Robbie was on a pay-as-you-go phone and he used to it to dial Kinane’s equally untraceable mobile. ‘Elvis has left the building,’ he said solemnly.
‘Talk properly,’ Kinane told him, ‘this isn’t a fucking movie.’
‘Sorry,’ said Robbie, ‘vehicle sighted, heading east, into the city, as expected.’
Not just as expected, thought Robbie, but almost to the minute. Braddock had a weakness Blake had spotted. Here was a gangster who was tough and ruthless, but he went to visit his grey-haired old mum, who lived in a ground-floor flat at the other side of the city, once a week, regular as clockwork.
‘Never have a routine,’ Palmer always said, ‘that’s how they’ll know when to come after you,’ and he was right. Now Robbie was tracking the robbing little bastard who had beaten Kevin Kinane and stolen the stash, and Joe Kinane and his sons were waiting to spring the trap.
For the next five minutes, Robbie never let his eyes leave the CCTV, switching from camera to camera as Braddock’s car progressed, keeping up a running commentary involving street names, pub names and the number of the B and A roads that Braddock took, so Joe Kinane could ready himself. Occasionally Braddock’s car would disappear for a few moments when there was a gap in the network, but Robbie soon learned to anticipate the reappearance of the car and he would notify Kinane whenever he picked up the Mercedes as it crossed the city.
Braddock was halfway there when he saw her. She was all alone at the bus stop standing in the pouring rain. She didn’t even have a coat on. He pulled the car over by the side of the road and slowed to a halt beside her, but she didn’t react, still obviously furious at him. Braddock slid down the window ‘Get in,’ he told her and when she made no move towards him he frowned, ‘don’t be fucking stupid girl, it’s pissing down. I said get in.’
‘We’ve lost him,’ said Robbie.
‘What?’
‘That’s odd,’ Robbie sounded like he was talking to himself, not Kinane, ‘his c…c…car has disappeared. It should have been back on line by now and…oh…wait a minute…yeah…that’s it. G…g…got him.’
‘Keep me posted,’ ordered Kinane gruffly.
*
Phil ‘The Warrior’ Watson was dancing around his opponent, landing punches at will. The Lewisham pub brawler looked out of his depth, but he was a game lad and he stood up to the blows, before being smothered by Watson’s grip until the referee made them break. It was a strange fight. Watson seemed to be lacking his renowned punching power and he was affording his ill-matched opponent too much respect. When the bell sounded at the end of Round Three, both men were still standing.
‘What is it now?’ asked Kinane, clearly irritated by Robbie’s flustered stammer.
‘He’s d…d…diverting,’ answered the young man nervously, ‘v…v…veering off.’
‘Shit,’ answered Kinane. He hadn’t anticipated that. Palmer had chipped Braddock’s car and he had never once deviated from the usual route to his mum’s flat before, ‘where’s he going? Tell me. Hurry up.’
‘He’s heading south now. I don’t know where he’s going but if he is still off to see his mum he must be taking the s…s…scenic route.’
Kinane ordered his son to start the van and get moving. He knew Newcastle like the back of his hand and the direction Braddock was travelling in wouldn’t bring him out anywhere near the ambush they were planning.
‘Listen carefully Robbie. Tell me every street the bastard takes and don’t lose him, you hear.’
By Round Seven the crowd were getting frustrated. They expected that the north east’s best boxer since the great Glenn McCrory was going to put on a show tonight but, just when it looked like he had rocked his opponent and could move in for the kill, he seemed to lose confidence in himself and falter. The two men traded weak punches, then immediately clung onto each other, like a drunken couple at a dance. The first catcalls could be heard.
Braddock’s Mercedes came around the corner and he cursed as the lights turned to red up ahead of him at the crossroads. This wasn’t his usual route, he had diverted because of the girl, but he knew the road well enough, everyone did, and the lights here were a pain in the arse. You were always likely to be stopped by them and they took an age to change to green. He was tempted to run the red light, but he didn’t want to raise his profile any higher with the police so he slowed to a halt.
It was then that the van drew alongside him. He couldn’t see the driver and he gave it scant attention. Then he heard a metallic scraping sound and he turned to see what was going on.
As soon as the van pulled up alongside the Mercedes at the red light, the side door slid wide and the passenger door was flung open. Joe and Kevin Kinane jumped out, and ran up to Braddock’s car. Before he had time to react they raised their Beretta shotguns and pointed them at the darkened glass of the windows. Kinane couldn’t see Braddock through the tinted window but he took a grim satisfaction in knowing that the drug dealer would be able to see him alright. In fact, Joe Kinane would be the last thing Braddock ever saw.
Both men fired their shotguns at point-blank range, straight into the front and side windscreens of the Mercedes. There were two huge bangs and the accompanying sounds of shotgun rounds destroying metal and glass. The Mercedes alarm went off, adding to the din.
Kinane advanced on the car and peered in through the shattered windscreen – but any satisfaction he might have felt at Braddock’s death was instantly tempered by the sight of two bodies in the wreckage of the car.
Kinane froze, unable to believe the scene that greeted him. Kevin had already turned and run back to the van. Chris was calling his father, urging him to leave now before it was too late. Kinane took one last look at the damage the shotgun blasts had inflicted on the young woman sitting next to Braddock, then he too turned and ran back to the van.
44
.......................
They were two-thirds through the final round when Big Auty glanced over at me and I nodded my agreement. He caught Phil Watson’s eye and nodded too. Our fighter suddenly became a different man, easily side-stepping a wild punch from the Lewisham lad, then landing three consecutive blows to the head in quick succession that knocked his opponent senseless and dropped him to the floor. The guy tried to get up but he was still on one knee when the referee counted him out.
As the crowd rose to its collective feet to acknowledge the devastating finale to the fight, banging their hands on the tables in the process, Kinane slipped silently through the drapes and back to our table, then sat down between Palmer and myself without a word. Eventually Palmer asked, ‘Well?’ and when he received no immediate answer he prompted Kinane, ‘Braddock?’
‘GNV,’ answered Kinane, but he looked a little rattled.
‘Eh?’ asked Palmer.
‘Good Night Vienna,’ Kinane told us, but he didn’t look as happy as I’d have thought he might. He lived for nights like this, which is why I needed him in my crew. ‘How’d he get on?’ Kinane asked of Watson, like he was deliberately changing the subject.
‘Textbook,’ I told him.
Kinane just nodded like he expected nothing else, then he reached for his beer and drank deeply.
‘What is it Joe?’ I demanded.
He ignored me at first, took another big glug of his beer, then set it down on the table.
‘There was a hitch,’ Kinane finally admitted. ‘He had company.’
‘What?’
Joe shook his head, ‘the car was supposed to be empty apart from him, but there was a passenger. It wasn’t easy to tell after what we did,’ he continued, ‘but I’m pretty sure it was a woman’.
‘Jesus.’ I immediately got a mental image of Suzy, the pasty little junkie who had been hanging around Braddock when we visited him in the high-rise. She might have looked like she was on a one-way trip to oblivion, but I didn’t think we’d be the ones to finish her off. ‘The poor little bitch. How the fuck did that happen?’
‘I don’t know
,’ he said it in a dead voice like he couldn’t believe it either, ‘the watchers said he was on his own. I don’t know what happened.’
‘We met that poor young lass,’ I was exasperated, ‘she was a bloody civilian.’
‘A civilian shagging a drug dealer that was robbing from his supplier,’ said Kinane. ‘I’m not saying she had it coming but she got caught in the crossfire. It was his fault, not ours.’
I knew Kinane was trying to rationalise what he had just done. I couldn’t imagine how it must have felt to peer into that car and realise you’d just killed a young girl. I knew Kinane felt bad about the lass so I let it drop, even though it would increase the heat on us tenfold.
I forced myself to be the life and soul of the party that night. I laughed loudly at the celebrity comedian who came on after the fight. He was one of those nasty little fucks who mocks the old, the fat and the handicapped but does it in an oh-so-knowing and ironic way, so it’s alright really. I got to my feet to command waiters to fetch more wine and champagne, then I spent lavishly in the charity auction that was the climax of the evening, shelling out for drive days in Formula One cars, balloon rides and the shirts of former Newcastle players – and I did it all so that no one doubted I was a country mile from Braddock when he was killed.
‘There’s going to be a riot on that estate,’ Palmer said afterwards when we were all back at the Cauldron, as if I hadn’t known it already. Braddock’s lads would go berserk once they heard he was dead. They’d want to vent their anger at anyone who might be behind his murder and, when they couldn’t find the guys responsible for it, they would smash up everything, even the homes they lived in. Like it or not, the Police would have to go in to restore order and they’d take a pasting for a few hours, hiding behind riot shields as bottles rained down on them from the high-rises. Their commanding officers, mindful that the media was watching, would not want to be too heavy-handed to begin with, particularly if the riot had been triggered by the death of a ‘community leader’ like Braddock. Some would try and portray him as a cross between Ronnie Kray and Joan of Arc, defender of the oppressed masses of the Sunnydale estate. It would probably take serious injury to a Policeman before the top brass ordered their men to remove their kid gloves and go in with the batons. There is nothing that makes a copper angrier than standing impotently by while Molotov cocktails are hurled at him, and his mates are stretchered off to hospital. By the time they were finally allowed to use ‘reasonable force’ their anger would sweep across that estate like an avenging tide. Everyone would be caught up in it, innocent and guilty alike.
‘What do we do?’ asked Kinane.
‘Nothing,’ I told him, ‘we stay well clear of the place. Let them vent their anger. The Police will have to crack some heads to get them back in their cages. It’ll be a week before the place calms down.’
‘Then we go in?’ asked Kinane.
‘No,’ I told them, ‘then we turn off the tap. No drugs for the Sunnydale estate, which means no supply for the junkies, no cash to pay the dealers, the look-outs and the bully-boys who handle security. There’ll be no money for the loan sharks either. Braddock’s boys need to learn who pays for all the cars, the women and the nights out on the town. Give it a week and the junkies on that estate will be clucking, desperate to get their hands on anything that’ll get them high. Another week and you’ll get rival dealers coming in from the other estates. The guns will come out and they’ll be shooting each other every night. We won’t do anything to stop that. It’ll be Armageddon. We’ll just spread the word that Braddock tried to rip us off; that turning the tap off is punishment for the whole estate, and we won’t be coming back. Let’s see how long Braddock’s ‘Robin Hood’ image lasts when they are blaming him for the shit they are in.’
They listened intently while I continued to outline my plan for regaining control of the Sunnydale estate. ‘After a month, go down there with your sons and the boys from the gym and restore order. Speak to Braddock’s men, tell them you’ll turn the tap back on if they toe the line and stop dipping into our profits. Get the rival dealers out. It will be messy for a week or two but I suspect your boys will enjoy the work.’
‘I expect they will,’ agreed Kinane.
‘My guess is that everyone on that estate will be thrilled to see you by then. You’ll be the liberating army come to save them from themselves.’
‘I like the sound of that,’ he agreed.
‘I’ll get Sharp to talk to that journalist on the local paper. He can be a ‘highly-placed-police-source’ who reveals the authorities are acting on the theory that Braddock was killed for supplying them with information about rival dealers. The journalist will make that sound like a good thing, which would get Braddock a bit of sympathy from normal folk.’
Kinane interrupted, ‘but on the Sunnydale Estate…’
‘They’ll think he’s a Judas cunt,’ added Palmer.
‘Braddock a grass?’ laughed Kinane. ‘He’ll be spinning in his grave at that. He’ll probably come back and haunt you.’
‘He’s dead,’ I assured him, ‘you can’t harm the dead and they can’t harm you.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ said Kinane wryly. ‘As usual.’
‘If you’re going to get rid of someone in our world, you’ve got to do it twice,’ I explained, ‘first you kill the man, then you kill his reputation. That way it ends.’
They knew I’d done it, when they hauled me in. Of course they did. They’re not stupid. The Police usually do know what’s going on. Proving it? That’s the difficult bit.
I was brought in for questioning and made to wait. I suspected they knew they would never be able to pin this one on me, not if they threw questions at me from now till the end of time, but they brought me in to make a point. They knew I had an alibi, several hundred in fact, and they would have been pissed off I chose the night of a high-profile charity do to put an end to Braddock. I suspect they would have been particularly annoyed to learn their own Chief Constable was in attendance as the guest of a children’s charity, while I entertained some of the great and the not-so-good a few feet from him on a different table.
‘Shall we dispense with the usual bullshit?’ Carlton asked, ‘and maybe just cut to the chase for once.’
‘Okay,’ I said, ‘it’s that parking fine isn’t it? I could have sworn I’d paid it but, if I didn’t, you’ve got me bang-to-rights.’
‘No,’ he said reasonably, doing his best keeping-calm-in-the-face-of-extreme-provocation act, ‘it’s the murder of Frank Braddock, but I think you know that.’
‘Frank Braddock?’ I asked, ‘no, the name doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘I thought we’d agreed to dispense with the bullshit, but no,’ he was trying to sound pained, ‘in a moment I’ll be forced to tell you that Frank Braddock was shot in his car last night by at least two unknown assailants and killed instantly. You will continue to deny you’ve ever heard of him, when in reality he was your top man on the Sunnydale Estate; has been for a year or more. I’m assuming you’ll then deny knowing where the Sunnydale estate is, even though we have film of you down there.’
So they’d been filming me. That proved nothing in itself and I was surprised he’d admitted it to me. ‘I was thinking of investing in some of the private properties on the outskirts of the place,’ I explained patiently, ‘I went down there to see if the stories about the estate had been exaggerated. I didn’t want to invest in an area with a reputation for petty crime and drug use. In the end I decided it probably wasn’t worth the risk.’
‘Really? Well that’s just fascinating,’ he was nodding to himself, ‘and I suppose, when I tell you Braddock was killed at around ten o’clock yesterday evening, you will helpfully point out that you were at your grand hotel opening, watching the boxing with a few hundred local dignitaries.’
‘And your Chief Constable,’ I reminded him.
He ignored that, ‘and I suppose you never left the building?
And you can provide dozens of witnesses who’ll say as much? That’s all just fine and dandy,’ he told me, ‘except it isn’t – because we both know you killed Braddock or, more accurately, you had him killed. He’d been robbing from you and bad-mouthing you for months. The only thing that surprised us was how long it took you to get rid of him,’ he leaned in right close to my ear then, ‘we were beginning to think you’d gone soft, Davey boy, but we shouldn’t have worried about that. I mean, Bobby Mahoney’s protégé all these years? How could we ever have doubted you? You’re proper gangster, you are.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I sighed, ‘I’m a wise guy, a made-man, I work for Don Corleone.’
‘What if I told you there was a woman in that car,’ said DI Carlton quietly. ‘Would you believe me?’
I’d been waiting for this and I was prepared. I still felt bad about that young girl, but to be brutal about it, little Suzy couldn’t have chosen worse company. I reckoned she’d sealed her fate as soon as she started sleeping with Braddock. Carlton probably thought I didn’t know she’d been killed too. He was hoping I’d be shocked into saying ‘no there wasn’t’ or ‘there can’t have been’ and he could then leap in with a flourish and shout something like ‘Ha! How do you know?’ like something out of a third-rate detective series.
‘Why would I believe anything you say to me?’
‘Oh yes,’ agreed Carlton. ‘She was beautiful, though you’d not know that now of course, with her face blown off and half her head missing. We had to identify her from the credit cards in her purse and the picture from an old ID card. One of our officers went round to her flat, came back with a picture in a frame from her university days. Looked to be a bit of class, she did. God knows what she saw in Frank Braddock, though I’m told he had a way with the ladies. I guess you’re going to tell me she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did she just get in the way, or was it your intention to kill Simone Huntington for some reason we are not aware of? What did the poor bitch do to deserve that, eh?’
The Damage (David Blake 2) Page 29
