A Right Old Fiasco in Borrington

by M W Foolster

  "This is our domain, shithead. Now, did we give you permission to use a shower?"

  Water dripping incessantly from the shower head, Gabriel retreats toward the tiled wall, feeling vulnerable, hands covering his groin. Where the hell are the screws? Man, this can't be happening. Think fast.

  "Look, am sorry okay. Didn't know... Will..."

  "Shut it, arsewipe."

  Gabriel sneaks a look at the skinny guy with bad skin who's moved to the left side of him, cruel jet black eyes peeking out from beneath the black greasy hair flopping across his sweaty face. Must have been him who'd shut off the shower.

  "Look guys, I really didn't know yer."

  Goatee man continues to leer at him, the others seemingly happy to let him do the talking.

  "Gonna have to fuckin’ pay our price then, ain’t you?"

  The sound of sniggering from his mates as they move closer.

  "Pay?"

  He glances across to his to his right, at the stocky male blocking the escape route to the door, HATE tattooed across his knuckles in green ink. Now hemmed in, Gabriel maintains eye contact with the goatee man, convinced it'll be him who makes the first move. Outflanked, trapped, and naked, he has no choice, he'll have to make the first move. Maybe he'll get lucky, catch them by surprise, buy himself enough time to escape.

  "So, you gonna play fuckin nice then, shithead?"

  Goatee man steps towards him menacingly. Gabriel shifts his weight, adopts a sideways stance, tries to control his breathing as he mentally prepares to launch himself at the male.

  "Whad you mean, man?"

  But he doesn't give him time to answer. Gabriel leaps towards him, his foot raised, aiming a sideways kick at the guy’s head. Might even have succeeded if it hadn't been for the bar of soap he'd dropped earlier. But as it happens, his foot slips on the soap, causing him to fall heavily to his knees, and before he realises what's happening, finds himself sliding fast across the soaked shower base. Without thinking, Gabriel instinctively clenches his fists and directs powerful punches into the groins of two of the fast approaching bodies. Cries of pain as they collapse. He now rolls sideways, sweeping his leg across the shins of a third male, and sends him crashing to the floor. The sound of footsteps from behind him, moving quickly as they squelch loudly across the wet floor. Gabriel rolls several more times before jumping to his feet. But slips on the soaked floor. A costly delay. A fist catches the side of his face, and knocks him off balance. HATE tattooed knuckles fast closing in on his face. Gabriel instinctively raises his elbow, and deflects the blow. And he's then the quickest to react, a flat palm thumping into the chest of the HATE tattooed guy that sends him flying into a tiled wall. Four down. The only one left standing a bald, skinny man, his eyes bulging from his head, Gabriel relieved to see that he looks both scared, and confused. No threat. The guy with a brown goatee, his eyes blazing furiously, is now crawling towards him, blood seeping from his nose. Gabriel slowly backs away. He know that the exit is less than six feet from him, but daren't turn his back, choosing his footsteps carefully as he watches them struggle to their feet. A hand from behind grips hold of his arm firmly. Gabriel breathing heavily, turns sharply, fist raised, ready to react to the to the latest threat. A mixed race guy raises his hands, and smiles at him reassuringly.

  "Chill mate, it’s cool. We'll take it from here. Been waiting for this opportunity for fuckin’ months."

  Several other men then appear behind him, dressed in prison grey, an Asian man with a savage grin on his face, cracking his knuckles as he grunts approvingly.

  The mixed race guy, his eyes firmly set on the creep with the goatee who's now backing himself into a corner, barges past Gabriel, mumbling.

  "Go on mate, you get out of here. These fuckers are ours now."

  A quick glance over his shoulder as he reaches for his clothes, Gabriel seeing that the Asian man, his teeth gritted, now has hold of the bald male by his throat. The creep with the goatee is rolled up in a ball, being kicked at mercilessly by the mixed race guy. Six others join him, swearing and shrieking as they too viciously attack goatee man's accomplices. Gabriel leaves them to it.

  Craig and Chris greet Gabriel amicably, some friendly banter and a few pats on the back before pushing Butner's cell door open. His hand immediately goes to his nose, the cell full of a sweet, and pungent smell, but why is that odour so familiar to him?

  “Last day then, you lucky bugger.”

  Ray stood with his back to him, whisky bottle in hand.

  “Drink up, son,” passing Gabriel a plastic cup. ”Been saving this for a celebration. And today is as good as any. Twenty year old scotch, would you believe?”

  Gabriel, sipping on it, can’t tell the difference himself.

  “Thanks, Ray. Yer, it's weird to think this time tomorrow I will be out, you know.”

  “Envy you that, son. Under no illusions myself, am gonna die in here. Won’t ever get out. Anyway, bollocks to that.”

  Ray’s tone of voice suddenly becomes very serious, and despite the numerous conversations that they'd shared, there's still something about the man that sends a shudder down Gabriel’s spine.

  “You know what you gotta do, right son? Dyson, and Phillip Durrell. No excuses. Want to be stood here reading their obituaries by the end of next week."

  Deep rasping laughter leads to a long coughing spasm. Ray leans against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. Waves away Gabriel’s offer of assistance. And then it suddenly comes to him, the smell on Butner. When he'd visited his mum in the hospice for the very last time, that same overpowering odour. But she'd been dosed up on morphine and only had days to live, had barely recognised her, terminal cancer. Feels a lump in his throat.

  "Anyway, not like you have got a choice, is it son? The way I see it, is either going to be them," he pauses to gulp down some whisky. “Or you, that ends up in the ground. Just the way it is."

  "Yer... Yer I know that now, Ray. Got lucky last time but yer, am in no doubt that Dyson will come for me again."

  And he had got lucky. No real problems following the incident in the showers, had been the occasional run in with a would-be hard nut but nothing he couldn't deal with. But then came the wakeup call, the psychotic head case transferred across from Brixton, who'd seemingly singled him out for no apparent reason; or so he'd thought at the time. A tall, beefy black guy with blood shot eyes, who'd kept to himself. That was about all Gabriel could remember about him now, well that and the fact there was something about the guy that petrified the other cons. Barely five days on B wing, and he'd made his move. Gabriel had been on his routine walk to the canteen to collect his lunchtime sandwich, battling his way through the packed room, totally unaware that the guy was following close behind. At hearing a commotion to his rear, Gabriel turned to find inmates backing away, and the guy laying in a pool of blood, a metal object embedded deep into his upper back. Had then caught a glimpse of Frenchy working his way through the crowd, his head down and seemingly in a hurry. The screws yelling, everyone ordered back to their cells, a lockdown. Gabriel returned to find the sink full of blood, and Frenchy scrubbing at his hands. He'd pushed the cell door closed and stood close to the sink, shielding Frenchy from being seen through the door flap, and then came the whispered explanation. He realised, and not for the first time, that he owed his life to his cell mate. Frenchy had received word from Pot Hole Ron the guy was tooled up, and that Gabriel was the intended target. Frenchy had been left with no choice other than to act immediately. The stranger recovered, but never made it back to B wing, having been transferred back to Brixton on being released from the infirmary. Butner then informed Gabriel that the psycho was known to him, that he had close connections to the Durrell family, and had worked for the family before getting locked up. Yep, a real wakeup call is how Gabriel viewed it because even in prison, the ongoing feud with Tyson continued. And Butner's right, there can only be one ending.

  “Look, I am fucked, son. Simple as that. But don’t wan
t any of the scrots in here finding out. Reputation is survival, remember that.”

  Sits down heavily on a wooden chair. His chest sounding wheezy, cruel grey eyes once again meeting Gabriel’s.

  “But you dunno just how much pleasure I am gonna get out of knowing I outlived Phillip fuckin’ Durrell. Am telling you, son, don’t you ever trust nobody. Me and him were inseparable as kids. Grew up on the same fucking estate. Lived two doors down from me. I ever tell you that?”

  Gabriel shakes his head.

  “Well, the fucker did. Went through our teens looking out for each other, always fought together, was like a brother to me. The bastard even got engaged to Sheila, my sister, you know? Then when I found out he had been knocking her about. Well. What would you of done? Wasn’t interested in all that bollocks about domestics being nobody else's business, her bullshitting, telling me to keep my nose out of it. The whole fucking estate out on the green when I offered him out. Two hours. Believe that. We slugged it out for two hours. My hands were totally fucked, but the wanker went down in the end. Would of left it at that but he pissed off the following day. An’ he wasn’t that into my Sheila, the fucker dumped her straight off,” he gulps at the whisky. “Was a bad business, son. My old man found her in the bath a few days later, overdose.”

  Wanders back across to the whisky bottle. Hesitates, seems to be struggling to catch his breath. Gabriel notices his hand shaking as he tops them both up.

  “Guess he crawled off an hid under a stone, heard nothing an’ he wasn’t seen for years. Didn’t even come back for Martha’s funeral. His mum, sweet old girl. Fought hard to keep control of Caulston when he fucked off. But for me, that was just the beginning, son. Two years of blood, sweat an’ tears, but I got there. Borrington was finally mine, my empire. An’ then heard a whisper that Durrell was running with the Hardwicks. Really nasty fuckers. Ever heard of them?

  “No, Ray.”

  “No surprise really. Was long before your time, son. But they came sniffing around Borrington, an’ before I knew what the fuck was happening the shits had made a play for it, for my empire, an’ all hell broke loose. Started taking out my boys. I mean, can you credit it? Phillip Durrell wasting guys he grew up with. Went to fucking school with. All went crazy and had no choice but to form a few allegiances I could of done without. Took the Hardwicks out eventually, but at a heavy price. Woods in Knarlswood had more bodies buried in them than the fucking cemetery by the time it had all finished. Anyway, Durrell is a lucky bastard an’ he somehow survived it. Next I heard he'd made a play for, and filled the power vacuum left north of the Thames. So a standoff. Way it stayed for years. Always kept tabs on him mind, he got married to some air hostess and they had the boy, Dyson. She vanished a few years later."

  "Vanished?"

  Gabriel inquisitive, regrets it immediately, forgot the golden rule, you never interrupt Butner when he's talking. But Ray doesn't seem to have noticed

  "Yes son, vanished. My guess would be in the foundations of a housing development. No body, no evidence, is there? She probably pissed him off and he ain’t the kind to file for divorce. The kid never knew her, brought up by employed staff. Grew up to be as big a fuck up as his old man. An’ then the cheeky little fucker started sniffing around Knarlswood. Didn't want another turf war with his old man, so got a few of my lads to give him a few slaps. He got the message and buggered off with his tail between his legs. The following month, Danny Coskall comes outta the woodwork. A right nasty fuck in his day, had been an enforcer for the Hardwicks. Turned fucking super grass. Bodies start being dug up and him squealing like a pig. Funny how Durrell’s name never got mentioned by him mind, an’ a lot of rumours on the street that he was behind Coskall suddenly developing a loose gob.”

  Cell door opening, Craig's head appearing

  “Pot Hole Gov”

  Ron skulks into the cell, nodding at Gabriel before looking at Ray apprehensively.

  “Got them Ron?”

  “Yer, came in this morning, Boss. Like what you asked for. And all untraceable.”

  “Good.”

  Ron lingers, seemingly unsure as what he should do.

  “Well, what you waiting for? Go on, fuck off.”

  Gabriel looks down at the sim card in his hand.

  “Right, son, this is how it will go down. Once you are outta here, pop that into a mobile right? You will get a text telling you where the gun is hidden.”

  Ray now sat on the chair opposite, a stare so intense Gabriel feels as though it’s boring into his very soul.

  "Don't worry, son, it's clean."

  "Sorry, Ray?"

  "Unregistered, an’ never been used. You do know how to use a gun, right?"

  “Shit, yer, sure I do.”

  “Don’t disappoint me, son. Now as you know, the Durrell's have Knarlswood in their pocket so only a matter of time before they make a move on Caulston. Is a fact that the wankers won't stop until they have all of Borrington. I wouldn't. So you got as much of a stake in this as me," he swigs down the last of the whisky from his cup. "Maybe more, cause you know that they will come for you. Not like they can do much to me now, is there? And there is something else I need you to do for me.”

  Gabriel is none too pleased to be told that he will be acting as Butner's errand boy, but just nods in agreement. Not as though it's a request, will just have to accept it. Butner has a secret stash of diamonds that need collecting. Can't ask any of his crew, too risky, most are probably being monitored if not by the police, almost certainly by Durrell. Wants the diamonds smuggled out of the country. Butner has a malevolent grin on his face as he tells him that he'll be well rewarded for his troubles.

  Craig pokes his head around the door,

  "Two minutes, boss."

  Ray Butner stands, holds his hand out to Gabriel. A strong and silent handshake before he turns his back and walks towards the barred window. Gabriel hesitates momentarily before turning and walking from the cell, hoping it'll be the last time he'll ever have to see Raymond Butner.

  "What the hell am I gonna do, man? Never even held a gun before, let alone fired one. Shit, this is all so fucked up."

  A despondent shrug of his shoulders as he sits in the chair, looks across at Frenchy who's now sat on the edge of his bunk, a worried look on his face.

  "Sorry, Gabe, me either. Guess you could always look on the internet, instructions for everything, ain’t there?"

  "You serious, brov?

  "I don't know. Maybe. But am telling you babe, this is bang out of order. Ray is really taking the piss, expecting this of you and not like he doesn't have other options. Could take out a contract on them, but no. Where's the fun in that? It's all about owning people with him. You do know that, right? He wants you in his pocket. Swear there are times when I so hate that bastard."

  "But ain’t like I’ve got a choice, is it? Was real adamant that I get it done fast, as in, over the next few days."

  "Truth is, babe, he has been acting weird ever since he got out the infirmary, it's like... Well I am staring to think he hasn’t got long, if you get my meaning."

  "Kinda guessed that. I... Look, am real sorry man, I know you and Butner are close."

  "Don't be, babe. Not how it seems. And not like I owe him anything either. Just the opposite. He totally screwed up my life. Do you think I would be in here if it wasn't for him? And I sure as hell won't shed any tears if he does bow out. Truth is, I will only remain a guilty man for as long as he is breathing. He fucked my life up and I sure won't let him do the same to you.

  "I don't understand, whad do you mean?"

  "It's not important."

  Frenchy smiles across at his cell mate.

  "Guess you are some actor though, Gabe, because he has certainly bought into your reputation. Have always said you should never judge a book by its cover, and you are a good example of that. At times, it's like he thinks of you as being some kind of South London gangster who would make a worthy heir. Can just imagine you sat on
a throne with a gold crown and red flowing robes."

  Gabriel gets to his feet, and paces the cell.

  "This really ain’t helping, brov."

  "It's that mean, and sultry look of yours that does it babe."

  A half-hearted squeal of laughter from Frenchy at seeing Gabriel cringing.

  "But you can't pull this off, Gabe. No way. Too big an ask. You are no more a killer than me. And do you really think you can go gun down two men in cold blood? No matter what the provocation, or how much the fuckers might deserve it, taking lives just isn't something you are capable of. And we both know that, right?"

  Slumping down heavily on the wooden chair, Gabe stares across at Frenchy.

  "Just dunno anymore. Like I said, ain’t like I have got a choice, is it? Sorry man, shouldn't be, like, laying this on you. Not today. This is my problem. We should be talking about your appeal. Swear, I will find a way to get you outta here an’ all, no matter whad it takes."

  Now deep in thought, Frenchy acknowledges the apology with a dismissive wave of the hand,

  "Not the only innocent sod in here, am I? Look, I might know somebody who could help you, on the outside I mean. But it will mean you visiting Cheryl."

  "What, like your Cheryl?"

  "Yes, babe, but doubt that she's still my Cheryl. Truth is, she never was, not really. But she does owe me, and she always pays her debts. She knows people who... Look, you okay to go see her?"

  "You sure about this ?"