Influence

by Andrew Snadden

  The Gang's business that would finance this enjoyable retirement was drugs-cocaine to be exact. Bradford, who was seen as the unofficial boss of the outfit, had started selling Cannabis at the age of eighteen. When the others saw how much money could be made they jumped on board too, never looking back. From then on, they stopped getting involved in fights, rows and anything in general that would attract police attention, they even got regular jobs. The change of lifestyle wasn't to help them become more legit, it was to help them become more illegal.

  If they wanted to make more money from products more illegal, they needed to be above suspicion, or at least in a position where they looked like straight shooters incapable of such dealings. And some thirty years later they had made a lot of money! However the addictive rush of crime was not an easy habit to quit and although they had enough cash to retire three times over, a few last shipments of the good stuff wouldn't have hurt.

  Without any real criminal history and with an army of employees doing their dirty work, the Gang had only been suspected of drug supply through intelligence work. There had certainly never been anything solid enough though to warrant storming in there and nicking them. And besides, being the switched on cookies they were, they had made their ill-gotten cash clean by buying up loads of property around the City and its coastline. With the protection of top flight lawyers and City council men too, the Gang were definitely not the type of criminals you wanted to nick without any evidence. As much as Anaura wanted to bring down these so called 'business men', he knew it would never happen, barring an act of God. Every time the police got close or started building a case against them, the Gang would be one step ahead and change their plans.

  “What am I looking at here Jason?” Anaura enquired with confusion.

  “I want these guys Peter!” Steiner replied.

  “Everyone does Jason but it ain't going to happen any time soon, they look clean, they smell clean and every investigation into them has revealed them to be clean! It doesn't matter whether that's true or not” Anaura declared.

  Steiner sat silently for a moment before leaning forward and quietly telling Anaura that he was setting up an operation to finally take them down. There would be no messing around anymore, if they needed evidence, they would get it; one way or another! Anaura sat there reminiscing how he had heard that said before until Steiner stated that it was going to be an operation with a blank cheque budget and all the necessary resources. Anaura liked the sound of it but reminded Steiner that this type of stuff was the Serious and Organised Crime Unit's territory and that his remit was generally restricted to low to mid-level drug dealers, pimps and prostitution, so why was he telling him about it. Steiner agreed that it wasn't in Anaura's usual remit before declaring that he wanted Anaura to head up the operation because of his knowledge of the Gang and the City's drug scene. Anaura sat there stunned as it was unusual for a Vice Inspector to head up such an operation. Steiner continued by saying that in order to catch the big fish, you needed to use decent bait, and what better to use than the City 's mid-level drug dealers who were probably linked to the Gang! Drug dealers, that Anaura would know.

  “The op will be starting within four weeks. I'll let you know when we're are going to get started, I've just some political stuff to sort out first! Get you and your team ready.” Steiner said with a smile and a wink before he got up and left the office.

  Anaura put the lower part of his face into his hands so that the fingers joined above the bridge of his nose. Pondering what had just been said to him, he sat tapping his fingers together and letting out huffs into the space between his hands. The sound of cheers could be heard coming from the main office, by now he had missed most of the match, but for once it didn't bother him.

  “You alright Peter?” Richards enquired as he popped his head around Anaura's office door.

  “Did any pigs just fly past the window? Because if they didn't, I think we may have just been given our dream job. Take a seat Ian, I'll fill you in” He replied to Richards, trying to contain a smug smile.

  Misguided Loyalty

  Chapter Eight

  Chief Superintendent Drayson pulled up to a set of locked gates that were on Basin Road, City harbour, in his expensive new blue Mercedes A45 AMG, and removed a set of keys from his trouser pocket. As a result of the rain and howling wind he dropped the keys onto the ground. Worried that someone might see him, he frantically searched around the gravel to find them, finally locating them after a number of minutes. With the gate now unlocked he drove the A class into the car park of the warehouse and parked it discreetly behind a large steel shipping crate. The sheer size of the warehouse meant that it created a massive sinister shadow in the dark, rain filled road and car park.

  “It's the bloody April showers alright” he muttered to himself as he used yet another key to open the reinforced glass and wood door to the disused building. In a cautious manner, Drayson gave one last look behind him to make sure that there was no one around before he pushed the door open and entered. Inside the damp lobby he paused and pulled out a torch to illuminate the pitch black staircase in front of him. He had tried walking up them in darkness once before but the precarious undertaking had resulted in an embarrassing and painful fall. It was a silly mistake that he would not be repeating.

  At the top of the short staircase his torch lit up yet another door that then led down a short concrete set of steps and into a huge expanse of dark empty space, filled with bird droppings and puddles of rain water. It was clear that whatever the warehouse might have been in its previous life, it had clearly been a busy centre for dock related industry. Drayson continued his journey through the darkness to the corner of the work floor where there was a steel stair case that led up to a bright blanket of light that penetrated through the windows of an office.

  “Ello Robbie, haven't seen you in a while. Bit wet out is it?!”

  Ryan Bradford said, greeting Drayson in a contemptuous manner as he walked, soaked through, into the office.

  “Yeah it is! Anyway, why do we still have to meet up in this shitty old warehouse, it's damp, it's cold.........” Drayson replied.

  “Because it's the last place in the world that your mates in blue would think to look. And besides its got character, don't you think?” Remarked Nick Sykes, a tall, well-built and dark haired man with a stubbly face.

  Drayson sat down at the table where Bradford, Pearson, Sykes and Cooper were sat around a table playing a game of poker and joking with each other. After a round of piss taking regarding Drayson's up and coming promotion and how many days he had left until his big pension, Bradford looked up from his hand of cards and asked him whether there was any new boys on the block that they needed to be concerned about. Drayson answered that he hadn't heard anything but reminded him that since his recent departure from the Serious and Organised Crime Unit, he hadn't been privy to everything that was going on. Bradford didn't acknowledge Drayson's reply, appearing as though he was more than a little frustrated with him.

  “I do have some serious news though” Drayson said, this time catching the full attention of Bradford who looked up from his cards. “I overheard one of my command colleagues talking about a big drugs operation in the pipe line that was going to target the biggest drug suppliers in the city. In other words, you!” he continued to explain with a hint of nervousness in his voice.

  “Well, you'd best get this so called operation called off then hadn't you?” Bradford replied with annoyance. Across the table the other three looked very concerned.

  “How am I going to do that? I can't just call off an operation, definitely not one on this scale. I'm sorry you're going to have to lay low, or, I don't know, maybe call it quits before you all get locked up” Drayson remarked.

  Bradford dropped his cards onto the table, folded his arms and shot a look at the other men before maintaining cold steely eye contact with Drayson.

  “YOU ALL? What do you mean, you all?? What, you're not part of the Gang any m
ore Robbie?” Bradford snapped back at Drayson who began to squirm in his seat with discomfort and perspiration developing under his arms.

  “Fine, we, will have to lay low then! Seriously though, we need to consider calling off the shipment” Drayson stated.

  “No, the shipment still goes ahead! If I'm honest Robbie, I expected more from you, especially after everything we've done for you over the years. We made you wealthy, we protected you and we helped get you promoted by giving you some of our associates. Get the operation cancelled!” He commented in an angry tone.

  “I've told you, I can't do it! No one has the power to do that without a bloody good reason. Even the Chief Constable would implicate himself by cancelling an op like this for no good reason. Are you mad?” He replied.

  “OK Robbie, it's like this, call off the operation or suffer the consequences. If we get caught, you get caught. I'm sure your colleagues would love to hear about your moonlighting activities!? Call it off tomorrow morning or there will be trouble. Who knows, in week or so, you may no longer be a copper to call anything off if I decide it”. Bradford warned him.

  Drayson started to feel sick to his core, and with good reason. His relationship with Bradford and the Gang had gone back as far as his school days, something his colleagues from his day job obviously were not aware of. Growing up in the same area of Eastings the five men had become acquainted after Bradford and Cooper had intervened when Drayson was being beaten up by some fellow pupils. Where the others had come from rough backgrounds, Drayson had not. Although his family weren't the richest out there, they certainly were not the poorest by any stretch of the imagination either. With the help of these new friends Drayson soon became a bully himself after gaining confidence with the help of Bradford.

  As the five of them developed into teenagers, Drayson started to go his separate way as a result of his parents demanding that he stopped hanging around with such losers. At first he rebelled against them, but it was just a matter of time before they would eventually win the day. Little Robbie Drayson was not quite the rebel he had others believe, and as his mother put it “You're so gullible, these boys are using you, especially that Bradford boy. It's time to start thinking for yourself and not being so easily influenced by others. You're not a tough guy, so stop pretending to be one!”

  After the dressing down from his mother, he parted ways with the other four and went to college to study psychology while the others started to get themselves arrested for fighting amongst other things. Drayson on the other hand made a full u-turn in life, and after finishing his A levels, he decided that he wanted to join the Police Force. As he began his career, Bradford and the others began theirs; drugs. A few years later when Drayson was drinking in a local pub, Bradford and the others walked in. At first he considered leaving but when he saw that they were all wearing suits and looking smart and respectable he asked them to join him believing that they had grown up. Just as it had been before, Drayson couldn't resist their charms, especially Bradford's, who almost fell off his chair when he learnt of his new career. Never one to miss an opportunity, Bradford purposefully renewed his friendship (and control) with Drayson. For the first year or two the Gang kept their business affairs hidden from Drayson until they knew for sure that he was trustworthy.

  One night, many months later, Bradford took Drayson to one side and informed him what they were in to. To begin with, Drayson said that he couldn't see them again, but as usual Bradford would find a way to influence him into hanging around. As he became deeper entwined with the Gang, Bradford soon revealed how much money they were making from cocaine and informed Drayson that if he helped them to eradicate the competition through his job, he would be rewarded handsomely and made a junior partner in the syndicate. Drayson couldn't refuse and in time he would make more dirty money than he knew what to do with, hence he developed a taste for new cars and tailored suits. He may have enjoyed this easy money but as it mounted up, it soon became a problem as there was nowhere to hide it all. After a number of years, Drayson began to wonder if the risk had all been worth it. And now more than ever he wished that he had never set eyes on Bradford, realising that he had used him from the start.

  Drayson got up to leave, as the realisation of what he would be facing started to sink in. He was a long serving police officer who had been moonlighting as criminal, part of a serious and organised crime syndicate for over twenty five years and made tens of thousands as a result. If his employers found out he would be well and truly fucked. There wouldn't be a chance in hell that he would be able defend the amount of evidence that Bradford and the others could spill on him. With the abuse of a position of trust, proceeds of crime, tax avoidance; and all the other crimes he had committed, he would be going away for life. There wasn't an easy solution to the conundrum that he had been presented with, he couldn't call off the operation and he couldn't grass the Gang up without implicating himself in the process. However if he just sat back and did nothing, they would grass him up first; or worse they would have him killed. Everything was going to come to an end, his job, his pension, his respectability but what was much worse, was the knowledge of what awaited him in prison, a police superintendent in with the police hating general prison population; he would be brutalised daily for his whole sentence.

  As Drayson left the office, he could feel the blood and warmth draining from his face and his hands and body were drenched in sweat. He felt a severe sense of dread and anxiety, to the extent where he was considering driving his car into the harbour, after all he was going to be dead anyway, one way or another.

  “Remember Robbie; screw this up and you'll be picking up the soap for the boys in prison for the rest of your life. I look forward to hearing that the operation's been cancelled soon, very soon” Bradford said in a cold hearted manner that befitted his intimidating villain persona. The other three laughed out loud, they all knew Drayson was over a barrel and would do anything he could to hang onto his police career and reputation. One thing that was becoming crystal clear to him was that he was only a friend of theirs if he served a purpose and did as he was told, if he didn't they would drop him like a bad habit.

  Drayson sullenly nodded back at Bradford before he left the room and headed down the steel staircase. As he stepped off the last step and switched on his torch to light up the dark path ahead of him, he had an epiphany. Like the torch, he was faced with darkness ahead of him unless he found a light, an idea, to illuminate his path and guide him out of the darkness. He knew what needed to happen, he had to get to the Gang first before they could get to him; he just needed to work out how!

  Permanently Restricted

  Chapter Nine

  Foster sat in the waiting room of the Force's Occupational Health Department feeling a sense of apprehension and betrayal. Within days of the team's return from the court hearing, Inspector Balham had called Foster into his office and stated that he wanted him to see the force doctor prior to being given the all clear to return to full operational duties. The conversation had taken Foster by complete surprise and he had a meltdown in Balham's office, throwing a glass across the room and smashing it. Balham being the calm man he was, didn't react to it and gently told Foster that he had not been himself since the shooting and that it would be beneficial for him to see a professional who specialised in stress related issues. Foster shouted at Balham, accusing him of trying to send him to a shrink. Pissed off and upset, Foster left his office knowing that he would have to play ball or lose his hard earned place on the unit. At the behest of the Inspector he went on a short period of sick leave to await his appointment with a psychiatrist.

  The following week Foster attended a private mental health assessment at The Abbey Clinic in the expensive end of town that was funded by the Police Federation. There was no way Foster would suffer the long waiting list to see an NHS Psychiatrist, especially when all he wanted to do was to return to operational duties so he approached the Federation for help. Despite knowing that he had no choice in
the matter, he still found it unbelievable that Balham requested it. Foster knew deep down that he had not been himself at times but it did not stop him from feeling as though everyone had it in for him, a belief that had slowly been building in his mind over the previous months.

  Foster was called in from the waiting area of the large former Victorian house that had been converted into the Abbey clinic, by a young and friendly Psychiatrist by the name of Dr Tom Banks. As Foster stood up he smiled at the pleasant red haired receptionist who he had considered asking out but changed his mind when he suddenly began to worry that she would think he was there because he was mad.

  “Hello Anthony, I'm Dr Banks. What we're going to be doing here today is discussing how you have been feeling recently. I'm not here to make a diagnosis of any kind today, I just want to establish how you've been coping,” he said in an empathetic tone.

  “Look, I'm here because I have no choice. There's nothing wrong with me, so let’s get this bollocks over with”. Foster snapped. The appointment had barely started but he was already growing tired of it.

  After that appointment, Foster had been required to attend a number of follow up appointments, something he put down to the clinic trying to pinch more of the federation's money. However as the appointments progressed, Dr Banks began to slowly establish a detailed family history of mental illness, childhood trauma and a degree of delusional and paranoid thinking that was exacerbated by alcohol consumption.