by A D Evans
He charged down to the front door and hauled it open.
‘What the fuck do you want you scum bastard?’
‘Dear me Paul such hostility, what has happened to make Mister cool so un-cool?’
Paul’s voice went very quiet and polite.
‘Ritchie when I get finished with you even your whore of a mother wont recognise you’
‘Many others have said similar things to me before. I'm still here Lynch so don't over-estimate your capabilities’
‘This is not your poxy Govan mob you’re dealing with Ritchie. I am not going to take you a square go. Not that the idea hasn't occurred to me. In fact, I would love the opportunity to smash your handsome face into a pulp. I am a businessman so I play the percentage game. You have a lovely family , your wife shops at the same arcade all the time ,and your children go to that nice school in the west end. Westland’s, I believe it is called. Yes Charles boy I am not the usual type of criminal person you normally deal with. I have, and use an intelligence network especially geared to looking into people who interest me. So Charles you have more to lose than I do thanks to your little bit of sabotage on new years day’
Ritchie’s face had gone scarlet and the veins were beginning to protrude from the muscular neck.
‘You ever go near my family and I will forget that I'm a police officer’
‘You are a nothing. You don't scare me; I would eat you for breakfast’
‘Do not push me Lynch, or you will regret it’
‘Fuck off you wanker, your making my unit smell of pig shit.’
He slammed the door in the detective’s face and strolled back to his office to gaze at the security monitor. He was staring straight into the camera, and said.
‘Later Lynch, later but sooner than you think’.
‘Have a nice day pig’ he shouted into the intercom
He knew that Ritchie was in the process of divorcing his wife. He wished he had turned the knife a little more in that direction. It will keep until next time. Yea, he could have fun ribbing him about his estranged wife.
SIXTYTWO
The day was long and nerve wracking for him. He sat at his desk awaiting the outcome of his massive gamble. He idly played games on his computer, and then began pacing up and down the length of his office; stopping at the coffee percolator, he refilled it for the third time. Seven and a half hours had passed since the gang had left. He toyed with the idea of phoning Willies mobile then thought the better of it. He had told the gang not to contact him except in an emergency. No news is good news he repeated to himself repeatedly in his head. The day dragged on. He decided to put his calls on to divert and go for a drink. He locked up the unit and headed for Larry's bar. He entered the busy bar and was spotted at once by Larry.
‘Happy new year Paul’ he shouted above the clamour and noise of his rowdy clientele.
‘Same to you Larry’ He stretched out his hand and shook Larry's limp wristed return greeting.
‘Will you have a whisky?’
‘Yea thanks mate, make it a large one’
‘Have you been peeking at me in the toilets Paul Lynch’ he joked.
He returned the smile with one of his own.
‘No sorry Larry but your just not my type’
‘Where’s your big ugly pal today, is he still frightening children with that face of his’?
‘No, Willies working today’
‘Poor William’ smirked Larry.
He found a seat near the corner of the large bar, and tried to drink in peace. People kept wishing him all the best, offering him more drink and trying to be his pal. He was getting ready to leave when his eye caught a news report on the television that was blaring in the far corner of the room.
He could not hear what was being said on the report but his heart lurched when he noticed the registration number of the vehicle.
He was sure it was Frankie’s Mercedes plate number. He pushed his way over to the Television. The reporter was saying how the spectacular accident had even shocked hardened traffic police officers. The Mercedes car had crashed off a motorway bridge on to the M1, and had caused a multiple vehicle accident. The Mercedes had landed on top of an articulated lorry. The car could be seen jutting from the cabin roof. He felt a cold ball of fear in his stomach. The reporter was continuing talking and saying how the whole of Birmingham would be in traffic chaos due to the accident.
Birmingham, why the fuck were they in Birmingham? The thoughts pounded through his brain. What is going on?
He hurried from the bar and ran the half mile to the unit. He confirmed to himself that the phone was indeed on divert. He then phoned Willies mobile number. No reply, it was switched off. Steff's number was next. No reply. He went through the rest of the gang’s phone numbers including Frankie’s with the same result. No reply.
What the fuck was happening? For once, he was stumped, with no one to turn too. He phoned Anne- Marie, and asked her to get a taxi to the unit as soon as possible.
She arrived soon after with her husband.
He explained what was happening and gave them a locked bag.
‘Put this in the flat. Use the safe and if you don't hear from me within a few days it's yours’ He had given his sister all the money and jewellery he had received from his accountant.
His sister began to cry.
‘It's only a precaution, just in case’
His sister and her husband left soon after at his insistence.
His parting words to Davie were.
‘Look after her wee man okay?’
He did not know what to do next. He phoned out for some food and holed up at the unit. At least he was safe here. Anyone trying to enter without invitation could be dealt with efficiently. All he could do now was wait. He ached for big Willies Company.
‘Where are you big man he whispered into the empty office space?’
The digital clock on the office wall seemed to have stopped. He paced the unit in agitation. The phone rang, and he ran to answer. An operator’s calm voice asked if he would accept a reverse charge call from Manchester.
‘Yes’ he screamed down the hand set at the startled operator.
SIXTYTHREE
Willie and the rest of the gang headed on to the M6 Motorway. They had stopped at a service station for a toilet break and had been back on their way within fifteen minutes.
Willie, the Willkie cousins and Colly McGuire were all travelling in the four-wheel drive. Frankie and Steff were in the Mercedes. The two cars alternated between being front or rear vehicle. The gang had all been taught the skill of
Anti- surveillance tactics. They were making good time.
Willie sat in the front seat beside Malkie Willkie who was driving. The big man had not said much since leaving Glasgow.
His thoughts were on the days events. He still had a bad feeling about the completely sordid business. He constantly checked the thirty -eight calibre pistol that he carried in the left-hand side of his open jacket.
They soon approached the outskirts of Manchester, and were heading further away in the direction of the airport. The turn off point arrived and the two cars turned off the motorway. Frankie’s car was now in front leading the way. They drove on for a few miles then entered a long stretch of country road with a rail viaduct on the horizon. They pulled off the road and into a small lane, which opened out into a yard with the arches of the viaduct becoming small units for business use. The place looked derelict with the feeling that it had not been used in a long time.
One of the steel doors on the front of a unit was being slid open. They were signalled to enter the arch. The two cars drove slowly forward.
Willie said to the others.
‘Keep your guns handy we might need them’
The men all fingered their hidden weapons, and moved the safety catch to their firing positions.
Frankie’s car moved into the arch first. It slowly crawled forward into an area twelve feet in breadth and about twenty yards lon
g. Willies car entered very warily. The four guns were now in their hands. As his car cleared the open door, it was slid closed at their back. Suddenly much to his surprise Frankie’s car shot forward and went through the rear exit to the arches. As soon as it was outside the arch, the door facing his vehicle was slammed shut.
For a few mili-seconds, he sat in the car, and then sprang into action.
He told the other three to get out off the car and try to take cover wherever they could. He did not know what was happening but at least he still had the money in his possession.
‘Keep your eyes peeled boys. We're well armed and they will have to come in here to take the dough from us’
The lights went out in the arch and he shouted to his men
‘Get ready here it comes’
Nothing happened. There was not even a chink of light from the two huge sliding doors. Him and his men heard the sound of metal on metal like as if someone was tightening a nut and bolt.
A large engine started up at each end of the arch, and the air began to fill with fumes.
He shouted to his men to get into the car. He started the engine, and did not have to tell them what came next. Big Willie performed his last act for his friend Paul Lynch. He reversed the car to the furthest away point. He then revved the engine to a frenzy and flew for the door. There was a horrendous smash as the four-wheel drive vehicle collided with the steel door.
His air bag inflated, but he hit the door with such force that the engine ended up sitting almost on his knee.
He was dying before the bullet was fired into his brain. The other three members of the gang had also been seriously hurt in the crash. They were now feeling no pain as they had been given the same treatment as big Willie Marshall. Big daft Willie was Paul Lynch's man right to the end of his sad life.
Frankie and Steff stopped their car as soon as they were clear of the arch. Two men moved towards the closed door, and started to connect a large pipe to an opening in the steel doorframe. A large vehicle engine was connected to the pipe. One of the men pressed a switch and the massive engine coughed into life.
A few minutes went past, and then there was an enormous smashing sound. The six-inch thick steel door moved out several inches then slowly settled back in its original position.
Frankie watched as the two men on the outside carefully opened the sliding door. There was a sound of four gunshots, and the men emerged holding large calibre handguns.
He turned to look at Steff and found he was looking down the barrel of a lethal looking gun.
‘What’s the score Steff?’
‘The score, Frankie my pal, is that you are now surplus to requirements. We have what we want. Lynch on his knees’
‘What about the plans we made to take over the Scottish game?’
‘Sorry Frankie but that is not going to happen. You see mate you just can’t be trusted. You are a liability. Good-bye Frankie.’
He squeezed the trigger of the automatic pistol and Frankie Sutherland lay dead in the driver’s seat of his Mercedes, with a bullet deep in his treacherous brain.
‘Now Mister Lynch it's your turn’ He purred to his pistol.
SIXTYTHREE
Paul heard the voice on the other end off the line.
‘Steff is that you?’
‘Yes boss it's me. Things have gone badly wrong’
‘What happened? Where's Willie?’
‘Sorry to be the one to tell you boss. Willies dead so is Frankie and the others’
‘No. That can’t be true,’ please tell me you are joking?’
‘Sorry boss, no joke. I only escaped by the skin of my teeth’.
‘What went down then?’
‘A set up boss, Frankie turned traitor. I blew his fuckin' brains out boss’
‘Where are you just now?’
‘I don't want to say on an open line boss’
‘When will you be home?’
‘I have a way of getting home, so don't worry’
‘When can we meet?’
‘Do you remember where we met Peter Lewis?’
‘Yea I remember’
‘Well we can meet there at ten o'clock tomorrow night. Okay boss?’
‘Okay Steff, that sounds safe enough’
‘Watch yourself boss till I get there. Then we can plan what to do’
‘Okay, bye for now’
He did not know what to do with himself. He went to the drinks cabinet and carried a bottle to his desk. He poured himself a stiff whisky and swallowed it in one go. The tears began almost immediately. Willie was dead. Big daft Willie. His only true friend in this shit hole of a world. He could not imagine Willie lying dead, unmoving, and cold. He would never again hear his mad patter, the stuff that doubled him over with laughter.
‘Willie’ He groaned aloud. Why you pal? Why not me?’
‘As for that conniving bastard Sutherland, he can rot in hell as far as I'm concerned’
Safety, he had to think safety until him and Steff could attempt to rescue something from this rotten deal.
He lay down on the couch with the bottle and drank steadily from it until he fell into a fitful sleep.
SIXTYFOUR
Steff was being wined and dined in one off the finest restaurants in Manchester. He had been picked up from the kill area and dropped off at a lovely hotel. He had met with a representative from Mister Cummings, who congratulated him on his fine piece of work.
A limousine had taken him to this restaurant. After dinner, he was being flown to Glasgow in a private jet. This is the life he thought, how the other half live. He sat back enjoying his meal, looking forward to his reunion with Paul Lynch.
Another day dawned and Paul looked out of the window. Dark skies over Glasgow did little to raise his spirits. He switched on the television in time for the eight o'clock news. The accident on the M 1 was again being shown again, and a police spokesperson was suggesting that it was not as straight forward an event as they had first thought. A quantity of drugs had been found in the wrecked vehicle, and it had been found to be driven by a well-known criminal figure. He went on to say they would know more after a post- mortem had been conducted.
The next news item was about four men being found in a smashed up car near Manchester. The men all had gun shot wounds to their heads.
Paul felt sick to his stomach. ‘Willie, dear old Willie. How I'm going to miss you old pal’
He decided to stay in the unit until it was time to meet with Steff. He ventured out only once to go to the nearby McDs for some coffee. The coffee stayed in his stomach for about five minutes then violently re-appeared. ‘Oh Willie, I need you so much now old pal’ cried the crime boss.
SIXTYFIVE
Steff arrived in Glasgow at about midnight. A man he knew well met him at the terminal.
‘Willie how are you?’
‘All the better for seeing that bastard Lynch in serious soapy’
Willie Peel had a long memory, when he had been offered a chance at revenge on Paul Lynch he had grabbed at it wholeheartedly.
‘Well Steff you can stay at my place till the meet with fuck face lynch’.
‘Okay mate, it's a while since I sampled the delights of Possil by night’ he laughed.
They drove to Peels house in Walnut road and settled in for the duration.
SIXTYSIX
Paul waited until nine o'clock at night. He took a chance and went to the nearby Maryhill Road for a taxi. Five minutes later, he was heading for the east end.
He reached his destination at nine twenty five. There was a dark lane at the side of the derelict hospital, which took you on to the banks of the river Clyde.
He was early but he wanted to scout about and look for any traps. After what had just happened, he did not trust anybody.
He had a good look around and seeing no danger sat down to wait on Steff. He was cold and shivering slightly when he was aware of a torchlight beam coming in his direction.
He heard a voice call
ing lowly.
‘Paul its Steff are you here?’
‘I’m here Steff. Are you alone?’
‘Yes all alone’
He left his hiding place and the two men shook hands.
‘What the fuck happened down there Steff?’
‘You were sold out Paul, that’s what happened’
‘How could Frankie do that to me? How could he?’
‘It wasn't just Frankie, Paul’
‘What do you mean, not just Frankie?’
‘I sold you as well’
Paul could now see the gun in his hand as he raised it and pointed it his direction.
There was a rustling noise behind him, and two figures appeared out of the bushes. They walked towards the light and with a feeling of dread recognised them at once.
‘Billy Peel, and Bambi Fisher well what do you know. I thought I could smell shite’
‘Lynch, this time there's no escape you Fenian bastard’
‘Steff, I’m surprised at you having anything to do with these scum bastards. I thought you had some style’
‘It was not my decision to make. Mister Connolly suggested it as a going away present for you’
‘Connolly, you work for him?’
‘Yes Paul, Good-bye it has been nice knowing you. See you in hell’
Three shots rang out and his body flipped over sliding down the embankment into the Clyde.
SIXTYSEVEN
He experienced the sensation of falling quickly followed by a sharp explosion of pain to the back of his head. The ice-cold water of the Clyde closed over him. An involuntary gasp forced the brackish water into his gapping mouth. He could taste the oily scum from the surface of the river; he wanted to vomit, going under, drowning. He tried to swim but his limbs were out of control. The man began to panic; started to thrash about, but his efforts only seemed to force him further under the numbingly cold water. Suddenly calmness came over him, he let his body relax and be taken at the whim of the fast flowing river. Thoughts were like a whirlwind in his mind.
‘Is this how it ends?’ he wondered.
Memories from the past came flooding back as he slipped once more under the dark blanket of the chilling Clyde.
