‘Aye so I did, and I’ll be staying out of your way when it matters, but things change.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, now I’m here, you can make use of me, make the hit easier.’
‘How exactly?’
‘I’ll telt yous later, but suffice to say; with me I’ll be able to get you nearer to the target when it matters, but for now just drive will you, Jackie-boy.’
‘“Jackie-boy”?’ Quintel was sure it was going to be a trying few days.
*
En route to the Royal Preston Hospital, Vinnie called into the Preston office to give Harry a quick rundown of his meeting with Bury.
‘So not too much help then?’
‘Not really, but insightful in some ways. He’s obviously operated as a tricky bastard in the past.’
‘You are not seriously suggesting I try and talk Reedly into putting his arse in the firing line and then try and talk Darlington into authorising it?’
‘Suppose not, it’s just a thought I guess, another way of approaching it, but it may come to it if all else fails.’
‘In your dreams.’
‘How are we getting on with identifying possible targets?’
‘Pick any one from many. But how do we know for sure that Quintel’s not finished and is now on his toes?’ Harry said.
‘I hope he is, as harder as that makes it for us in tracing him, at least we’ll know it’s over. I guess the only way to know is to find out if he’s still about.’
‘All possible intelligence sources are tasked and out and about looking for any mentions of him, but so far nothing. Which perversely might turn out to be a plus,’ Harry said, adding, ‘how much do you trust Dempster? You know he’s told his handlers that he wants no more to do with them.’
‘Understandable really, but he promised me if Quintel made contact, he’d let me know that at least.’
‘Believe him?’
‘As far as one can. Look, I’ve got to collect Christine from the hospital shortly and take her back to Manchester.’
‘Where to? Not that I expect she or her sister are in any further danger now,’ Harry said.
‘Agreed, as long as Quintel thinks she’s dead, and to be honest, even if he knew she was still alive, would he be mad enough to risk trying to finish her off? He’ll know we will be all over her and Lesley,’ Vinnie said, cringing to himself slightly on using Lesley’s name.
‘So, where are you taking her?’
‘Back to her place, where her sister has been temporarily moved to. There is no suggestion that her address is compromised.’
‘What about Dempster?’
‘I’ll pay him a visit later on this evening, just to keep him warm and remind him of our arrangement.’
‘Why not bell him?’
‘No, Harry, his sort always has a better recall of things when you are stood in front of them.’
‘Fair enough, keep me posted.’
‘Will do,’ Vinnie said, before heading off to collect Christine.
*
Quintel was nearing the junction at Preston where the M55 motorway to Blackpool starts from the M6 which they were currently on, when McKnowle broke the silence Quintel had been enjoying.
‘I forget how fookin busy your roads are over here.’
‘Yeah, well it is rush hour now,’ Quintel said as he decelerated yet again down to about thirty miles per hour.
‘Nar your man Jay’s gone, who’ve you got left on the team?’ McKnowle asked.
‘Just a local busybody who thinks he’s the go-to man.’
‘Will you need him again?’
‘Depends on who the target is?’
‘Arr don’t be worrying about that, I’ll be giving you all you need on that front.’
‘Well, I guess I won’t be needing him then.’
‘And afterwards?’ McKnowle asked.
‘I intend to re-locate abroad and stick to this line of work, but only after I’ve had a suitable break, of course.’
‘Of course,’ McKnowle said, adding, ‘so this guy’s no part of your team, then?’
‘To be honest, I’ve been in two minds whether to off him or not once we’re done,’ Quintel said.
‘Excellent, Jackie-boy. I was hoping you’d say that. I won’t be wanting any loose ends, so I won’t. The shit’ll be thick enough when it’s done as it is. It’ll be like eight layers of shite with an extra layer on top.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning let’s go and do the fucker, nar. It’ll save fucking about later, it’ll keep the filth well-busy, so it will, and it’ll get us out of this bastard traffic.’
‘Ok, you’re the boss,’ Quintel said as he noticed the half-mile marker board for junction 31A and switched his left-hand side indicator on.
Chapter Fifty-One
Quintel drove to the estate where he knew Dempster lived, but there were no signs of life at his home address. Jason had been his first point of contact, but he remembered Jason once saying that Dempster spent a lot of his time at the local labour club. The sat nav took them there and he pulled up outside, but set back. The club was a typical sixties-built concrete-fronted shithole with metal grills dressing the outside of the windows. It was towards the end of a cul-de-sac, which was where they were parked, with high privet behind them. Quintel used the cover to grab both handguns from the boot. As he gave McKnowle one of them, he saw the man’s eyes shine as he turned the weapon over in his hand.
‘It feels good to handle one of these again,’ McKnowle said.
‘Been a while?’ Quintel asked.
‘Twenty or more fookin years thanks to those bastard Brits – no offence.’
‘None taken, I’d been meaning to ask you about that, I take it you were locked up?’
‘Prison? I wish. It was much, much worse than that I can telt you, but it’ll have to wait ‘till later. I tell yous over a pint.’
Quintel was intrigued as to what McKnowle meant, but also glad the ensuing rant that would undoubtedly accompany the story would wait until later. They had work to do.
The pub was clearly open as several low-lives trudged into the bar, none of whom were Dempster. He didn’t want to put his face too much on offer, so after ten minutes decided to give him a ring. It might spook him, but he couldn’t hang around here all day. He obtained the number from his private phone and rang it from his pay-as-you-go. Dempster answered quickly.
‘It’s Mr Quintel here, Dempster, I’m in Preston and I need to see you.’
‘Oh, er ok Boss, I’m not at home at the mo, but can be there in five.’
‘I know, I just called. Place looks empty, you’ve not moved since the other day, have you?
‘Er yeah, I got evicted but I’m squatting further down the same street. Is everything ok? Is the car ok?’
‘Yeah, now it’s clean. Look, I was a bit sharp the other day, especially after what had happened, and I need to keep good people like you on-board, so as I was passing I thought I’d call and give you a bonus.’
Quintel thought he could hear the greed in Dempster’s reply as he trotted out the house number; 101. Though Quintel did note a pause before he said the actual number, ‘You sure?’
‘Yeah Boss, I’m outside there now.’
Quintel told him to wait there and ended the call. He then put the address into the sat nav, and it was as he thought; the numbers only went up to eighty-nine in odds and eighty-eight in evens. Lying bastard. But the street would no doubt be correct, if indeed he had moved at all. He fired up the car engine, ‘If they were quick’ he thought.
But before Quintel could pull away, the front door of the club swung open and Dempster came out at full pelt. ‘That’s the bastard,’ he said, pointing him out to McKnowle.
‘Ten feet past,’ Mcknowle ordered.
Quintel did so as stealthily as he could, though he doubted Dempster would have heard them above the pounding of his own feet on the pavement. He drew past him and befo
re he’d fully stopped McKnowle was out and Dempster ran into his right fist before he had chance to stop himself. Quintel reached across and opened the back door, and McKnowle had Dempster in, with himself next to him before he had any time to react. Quintel accelerated hard away from the kerb, the force of which caused the front passenger door to slam shut. He glanced in the mirror and could see the look of fear in Dempster’s eyes as McKnowle aimed his gun at him.
‘Who the fuck are you? Dempster eventually managed.
‘I’m the new Jason, and you’d be as well to mind your fookin mouth,’ McKnowle said before he pistol-whipped him across the side of the head.
Quintel saw a look of pure joy in McKnowle’s face as he struck the terrified Dempster. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad working with McKnowle after all.
‘Sorry sir,’ Dempster said, adding, ‘where are you taking me?’
‘Just for a little ride into the country, I just want to ask you about a news reporter called Christine Jones before I pay you your bonus,’ Quintel said as he watched Dempster’s expression via his driving mirror. It had turned from fear to dread. He’d touched a nerve.
*
‘Are you sure?’ Vinnie said as he approached the roundabout leading to the M6 motorway at Fulwood, north Preston.
‘Look, I’m really fine now and it’ll save you a lot of time toing and froing from Manchester later. Plus, I’m looking forward to having a drink with you afterwards. I reckon I owe you one,’ Christine said.
Vinnie didn’t argue with her as he drove all the way around the roundabout and headed back towards central Preston. He’d head straight to Dempster’s house and hope he was home. If not, he’d probably be at the local club at this time of the afternoon. The address wasn’t far from the motorway junction and although traffic would be heavy on the A6 road back into Preston, he knew a quicker route.
He was glad that Christine hadn’t suffered any real physical problems, but for her head being a bit sore. She was certainly made of stern stuff; unless she was hiding it? But if she was, she was covering it well. He looked forward to spending the evening with her, and his call on Dempster wouldn’t take long. He either knew something, or he didn’t. But a personal visit would hopefully keep the relationship going if nothing else.
He drove around the north-eastern end of Preston’s outer ring road and soon neared Dempster’s estate when his phone announced the arrival of a text. His phone was lodged in the Volvo’s centre console and as he was driving he was going to leave it. Then he decided just to have a peep to see who the message was from, in case it was Harry. When he saw the caller’s ID he slammed on the brakes.
‘What’s up?’ Christine asked.
‘Dempster,’ Vinnie said as he pulled the car to a stop and picked up the phone.
‘That’s a coincidence,’ Christine said, adding, ‘and before you say it, I know you don’t believe in them or fairies.’
Vinnie read the message and said, ‘Well, here’s another one for you; Quintel’s just rang him and is heading to a joey house number on his street. Come on.’
Vinnie pulled away from the kerb and headed straight for Dempster’s road, hoping to find a lost Quintel looking for a house number which did not exist. Christine sat up in her seat as she gripped the grab rail above the passenger window. ‘Is it far?’ she asked.
‘Just around the corner,’ Vinnie said as he pulled off the main road onto the leading entry road into the estate. He knew Dempster’s street was off to his left and started concentrating on the road signs. He mulled over Dempster’s text as he drove, “I’m in club. Quintel on way to see me. I gave him wrong house number – 101 – said I’d flit. Thought I’d got shut of him, should have told you before, sorry. Need your help”.
‘What did you reply?’ Christine asked, breaking Vinnie’s thoughts.
‘He said he was in his club, so I just texted “Leg it”. If I know about the club, you can assume Quintel does.’ But it was the “before” bit that troubled him. For right or wrong reasons, Dempster had been holding back.
Vinnie was halfway down the road and knew the club was in a cul-de-sac at the end. He half expected to see Dempster come legging it past them, when he saw the road they were after twenty metres up ahead on their left. He started to brake hard, when Christine’s shout made him flinch.
‘Vinnie, Vinnie stop, turn around, I’m sure it’s them.’
Vinnie had already pulled into the street and on checking his mirrors saw a blue saloon flash past the back of them going in the opposite direction, exiting the estate. He asked Christine what she had seen and she said she was sure she saw someone bundling a man into the rear of a blue car, and that someone looked very much like Dempster. ‘Sure?’ he asked her.
‘As sure as I can be.’
Vinnie had learnt a long time ago not to disrespect one’s first thoughts, and threw the car into a violent three-point turn. As much as he loved his Volvo, the one fault with it was its poor turning circle and his three-point turn became a five-point one on the narrow street. Once going forward again he turned right into the road they’d just left without stopping. Two-hundred metres ahead he could see the road’s T junction with Ribbleton Lane – a major thoroughfare in and out of the city.
At the T junction he looked left and right but all he could see was traffic, and no blue cars with three on board. He was minded to turn right towards the city centre for no particular reason other than he knew he had to make a snap decision if he was to have any chance. Then he thought, where would he take Dempster? He turned left and headed towards the small town of Longridge. Industrial estates and countryside were aplenty on the eastern side of the city. He passed his personal radio to Christine and asked her to hold the transmit button down as he shouted into it as he drove like an idiot. He forced a third lane in between the on-coming and apposing traffic. He just hoped they were going the right way.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Quintel disregarded the garage unit, as handy as it would have been, too hot now. So he turned left after that industrial estate and headed towards junction 31A of the M6. He wanted somewhere rural for their little chat with Dumpster as he liked to call him, but also somewhere handy for the motorway. The only hassle with this junction was that it didn’t allow traffic to head north, and Blackpool was north. He’d have to go south and do an about turn at the next junction. Still, safer than hanging around local roads, as sure as he was no one had seen them lift Dumpster, you could never be a hundred percent.
‘You’ve had a few minutes to think since I dropped that nosy slut’s name on you, so give, Dumpster,’ Quintel said as he drove off the main road down a narrow lane which led to a dead end.
‘I just know she came around on the knocker, after the fire, that’s all. Honest. I told her shit as I knew shit.’
Quintel didn’t say anything. He stopped the car and McKnowle pulled Dumpster from the back seat, out and around to the front of the car. There were open fields spanning all around with no one in sight. He could see the motorway in the near-distance and hear its traffic noise, which was remarkably loud. He wasn’t really bothered about Dumpster’s relationship with the news reporter, after all she was dead; it was just something to say to engage the idiot in conversation.
‘What are we doing here?’ Dempster asked, his words trailing off.
‘Giving you your bonus, like the man said, and making sure we can trust you in the future,’ McKnowle cut in.
Quintel could see a half-look of relief dance across Dumpster’s face, as he rushed to spit his words out. ‘Count on me, Mister, Mr Quintel knows he can trust me. I’ll be of proper use, and you know I’ll never grass.’
Quintel didn’t know why, but doubt suddenly entered his head. True, having scared the crap out of Dumpster – more than once – he would probably prove to be a safe asset. It also crossed his mind that by giving the filth another murder to look at might not just tie up the cops as McKnowle had suggested, but actually bring a whole lot more on-board. Wa
s it added grief he didn’t need? McKnowle must have read the indecision on his face as he said, ‘Your call, Jackie-boy, but you know my feelings.’
Fuck it; he’d give him a chance. ‘I want you to turn and face the other way, and count to a hundred while we do one. And consider this a warning should you ever stray onto the straight and narrow,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir, enough said,’ Dempster said as he turned around.
Then Quintel thought about how that undercover bastard – Charlie – had nearly been his undoing. He pulled his gun out and shot Dempster through the back of his head at point blank range.
He felt an inherent thrill rush through him as he watched Dempster’s face explode away from his head and land on the grass four feet in front of him with a thud, before his body had even hit the deck. He hadn’t been sure where the fault lay that led to Charlie, and irrespective of what Jason had thought, he had to blame someone.
‘Change of plan?’ McKnowle said, as they climbed back into the motor.
‘Toss of a coin, but I never liked the arrogant shit. Thought too much of himself,’ Quintel replied.
‘Time to fuck off then, wees got ourselves a busy day the morrow, so we have,’ McKnowle said, as Quintel reversed back towards the pleasantly name Bluebell Way and its route to the M6.
*
At least fifteen minutes passed before Vinnie pulled over to think. They had seen several police cars going in both directions, all with their “Blues and Twos” on, but there had been no sign of the blue car with Dempster, Quintel and A.N-other on-board. There’d been a couple of possibles, but they had turned out negative. He tried the garage, just in case, but the scene was still closed with a bored looking PC stood outside.
‘After causing all this fuss, I do hope I’m right,’ Christine said.
‘Stick with your first impressions, they are usually correct.’
‘What about his house, would he go back there?’
‘Probably not, but I heard Harry on the radio before sending a car there just in case.’
Vengeance Page 22
