The Fire

by Robert White

  So an RI is out."

  J.J. was awake now. "So what we do then...a hard stop outside? Take his car?"

  Rick nodded. "He must move in and out of this place at regular intervals, he'll have a routine. Four of us can hit his vehicle, and take him."

  "And then?" asked J.J.

  Lauren put her hand on her hip. "Then we ask him very nicely where we can find the three Irish."

  She began to pull up Google Street view on her laptop. She was searching the area around the club. Her expression grew dark. "This doesn't look good for a hard stop, guys."

  I dipped my head so I could see the screen. Narrow cobbled streets, lots of parked cars; it was far from ideal. The closest main road to the club was Stockport Road. During the day it was a teaming street full of shoppers of all ages. It was also full of slow moving vehicles trundling past stationary buses picking up and dropping off women, kids and the elderly.

  I turned to Rick. "We had almost perfect conditions the last time we tried a hard stop, mate. Even then, we lost Tanya and came up empty-handed. This could turn into a running gun battle. If you ask me, it will be too risky, too many civilian casualties. Maxi's boys won't discriminate when they start shooting."

  Rick rubbed his chin. He muttered to himself, deep in thought. "So... it's the club then..."

  He snapped back to reality and tapped the large scale plan.

  "J.J. ...you'll have to find a way to get yourself inside Maxi's gaff so we know the layout."

  The Turk smiled, displaying his perfect teeth.

  "Give me a couple of days and I'll be in."

  Lauren North's Story:

  The New Year had come and gone, without celebration. What we considered would take J.J. a couple of days had already turned into eight, and the mood in the camp was tense.

  Despite our best efforts, J.J. had been unable to get close to Maxi and the three Irish. Each time he had tried to get any kind of handle on the old social club used by the dealer, he had been clocked by the switched-on security.

  Of greater concern was that, close to a week ago, he'd dropped some info about a possible witness and that he may be off the radar 'for a while'. Now, four days in, he'd failed to make his agreed RV's and his mobile was switched off.

  Des had tried numerous times to trace him, but all our efforts had turned up empty.

  The job had come to a grinding halt, and that did not bode well.

  Des dealt with the inactivity best. All those thousands of hours sitting in a freezing hole in the ground waiting for something to happen had prepared him for just these moments. Then, of course, there was his fishing; another solitary patient pastime that required long-suffering tolerance.

  I did my best to keep my mind busy, and when I found the increasingly claustrophobic atmosphere of the lock-up impossible, I ran...miles.

  It was during those increasingly regular ten mile tabs that the Larry business bugged the life out of me.

  Yes, I'd been angry...angry with Larry, angry with Rick, but most of all angry with myself. I'd felt used. Okay, I'm not the first woman to be led astray by a man, I realise that. My ex-husband had been a violent bully, and if I'd dared to challenge him, he responded with a punch or a slap.

  But I'd put that weak vulnerable woman firmly behind me. Rick and Des had turned me into a different animal. The days of cowering in a corner and crying myself to sleep at night, were long gone. Yet Lawrence or Larry, or whatever he was actually called, had pulled the wool over my gullible eyes, and once again I was left feeling weak and inadequate.

  The reason for my anger was obvious. I was embarrassed.

  Once again I had found myself in a position that I couldn't resolve on my own and I'd had to call for help. That help, of course, came in the form of Rick Fuller.

  It wasn't the fact that he'd been so fucking smug at the ease in which he'd brushed the cops aside; or the fact that he'd presumed that I'd been so emotionally attached to Larry, that hurt me. It was that look of pure disappointment in his eyes. The one he couldn't hide from me.

  I'd disappointed him...and that hurt...a lot.

  Now, to add insult to injury, J.J. had gone AWOL.

  The man I had selected for the job at hand had done a runner, and that was my fault too.

  As Rick stomped around the lock-up like a hungry lion, fixing, polishing, and painting anything that would stand still long enough, he still wore that expression, the same expression I had seen at the back of my flat...disappointment.

  I pulled on my Berghaus and checked my Casio.

  "I'm leaving for J.J.'s RV."

  Rick stopped buffing my RS6 and looked up.

  "It's too late, Lauren. He's either dead or done one."

  "So how long to we wait before we get off our collective arses and make a start?" I asked. My question was met with stony silence and I felt my hackles rise. "Look...I'm going anyway," I said defiantly. "The walk will do me good."

  Des didn't look up from his novel, woolly sock clad feet resting comfortably on the wood burner as he warmed his bones. "The boy didnae strike me as a quitter, hen. Maybe he'll turn up today, eh?"

  I smiled at Des. He was a rock, always there for me, always supportive.

  "Maybe," I said.

  Des dropped his feet to the floor and rummaged in his jeans for cash.

  "Ye wouldnae pick up some smoke for me on yer way back, eh?"

  I held out my hand and took the money. "It'll kill you one of these days, Desmond."

  "I'll die from a shortage of breath like the rest of us, hen," he said, and returned to his book.

  The RV was less than a mile from the lock-up in a pub called the Lass O Gowrie, so I turned up my collar against the night chill and walked.

  As I entered the bar, its warmth hit me and I undid my jacket to cool down. It was about half full of student types. A band was setting up in one corner and a heavyset guy with a skinhead and serious tattoos was tuning an electric guitar whilst playing excerpts from some vaguely recognisable rock tune. An even bigger chap was assembling a drum kit and insisted on repeatedly hitting the snare with alarming ferocity.

  I forced a smile at the spotty barman and ordered half a cider and black. "What are they called?" I asked.

  "The Three Fat Bastards," he said with a straight face. "Progressive rock mixed with offensive comedy...they're really good."

  "Really?" I managed and sipped my drink.

  J.J.'s RV time was eight, and it was five to. I scanned the bar in case he was tucked away in a corner. I couldn't see him, so found a table and plonked myself down. A third fat guy had unsurprisingly joined the group in the corner. He was inflating a blow-up sheep that would no doubt add to the musical wit and repartee to be enjoyed by the growing crowd.

  I decided I was in some kind of strange time warp and gulped down my drink a little too fast.

  "Can I get you another, Lauren?"

  My head spun around so quickly, I cricked my neck.

  "J.J! Where the..."

  The Turk held up a hand. He looked tired and drawn. His usual slick hairstyle was replaced by an unruly greasy mop, he hadn't shaved for days, his black eyes were sunken and a shadow lingered under each.

  "Let me get drink, I will tell you."

  I watched as he pushed his way through the ever-growing band of offensive comedy fans. Minutes later he returned with a large whisky, a pint of lager and another half of cider for me.

  J.J. sat heavily and knocked back the scotch in one go. He grimaced and set down the glass.

  Something major had happened to cause him to go missing; it wasn't in the nature of Special Forces soldiers to go against orders. I waited patiently for him to speak.

  "You must think I had given up on you," he said quietly.

  I shrugged and continued my wait for answers.

  He realised I wasn't going to say anything to appease him and settled back in his seat.

  "You know, I go to Maxi's place many times and watch for him. I report back to you...to Rick...I tel
l you what I find...I tell you there is no chance of me getting inside the club. I try to buy drugs from his men...try everything I know to get a look in the building...but nothing...they are too clever... too much security...then four days ago I meet Evelyn..."

  My ears pricked up. "Evelyn?"

  He nodded and took a large drink of his beer. "She is prostitute...she is just fifteen years old... work for Maxi, like many girls...she is addict now...Maxi make her this way. He is very bad man, Lauren. I never see anything like this in my life."

  He waved a hand dismissively.

  "Anyway, I see her leave the club one morning. I don't know why... but I follow her. She take the bus to Piccadilly. I watch her work the streets around the station, picking up old men for sex...many men...four...five an hour. She is very popular, very pretty, very young. She stay there all day, doesn't eat or drink. Sometimes she stop and talk with other working girls...maybe have cigarette...five or ten minutes go by, then she is back working...Lauren, it is so bad. Maxi's men are never far away, they watch the girls, make sure they have man, yes?"

  I wanted to tell him that I knew exactly how it all worked, but I figured it would wait for another day, another time. I just nodded and waited for J.J. to empty his gut.

  "So I approach her...pretend to be customer...she call them all John...I don't know why. Anyway, I go with her to my car...of course she expects money for sex. I make big excuse. I say I am...how you say...I don't know English word... I have accident and, you know, I can't get hard, but I want to talk...just talk... and I will pay. She thinks I mean talk sexy...dirty, but I say no, just talk, just be friends. After ten minutes she take ten pounds and get out of car all angry...she call me weirdo.

  I don't understand this, but I don't give up. I go back the next day and ask for same, no sex, just talk; but this time I pay fifty pounds for longer time. At first she tell me 'fuck off' but when I show her money, she come with me."

  The Turk lay his hands on the table. Those dark cold eyes had a shine to them I had never seen.

  J.J. was close to tears.

  "Lauren...Evelyn... she is good girl. She comes from nice home, a nice family. She ran away because her mum wouldn't let her have boyfriend....crazy, huh? She meet up with Maxi's cousin somewhere, he give her food and a place to stay. She think he like her."

  J.J. took half of his beer and shook his head. He closed his eyes for a moment. When they reopened, the tearful shimmer had been replaced by black hatred.

  His mouth turned into a wicked sneer.

  "She was thirteen, Lauren, just thirteen years old." He finished his pint in one, checked his watch and stood. "I must get back to her now; she is very scared and need medication to help her stay off the drugs; she leave Maxi now, no more sex with old men in alleyways, no more heroin. She thinks she will die, but I promise her I will not let that happen."

  He pulled the collar up on his coat.

  "Tell Rick I will be at the lock-up tomorrow at noon. I will have all the information he needs then. Evelyn knows everything about Maxi's club."

  I didn't know how to deal with what J.J. had told me. But I knew he was playing a very dangerous game. Maxi and his men would be looking for Evelyn, and if they found out where the Turk had taken her, we might never see either of them again.

  Dangerous or not, before I could even say goodbye, he was gone.

  I walked back to the lock-up, making several detours and doubling back at regular intervals. I was determined that my anti-surveillance training would not let me down again. I had no intention of getting myself arrested by Larry and his crew.

  I found the boys in surprisingly good humour, watching television.

  This was most unusual. Other than the news, I couldn't recall ever seeing Rick and Des watch the box.

  They were enjoying a re-run of a drama called Ultimate Force. It starred Ross Kemp, an actor who had made his name in soap operas and followed the adventures of a group of SAS soldiers.

  The boys were taking the piss, mercilessly as the actors rescued passengers from a hijacked aircraft.

  Rick even had a can of beer in his hand. I was shocked, but pleased to see the mood in the camp had changed.

  "Just look at this numpty here, hen," shouted Des above the automatic gunfire emanating from the full Bose surround system. "They couldn't rescue a fuckin' cat from a tree, these bozos!"

  Rick pointed at the screen. "That bloke doesn't even know how to hold his weapon, never mind fire the bloody thing."

  I didn't want to spoil the boys' fun, so I found wine chilling in the fridge, poured myself a glass, sat between them and joined in the banter.

  Twenty minutes later, the programme ended. Rick hit the remote and the screen went blank.

  "He didn't show then?" he said.

  I finished my wine and stood. "As a matter of fact, he did."

  Rick slammed down his can, all his joviality vanished in an instant. "And you sat here whilst we watched that shit on the box when you had information?"

  I shook my head. "Jesus, Rick! You were enjoying yourself for once. I'm amazed you remember what that feels like...anyway...my timing won't make any difference...J.J. will be here at noon tomorrow. He'll have the intel we need then."

  Even Des was flat serious. "So where has the fucker been the last four days, hen? It's no a fuckin' game of hide and seek we're playing here."

  I felt my hackles rise.

  "I know that, Des! Look, neither of you would know anything if it wasn't for me. You two couldn't even be bothered going to the RV, you'd given up on the guy! I tell you what...just...just...fuck off... the pair of you!"

  I headed angrily for the fridge and a refill. As I poured, I was surprised to feel Rick's presence directly behind me. He was so close I could smell him, a mixture of beer and a musk aftershave I couldn't identify. Then he rested a hand on my shoulder and turned me. It was like someone had poured iced water down my spine and I shivered involuntarily.

  He looked as uncomfortable as I'd ever seen him. "Erm...Come on, Lauren, sit down... and tell us what happened."

  I probably did a fair impression of a fish, my mouth wide open in shock. One thing I was sure of, it was the closest thing to an apology I was ever going to get from Rick Fuller.

  Des Cogan's Story:

  I hadn't slept too well. Lauren had given us the full SP on what the Turk had been up to and it left me with a bad feeling about the whole job. We'd all been waiting around, and now we were going to rely on the word of a child prostitute and heroin addict.

  Not the best or most reliable of intelligence, eh?

  J.J. arrived spot on twelve with the girl Evelyn in tow. Rick was close to bursting, when he saw her.

  J.J. should have known better than to bring her to the lock-up. If she went running back to Maxi for her fix, we would be totally compromised. Lauren didn't seem fazed by the girl's presence, and fussed over her like a mother hen, feeding her crisps and Fanta.

  The lassie was a sorry state alright; thin as a lat with fingernails bitten to the quick, mottled skin, too many bruises.

  Even though the lock-up was toasty warm, she sat shivering, her lank, greasy hair sticking to the sides of her face with perspiration.

  There was no doubt that Evelyn had once been a very attractive girl, but two years on the streets sticking a needle in her arm had seen to her beauty's demise.

  Despite everything her eyes shone a brilliant blue, alive inside that shell of a body, and even though dark circles formed under them, when she spoke, it was hard to leave their gaze.

  J.J. never took his eyes from her. This worried me too. He seemed obsessed with the kid, and that is what she was, a child.

  The Turk had managed to obtain a supply of methadone for the girl; a heroin substitute. This, he explained was just about keeping Evelyn straight. If J.J. was obsessed, the girl seemed equally infatuated. She watched him like a hawk and clung to his every word and movement.

  When the girl finally spoke, she had a quiet, high-pitched voice
with a southern accent that could almost be described as educated. Unfortunately, she punctuated most sentences with the coarsest of language. Her 'street talk' didn't bother us; we'd heard it all before; to me, it was just another sign that Maxi had taken something beautiful, and turned it ugly.

  If we were all feeling a sense of unease at Evelyn's presence, it was to be washed away once she stood at the table and studied the last known interior plan of Maxi's club.

  She ran her forefinger across the document, tracing the walls and rooms. Evelyn muttered quietly to herself for a few moments, before looking at each of us in turn. Her sparkling, intelligent eyes flashed as she began to speak.

  "It's nothing like this anymore," she said. "It's all changed."

  We gathered around as she pointed at the document. "You see this big room here, the one marked 'concert room', this is now four smaller rooms."

  Evelyn shuddered as if remembering some dark disturbing moment. "These are now what Maxi calls his play rooms, the place he takes his suppliers and dealers to be entertained by...by..." she stumbled over her words for a moment, "...by the likes of me."

  J.J. put an arm around her shoulder. "Not any more, Evelyn, we will make sure of this, I promise. You help us, and Maxi will never hurt you again."

  The girl smiled at the Turk before returning to the plan on the table. She pointed, "This room at the back, the one here marked 'games room', is now a bar, all nice chairs and sofas, thick carpets. It's the same size and in the same place, but this door here has gone, and he has made one here. Maxi and his guests all enter and leave through here. This new door is at the back of the club and is always guarded by at least three of Maxi's men and there are strong doors that lead from the bar to the playrooms. This bar is where the girls first meet the men Maxi has invited, before they go to the rooms to fuck...and whatever."