“Nae chance pal – we’ll stick with my way fur now. When he answers tell him you’re caught up in a business thing and it was a really important package and you need it now. Tell him you’ll send somebody to pick it up right away. That would be me in case yer wonderin’.”
Nick pursed his lips but called out the number as Kats punched it into the phone. He held the phone to Nick’s ear and stuck his own ear close enough to hear the conversation.
“Now you play nice pal awrite?” he said as the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Andy, hi. It’s Nick here. Did you get a parcel for me today?”
“Nick, how are you? Yes, yes I did actually. The guy was ringing away at your door and he was just about to leave as I came up the stairs, I was at Tesco getting some milk and was just on my way back...”
“Great Andy, that’s great. Listen mate, I really really need that package urgently but I am stuck in a meeting at the office and it’s likely to go on for hours yet. I need the thing for the meeting actually. Can I send someone round for it?”
“Sure Nick, I’m in for the night. Just tell them to ring the door and I’ll come down with it. Who’s coming?”
Nick looked at Kats imploringly. Kats mouthed the word ‘Frank’ to him.
“It’s a guy from my office called Frank. He’ll head off shortly so he won’t be long. Appreciate this Andy, speak soon okay?”
“Smart man,” said Kats, tossing the phone into his pocket. “You’re a natural. I’ll go get the package and then I’ll head to an internet café to do the necessary transfers. If it all goes through as promised I’ll be back early tomorrow morning to let ye go. But; if the Codemaster isn’t in that package, or the passwords don’t work, or if I find ye gone when I come back, then I guarantee ye I’ll be after ye. And if that happens, you’d better wish the Police find you first. Is that clear?”
Nick nodded his assent.
“Right. Start talkin’. User name and password.”
Chapter 41
It was still raining when he arrived at Nick’s flat. He felt the weight of the Beretta in his jacket pocket and thought better of taking it in with him, slipping it under the driver’s seat out of sight.
He got out of the van and scouted the car park for anything out of the ordinary. All was quiet. Who would want to be out in this weather anyway? He walked across to the main door and scanned the buzzers, selected ‘A. Brentwood’ from the list, and pressed it emphatically.
“Hello?”
“Is that Andy? It’s Frank – you’re expecting me? I’ve come to pick up a package for Nick.”
“Oh, yes, right. Come up and I’ll meet you on the landing, third floor.”
There was a buzz and a metallic click as he pushed the door. He loped up the stairs to find an elderly gent, all casual slacks and slippers, waiting for him.
“Here you go. Is everything all right?”
“Thanks!” said Kats, stuffing the small bubble-wrap padded envelope into his jacket pocket. “Everything’s fine, he’s just busy. Ye know how it goes, eh?”
“Ha, ha, of course. He’s a busy man. I’d invite you in for a cup of tea but I expect you’d best be getting back.”
“Aye, thanks anyway,” he waved as he turned to run down the stairs two at a time.
He felt inside his pocket, squeezing the envelope and making out the shape of the Codemaster as he went through the front door and resisted the urge to punch the air.
Now all he had to do was get to the Internet café and log in. It would only take him half an hour to get there, half an hour to get logged in and set up, and then, if Nick had been playing ball, it would all be over. The van’s indicator lights flashed as he pressed the unlock button on his approach.
Stars burst inside his head in an explosion of pain. He fell as if in slow motion onto the wet pavement, blows raining down on him. Kicks, punches, he wasn’t sure what else. He curled into a ball on reflex, hearing as if from a distance the van door being opened. He saw two pairs of cheap trainers as he was dragged upwards and thrown bodily onto the metallic floor. Doors slammed and an engine started, then he blacked out.
Voices. He could hear voices.
“...and I say that he owes us. Ma dad isn’t gonnae care what state we bring him back in, as long as we don’t kill him till he says so. There’s no fuckin’ way he’s gettin’ delivered in one piece Boots.” He could tell the voice belonged to DJ; he didn't need to look up.
Kats stayed still and tried to collect his wits. The back of his head throbbed and he could feel something sticky trickling down his neck. They’d hit him with something hard, probably a baseball bat.
For a sport that wasn’t played at all in Scotland there was a high level of sales of baseball bats in the Greater Glasgow area. Baseballs didn't enjoy the same level of commercial interest. Luckily they’d figured the bat had done their work for them as they hadn’t tied him up or restrained him. That was at least something.
Cautiously he felt for his pocket, the Codemaster was still there and his phone too, so they hadn’t even searched him.
Amateurs.
“I think we should at least phone yer dad. He told us to follow Nick Crossan, not to grab Kats.” That was definitely Boots.
“And whit the fuck dae ye think that Kats wiz doin’ at Nick’s flat then? We know fine that Nick wasn’t in there, so how come weasel baws back there can just go up and ring a bell and get in without any worries? He must know where the bastard is. The two of them are in it together and I’m gonnae get it out of him one way or the other.”
“I don't know DJ. I have as much of an axe to grind with him as you, but yer dad said...”
“Fuck ma dad. He’s no’ here Boots, I am. Now, here’s what we’re gonnae do. Head out to the Forth Bridge, there’s a couple of truck stops out there and we can find a deserted lay-by. We’ll sort him out there. Meantime gimme that stash, I feel the need for speed.”
Kats heard the rustling of paper and then the unmistakable snorts as DJ topped up his bravery. He remained still, knowing his best chance, if there was to be any chance, would come when they stopped and got into the back with him. It would be risky in the extreme.
There wasn’t much room and the two of them would only have to keep their weight on him for it to be a foregone conclusion. When you had room to move it was always easier to choose your moment or tactic: when you were in such a confined space there would be a significant element of luck involved, this he knew well. The gun would have evened the odds but there was no prospect of getting it from under the seat without them getting to him. He settled down to wait.
He heard DJ say, “This looks good enough. Drive through it and go up the road a bit, then we’ll come back if it’s empty.”
The van slowed, then sped up, stopped, made a u-turn, before slowing again and finally coming to rest.
He slowly drew his legs up under him in readiness, hearing the doors open and the sound of them getting in through the side door. He tensed his body and, as he heard the side door snick back into place he launched himself at where he knew they would be. He stopped in time, Lord only knows how.
“So yer awake then? I thought you’d probably want tae try something,” grinned Boots. He was holding a large blade, inches from Kats face. If he hadn’t seen the flash at the last moment and halted his charge he’d have been skewered on it.
“Back ye go.” Boots waved the knife meaningfully at his face.
Kats retreated slowly into the van and sat down, feeling the dull aches of the bruises from the earlier beating.
“Yer some man Kats,” said DJ with a shake of his head. “There was us on a wee job, nothin’ whatsoever tae do with you, and then you just pops up out of the blue like. It must be a message frae him up there or somethin’.”
Kats said nothing.
“So, how comes ye were at Crossan’s flat then? Like to fill us in on whit you’ve both been cooking up?”
He stared back evenly. He knew the b
low would come but that didn't stop it hurting when it did. The baseball bat connected with his elbow and he bit his tongue to stop himself from giving them the satisfaction of a yelp.
It wasn’t a powerful hit, there wasn’t room enough for that in the van and besides, DJ was clearly pretty high so the force and aim was diminished substantially. But a blow to the funny bone was definitely not funny, no matter how much force was behind it. Kats involuntarily rubbed it and glowered at them.
“Let me open him up a wee bit DJ,” said Boots motioning with the knife. Boots was fond of his blades and always carried one, just in case.
“Och there’s time enough for that Boots. Let me huv ma fun. C’mon Kats, ye know fine that the game’s a bogey. Just tell us where Crossan is and we’ll all go back and see my dad and talk this over.” He grinned stupidly. Even in the darkness Kats noticed the glazed look in his eyes.
“No’ got a clue whit you’re on about.”
The bat flicked out again and Kats snapped his head back to avoid the blow, this time aimed at his head. His skull connected solidly with the rear wall of the van and the bat glanced off his cheek. Double whammy.
“Again, Kats. Whit the fuck were ye doin’ at Crossan’s flat?” DJ sniffed loudly, twitching the bat with silent threat.
“DJ, look, we can straighten this all out. Your dad needs to hear what I have to say.”
“Oh aye Kats, that’s exactly whit I was thinkin’. My dad...” he stopped and looked a little vacantly at a spot above Kats’ head.
“DJ?” Boots glanced at him.
“...ma dad will sort you out nice and clean. No mess. All tidy and neat and smiley. Just the way that we all likey. And then we’ll all huv tea and scrumpy...”
“Whit the fuck are you on about DJ?” said Boots.
DJ started laughing uncontrollably.
Boots looked at him in astonishment. “What’s so funny?”
“Look at him man. He looks like a wee dwarf in there. Hey, dwarfy boy, dwarfy Katsy, yer no’ singin’ Hi-Ho-aff-tae-work-we-go now are ye?”
“DJ, get a fuckin’ grip man! This is no’ the time tae be havin’ a whitey.”
DJ stopped laughing and solemnly looked at Boots. Then he threw his head back, let out another huge guffaw, and collapsed in a heap. He was tripping out of his tits. Vomit was coming from his mouth and seeping onto the floor.
“He’s gonnae choke Boots,” said Kats, unnecessarily.
“Fuck! Help him Kats. If he chokes and dies we’re both fucked.”
Kats saw the logic in that and leaned forward to roll DJ onto his stomach so his airways would be clear if he puked badly. DJ groaned and lay there trembling, a sheen of sweat on his neck, the sharp stink of his vomit filling the van.
“Whit a fuckin’ mess he is. And you work for this piece of shite?”
“Ah work for his faither Kats, you know that.”
“Aye, for how long though? Word is the big man is looking to retire to Spain when he makes enough cash. This wee prick will be in the driving seat soon enough. You’ll just be cannon fodder then Boots.”
“I’ll deal wi’ that when and if it happens Kats. Meantime, we’ve still got business you and me.”
“Come ahead then Boots,” said Kats with a smile. “Looks like it’s just me and you again. Be just like old times.”
Boots licked his lips and Kats readied himself. One on one he had a better chance, knife or no knife, and Boots knew it.
“Think yer a smart bastard don't ye Kats.” Boots wasn’t for starting anything just yet it seemed.
“Smarter than you Boots. At least I knew why I was on the rob. At least I am my own man. At least I don't have to suck up to junkies like this tosser. You? You’re nothing but a hired hand Boots. You work for a gangster and you’ll end up working for a gangster’s son. Only that one there,” he nodded at the still prone DJ. “He’ll definitely get you a long stretch.”
“Whit dae you know?”
“I know him well enough to see that the minute the Big Man packs it in, that wee shite will turn on him and those that backed him. He doesn’t give a fuck about anything or anybody apart from where he gets his next hit. You know that just as well as me, you’ve hung out wi’ him long enough. I know yer wee firm, the Family Business as they like to call it, and I know where it’s going: it’s going down the bog as soon as he gets his hands on it. And what’s more I know exactly where you’re going. You’re going to the Big Hoose, do not pass go, do not collect £200. Big Davie is a ruthless bastard, but he’s a smart ruthless bastard. He takes risks, but he’s always got them covered. I know his contacts in the Police keep him well up to speed on whit he can get away with and whit he canny. And I know just how many of those contacts will work with DJ. Not a single fuckin’ one. That’s whit I know Boots. So, are we just gonnae have a nice wee chat or are ye gonnae make yer move?”
“Get it fuckin’ up ye!” and he came for him.
The knife was the problem but in the confined space there was little Kats could do but grab Boot’s hand. The second he did, Boots whacked him with a good left to the side of his head, so hard he almost let the knife hand go. The force of the charge knocked him backwards, and with his feet now trapped underneath him he was further hampered.
“Yer no’ fuckin’ so sure of whit you know now are ye?” hissed Boots, spraying Kats’ face with spit in his effort, the purple and yellow of the bruises on his face making him look like a thing from a Zombie movie.
Kats watched the knife coming closer, driven on by Boots’ body weight. It wouldn’t be long, he knew, before it would be over. Boots pushed forward with his other hand and as he did so his face came within range. Kats immediately and without hesitation head-butted him, connecting solidly with his nose, feeling a satisfying crack.
The pressure on the knife hand lessened, allowing him to push Boots off and get free. He dived for the front of the van, feeling a blow to his lower leg followed with a sheet of pain. The bastard had stabbed him.
Kicking out with his right leg he felt it connect with something soft, and heard a grunt. He stretched forward and got his hand under the driver’s seat, feeling frantically for the gun. At last he touched the cold metal just as a tightening at his throat told him Boots was back and had a hold of his shirt. He squirmed to the side as the blade came down in a vicious stab beside his face and he spun around, pushing the barrel of the gun into Boots’ face.
“Move a muscle and you’re fuckin’ dead.”
Boots froze with a look of bewilderment.
“I want you to move very slowly,” said Kats. “Place the knife on the floor, nice and easy, and move back to the far end of the van and put your hands on your head.”
Boots slowly lowered the knife placing it on the floor, his eyes never leaving Kats for a second, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead. Then he eased himself back further into the van as he was told to and sat down, hands on his head, a trickle of blood running from his nose.
“You’re just full of fuckin’ surprises Kats, I’ll give you that.”
“And you’re just a fuckin’ twat Boots. Shut it.”
He felt down his leg and located the rip in his jeans where the knife had sliced him. That was the second time Boots had cut him in a battle; either he was getting sloppy or Boots was getting better. His fingers explored the rip and slid into a neat open wound, slippery with blood.
He winced in pain but was sure the wound was a lateral cut rather than a deep stab. That was good, he knew how to deal with that and it needn’t stop him doing what he needed to do, and nor would he necessarily have to go to hospital. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and scrolled through the address book, selected a number and waited.
“Badger, it’s me, Kats. What are you doing now? I need another favour... those two problems I told you about; I got them here with me. I want to bring them over to yours... yeah, I can be there in twenty minutes... great... and Badger.... full detainee kit, this could be fun.”
He c
losed the call off and put the phone back in his pocket next to the envelope. “Awrite Boots, this is gettin’ to be a habit between us but this time I don’t want ye to be under any illusions: if ye dae anythin’ stupid, if I even think you’re gonnae dae anythin’ stupid, I’ll shoot ye in the heid. Are we clear?”
Boots nodded.
“Right, tie that tit’s hands behind his back.”
“How am a gonna do that then?”
“Use yer belt, not that he looks as though he’s going anywhere.”
Boots undid his belt, crept forward and pulled DJ’s arms round his back, fastening his hands together with it. DJ moaned but didn’t wake.
“Right, I’m getting out and you’re following me, nice and slow. I’ll open the passenger side and you’re gonnae get in and slide your way over into the driver’s seat.”
Once there Kats told him to start the engine and head out onto the road.
“Where tae?” asked Boots.
“Head onto the M90 over the bridge and towards Perth. I’ll guide ye as I need tae.”
They travelled in silence, what was there to say? Kats had a throbbing ache in his leg from the knife wound, but knew he wasn’t losing a lot of blood.
He took Boots through a series of turns and doublebacks before finally saying, “Turn left up this track.”
And so they arrived, bumping their way into Badger’s yard.
A door opened and Badger came out, wearing a camouflage jacket and trousers, and a balaclava that only showed his mouth and eyes.
“Fuck.” was all Boots could say as Badger opened the driver’s door and grabbed him, yanking him bodily out of the van and knocking him to the ground with a huge blow to his head before tying his hands behind him and sealing his mouth with a strip of gaffa tape. Kats got out, opened the rear doors and dragged the still prone DJ out.
“This one’s gonnae have tae be lifted in, he’s smashed. Better no’ tape his mouth in case he pukes and chokes on it.”
“Right-o. I’ll get lover boy here inside and then come back to help you with the sack of shit.”
Waging War To Shake The Cold Page 21
