Sellers gave me the bad news about Jonas. The way things had gone was disappointing, but as I already had the feeling that as we had stumbled onto something sizable, it wasn’t the end of the world. Besides, one less individual with the kind of sexual perversions that Jonas had, was hardly anything to lose sleep over. I would probably have done the same thing myself. Maybe even sooner.

  Tony Jacket had driven to a small industrial estate off the A6. It was an isolated place, and the dilapidated, mostly empty units, were surrounded by thickets and mature trees, masking them from prying eyes. From what we’d seen, there were no residential properties nearby. In fact, the place seemed just like a nice quiet spot for a drug deal.

  We’d dropped Des off about half a mile back, on the main drag and he’d set off, on foot through the undergrowth to find a good spot to watch the antics. We drove straight into the small estate and parked two units away, from where Jacket’s Subaru sat empty, but idling.

  All in all, we were tucked in nicely out of sight of prying eyes. Without being asked, Forrest began to kit up and prep the weapons. He, like myself had a feeling about this one.

  I got back on the blower to Sellers and gave the girls the heads up.

  “Don’t drive in,” I said. “Park just after the bus
stop on the main road. Ten metres after that, you’ll see a narrow path. Take that and skirt the estate until you see a unit with red shutters. We’re parked just behind that. Keep your heads down. What’s your ETA?”

  It was ten minutes, so we sat and waited. Moments later, Des was on comms.

  “Second vehicle arriving,” he said. “Blue C Class Merc, two up. Both white males, big lads. Looks like someone is expecting trouble… standby.”

  Inside the van was cool, even so I felt sweat trickle down my back.

  “Roger that,” I said.

  Des was back in an instant.

  “Bingo, boys. Jacket has met these two at the front of the unit and he’s just handed them a shooter apiece. At least we know what was in his bag now.”

  “Hardware?” I asked.

  “SLP’s, no big stuff, well not yet,” said the Scot. “All three are now inside, out of sight… standby… Okay, the roller shutter is being opened.”

  Mickey dragged himself forwards, and handed me an MP7 and a spare mag. “This is coming on top, mate,” he said.

  I gave him a look. “Always one for stating the fucking obvious, aren’t you, son?”

  “Very funny,” said Forrest, with a sarcastic smile, and passed me a set of body armour.

  “Save it for Lauren,” I said. “We only have four.”

  He looked at his own set, then into my face.

  “The new guy takes precedence,” I said.

  Mickey turned down his mouth and nodded. “Nice one, boss.”

  At that he checked over my Fastback one last time.

  “And don’t fucking lose that,” I said. “It has sentimental value.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone to be sentimental over a nine mil.”

  “Well, you have now.”

  He shrugged and got comfy in his seat. He was a calm one that was for sure. There wasn’t a sign of nerves about him. Eyes clear, looking straight ahead, focused, sharp.

  Des’ comms crackled into life again.

  “They’re pulling the Blue Merc into the unit,” he said. “One of the new boys is keeping watch outside. Standby… second vehicle approaching. Another Merc, same model, same colour. Three in this one, two more bruisers and a suit in the back… wait, wait… okay, Jacket is handing out more shooters, a pump and another pistol for the two new boys. The suit is out of the vehicle now. Very tall guy, pure white hair, shiny suit, he’s in charge fer sure.”

  Forrest sat up at that. He spoke into his mic.

  “Does this guy walk with a limp?” he asked.

  “Standby,” said Des. “… Aye he does, left leg is straight. But it ain’t stopping the big fella barking at all and sundry.”

  Forrest turned to me, face dark.

  “That just has to be the guy I told you about, the guy that fronts Big C Securities, Eddie Fisher. I think we’re on here, Fuller. This could be the big one.”

  I had to agree, but I also knew that this was all too fucking easy.

  My phone vibrated on the dash.

  “We’re here,” said Sellers. “Just parked.”

  “Okay, come in the way I said, but take extra care. They have security here now and they are all armed.”

  “Of course, Fuller,” said Sellers and closed the call.

  “There’s a wee bit of a barney going on between the suit and our boy, Jacket,” offered Des. “The Hungarian fella is on the blower, something’s up.”

  “Maybe, but am I the only one who thinks this whole setup stinks?” I offered.

  Forrest shook his head. “This is just what we needed Rick. The gear is on its way, mate. I can feel it in my water.”

  I gave the boy a look. “I’ve been tracking Abdallah Al-Mufti for more years than I’d care to mention, son. One thing I know about him, is he never takes chances. And this is all a bit too simple. A bit too naïve.”

  Des Cogan’s Story:

  I lay on my belly, as close to the plot as I dare, with nothing but a few brambles and a dead squirrel for company. That said, I was in good cover and had an excellent view of the front and left side of the target. The four bouncer types that had joined Jacket all looked like they could do a bit, but they weren’t weapons savvy that was fer sure. Particularly one guy with a blond crew, who checked over his SLP like he’d never seen a gun in his life. Tony Jacket seemed to be the armourer and had dished out the guns to each of the guys in turn. All except the man in the suit. Either he was already armed, or he’d chosen not to be. He had a stilted gait and was extremely tall, 6’ 6” I’d have wagered from my lowly position.

  He was however, calmly going about the task of preparing the ground for a visit. Nothing was more certain.

  Two of his boys stood either side of the open roller door. One blue Merc sat inside the unit, boot open. The white haired suit jumped into the second identical Merc and pulled that alongside the first. It was at that point, that I noticed, both German marques had identical registration plates.

  He popped the boot and gave another order to Jacket who nodded and disappeared from view.

  I gave the crew the heads up.

  “Pound to a pinch of shite the next car is a blue Merc, two up with the same registration plate… This is the split”

  “I’d got to that, Desmond,” said Rick. “But I don’t fucking like this.”

  I knew what the big man meant, things seemed a little too straightforward, but sure enough, minutes later, there was movement and clone number three drew up outside the plot. The car was met by Jacket, who once again issued the driver and his pal with shooters. The moment they were tooled up, Grey Hair gave them their brief. As they disappeared deep into the unit, the boss man moved the latest C Class and the three cars sat in a sweet line, boots open, all bonny like.

  So who’s next? The buyer, or the seller? I asked myself.

  Actually, the next person who came into view, had obviously been there from the beginning, even before Tony Jacket had arrived. At first, I couldnea believe my eyes, but there was no mistaking it. The blonde hair, dark roots, the way she moved. Standing in the doorway of the unit, in deep conversation with the big Hungarian, was none other than Estelle Ryan.

  I couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, but what I did hear, was the safety of an AK47 being moved to the fire position, just behind my right ear.

  Lauren North’s Story:

  We’d heard a car draw up somewhere close to the unit as we gingerly made our way to our builders van, our FOP (Forward Operating Point.) I opened the back doors and jumped inside. Sellers followed me and we sat in silence as we pulled on body armour and waited for further updates from Des. We did indeed wait, there were no further transmissions.

  Rick was on it. “Des, come in.”

  Nothing.

  “Des, give me one click if you’re receiving me.”

  Still silence.

  Our concern for the Scot, became the least of our worries, as moments later all hell broke loose.

  The front and rear doors of the van were torn open simultaneously and in a split second, the muzzles of four automatic rifles were pointing at each of our heads. All of the men brandishing what were unmistakably AK’s, where clad in combat gear, balaclavas, and smoke hoods.

  We were caught and we had nowhere to go.

  The men began to bark orders at us. It was all very professional and even though we were roughly handled, there was no unnecessary violence. This was a specialised and skilled team, not a rag-tag band of criminals or terrorists.

  We were expertly searched and pulled to our feet, hands on heads. As we were pushed forwards towards the target building, one of the team got on his comms. He was a Scot. “All parties accounted for,” he said. “No injuries. We’re coming in.”

  Des was tagged onto the end of our sorry line of prisoners, but from what I could see,
he, too, was in good shape. The short walk to the unit revealed just why the Jacket crew were so confident and so open in their movements. The entrance to the small estate was blocked by what, to all intents and purposes looked to be a police car with its roof lights flashing. A man and woman dressed in full uniform stood at the junction.

  No one was getting in here unless they let them in.

  “Nice touch,” said Des from behind me.

  “Silence,” barked one of the crew.

  We were marched inside the unit, past the three waiting Mercedes cars until we reached the back wall. The place was obviously some kind of storage unit for a garden centre or nursery. Tall metal racking filled with all kinds of pots and boxes occupied either side of the space, and dozens of pallets of what looked like fertiliser or compost were piled high off to our left. I noticed movement behind one such stack and could hardly believe my eyes.

  Estelle Ryan was standing alongside Jacket. He had his arm around her shoulders. She looked me straight in the eye, face completely devoid of emotion.

  I was beginning to piss off the crew’s team leader. “Look straight ahead,” he shouted.

  I played meek and mild and did as I was told.

  We were made to face the wall and were put into stress positions. These are designed to keep you both compliant and in various levels of discomfort. The boys would all have suffered this treatment during selection, but that was more than twenty years ago, and this time it was for real.

  All I could see was a concrete wall, yet I was suddenly aware that I had someone standing very close to me. It was the smell that gave her away, the smell of a perfume I used myself.

  “Hello, Lauren,” said Estelle Ryan.

  “Hello, Estelle,” I replied, not moving. “If that is actually your name?”

  “Yes, of course it is.”

  “You organised all this?”

  “I can’t take credit for what is going to happen next. My job has been to keep people informed of your whereabouts these last weeks, and to make sure you were here for the party today, that’s all.”

  I went to turn my head, but a pair of strong arms set me back in position.

  “Face forward,” barked a different unseen voice. He too, like all the other crew members, was from across the border.