by Clive Barry
Oggy was out cold when the downstairs door burst off its hinges. The noise would have been deafening had he been awake, but as he was in a very deep and troubled sleep, it was just very bloody loud.
The sound of heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs did nothing to convince him that all was right with the world and in the few seconds it took for the uninvited intruders to find their way into Oggy’s bedroom, he had in fact only just managed to pull his pants on and that was all he now wore, just his pants.
He was grabbed from both sides by very large hands and forced to his knees, whereby a not so gentle kick by Hamiti’s heavy foot to the scrotum ensured he was fully awake.
‘Mr Demaci would like to know where you have put both his money and his goods?’ was the first thing Bashkim had to say.
The second was ever so slightly more of a threat.
‘If you don’t tell me now, then I have instructions to take you and make you feel very uncomfortable, what would you like to tell me?’
Oggy Galata thought about it, but only for a split millisecond.
‘I don’t know where stuff is,’ was his un-rehearsed reply.
Hamiti readied himself for another of his now infamous bollock busting kicks when Oggy screamed.
‘Wait! I have not got it, but I know who has, his name Charlie, he live at Westernside, I takes you now.’
Bashkim thought for a second before replying.
‘No! We will now take you for a short ride to consider your answer and later in the morning at some time convenient, you will tell Mr Demaci all that you know, is that understood?’
With that, the large hands that had put him on his knees, now lifted him off his feet and dragged him down the stairs and out the front door to the white transit van parked on the opposite side of the road. Whereby young Oggy was thrown into the back onto the cold bare metal floor of the van, to be accompanied by a rather large Neanderthal type, whose sole purpose in life was to ensure Oggy Ahmet Galata did not leave without permission.
The drive from Oggy’s flat to the unknown lockup under the bridge took around forty minutes. Oggy was confused, he didn’t know if he was happier to stay in the van or to get out. In the van he was extremely cold and uncomfortable, whereas outside he was just as cold but as yet, not quite so sure how uncomfortable he was about to become.
He was manhandled again by the large hands that had bent and manipulated him in the flat. Shirtless and bare footed he was taken into a derelict looking brick workshop, with big wooden padlocked doors and most of the windows broken. The inside was no improvement on the outer shell of Oggy’s new accommodation. It stunk of old oily rags, garbage and somewhere the toilets had overflowed, leaving raw sewage to leak across the old cracked concrete floor.
Oggy was placed against one of the supporting pillars with the end of a chain wrapped tightly around his waist and padlocked, the other end had previously been welded to a metal support.
Those now all familiar hands, held him tightly up against the support, whilst Bashkim Hamiti methodically punched the crap out of him. With his face a mass of lumps, bloody and bruised, he was asked if he felt uncomfortable and when he nodded to the affirmative, being unable to speak any more at this time, he was released and allowed to drop onto the cold, wet, sewage covered floor and await a time when Mr Demaci would see fit to pay him a visit, maybe sometime later in the day.
Bashkim Hamiti was not concerned about Oggy’s chances of escape. The whole area was private property with chain linked fencing surrounding the total perimeter. It was all owned by one of Mr Demaci associates and therefore no one ventured to this part of town. Oggy could shout and scream to his heart’s content and for as loud and long as he wanted, nobody was ever going to hear him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sally awoke, looked at her alarm clock and smiled. The smile didn’t hurt as much as it had the day before and she knew she was healing. To her left lay little Charlie stretched out with his arms and legs pointing to the four compass points and to her right a very tiny huddled bundle with a pink teddy that was Georgia. The two of them had climbed into her bed at different times through the night, Sally hadn’t even been aware, she’d slept so soundly that she hadn’t known a thing.
The clock said half past seven, but it didn’t really matter because today was Saturday and that meant a no school day, so Sally turned onto her side and closed her eyes again. When she eventually woke later, the small alarm clock showed that she’d succeeded in having an extra half hour sleep. Sally then managed to get out of bed without waking the kids and slipped into the bathroom where she showered and dressed and was downstairs with her first cup of coffee, preparing breakfast for the bairns when the knock at the door came.
Answering cautiously and opening the door slowly, she was pleased to find big brother Paul stood there with a huge strong white teeth smile on his beautiful weather beaten face.
‘Mornin’ little sis, ave yeh got the kettle on then?’
‘Where’s our Mike then, didn’t he come wi’ yeh?’ she asked.
The smile dropped and Paul shook his head sulkily
‘No, he bloody didn’t. We went for a pint at the Ship and Anchor after leaving yours last night and the jammy bastard only pulled didn’t he, he always friggin’ does man. Anyway we won’t see him much this side of lunch time, I left ‘im a note sayin’ I was comin’ ‘ere tho’.’
Sally poured him a brew and they talked about the past couple of days and the dramatic changes that had taken place and were about to continue taking place. She also mentioned the late night visit from Oggy, but explained that he didn’t seem to pose a threat.
Paul advised his sister that there was going to come a time in the not too distant future when she may have to report Charlie as a missing person, which she reluctantly acknowledged. He also explained about the fire they’d seen on the way to the pub the night before and that the clothes they had taken belonging to Charlie, together with his mobile phone and the blood stained rug, had all gone in to fuel the flames. Apparently, the car was stinking so badly of the dried and congealed blood in the rug they couldn’t breathe anymore, they’d had no alternative but to get rid of it.
Paul also told her that he’d been up early and stowed the bag with the money and the drugs in a safe place in the engine compartment on board the Bonny Doris where nobody would find it. He’d removed a couple of hundred for Sally to get by with, but told her she was going to have to go to Social on Monday and ask for a hand out on the basis her husband had fucked off without leaving her with owt. This was more or less true in a roundabout sort of way that Paul had justified in his own mind.
At this the kids came down with all sorts to tell uncle Paul. Sally promptly ushered them into the living room out of the way, where they knelt on the floor at the coffee table to eat their breakfasts and drink their sweet weak tea, whilst watching Saturday morning television in their pyjamas.
Mike turned up half an hour later and went into quite graphic detail about the gorgeous young lass he’d spent the night with and how well him and her had got on. It was almost poetic until he found out from Sally that she’d been in her class at school and was well known for putting it about behind the bike shed with just about every lad in the school.
Sally and Paul brought Mike up to date with their earlier conversation over yet another pot of tea, re-iterating on what they’d already discussed concerning Sally’s finances and the reporting of the missing Charlie. Mike confirmed he had nothing more to add to what had already been decided and so they all agreed, that it was, ‘finita la musica, passata la fiesta,’ so let’s get on with the rest of our lives.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mad Arrie was forty three years old. His full and proper title was Harold Arthur Stoke and he wasn’t mad, that’s just what the local kids called him.
Harry (to his friends), once had a very good job as an accountant at a law firm in the city, but his wife left him for a much younger toy boy and took the kids with her. The
courts in their infinite wisdom gave her the house and everything in it, ordering Harry to pay full maintenance for the kids and the ex wife while they lived there. The courts believed he could afford it on the excellent salary he was being paid.
Joanne his ex, apparently couldn’t take the boring humdrum life and was screaming out for some sort of excitement, which unfortunately was not a part of Harry’s natural chemistry. Harry didn’t like excitement, Harry enjoyed pondering.
After the divorce and after much pondering, Harry played his trump card. He walked into the offices of the law firm he’d worked in for nearly twenty years, handed them his resignation without working his one month’s notice, then leaving instructions that all outstanding salary, holiday money, pension together with any investments and other moneys owing to him, were to be paid directly to the Battersea dogs and cats home. Not because he liked either dogs or cats, or Battersea for that matter, no, he just despised his ex wife.
After making the arrangements for his finances, Harry walked back to the bedsit he’d been renting, put on his comfy old Wrangler jeans and his even more comfy older sweatshirt that he used to wear whilst working in the garden back at the family home. He then slipped into his faithful Barbour waterproof jacket and favourite Timberland walking boots, locked the bedsit up and posted the key through the letterbox of the landlord’s flat downstairs, then Harry went for a long walk.
Harry walked for five years, he never turned around and he never went back, but he did hear through the grapevine that his ex had lost the house. The boyfriend didn’t last too long after, and the kids now all grown up, had left her. That was exciting, wasn’t it? No, that was bloody justice.
Now days Mad Arrie was a dishevelled mess. His hair had grown way past his shoulders and was knotted and dirty, as was the impressive beard he sported. The clothes he’d left home in were long gone, but he was still able to attire himself with clothes left outside houses in various charity bags, taking anything that would fit him or could be of service, then retying the bags for the respective charities to collect when he’d finished.
Mad Arrie travelled light and rarely slept in the same place two nights in a row, moving about constantly. He would however, always go back again another time if it suited his purpose. He never strayed too far from town centres, there was always plenty of local eateries throwing good food out from the kitchens into the garbage in the back alleys. He did well from that and hadn’t actually lost a great deal of weight over the past few years.
Last night Mad Arrie found the hole in the link fence of the boat storage yard he’d used many times in the past. Looking through the fence he could see there was nobody about, so he ventured in, sheltering under the boat nearest the wall, covered over in case it rained and out of the wind, protected by the wall itself.
It had been a good dry night and as he was gathering his bed roll, together with all his other worldly possessions ready to move on, when he heard the big gate squeak open and a tall young man of around thirty years, with dark short cropped hair and a full beard, carrying a shoulder bag, walk over to a boat on the far side of the yard.
The young man climbed the ladder, lifted the lid of what looked like a big box on the front of the boats shelter and placed the bag inside, he then climbed back down and left, locking the compound gate behind him.
It can’t have taken more than five minutes, but Mad Arrie’s curiosity had got the better of him and although Harold Arthur Stokes was neither adventurous nor exciting, Mad Arrie had learnt over a very short period of time to be a scrounger and anything that might be of any use to him whatsoever was fair game and that nice little canvas shoulder bag looked extremely useful.
He made sure there was nobody about, swiftly climbed the ladder and opened the big box, surprised to find a huge engine inside, he hadn’t expected that. The bag was just lying there so he scooped it up, throwing it over his shoulder and was back down the ladder from start to finish in less than a minute.
Arrie grabbed the rest of his belongings, then exited via the hole in the fence to his next destination, wherever that was going to be.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Donika Demaci woke early, which was his norm. A lot of his business was conducted whilst he was still in his Japanese silk kimono before he even dressed.
He’d slept naked as he always did, the big king size bed being empty when he woke, having ushered young Simon out much earlier when he’d finished with him, confirming of course that there was an excellent chance of him getting a full time position at the Escort agency. This of course was true from Demaci’s point of view, he would advise the agency that Simon had been fun to be with and could be an asset to the agency that Demaci owned.
Demaci was drinking his second cup of espresso that morning and eating a fresh croissant when Bashkim Hamiti buzzed from downstairs. He was let in and when he arrived up to the apartment, explained about finding Oghuz Galata in bed back at the small flat and as per instructions from Mr Demaci, he’d transferred Galata to the lock up under the bridge and made him feel extremely uncomfortable for the night.
Hamiti then went on to further explain that the whereabouts of Mr Demaci’s goods were still not entirely apparent, however young Oggy had mumbled something just prior to being placed unconscious, that maybe Mr Demaci might find somewhat beneficial and informative.
Donika Demaci listened tentatively to the Hamiti report of the night before and after checking his schedule for the day on his home computer, instructed Hamiti that there was no need for him to leave, they would complete business from the apartment first, then they could maybe pay a visit to young Oggy.
Demaci told Hamiti to help himself to fresh coffee and croissants, whilst he retired to the bedroom where he showered and shaved in the en suite bathroom. Dressing in a very relaxed Saturday morning attire of a dark blue, button down Hugo Boss, short sleeved shirt, with his tan heavy cotton Ralph Lauren chinos and his favourite comfortable, old brown leather boat shoes.
It took Demaci around two hours to complete negotiations between several clients on the telephone, after which he was ready to go out to interview young Oghuz Ahmet Galata as to the whereabouts of the misplaced goods. Both Demaci and Hamiti left the apartment together.
Whilst Hamiti went down to the underground carpark below to bring Mr Demaci’s black Range Rover Vogue up, Demaci took the front door of the apartment block out on to the main road. Outside they found two of the big brawny minions waiting. Mouths wide open, snoring loudly, fast asleep in the front seats of the white transit van.
The drive from the centre of town to the lock up took an easy thirty minutes and gave Mr Demaci time to sit back and relax in the big comfortable car, listening to the Classic FM radio channel and watching the world go quietly by.
When they arrived at the lockup all was silent. There was no sound coming from the inside of the unused garage. There was no one in the local vicinity to oversee what was happening or who was there. The weather was extremely mild for this time of year, although slightly overcast and Mr Demaci was in a relatively good mood, humming quietly along with Rimsky Korsakov’s, Scheherazade.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sally got the kids dressed and told them they were all going up to the local Tesco supermarket and they could each choose something nice, but they had to help carry the shopping back.
Little Charlie was wearing a worried expression on his little face and so Sally in the end had to ask him.
‘What’s the matter our Charlie? It’s not like you to be so gloomy.’
Charlie stopped what he was doing and turned his serious little face up to look up at his mother.
‘Where’s our Dad, Mam? We ‘avn’t seen ‘im for ages now and you avn’t even said owt about ‘im’, did you’s two argue again and has he run away?’
Sally realised that with the exception of the very weak spilt beetroot story, she hadn’t even mentioned a word to the kids about their father. It could only have been a matter of time before one or bo
th questioned his disappearance.
‘The fact is Charlie, after your dad hurt me really bad the last time, he was so mad wi’ hiself that he’s gone off to stay wi’ a friend for a while to calm down. He said he’ll maybe come back when he’s sorted his head out, but I don’t know how long that might take.’
It was gobby Georgia that chirped up.
‘Well I hope he never comes back, he was always smelly and angry and kept on hurtin’ you, our Mam.’
‘Yeh,’ said Little Charlie, ‘he was always hurtin’ you weren’t he our Mam and I don’t wan’ ‘im to come back either cos we’re ‘avin a good time wi’ out ‘im, aren’t we? It’s really nice, and quiet now.’
Sally smiled down at the two of them.
‘We are happy just the three of us,’ she said, ‘we can manage and help each other can’t we? We don’t really need your dad to spoil all that right now, do we?’
Sally was talking openly to her own conscience rather than the kids. However, it was their heads that were nodding up and down in agreement with everything that was said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘So, I understand you have some information that you would like to share with me young Oggy. I trust you had a quiet night. Maybe not quite the comfort you were expecting, but you must realise I cannot be seen to allow people the likes of you, to just wander about doing whatever they want. That would be detrimental to me as a business man and could be considered quite anarchistic. You have responsibilities to me and you now owe me a considerable amount of money and goods, so Oggy where is it?’
Mr Demaci was stood with his tanned, nicely manicured hands in his pocket. Although the weather was pleasant outside, within the confines of the dimly lit lockup it felt quite chilly.
Oggy was laid in the foetal position on the floor, his blackened, bruised and swollen eyes were only just able to open and focus on the speaker as long as he lifted his head at the correct angle. The skin on his cheek bones had split and had now scabbed over from the savage punches issued the night before. His lower jaw was set at totally the wrong angle, broken or dislocated would only be determined, if and when he was ever likely to see the inside of a hospital and to complete the scenario, there was massive bruising around his abdomen and rib cage, where he already knew he had at least two ribs that were fractured.
