Kev looked around to check that we were all okay, frowning when he saw my lip. ‘You okay Gareth?’ he asked.
I nodded, still keeping both hands on Vinnie’s right arm. ‘Yeah, fine. He just clipped me.’
‘I’ll do more than clip you next time, you wanker!’ Paul called out to me.
I ignored him, as did the others while Kev began issuing orders.
‘Tate, you sit young Paul over there by the wall and make sure his hands stay in front of him. Rudd, Gareth, you two stay like that for a minute while I make a call.’
So saying, he took his mobile out and called comms direct, asking for a van and extra officers for a search, rather than use his radio and give the opposition a chance to work out what sort of kit we were using. All it would take would be for one of them to work out that we had covert gear on and the game was up. So far, all of them seemed to think that plain-clothed officers used those clear curly-wurly earpieces that you see so often in films and we didn’t want to disabuse them of the notion.
I heard Kev ask for a drugs dog as well but guessed by the expression on his face that the news wasn’t good.
‘Problem?’ I asked as he put his phone away.
‘Yeah, bloody cutbacks. Only one drug dog on for the entire force and that’s in Hastings on a warrant. Minimum of two hours before it gets here.’ He pulled a face, not wanting to vent further in front of the prisoners.
I’m not sure how long we knelt there waiting for backup to arrive and help with searching and transporting prisoners, but my arms were beginning to shake and my legs had gone dead by the time a police Transit arrived. Four officers got out and I recognised Andy Coucher, young Bobby, and the two other probationers from the other day.
I grinned at Bobby, who had the good grace to look embarrassed, and gratefully surrendered my hold to another probationer as Andy looked on. I stood shakily and stretched my legs, wincing as the returning blood brought pins and needles with it. ‘Thanks,’ I said gratefully, patting the probationer on the back, and limped over to help Kev search the car.
As I got to it he pointed to the front passenger seat where Paul had been sitting and I saw a coin bag that was about half full of little brown and white packages. I turned back to the prisoners and opened my mouth to say the words, but Kev nudged me and whispered, ‘Let them do it, and then they get the paperwork.’
I nodded and grinned, wincing as my lip split again, and went to give Andy the good news.
14
THE EVENTS of that evening had delayed the start of our monthly get-together outside of work. It had become a tradition and I have to admit it was nice to spend some time with the guys without being paid for it. I arrived at the Pitcher and Piano just after nine-thirty and nodded to the doorman as I entered. He studiously ignored me, just like he did every time I came here, and I shook my head as I climbed the stairs up to the bar.
The Pitcher is a fairly new bar at the end of East Street just over the road from the beach and it’s very nicely decked out. For some reason it’s become a favourite for police officers despite the high prices and occasionally snotty door staff.
The last one to arrive, I slid onto the end of a bench seat that curved around a large table and nearly fell over backwards as the combined weight of the team’s aftershave hit me in the nose.
‘Jesus, have you lot been in a brothel?’ I asked, waving my hand in front of my face for effect.
Tate laughed and pushed a weird-looking red cocktail in front of me. ‘Blame Rudd, he seems to think that he smells alluring!’
We all laughed while Rudd stood and began making bodybuilder poses until one of the door staff drifted over and frowned at him.
‘Wow, friendly here, aren’t they?’ I remarked as the suited gorilla moved away.
Kev shook his head. ‘Didn’t you know it’s illegal to smile and work security at the same time?’
‘Come on, they’re not all bad,’ Ralphy butted in from behind a glass so filled with fruit and umbrellas that he looked as if he were drinking a jungle. ‘You find me one doorman that either doesn’t want to be a copper, isn’t taking steroids, or doesn’t walk around like he’s got a roll of carpet under each arm and I’ll give you,’ he paused and checked his pocket, ‘thirty-seven pence.’
I felt myself beginning to relax as the friendly argument kicked off. ‘Come on Ralphy, what would you know about steroids?’ I gestured towards his more than ample figure, knowing that he wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it.
‘I’ll have you know that beneath this well-paid-for shell beats the heart of an athlete!’
‘Does he want it back?’ Kev asked.
‘Come on lads, less chatter more drinking,’ said Eddie, draining half his pint in one swift motion. ‘Who wants another one?’
I raised my red concoction. ‘I’ll have something that a human could drink please, preferably with vodka in it.’
The bar specialised in cocktails, with over fifty on the menu, yet somehow they’d managed to order me one that tasted like machine oil and perfume.
Eddie took orders and wandered over to the bar with Tommo in tow, while the rest of us continued to talk rubbish.
I relaxed into the camaraderie, slipping it on like a comfortable shirt and enjoying the lack of work talk. Inevitably it would eventually turn to it, as alcohol helped us trade war stories, but for now it was just a few lads relaxing after a hard week at work.
Every so often, my mind would dart back to the Budds and the drugs I still had hidden, but I pushed the thoughts away and instead concentrated on getting thoroughly drunk. By eleven I’d had enough that I was tempted to go out clubbing but the others were more interested in the casino a few streets away.
‘Come on Ding, what else have you got to spend your overtime on?’ Eddie cajoled me, and finally I gave in. We had a deal on nights out; we all went to the same place, no matter what, or went home. There was no splitting up until the very end of the night if you stayed out. I suspect this was so that we could all keep an eye on each other, as the only thing more dangerous than a bored South African is a pissed copper, as my dad was fond of saying.
We staggered out of the bar holding each other up and moved in a herd towards the casino. Kev split from the group despite our protests, insisting that he had to get home and tuck Mrs Sands in. We walked him to a taxi first, then ambled to the casino and waved our membership cards at the doorman who didn’t even look at them before waving us through.
‘Good evening gentlemen,’ he said in a thick eastern European accent as we passed him and headed for the lift.
The gambling hall itself wasn’t that busy, with maybe fifty people clustered around the tables playing the various games. Personally I’m a great fan of the £2 blackjack table, as you can play for hours without losing too much cash. I convinced Ralphy and Tommo to join me while the others went to either the bar or the other games.
As soon as Ralphy sat down, he waved a waitress over and ordered his free sandwich and coffee, ignoring my laugh. ‘Need fuel, Ding, or I can’t concentrate on beating the house now, can I?’
I ignored the growling of my own stomach, not wanting to order food after laughing at Ralphy, so instead turned to the table and began to play.
After about twenty minutes and the same amount of money leaving my pocket, Tommo nudged me and leaned over to speak quietly in my ear. ‘Do you see that bloke over there by the toilets?’
I looked to where he nodded and saw a man in jeans and a t-shirt, with long hair that fell past his shoulders. ‘Yeah, what about him?’
Tommo tapped the table to tell the dealer he was sticking and lowered his voice even further. ‘Well, every so often the bloke with the shades on his head over by the roulette will take someone into the toilets, and then rock star over there stops anyone else from going in. Once the other chap comes out, whoever he’s been in there with leaves the building. Want to guess what they’re doing?’
I closed my eyes for a second. ‘Tommo, we’re not working.
He’s probably just selling a few grams of coke. Is it worth blowing out in front of a whole casino while you’re pissed, just to bag a low-level dealer?’
He shook his head. ‘Thing is, I don’t think it’s low level. One of the blokes that he went in with was Peter Connelly.’
My ears pricked up at this and I turned to study the people involved more carefully. Connelly was a medium-sized cocaine dealer, usually selling a minimum of ten grams at a time if our intelligence was accurate. That meant that whoever he was buying off had to be a step up the chain. ‘Look, we call it in, and then keep playing. I’m not getting involved when I’m this drunk.’
Tommo gripped my arm. ‘You’re not that drunk, I’ve seen you fight off three blokes drunker than this in Heist, remember?’ He was referring to another night out where it had all gone wrong a few years before.
‘Yeah, I remember, but I had no choice then.’
Tommo shook his head again. ‘Look, I’m telling the others, and then we can make a group decision.’
Before I could stop him he was off his chair and heading over to Eddie, Rudd and Tate, who were all leaning on the bar trying to chat up the lone barmaid.
‘Where’s he gone?’ asked Ralphy.
I told him what Tommo had pointed out and he threw his cards in and headed over to the others at the bar. Left with little choice, I followed rather than be left alone. By the time we got there a plan of action was already being formed by Tate and Tommo.
‘Right,’ said Tate, looking around to make sure we couldn’t be overheard. ‘Tommo, you go for a piss. Stay there until the bloke with the shades goes in again and we’ll come in a few seconds behind, after we’ve dealt with his hippy bouncer. Keep it nice and simple, no frills. Questions?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?’
Everyone nodded back. I threw my hands up in surrender. ‘Okay, okay, I’m in, but I still think it’s a terrible idea.’
Tate fixed me with a stern look as if I was challenging his authority. ‘Nothing’s going to go wrong, as long as we all work together. Stop being such a girl and get ready. Right, places gentlemen, I see movement.’ Tommo walked to the toilets and disappeared while the rest of us loitered at tables nearby, not really concentrating on the games.
I lost another tenner in the first couple of minutes, and then lost interest as I saw Shades walk towards the toilets in company with a slim Iranian-looking male with oily black hair and a jawline beard. As soon as the door swung shut the ‘hippy bouncer’, as Tate had called him, moved to stand in front of the door. It wasn’t the subtlest of operations but no one else in here seemed to be batting an eyelid.
The rest of us converged on the toilet from different directions, with Ralphy somehow getting there first. The chap with the long hair made the mistake of placing his hand on Ralphy’s chest to stop him from going any further and the big man took the proffered hand delicately between finger and thumb and twisted the wrist around sharply, dumping the man on the floor while Eddie stepped in and placed him in a chokehold before he could cry out.
Leaving Eddie and Ralphy outside, Tate, Rudd and I headed into the toilets. The door led onto a short corridor with another swing door at the far end and we bundled through in no particular order to see Shades and his friend swapping a package of cocaine that would have made a rock star start sweating in anticipation.
The marble front of the washstand it was resting on was leaning against the wall nearby and I could see another package almost as large nestled within. Shades turned to look at us, his expression a mixture of shock and outrage, and suddenly threw the first package at us as he bolted for the cubicles, obviously intent on locking himself in and calling for help.
As the package flew towards me I went for a catch but only caught it with my fingertips, tearing the plastic and sending white powder bursting through the air like a cluster-bomb. We were instantly covered and I began coughing as some of the dust hit me in the throat. Shades almost made it to the cubicles when one of the doors flew open and Tommo lurched out, arms wide as he tackled the dealer to the ground.
The Iranian male was still frozen in place, a look of resignation on his face. No one had shown a badge yet and he raised his hands and backed away from the drugs, probably thinking that we were rival dealers.
‘Don’t move,’ Tate warned him, pulling out his mobile phone. ‘I’m arresting you both for possession of cocaine with intent to supply; we’ll sort out the niceties later.’
Just as he finished speaking, the door behind us burst open and three more blokes ran in, along with a woman that I vaguely recognised. I swung to face them, and then overbalanced as the coke I’d inhaled began to hit my bloodstream. ‘Are they who I think they are?’ I asked, turning to Rudd.
He grinned at me ludicrously and nodded. I laughed with him as a strange fire ran through my veins and I began to bounce on the balls of my feet. I kept getting funny shivers coursing through me and had a kind of nervous sickness in my stomach. I’d never taken drugs before, and despite the laughter I didn’t feel in control and I didn’t like it as the cocaine worked its way into my system.
The older of the newcomers, one Detective Sergeant Lucas Wyatt from the Serious Organised Crime Unit, stepped forwards and regarded us with disgust. ‘What the hell do you think you lot are doing? You’ve just ruined a two-month job!’
I shrugged, feeling totally unconcerned. ‘Uh, don’t blame me; I thought this was a stupid idea. Ask Tate.’ I pointed helpfully at Tate who glared back at me, having been outside the range of the coke explosion.
The other SOCU officers (not to be confused with SOCO – they don’t like that) stepped around us carefully, ensuring that they didn’t contaminate the area any more than it had been already. In moments, they had expertly cuffed the two males we’d detained, and then removed them equally carefully.
Wyatt took Tate out into the corridor and I could hear their voices raised in sharp exchange. Rudd and I looked at each other and began giggling again until he pointed us out in the mirror and we both began roaring with laughter, seeing two ghost-like white figures staring back at us, almost completely covered in cocaine.
Even when we were ordered out by Wyatt and into the back of a van where we were forced to strip as our clothes were now evidence, I couldn’t bring myself to care while wrapped in the haze of the drugs I’d inhaled.
15
THE NEXT day at work, I thought that our job of the evening before would be the talk of the office, but it turned out that while we had been busy taking out one lot of dealers, someone else had been busy in Hove and a well-known dealer had been stabbed a couple of times in the chest. He was stable, but rumours were already flying that it had been a murder attempt and that whoever had done it would be out to finish the job.
Tate’s theory was that it was the beginning of a war between rival dealers, which was something we all dreaded. Brighton is fairly safe as far as drug wars go; the last one we’d had was two groups from London who had tried to define their turf on the beach by beating the hell out of each other with chains and knives every Friday night last summer. Luckily we’d managed to get one of their fights on a hidden CCTV camera (they always managed to avoid the overt ones), and we had put enough of them away for public order offences that the few who were left outside the net had plenty of space to choose from after that.
Rudd chimed in, agreeing with Tate over the drug-war theory. ‘I reckon it’s the Scousers. They’ve been coming down here for long enough to know the city now, but they’re selling really low quality stuff so they need to get a monopoly on the market if they want to keep customers.’ The Scousers he was talking about were a group led by a man nicknamed ‘Trash’, whose real name was Kieran Phelps. He and his gang had been dealing in Brighton for the last couple of years and there was a saying in the office that as soon as you arrested one lot of his runners, another Vauxhall Vectra-full was already leaving Liverpool. They were like cockroaches; you just couldn’t
get rid of them no matter what you tried.
Sally shook her head. ‘I don’t think so Ian, they would never have worked alone and all the witness statements say that it was only one guy. All the stuff we’ve got on them says that they work in groups if they’re going to get violent. What do you think Gareth?’
I thought for a minute, not sure if it was worth mentioning Davey and his penchant for knives before deciding that it was too unlikely that he would be out stabbing other dealers openly. ‘Maybe they hired someone in? We’ve seen that they don’t like getting their hands dirty if they can help it. Or maybe it’s one of the London crews, or the Wolverhampton lot?’
As I think I may have mentioned, Brighton was a soft target for dealers, lots of buyers and comparatively few guns to deal with.
Tate folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’m with Rudd; I think its Trash’s lot. They’ve been getting a bit cocky lately. Have we got anything on their latest properties?’
Sally turned back to her desk to look through the weekly reports but stopped when Rudd said, ‘They’re living in a house on Pankhurst Avenue, off Queens Park Road. At least they were two days ago. Do you think we should stir things up a bit and see what floats to the surface?’
Tate nodded. ‘I think that’s probably a good idea. I’ll talk to Kev before the meeting and see what he thinks.’
He left the pod and went to confer with Kev while I looked over the reports from the attack the night before. Apparently three people had seen the fight, but due to distance the descriptions they gave of the assailant were all different, unsurprisingly. It’s very difficult for a lot of people to accurately describe everything that they’ve seen; most people tend to focus on one detail and the rest just blurs.
Just as Tate came back, Kev ushered us upstairs to the daily meeting where everything of note that had happened in the last twenty-four hours was mentioned, and we all crammed in around the conference table in the meeting room with some of us having to use the chairs sprinkled around the edges.
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