No Holds Barred

by Lyndon Stacey

  ‘No need, I’ve brought them over.’

  ‘Deano’s not here yet.’

  ‘No, and he won’t be coming. I’ve just had a phone call. He’s quit.’ Jenny ran a hand through her fringe. She looked near the end of her tether.

  ‘He can’t do that!’ Boyd protested. ‘What about his notice? He’s supposed to give you two weeks.’

  ‘He has, but he says he’s ill.’

  ‘And you believed him?’ Boyd’s voice was loaded with scorn.

  ‘Whether I did or not is immaterial. I can’t force him to come in. Anyway, I just came over to let you know you’ll need to reallocate his drops. Sorry, but it’s going to mean more work for you guys till we can find someone to replace him.’

  Boyd began to protest again, but Daniel cut through him. ‘It shouldn’t be a problem between the five of us. Dean only drove the van, after all. I don’t mind sorting out the schedules, if you’re not up to it.’

  ‘You bloody won’t!’ Boyd said, pushing past Jenny and heading for the office.

  Daniel allowed himself a secret smile. He’d guessed that would get Boyd moving.

  By working through his lunch break, Daniel was able to get his day’s driving done in time to call in at the salvage yard again before it closed. This time, the Rottweilers were in view, tethered by stout chains in the shade of the main Portakabin. As Daniel jumped down from the cab of his lorry, they leapt to their feet, ran to the limit of their chains and set up a frenzy of barking, their jowls spattering the gravel with gobs of drool.

  Left sitting on the front seat of the truck, Taz was inclined to join in until a word from Daniel set him straight.

  A movement in the shadowy doorway of the reception building heralded the emergence of Ricky Boyd, wearing low-slung baggy jeans and an oil-stained, once-white vest. He carried a beer can in his hand, but it was presumably empty or virtually so, because after shouting at the dogs to no avail, he shied it at them. The Rottweilers dodged and retreated, still watching Daniel balefully.

  Ricky hesitated a fraction as he saw who was waiting, looking right and left as if hoping for back up. None was forthcoming and he came reluctantly forward into the sunlight to ask Daniel what he wanted.

  ‘Need a replacement pair of headlights for my car, if you’ve got ’em. Some tosser took a baseball bat to them the other night.’

  For a fleeting moment, Ricky’s facial muscles tightened involuntarily, and this reaction to his statement led Daniel to believe that Ricky knew of the night-time attack led by his older brother. Daniel imagined he would have been furious to be left out of such an excursion but felt that, in Taylor’s place, he would probably have done the same.

  ‘Erm, what sort of car is it?’ Ricky asked then. He looked happier now, and Daniel could imagine his joy at repeating the “tosser” comment to his brother.

  ‘Surprised you need to ask that.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ All of a sudden the wariness was back.

  ‘Well, you had a good look at it when I came into the garage that day. Don’t you remember?’ Daniel asked with wonderful innocence.

  ‘Yeah. Of course.’ Ricky’s relief was comical. ‘Mercedes-Benz C class. What year?’

  He noted the details down on a grubby notepad he took from his pocket and, telling Daniel to wait, moved away towards the closest of the Nissen huts.

  Left to kick his heels beside the Summer Haulage lorry, Daniel leaned back against the cab door and surveyed the mountains of metal that surrounded him. Vehicles of all kinds lay in a tangle with guttering, old baths, lengths of chain-link fence, kitchen appliances, oil drums and other unidentifiable items of twisted metal: some shiny, some painted, many rusting forlornly.

  What was to happen to it? Daniel wondered. Was it all destined for the smelter? Some piles were already so big that there was no way of knowing what was underneath the surface layer. It seemed to him a very inefficient use of space. Away across the acres of scrap, he could see the towering arm of a crane-like vehicle, and beyond it again a big metal container with what looked like a hydraulic piston arm angled into the top. A metal compactor, he guessed. So, Boyd’s Salvage Spares did the complete works, it seemed.

  ‘Got nothing in stock,’ Ricky said, striding back across the gravel. He seemed pleased with the information.

  ‘Well, could you perhaps order them?’ Daniel suggested.

  Ricky grudgingly supposed they could.

  ‘OK. Do that, then. When will they be in?’

  ‘Dunno. Not sure. Tomorrow, maybe?’

  ‘That’ll do. And you’ll fit them?’

  ‘Can do. Not sure when.’

  ‘Well, suppose you go and take a look in the diary,’ Daniel suggested, at which point Ricky said it shouldn’t be a problem as they weren’t too busy.

  Daniel paid a deposit and was just about to climb back into the lorry when an old-style VW Beetle swept into the yard. It had been converted into a soft-top, which was currently folded down, affording a view of a young woman with deeply bronzed skin, a platinum-blonde ponytail and a pink baseball cap. She turned the VW with a flourish and came to a halt in front of the Portakabin, where the dogs began to bark again, this time in welcome.

  The girl’s eyes were on Daniel as she climbed out of the car, revealing a cropped vest top and micro denim shorts above long brown legs that culminated in flip-flops sparkling with bling. She took off a pair of designer sunglasses and looked him up and down with every appearance of appreciation from beneath impossibly long black lashes.

  From the passenger seat emerged a woman some thirty years older and a good six inches shorter. Blonde curls framed a face that wore too much make-up, to disguise a skin that had seen too much sun. A leathery décolletage hadn’t stopped her donning a low-cut sun-top, but she had drawn the line at shorts, wearing instead a flounced, gypsy-style skirt.

  Norman Boyd’s wife and daughter, Daniel supposed. He wondered if the younger woman ever recognized her future self in the elder one, but didn’t imagine she did. Even though she wasn’t his cup of tea, it wasn’t hard to see why Dek might have fallen for her.

  ‘Hey, Melody. Did you get my smokes?’ Ricky asked.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, without taking her eyes off Daniel. ‘You owe me twenty-five quid, and you don’t get the fags till I get the money.’

  Daniel climbed into the cab and started the engine. As he glanced out of the open window, Melody favoured him with a long, slow wink.

  Dek Edwards was the only occupant of the drivers’ lounge when Daniel got back to the farm. He had a newspaper open on his knee and had been sucking the top of a biro, but now he folded the paper and returned the pen to his shirt pocket.

  ‘Don’t stop on my account,’ Daniel said dispassionately, going on into the kitchen area. Taz slunk across the room and flopped down in the coolest spot, eyeing Dek watchfully.

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Doing the puzzles.’

  ‘Nah, I was just bored. Doodling, you know.’

  ‘Oh, OK. I was just getting a coffee; want one?’ Without Boyd around, Dek seemed more approachable, and he wondered if he might get him to open up a little.

  ‘OK, thanks,’ Dek said, sounding surprised.

  ‘Just seen a friend of yours,’ Daniel said casually. ‘Melody Boyd. Nice-looking girl.’

  Dek got to his feet and followed Daniel into the kitchenette. At once, Taz also stood up, with the suspicion of a rumble under his breath. It seemed his recent experience had made him regard everyone with suspicion.

  ‘You saw Melody?’ Dek asked.

  ‘Yeah. At the scrapyard. I dropped in to see if they’d got any headlights for my car.’

  ‘Oh, right. Look, second thoughts, I’ll take a rain check on the coffee. Just remembered something I’ve got to do. Cheers, all the same.’

  Daniel smiled a wry smile as he made his own coffee, hearing the door shut behind Edwards and, presently, his car driving away. Taking his mug, he went to sit in one of the armchairs,
leaning back with a weary sigh. His muscles were still tender.

  ‘Made a pig’s ear of that, didn’t I, Taz?’ he commented, and the dog came to lie at his feet, panting. ‘Wrong subject altogether.’

  After a moment, Daniel picked up the newspaper and began to leaf through it with scant interest. It was a sensationalist rag and carried far too many stories about so-called celebrities for his liking. He saw evidence of Dek’s doodling, several of the photographs having had moustaches and spectacles added. Thinking he might try the puzzles himself, he located the page and folded the paper down to a more manageable size. Then, ballpoint poised, he paused, eyes narrowing.

  ‘Well, well …’ he murmured, but his thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his mobile.

  ‘Daniel? Is that you?’ The words were enunciated in the slightly over-perfect fashion of a foreigner.

  ‘Hi, Joey. Thanks for ringing back. How are you, mate? And how’s my little Bella?’

  ‘I’m fine and so is Bella. She’s a good little dog; I was lucky to get her. Did I ever thank you for that?’

  ‘Bastard!’ Daniel said, without heat. ‘You know it wasn’t by choice. Broke me up, losing her.’

  ‘Your loss – my gain,’ Jo-Ji observed cheerfully. ‘Bella, she’s very happy with me. She knows when she’s got a good partner. Anyhow, I got your message – you say you want to know about the Butcher Boys.’

  ‘That’s right. Have you managed to find out anything?’

  ‘Enough to know you don’t want to be getting involved with them,’ Jo-Ji stated grimly.

  ‘I think it might be a bit late for that,’ Daniel replied. ‘I’m guessing we’re talking dog fighting, here. Would I be right?’

  ‘That’s right. Have you looked them up on the net?’

  ‘Haven’t had a chance yet. No phone line where I’m staying.’

  ‘Jesus, man! Where are you? Alaska?’

  ‘No, just Wiltshire, but the cottage has been empty for a while and there isn’t a library for miles.’ He had been going to ask Jenny if he could use her PC that evening.

  ‘Well, there’s not actually a lot to find through Google. A couple of mentions on US pit bull forums and an advert for a Butcher-bred stud dog over there, too. They appear to be very shy of publicity, which isn’t unusual with organizations of this kind, but what is surprising is the fact that they seem to be successful in keeping their details to themselves. It argues a tightly run ship and strong-arm reinforcement. Hard to get in, I’d say, and even harder to get out in one piece.’

  ‘Is there anything on the PNC?’

  ‘A little, but nothing very helpful. I can tell you that Wiltshire are very interested in them – and very cagey, too. I’m guessing an ongoing op, but no one would confirm it. If I were you, Dan, I’d take a step back and let them get on with it.’

  ‘Happy to, as long as they’ve got it covered.’

  ‘So, what’s your connection?’

  ‘A guy I’m working with – a real charmer, name of Taylor Boyd – is connected with them, if what I hear is true. It wouldn’t surprise me. The father has a couple of dogs – at least two, maybe more – that he only brings out after hours, and if they’re not pit bulls, then Taz is a Pekinese! Tried to tell me they were Lab–boxer cross. Had papers, he said. Now why would cross-breeds have papers unless they were imported? And why would you go to the expense of importing mongrels when the rescues are stuffed with them? Doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘You’re not wrong. Lab-cross-boxer is the usual cover for a travelling pit bull, I believe. Give me those names again, and I’ll see what I can dig up. May not be for a day or two, though, cos Bella’s got an assessment tomorrow, but I’ll do what I can.’

  As Jo-Ji was speaking, Daniel heard the outer door bang and realized with a shock that although he’d heard the other lorries return, he’d been so engrossed in the conversation that he hadn’t absorbed their significance.

  ‘Got company!’ he said in low tones. ‘I’ll text you those. So how’s Tamiko?’

  ‘Tami is well, thank you,’ Jo-Ji said, following his lead without a pause. ‘I’m planning to make an honest woman of her in the autumn.’

  As Daniel offered his congratulations, the inner door opened to admit Boyd and Macca. They both ignored Daniel, but Taz lifted his head and rumbled audibly as they crossed to the kitchen area.

  ‘Saw your ex the other day at a forces’ social,’ Jo-Ji continued at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Amanda? What was she doing there?’

  ‘Well, someone must have invited her, and there have been rumours linking her name with Paxton’s.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ Daniel was genuinely shocked. ‘Paxton? But he’s old enough to be her father!’

  ‘Almost. But it is only a rumour as far as I know. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you …’

  ‘No, that’s OK. Just took me by surprise. Look, I must go now. Speak soon.’

  As he pocketed his phone, Daniel’s thoughts were whirling. Amanda and DCI Paxton? Just what was she up to? The last time he’d heard, she’d been seeing someone called Darren. If there were rumours linking her to Daniel’s old nemesis, you could be sure she’d planned it that way. The only thing he wasn’t sure of was why? Paxton was in his late forties, Amanda twenty-nine. Although even Daniel couldn’t claim the man was ugly, neither was he love’s young dream, and he was already beginning to put on weight. Was it the attraction of power? Surely even she wouldn’t go to such lengths just to get back at Daniel?

  ‘Reg not back yet, then?’ Boyd’s enquiry cut through his thoughts.

  ‘Er, no. I haven’t seen him.’

  ‘Late again.’

  ‘Perhaps something’s wrong. You could ring him,’ Daniel suggested.

  ‘You ring the old duffer. I’m not his friggin’ keeper!’ Boyd glared at him, took two cans of lager from the fridge and tossed one to Macca. Jenny wouldn’t be happy to see alcohol on the premises – as professional drivers, they couldn’t afford to take any chances – but Daniel kept quiet. Boyd was clearly in a confrontational mood and he had no intention of playing his game.

  Moments later, they all heard Reg’s lorry coming down the drive to the farm.

  ‘There’s Grandad,’ Boyd said, stepping over the back of the sofa with the lager in his hand and sliding down to sprawl on its cushions. Macca came round the end of the chair to join him.

  In due course, Reg came in, looking thoroughly fed up.

  ‘You OK?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘No. Some joker let my bloody tyres down when I took Skip for a walk, lunchtime. I ask you – what’s the point in that? I’d probably still be there if a breakdown truck hadn’t come by. Luckily he came from a nearby garage and he nipped back to fetch a compressor. Still made me nearly an hour late.’

  Daniel had been covertly watching the other two men while Reg spoke and would have been willing to bet that Boyd had known all about the flat tyres. His expression was just a little too carefully disinterested.

  ‘Sit down, mate. I’ll make you a cuppa,’ Daniel told the older man. As he waited for the kettle to boil up again, his phone sounded and the display showed Amanda’s name. He pressed the button to void the call. He did want to speak to her, especially in the light of what Joey had told him, but he didn’t relish holding that particular conversation with three interested pairs of ears listening. She would keep.

  ‘You look a bit stiff, mate. You all right?’ Boyd asked, watching Daniel bring Reg’s coffee to him.

  ‘Yeah, fine. Been doing a bit of gardening. Gets your back when you’re not used to it.’

  ‘Quite the little homebody. You don’t want to get too comfortable in your little cottage,’ Boyd advised.

  ‘And why would that be?’

  ‘Well, I mean, you don’t know how long you’ll be staying, do you? Temporary drivers – here today, gone tomorrow. You know how it is.’

  ‘Yeah, but now Deano’s quit, we’ll be shorter than ever,’ Daniel pointed ou
t. ‘Can’t see me going anywhere just for a while. Even to please you.’

  Boyd shrugged. ‘’S’all the same to me.’

  Daniel was the last to leave the drivers’ lounge, hanging on so as to hide the fact that he wasn’t going straight back to the cottage. Reg, perhaps seeing his reluctance to leave as loneliness, kindly suggested that Daniel might like to join him for a meal at The Fox and Duck in the village. Daniel thanked him but declined. He had plans to take Piper out again.

  Passing the farmhouse on his way down to the yard, Daniel paused to admire the sleek lines of a black Porsche 911 Cabriolet with the current year’s plates. It seemed that Jenny had a wealthy visitor. He wondered who it was.

  Even as he hesitated beside the gleaming car, the door of the farmhouse opened and a man with pale blue eyes and a shadow of razor-cut gingery hair came out, turned to say goodbye to Jenny and then headed towards him.

  ‘Just admiring your car,’ Daniel announced, feeling he had to say something.

  ‘Thanks. She’s a beaut, isn’t she?’ The man was a Scouser, in his mid to late twenties. He wore expensive-looking clothes and had about him an air of assurance – a slight swagger even – that suggested he considered himself important.

  Daniel wondered who he was. He stepped back as the man slid into the driving seat, donned a pair of designer shades and started the engine.

  When the car had pulled away with a rather unnecessary amount of engine revving and wheelspin, Daniel turned to see Jenny standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Jumped-up prick!’ she said, with a look of contempt.

  Daniel was surprised. The comment was out of character.

  ‘So, who was he?’

  ‘Liam Sellyoak.’

  ‘The footballer? The one who owns next door? What did he want? Not that it’s any of my business,’ he added as an afterthought.

  ‘He made me an offer for the farm,’ Jenny said. ‘A surprisingly good one, considering the state of the market.’

  ‘Are you considering it?’

  ‘No, of course not! At least – I don’t think so. Do you think I should?’

  ‘Is it yours to sell?’ Daniel asked.