by Clive Barry
They all sat contemplating the question when Mike came up with his interpretation of the situation.
‘Hamiti has fucked off for now and it may take a bit of time to find him. As far as I’m concerned, they’re both as bad as each other and the worlds gonna be a better fuckin’ place without either of them. I say we round up Demaci and when Hamiti surfaces, which he’ll have to eventually, then we fuckin’ grab him as well.’
‘Okay bro, so what your sayin’ is we go for Demaci in case he wants to make a run for it, while we fuckin’ wait for Hamiti’s whereabouts?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m sayin’ big bro. I really don’t see the point of waitin’ for the fuckin’ grass to grow, do you?’
‘Okay lads, any objections from anyone?’
There were no objections, so between them all they devised the best operational plan in an endeavour to remove the first of the towns two major villains.
Paul made another phone call, giving instructions to whoever he was talking to. Explaining in precise detail what was required of them, then he turned to the Timber and told him to drive into the centre of town and head for the Tower Flats apartment building and pull around the side by the underground carpark exit.
There they could wait for the departure of any vehicle and drive immediately into the underground parking area. They needed to be inside the building out of sight from any of the outside CCTV cameras.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Simon had been fast asleep at home when his telephone started playing Dancing Queen by ABBA. He answered it well into the chorus and sat up to take note of what the caller was saying.
He dressed hurriedly and swilled his face under the cold water tap to wake himself up, cleaning his teeth and applying a quick smear of moisturising cream all round.
It had been nearly three in the morning when Demaci had completed using Simons body. Not just for the sex but occasionally as a bit of a punch bag as well. The many bruises were starting to show now, ‘sick bastard,’ Simon thought. It’s one thing to have plain dirty rough sex with someone but why they needed to inflict serious pain was beyond his comprehensive, effeminate mind. However, Demaci did pay exceptionally well and the meal earlier had been almost romantic, so we mustn’t complain too much.
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the kitchen chair and left his small flat above a women’s shoe shop in the centre of Seaborough fifteen minutes after receiving the call.
Simon then walked the short distance to the Tower Flats apartment block and pressed the buzzer of the eleventh floor flat of Donika Demaci. After a few seconds it was answered.
‘Yes, who is it?’
‘Hya Mr Demaci, it’s only me Simon, I was just passing and thought maybe you’d maybe like a bit of company, that’s all.’
‘Well I don’t, I’ll call you when I want you.’
Simon stood perplexed, what to do now?
‘Well, what it is Donika love, I’ve been thinking about that proposal you offered the other night and I’ve reconsidered.’
‘What fucking proposal? I’m very busy Simon.’
‘Well I fuckin’ understand that Donika sweetheart, but I’d rather not stand here talking to a fuckin’ metal box on the side of a wall about something so personal. Can’t I just come up and see you for a few minutes please?’
The buzzer went and Simon entered the building, taking the lift to the eleventh floor. The door was open when he arrived and he entered the apartment, shutting the door over, but not locking it. As Simon entered he pressed the send button on his mobile phone and walked over to Demaci who was sat behind his desk and kissed him on the lips.
Demaci, pushed him impatiently away.
‘So, what was this proposal you wish to discuss with me?’
Donika Demaci was agitated, that was plain to see. Something had seriously ruffled his feathers and Simon felt he should at least ask why, just as a simple courtesy.
‘What’s the matter Donika love, you look angry, not with me I hope.’
‘No, not with you. A business deal has just gone terribly wrong and cost me a small fortune in both money and men. This whole fucking week has gone fucking wrong come to think of it. Anyway, it’s none of your fucking business, what was this proposal you were talking about?’
‘Well obviously it’s not that important if you can’t remember. You’d asked me to move in with you, that was all.’
‘Oh that. We’ll have to discuss it another time Simon, I’m sorry but I must ask you to leave, I have other more important things to attend.’
Simon could see into the bedroom and there was an overnight bag on the bed already packed, Demaci was going somewhere fast by the looks of it.
On the desk, Simon could see an open leather briefcase containing a passport, numerous documents and several wads of cash. The safe behind the desk was also open and had been emptied and although Demaci was fully dressed, he looked as though he hadn’t slept in a week.
‘Are yeh going somewhere Mr Demaci? Yeh look all packed up and everything. Yeh never mentioned to me yesterday that yeh were off somewhere.’
‘I’m just going out of town for a few days that’s all. Now please Simon, you must leave.’
‘Ya, but when will I see yeh again?’
‘I don’t fucking know, now go!’ Demaci shouted.
Simon turned and was heading towards the door when it flew open and in burst three big men in green camouflage fatigues, each wearing ski masks, black leather gloves, carrying automatic weapons and a holdall.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
They’d all waited patiently in the van and after a short time, the up and over door eventually lifted and out drove a silver grey, Mercedes S class saloon. As it pulled out of the driveway, Timber whipped the van straight in through the exit, finding an empty parking bay and reversing ready for a fast get away.
‘Right lads,’ said Paul, ‘Mike you stay with the van and keep the engine runnin’, we may need to leave in a hurry. Jockie an’ Timber your wi’ me, masks and gloves on, they may have fuckin’ camera’s inside. Bring the holdall wi’ the gear in it, we’ll probably need that and the two guns we confiscated the other night. We shouldn’t need ‘em but they tend to keep people very fuckin’ quiet when yeh point ‘em. That’s the lift over there.’
They all sat in the van for a few more minutes longer then Paul received a text message,
‘That’s it, apartment 511, eleventh floor, let’s go, the front doors been unlocked.’
The three squaddies rode up to the eleventh floor, pulling their ski masks down over their faces. There was no camera’s in the lift and up until now, they hadn’t noticed any in the building.
They arrived on the eleventh floor and found flat number 511. With his ear to the door Paul could hear muffled voices, then someone shouting, they burst through the unlocked door with Paul drawing his pistol and both Jockie and Timber pointing the automatic Uzi rifles towards the person sat behind the desk, pushing Simon out of the line of fire.
Demaci never even had time to stand behind his desk. He did however have time to lift a small hand gun from the drawer and point it at Paul. Unfortunately, he just didn’t do it fast enough, Paul pulled the trigger of his military issued Glock 17, shattering the glenohumeral joint of Demaci’s right arm between the humerus and scapula. The arm holding the gun now hanging totally useless by his side. The agony across Demaci’s face was enough to make Paul feel a lot happier about what they were doing.
‘One of yeh, patch that fuckin’ Albanian twat up. We don’t wanna leave a fuckin’ blood trail everywhere and while yeh at it, give ‘im a double shot of fuckin’ morphine before he starts blubberin’ like a fuckin’ baby. Amazin’ how they can dish it out, but they can’t fuckin’ take it themselves.’
Timber walked over with the first aid bag and started to carry out Pauls instructions. Demaci had gone glassy eyed and was on the brink of passing out, but they gagged him regardless, just in case he managed to find a voice to scr
eam with.
The morphine took hold immediately and Demaci sat quietly, while Timber put a wad of packing across the bleeding hole in his shoulder. Strapping the now useless right arm across Demaci’s chest and tying the left wrist to his belt with a length of nylon cord, rendering him totally armless.
It was Simon who spoke next to Paul.
‘He’s got a load of money in his brief case love, I don’t know if yeh want it or not.’
‘How much?’ replied Paul
‘Don’t know sweety, soon tell yeh though.’
Simon opened the case and counted the money.
‘Two bundles, ten thousand in each. But wait a mo’ cos he’s got a bag packed in the bedroom too.’
Simon went into the bedroom and tipped the contents of the holdall onto the bed. At the bottom of the bag were eight more bundles of money.
‘Looks to me as though there’s around a hundred thousand in total.’
‘Okay Simon lad, you keep twenty and give us the rest, is that fair?’
‘More than fair darling. Ooh! Look out Ibiza, here I cum.’
‘Right Simon, throw everything else back into drawers and throw that fuckin’ holdall in a wardrobe out of the way. Put this fuckin’ briefcase in with it too, but remove the passport. I want it to look as though our Albanian friends already fucked off if anyone comes lookin’ for ‘im.’
They glanced around and the flat looked spotless. It was as though Demaci had indeed left and tidied before he went.
‘Right Simon, do you have any police record?’
‘No, why?’
‘Cos your finger prints are all over this fuckin’ place, that’s why.’
‘Ya, but everyone knows I come up here quite a lot, so if I’m questioned, that’s all I’ll say. He called, I came, actually no, he called, he came, not me, yeh know what I mean though.’
Paul and the other two smiled at the humour from the pretty young Simon. He couldn’t see it though because of the masks they all still wore.
‘Last job for you, bonny lad. Go and get the fuckin’ lift. When the doors open, hold it for us and we’ll be straight out. You stay up here until we’re fuckin’ gone and then you leave by the front door and Simon, thanks for all your help mate, you take care now and go get the lift.’
Simon did as he was told and Jockie together with the Timber lifted the limp body of the once drug Baron of Seaborough city between them while Paul carried the holdall with the weapons and the money.
As Simon called and held the lift door open, the three ran out holding Demaci between them. As they entered the lift Simon lifted Pauls mask up and kissed him on his bearded cheek,
‘Maybe in a different lifetime, eh?’
‘Ya, maybe,’ Paul smiled and winked.
They rode the lift down to the underground car park and Paul got out first to make sure the coast was clear. There was nobody to be seen and the others dragged the limp body of Demaci across the concrete floor to the back of the van and threw him unceremoniously inside, climbing in after him with Paul in the front passenger seat and Mike driving.
‘Okay bro, let’s get the fuck outta here,’ said Paul
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
After the shootout at the lock up, Hamiti had driven out of town and headed towards a cheap holiday bedsit that he paid for monthly, as a just in case place. He kept extra clothes there, a spare passport and his money in a metal safe box under the floorboards. No banks for our friend Bashkim Hamiti, he tried never to leave a trail and only kept the day to day essentials at his flat in the city.
His arm had now stopped bleeding, but the bullet was still lodged in the bicep muscle at the top and would need to be removed soon. He’d done this kind of thing before so was conversant with the requirements. He also had a first aid kit at the bedsit, however it was a very basic one and a sticky plaster would not quite suffice on this occasion.
In the back of the Range Rover there was a padded high visibility jacket used in case of breakdowns, so Hamiti drove out of the way and stopped at a chemist’s open late for evening prescriptions, putting on the jacket to hide the wound and blood on his arm.
Upon entering he found a single young Indian pharmacist in attendance. He turned the sign on the inside of the door to closed and dropped the latch. Walking to the pharmacy counter, he pulled the Uzi from under his coat and told the pharmacist to go into the back room used for making up the prescriptions.
Hamiti then forced the young Asian to clean the wound and find needle and sutures together with antibiotics and antiseptics. Then with the gun pointed directly at his chest, Hamiti explained to the young pharmacist the elementary basics of removing a bullet, cleaning the wound and sewing it all back up before applying a dressing.
All the lights in the front of the shop had been turned off and with extremely shaking hands young Sonny Oomen completed the first and only operation of his young life. He would be found the following morning by the day staff, with his neck broken.
Hamiti left the pharmacy and continued on his way to some waste ground where he dumped the Range Rover.
Hamiti then walked the short distance to the main road wearing the sports jacket borrowed from the young pharmacist and with the Uzi tucked under his arm inside the jacket, he hailed a passing taxi asking him to drive out of town to the bedsit in the opposite direction from which he’d just come.
Hamiti paid the taxi and got out three streets before his destination. He walked into the local pub and ordered a large brandy, sitting quietly at the bar, watching the door for anything suspicious. He had a second brandy and after downing the dregs of the glass, walked the short distance to the bedsit, always checking behind, to his satisfaction finding nothing untoward.
Bashkim Hamiti then entered the big downstairs front doors and climbed three flights of stairs to the top floor and his tiny room.
The key was where he’d left it in the opaque glass shade of the wall light on the landing and after opening the door and smelling the always damp, musty atmosphere, he walked to the window and checked outside for any unusual movement.
Everything inside was as he remembered it from a few days before, but he pulled back the rug and lifted the floorboards to check the metal box hidden below. Again, all seemed to be in order, his passport and three hundred thousand pounds, all his worldly possessions.
He would spend the night here and be gone in the morning, maybe to Spain or Portugal at least somewhere where the weather was warm and the sun shone.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Paul had told Mike to drive straight to the Ship and Anchor. They needed to talk with Jacko immediately and see if he’d found any information as to the whereabouts of Bashkim Hamiti.
They pulled into the carpark and it was heaving with the usual Friday night revellers. They told Jockie and Timber to remain in the back and keep an eye on their parcel, they would be out as soon as they possibly could. Leaving instructions that should said parcel start to get noisy give it another shot of morphine.
As the brothers walked in there was an almighty cheer went up. Neither of them were dressed for a night out with Mike in his old jeans and hoody and Paul still in his green fatigues, they seemed to stand out like sore thumbs, but it didn’t seem to matter to their fan club. Over at the other side of the bar was Chrissy and Julie making hand gestures asking if the lads wanted a drink. Paul gave them the no sign across his neck and made his way over to Julie shouting above the noise that they were working and had only just called in to see someone. If they got a chance later then they’d call back, both girls looked genuinely heart broken.
They found Jacko in his usual office out the back of the pub, near the pool table, looking amazingly more disgusting than he normally did. He’d obviously spent a lot of time and effort into looking this repulsive, it just wasn’t humanly possible by natural development. Paul wondered if Jacko had ever been laid and if he had, then what the fuck had she looked like.
Jacko pulled the brothers to one side out of ea
rshot of the local inhabitants and over the noise of the music and the pubs incandescent white volume, he explained that he had some information, but he hadn’t called them because at this time it was all unsubstantiated.
Paul explained that he was prepared to go with that if there was any reasonable possibility of Hamiti’s whereabouts and based on that Jacko explained that someone fitting Hamiti’s description was drinking brandy in the Jack and Jill pub out on the outskirts of Eastscar at the far end of the Esplanade earlier this evening. He was only using his right arm, the left was either injured or he was carrying something under his jacket and didn’t want it to be seen. Jacko’s source had followed this person to a block of private rundown bedsits and after waiting outside for several minutes he’d watched a light come on in the loft. Unfortunately, at this time, there was no definite confirmation that this was Bashkim Hamiti, it was only a possible maybe.
Paul asked for the address and let Jacko know that he was prepared to go with a possible maybe, which was better than an absolute nothing. If it’s not Hamiti, then they’ll apologise profusely on their way out and try to leave everything as they’d found it.
Paul and Mike said goodbye to everyone as they left the bar and jumped back into the van, letting the two squaddies know what had been said and what their intentions were. They then set off to the other side of the Eastscar Esplanade.
It only took a few minutes to drive the van around the back alley of the address they’d been given by Jacko. They parked across the gate to prevent anyone from leaving that way.
As before, Paul told Mike to stay with the van and keep the engine running while he and the others went inside. Paul also told him that if Demaci was to start playing up, he was to give him another shot of morphine from the syringe in the first aid bag. It didn’t really matter how much, just keep him quiet.
