The Stash

by Dan Fletcher

  Happy was well aware that wherever you went in the world it was unlikely that you would find anyone in the building trade willing to work on a Sunday. ‘Are you trying to tell me they are working today?’

  ‘No,’ Tunge replied, slightly riffled, ‘but the cocaine could be there and we might be able to find something that helps us locate them. If not we’ll just wait until they turn up.’

  It was hardly a plan, but Happy knew they needed to start somewhere, so he kept quiet. London seemed to pass by in a grey blur to him, as he wondered how quickly he could get the job done and return home.

  Tunge concentrated on the drive to Tilbury. They passed along the Embankment and through the underpass. Surprisingly there were plenty of lights on in the city, the banks and financial institutions preparing another world crisis no doubt. Travelling down the A13 they arrived at the warehouse, under forty minutes later.

  Nwake was waiting at the gate, with Kayin, eager to make sure everything was in order for Happy’s arrival. Like all the other Chief’s employees, he had a deep sense of fear and respect for the killer. Tunge’s phone call to warn him of their visit the night before shocked him. He couldn’t imagine what might have brought Happy to London. But he was sure that it would have an unpleasant outcome for at least one person.

  Nwake and Kayin opened the gates for Tunge to drive in. Parking close to the warehouse they got out and were joined by Nwake. ‘Good morning Sir,’ he said, beaming at Tunge, as if seeing them was the best thing since sliced bread.

  ‘There is nothing good about it Nwake. Now open the door and let’s get inside, it’s freezing out here,’ Tunge said, stamping his feet. He would never get used to the British winters. Nwake could only just hear him over the din of the dogs, who were barking furiously.

  Filing inside, they made their way to the room at the back. The cocaine was gone and in its place, on the table by the wall, was two GLOCK 19 handguns complete with RDS silencers, shoulder holsters and thirty rounds of ammunition each. In addition there were three balaclavas and two rolls of heavy duty gaffa tape, next to all of which stood a black canvas bag.

  ‘There’s what you asked for. Is there anything else you need?’ said Nwake, trying to be helpful. Tunge certainly hoped not.

  If Happy used that many bullets they would have to open their own funeral parlour. ‘No, that should do it,’ he replied.

  Happy and Patience expertly stripped the guns down and checked their firing mechanisms. Inserting full magazines, they slipped them in their holsters and donned them simultaneously. Patience then placed the spare ammunition and other equipment inside the bag.

  Finished, they headed back outside. Nwake was last, behind Happy, and still keen to make an impression on him. He also wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. ‘Do you want me to come with you, just in case you need me?’ he called to Happy, hoping to be included.

  Happy, who had nearly reached the car door, turned and looked at him like something stuck to his shoe. Snorting loudly, he spat a huge ball of phlegm at Nwake’s feet. Without saying a word he got back in the car and Tunge drove to the gates, which were already being opened by Kayin.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Tottenham was uncharted territory, and it took Tunge a while to find the lock up under the arches. It was 8.47am when they finally found the gates and pulled to a slow stop in front of them. The street was deserted, everyone enjoying their Sunday sleep in.

  Checking around the car first to make sure that they were alone, Tunge instructed Patience to get out and shoot the padlock holding the gates together. There was a momentary flash of light as the bullet hit the lock, shattering it completely. Released, the chain unravelled itself and fell to the floor, allowing the gates to swing open. Although slight, the sound seemed to ring out, and Tunge once again looked up and down the street before driving in. He parked the car, and turning off the engine silence fell like a blanket of snow. Patience closed the gates and tied them together with the chain, making them appear locked to any casual passerby.

  Happy was already in front of the rickety lock up doors and, realising that a bullet wouldn’t be necessary, he kicked hard at where they joined in the middle. Driven inwards at first by the force, they rebounded out splintering the wood around the lock as they did. The lock was left intact, stuck to one of the doors that were now wide open.

  A professional, Happy was aware that almost being sure a place was empty wasn’t good enough, so he held his RDS suppressed GLOCK ready and entered the void. Waiting a full thirty seconds he let his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. Now sure it was empty he searched for the light switch, eventually finding it and illuminating the room. Patience and Tunge joined him inside, pulling the doors shut as best they could behind them.

  Confronted by the rows of shelving Tunge wasn’t quite sure where to begin. Happy and Patience were more experienced though, and automatically divided to search the first two rows on the left for the cocaine. Patience was already ripping things off the shelves and discarding them to the floor as he went. Happy being more discreet, moved things around on the shelves in his search, rather than toss them about.

  Tunge, seeing that the aisles were covered, headed over to the desk and filing cabinet, situated against the wall on the opposite side of the room. He shuffled through the mountain of disorganised papers on the desk, most of them unpaid bills. Still he couldn’t find anything useful. A thorough search of the drawers and filing cabinet produced the same result.

  Lots of clients and suppliers addresses, but nothing that would lead them to Mr Simonds or Mr Shorey. The other two finished their search as well, and were equally empty handed.

  About to give up, Tunge noticed an intermittent green light, covered by a rag on top of the cabinet. He removed the cloth to reveal the answer phone flashing beneath it. Picking up the receiver, he pressed the ‘MESSAGES’ button hopefully. Apart from Tunge’s missed call, there were a series of six outbursts from Steve. In each one he was getting angrier and the language fouler. In his rage he neglected to use a payphone and used his cell phone instead.

  The last one simply said, ‘If you don’t phone me today with my fucking money, I’m going to find you and cut your fucking throat you wanker!’ Steve’s mobile number was clearly displayed on the small digital screen. Tunge took a few minutes to reach his decision before using the ‘CALL BACK’ function. Steve picked up after eight rings, sounding like he had been woken up.

  ‘Where the hell have you been John? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for two fucking days! Thought you’d skipped the bloody country,’ Steve said hoarsely.

  ‘I’m sorry. John was involved in an unfortunate car accident, and has been taken to hospital. He asked me to take care of things for him,’ Tunge replied, throwing Steve off balance.

  ‘Who the fuck is this?’ he said, after pausing to regain his composure.

  ‘That is not important. The important thing is that I have your money here, ready for you to collect now, if you wish,’ replied Tunge, pleased with his cunning.

  Steve should have been suspicious but his natural greed got the better of him, ‘OK, I suppose. Where the fuck are you?’ Steve hadn’t thought of trying to find the lock up.

  Tunge hung up after giving Steve directions and turned to the others. ‘He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Patience you go and open the gates and find somewhere to hide out there. Once he’s inside I want you to make sure there’s no one with him, then come in and guard the door. Happy you can go over there and grab him when he comes in. OK,’ he said, pointing to the end of the aisle nearest to him. Patience nodded and Happy tutted, but then moved to his position.

  It seemed like an eternity before Steve arrived, screeching to a handbrake stop next to Tunge’s car and spreading gravel in all directions.

  Unaware of the imminent danger, he walked briskly into the room where Tunge waited. ‘About fucking time! I was beg...,’ Steve’s pleasant greeting was cut short by the blow to his temple, delivered by the b
utt of Happy’s pistol. He was instantly unconscious, and fell to the floor with a surprised expression on his face.

  ‘I told you to grab him not kill him,’ Tunge shouted, jumping up from the seat by the desk.

  ‘He’ll wake up in a while. He’s not dead,’ Happy replied, slipping the gun back into his belt. Just to make sure though he kicked Steve in the kidney and he made an involuntary moan, ‘See, no problem!’

  Patience had rejoined them from outside and shut the doors behind him, grasping the long length of chain from the gate in his hand, ‘Thought we might need this.’ This really was nothing new to him, and he bent down tying Steve’s ankles together with one end of the chain.

  Throwing the other end over a beam in the ceiling he hoisted Steve up until he was hanging with his head suspended, about three feet off the floor. In Patience’s experience, just far enough that the recipient couldn’t reach the floor and gain any kind of purchase.

  It had almost gone wrong once, when he inadvertently hung a man too low. Luckily Happy reacted quickly and shot him through the back of the skull, ending the attempted escape quite swiftly.

  Taking some electrical cable from a nearby shelf, Patience tied Steve’s hands together behind his back just to make sure. He stood back and admired his handiwork. The weight of Steve’s arms behind him forced his back to arch and his head to come up as a result. It made him look like an upside down marionette, waiting for the puppeteer to bring him to life. Somehow this pleased Patience, causing him to smile.

  Happy found a dirty bucket of water near the door and threw it over Steve, causing him to wake with a start, ruining Patience’s illusion. His head was throbbing painfully, and his vision was blurred from the impact he recently received. This, combined with being upside down, made him completely disorientated.

  ‘What the f...,’ again his speech was interrupted by a powerful blow, this time to the middle of his back from Patience. Howling in agony Steve writhed around madly, trying to escape his bonds. Tunge let him expend his energy and waited until he stopped moving.

  ‘There is no need to be afraid, we just want to have a little chat, then we’ll let you go,’ Tunge said, trying to give Steve reason to co-operate.

  ‘If you only want to have a fucking chat then why the fuck am I hanging upside down?’ snarled Steve, spitting out blood in Tunge’s direction.

  ‘You are in no position to ask questions. Now let’s start with your name shall we?’ Tunge’s Etonian accent made the proceedings sound almost civilized.

  ‘Fuck off nigger,’ Steve replied, struggling to get free again. Happy had had enough and decided to speed things up by shooting him in the leg.

  The screams were so loud that Happy had to hold his head in one hand, and cover Steve’s mouth with the other, to muffle them.

  ‘Are you ready to be nice now, Mr...?’ Tunge left the question hanging but there was no reaction from Steve. He nodded to Happy who, keeping his hand over Steve’s mouth used the other to push his thumb into the hole in Steve’s thigh, where the bullet had entered. Steve struggled again in sheer agony, but realising that Happy’s grip was tightening on the wound, his thumb going deeper inside his flesh, he started nodding furiously.

  ‘I think he wants to say something,’ Tunge said.

  Happy removed his hand from Steve’s mouth but maintained the pressure on his leg, ‘Steve for fuck’s sake! It’s Steve!’ With this he started sobbing uncontrollably, delirious with pain and finally aware that his chances of survival were slim.

  ‘That’s better Steve. Now let’s move on to something a little bit more important. Like where’s my cocaine?’ said Tunge, leaning over to look Steve directly in the eyes.

  Finally understanding what it was all about, Steve knew that his chances of living through the day had gone from slim to non-existent. He knew that however bad his current situation appeared, telling them about Max was definite suicide.

  ‘I haven’t got it ... and I don’t know ... what you’re bloody talking about ... just let me down ...,’ he cried, in between sobs.

  ‘I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me what I want to know. Otherwise my associate here is going to shoot you between the eyes. Do I make myself perfectly clear,’ Tunge said, calmly nodding towards the gun yielding thug.

  Happy was grinning wildly, the blood lust was upon him again and he couldn’t wait to shoot the skinhead. Steve didn’t see the irony.

  Happy raised the GLOCK and held it pointing at Steve’s head, just a few feet away. He regretted not having a trigger to cock back for dramatic effect, but the sight of the silenced barrel mouth staring at him did the trick. Death imminent Steve decided to bite the bullet, metaphorically speaking.

  ‘OK, I know where it is! I can take you there if you like but I’m not telling you anything else ‘till we get there. You can fucking shoot me if you like,’ he said, hoping to gain some time at least.

  Tunge smiled, ‘Finally we are getting somewhere Steve. Now come down from there and we can continue this discussion in a more civilized manner.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Tunge was not impressed. Even though they bound the wound in Steve’s leg as tightly as they could, using a strip torn from his own trousers, he still managed to bleed all over the back seat. Tunge knew that the stain would be difficult, if not impossible, to get out of the leather upholstery.

  ‘Right which way here?’ said Tunge, as they pulled up at a junction. There was no reply from the back seat. ‘I asked which way?’ screamed Tunge.

  A police car pulled up behind them, the officers chatting amongst themselves. Tunge’s heart skipped a beat. It was Ok. They didn’t seem to notice Tunge’s car or its occupants. They were too deep in conversation. A quick glance in the rear view mirror confirmed that Steve was in too much pain to notice them, and wasn’t trying to signal for help.

  Suddenly the driver’s head whipped up, and he stared straight ahead through the windscreen. The other officer seemed to come alive as well, and pulled the radio microphone to his mouth.

  Tunge stopped breathing. What was wrong? The lights came on, and the siren suddenly blared out its cacophony. He was about to pull over by the side of the road, when the Panda car sped around him and shot the red lights, disappearing off down the road, the siren fading.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ he exclaimed, the lights turned green and Tunge almost stalled the car as he pulled away.

  Once his breathing had slowed to a more natural rhythm Tunge looked at Patience in the rear view mirror and gave him a gentle nod.

  Patience pressed his gun into the bloody crater in Steve’s leg. ‘Ahhhh! Fucking stop it! OK! OK! It’s that way,’ he said, pointing right down Tottenham High Road.

  He gave them the rest of the directions to the Tattoo Parlour, and the layout, during the drive without any further need of Patience’s assistance.

  ‘How many people can we expect to be there with this Max then?’ said Tunge.

  ‘There’ll only be one other bloke, you’re gonna like him! He’s gonna kick your arse,’ replied Steve, hoping Frank and Max killed these bastards slowly. The searing pain in his leg was making it difficult to concentrate, let alone talk. He needed a doctor, for Christ’s sake.

  When they arrived the lights were on behind the net curtains in Max’s first floor lair.

  They remained in the car on the opposite side of the road, watching for a while but nothing seemed to move behind them. ‘Gag him and bring him with us,’ Tunge ordered, knowing that Steve would find some way to break free if they left him behind. Not able to reach the bag at his own feet and get the gaffa tape, Patience stripped another length of material viciously from Steve’s trousers. If there was one thing he didn’t like it was racists, and for once Patience, normally a consummate professional, enjoyed inflicting pain on his captive.

  They exited the car as a group, and crossed the street, Patience moved in front and using his weight crashed through the shop door. Shards of thick glass scattered everywhere
as it broke into thousands of tiny pieces. The frame was left swung inwards, distorted and hanging from its hinges. The alarm shrilled out loudly deafening them all. Patience drew his silenced gun and shot at the bell box, mounted on the wall, ending the ringing.

  Happy rushed through the door at the back of the parlour and up the narrow flight of stairs. Having heard the commotion Frank had got up from the sofa, picking up a large baseball bat.

  ‘What the bloody hell is going on,’ he bellowed, opening the door at the top of the stairs. He rushed out to be confronted by the sight of Happy, running up the stairs towards him, silent and focussed. He didn’t even have time to take in the fact that Happy was holding the gun.

  Happy’s shot caught him in the middle of the temple, his head snapped back as if hit by a sledgehammer and he was instantly dead. It had passed through his cerebral cortex, mushroomed and misshapen after passing through bone, and lodged against the back of his skull. Frank’s massive bulk and momentum kept him moving forward, and Happy barely managed to sidestep his deathrush. Frank’s body flew past him and tumbled down the stairs, nearly knocking Steve over, who was being pushed up them by Tunge.

  Happy continued quickly into the room, knowing that speed was crucial. Aiming at Max, who was still fumbling for his own Smith & Wesson in the second drawer of his desk, he said, ‘Slowly put your hands on the table where I can see them, palms up, and don’t move.’ Happy’s steady gaze, and that he had dispatched with Frank so clinically, left Max in no doubt that he should be obeyed. Steadily he put his hands onto the desk as instructed.

  Happy waited for Patience to enter the room, ‘Go and see what he has hidden in that little desk.’ Patience walked to the desk along the side of the room, making sure that Happy could keep Max in his sights at all times. Rounding the desk he rammed his own weapon into Max’s neck. He pulled out the whole drawer holding Max’s gun and threw it, with the contents, against the wall. Satisfied, he released the pressure slightly on Max’s neck, but not much.