by Ian Patrick
“Right darlin’, me and you have some catching up to do. Lover boy here can do one now. Get in the truck.”
Stoner doesn’t look best pleased but smiles and walks over to the lorry’s cab. I open the door for her and she brushes my hand as she climbs up. She needs reassurance and I can’t give her any. I know what I’ve got to do now and she’ll tell him where he needs to go next and at what time. He doesn’t ask any other questions and clearly trusts Stoner enough to take instructions from her. I get in the Range Rover, exit out of the lock-up and onto the A406 towards the A1.
My work here is almost done. I haven’t had chance to check the vehicle. I have to work on the information and come to a reasoned conclusion that the plan she’d described was a good one. I pull over in the first lay-by and keep the engine running. No one following me. I check the sat nav and there’s Barclay’s route all laid out. The route fits with the importation. He’s not that good. I also have the call log data from the hands-free. Stoner’s number appears, as does the last one I knew for Big H. The last one is Stoner’s. He didn’t check that the route alteration was correct.
I carry on north up the A1. If all this works out from here I’m the richest fucking copper in the country, if not the world. I turn off at Letchworth and find a call box. I have change and dial up. It’s answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello Crimestoppers, how can I help you?”
29
Back on the road, I’m making good time. I have to if I want this to be a success. This motor’s on a meter and I’m out of change. The road is heaving with fucked off commuters dragging their sorry arses into work. I’ve switched routes. Anyone following me needs to be confused. I plan to fuck with their minds if they are. I check my mirrors. Nothing suspicious. No vehicles shadowing me and no one on the phone wanting to know where Barclay is. By now he’s up to his nuts in Stoner and she’ll keep him busy for a while giving me time to get to my next point.
My next point. That’s my burning issue. I have to unload 190 kilos of white before Big H sniffs a problem and starts people in motion to rectify it. It stands to reason he won’t trust Stoner with the full details of where this load is headed. I wouldn’t. Not when some thug could come along and rob her of it.
Payday is normally the twentieth of the month but mine has just been cashed early. I pull into a McDonald’s. The area is big. I see a coach parked, unattended. I park next to it. I pop the bonnet but only for effect. I’m going under the car and need it to look like a breakdown. As I suspected the car is, as we call it in the trade, lumped up. I remove the tracking device and stick it under the coach. The magnet welds the tracker to the underside. I see nothing else under mine that would cause me concern. The tracking device isn’t an old bill one. This one is factory-fitted by Big H’s garage.
I shut the bonnet and get back in. Time to head north again. The phone comes alive. It’s Stoner’s number. I connect, wait, then her voice fills my space.
“I’ve not got long, Barclay’s gone for a piss. He’s sweet but I’ve had Big H on the blower and he wants to know what’s happening as he can’t get hold of Barclay. I’ve told him all’s good and that I’ve just spoke to him and he’s stuck in traffic. He’s told me to make him ring him back. What do I do now?”
I pause before responding. She sounds naturally stressed in the circumstances and not speaking with a gun to her head.
“You’ve done good. Tell Barclay to start running and get to Newport Pagnell services. Tell him to bell you once he’s there. Tell him to park the lorry in the lorry park. Tell the shadowing mob to follow him and keep him in sight. Tell them the Range Rover was a dummy and the lorry is the loaded vehicle. Once he’s gone get the fuck out of there and get a train from Mill Hill to Luton Airport Parkway. Call me once you’re there, but be quick.”
“I’m nervous, Sky. It’s all coming on top and I’m fucking scared shitless what’ll happen once Big H finds out his gear is on the trot.”
She’s breathing hard and not in a good way. She needs reassurance and I’m struggling to connect with my empathetic side, as she’s not the one sat on over a million pounds worth of cocaine. I need her cool and alert.
“Look, I know it’s tough but trust me, once we’re clear of London, it’ll all calm down and you and me can go our separate ways a lot wealthier than you could ever have dreamed of. No man to bash you up, just you and a bag full of cash. Do as I’ve told you and stay in touch.”
“All right. I feel better now knowing you’ve got some kind of plan because I’ve got fuck all, other than having that cunt Big H over for all the shit he’s given me. I’ll see you in an hour at the station.”
She hangs up and I depress the accelerator and head for our agreed location. I check the radio; no traffic reports. I press the CD button and House Of Pain’s Jump Around spills out of the speakers. I turn it up, relax my back into the leather, move my shoulders with the song and smile.
Control Room – Central 6000
“Ma’am, another intelligence log marked urgent by Crimestoppers’ desk.”
The DC waves the handwritten paper log at DCI Winter who makes her way around the computer terminal to the DC’s desk.
“Okay everyone, I need your attention. Listen to this report:
A skip lorry will be heading north on the M1. It will stop at Newport Pagnell services. On board the lorry are multiple kilos of cocaine. The driver won’t stop long. He’s setting off from North London in an hour.”
She stops. The team stop writing.
“Get me SCO19 tactical firearms advisor, on the phone, now. I want a team covertly deployed to the services and get it secured quickly. Maintain radio contact with me here. Any issues I want to hear them immediately. If the skip lorry is sighted between us and the target area then I want a loose follow and constant updates. Any questions? No? Good. Get on with it.”
Camera monitors fire into life with pictures of the M1 appearing on the wall. Operators scan the motorway control room cameras for any sign of the lorry. This is the beauty of having remote access to them. Voices rise in pitch as they fight one another for recognition. A stockbroker’s floor would be quieter at this time. The only money being traded here is riding on a lorry.
30
She arrives, alights from the train and scans the platform. She doesn’t see me. She ascends the stairs onto the covered walkway over the tracks and walks out towards the entrance. I move from my position in a cafe area and exit the building first. She can only come out one way as can anyone else following her. I stand on the top deck of the multistorey car park and watch. She’s out now and has her phone to her ear and mine begins to vibrate.
“I’m here. Where are ya’? All I can see are mullah taxi drivers and it’s making me nervous. I ain’t getting in one of those, so you can fuck right off with that idea.”
She’s looking round trying to see me then a bus cuts across my line of sight. I move but still can’t make her out. My heart rate increases. Has someone grabbed her? Has she gone back inside or on the bus? People waiting for the bus are calm and collected. Rucksacks and travellers the main source of business. Then she appears, a cigarette in the same hand as her phone. I breathe out.
“Look over to your right. You’ll see a main road. There’s an underpass. I want you to walk the length of it until you reach a flyover bridge. Go now.”
She turns right from the station and walks towards the main road. I wait and watch. She’s nervous and looking around. There’s nothing I can do to allay this fear. I move and watch her disappear into the underpass tunnel. So far, so good. This is a route I’ve used before and I know it will take seven minutes at a slow pace before you reach the residential street at the end and a secluded entrance to the Luton Hoo estate. We’re the only ones on the pathway. This illusion is shattered when a marked police dog van stops and parks behind a Range Rover. That Range Rover happens to be loaded with cocaine. I catch up and put my arm around her shoulder and draw her in. I lean into her neck and whi
sper in her ear.
“Don’t say anything unless I tell you to, okay? The cop could just be parking up for a smoke.”
She nods as we get to the bridge. I can’t approach the car and get in straight away. Why not? Because the dog van is a search van that contains a drugs dog. That dog is out, nose to the ground, tail whirling like a windmill. We stop and face each other. She has her back to the car and I can see the cop over her shoulder. I draw her in closer. She doesn’t complain and leans in. The mutt is making its way towards the line of cars and the cop is on his phone. As the dog gets to the Range Rover his tail goes berserk and he starts darting to and fro and leaping up at the door. The handler has his back to him and is looking at the floor and concentrating on his conversation.
Our breathing is in sync. I tell Stoner not to release me but just to stay as we are until I know my next move. Judging by her grip, she has no desire to break away. The cop has no idea we’re connected to the car and that’s a bonus. I have no intention of him having a chance find of this amount of drugs. Not on my watch. Now the dog is circling the vehicle like a collie herding a sheep. He’s so interested that he starts yipping and the handler turns around. He shuts off his phone. “What you got there, boy?” He moves towards the spaniel who is now sitting by the boot with his nose on the lock, tail swishing the dust up from the road. I’m fucked. There’s nothing I can do.
You can’t beat a drugs dog. I’ve been on operations in tube stations where the dog is walked along a line of people at the top of an escalator. The guilty who are carrying don’t have time to sweat as the dog’s nose attaches to the pocket where the drugs are and doesn’t take it out until the handler calls them off. We’re not talking about a bag of weed or a bit of sniff here. This is my retirement fund. The handler is alert now and calls his dog. The dog comes to him and sits. The handler then releases the dog and the dog indicates a strong scent from the door panels and the boot by placing his nose against the boot lock and sitting still. Then it happens. The cop’s radio goes and the sound of my heart beating in my ears is interrupted by a shrill voice.
“Urgent assistance, Arndale Centre, male armed with a knife.”
A police officer is calling for backup and fast. The handler calls his dog off and rushes back to the van. He’s off a moment later, sirens going and lights flashing.
We release and she looks at me. “I was enjoying that,” she says.
“Too much drama for me. Let’s go.”
“Such a charmer, ain’t ya?”
I take a quick look down the street and we get in the car. Despite the situation the car feels the safest place to be right now.
“Call Big H. Tell him you’ve had to change your phone but using the same number. Tell him you’ve spoken to me and I’m broken down at Newport Pagnell services. Tell him to get Ron there in case I can’t fix it and need to get spares. He’ll do it if you ask him. He wants me nicked so the longer he thinks I’m out the better that chance will be.”
“But you ain’t with the lorry, you’re with me?”
“He doesn’t know that. Just put the call in and leave the rest to me. If he asks about Barclay tell him you’re calling him after this call. Barclay’s done this so many times before, like you said. He won’t think anything’s wrong once he’s spoken to you.”
She looks at me then at her phone. She doesn’t want to make the call. I don’t blame her. She has a drag of a freshly lit cigarette and puts the call in. I can hear the ringing tone. Charlie Brown answers. She speaks first.
“All right, babes. Why you on this number? Where’s my man?”
“You’ve a fucking nerve. What’s going on? He’s going mental that he can’t get hold of you. He’s trying Barclay but he’s got no signal. What the fuck’s going on girl?”
“It’s all fine. My phone died so I’ve changed it. Tell him not to go spare; it’s all in hand and going good. Sky ain’t though. He’s broken down at a services, Newport Pagnell. He needs Ron to get up there and help him fix it.”
“Fuck! Alright, I’ll tell Ron to meet him there. Tell that twat, Sky, to bell Ron and tell him where to meet him. How’s Barclay doing? Why is he stopped at a McDonalds? That wasn’t agreed. He should be well north by now.”
I hear this part and smile. The coach hasn’t moved yet and Charlie Brown clearly has the role of monitoring the main load from his laptop.
“He’s fine. He says he thought he saw plain clothes old bill in a car so he pulled off the motorway and laid low for a while. He’ll be off soon. He’ll call me when he moves. I’ve got it all covered. I’ll bell Big H when it’s at the lock-up and he can call the bank.”
“Good girl, we knew you wouldn’t let us down. Bell me when Ron has sorted out the patsy. “
The line goes dead. We head north.
31
1630 hours Newport Pagnell services. Shithole. The steady flow of traffic buzzes my ears at a constant speed whilst I sit in Starbucks’s garden area and wait.
I clear the two empties left on the table. I don’t want to give the illusion I’ve been waiting for some time. The large awning provides good shade and the low sun will dazzle anyone trying to look over.
The car park’s full. People busying themselves in the amusements in a bid to find reprieve from the superhighway we call the M1. From where I’m seated I have a good view of the vehicles coming in and the entrance to the services. I also know where the phone box is that my meet will call me from. There are two to the right of the entrance doors.
I’ve made it clear to Ron. Come in, park up and call from the telephone box. I have no intention of meeting Ron. He just needs to know where the lorry is. I need to make sure he meets it though. Why am I here then? I need to make sure the lorry doesn’t leave. My end of the deal has ceased. It’s part of the role but you never get caught hands on. I want to be nowhere near a court if anyone gets nicked and charged. The ops team are waiting. Winter took the Crimestoppers call seriously. Two builders vans have an armed team ready to deploy. Three tactical vehicles are positioned noses out, ready to block the road and effect the arrest. I don’t have a time to shine. My work is done but I’m always up for seeing the parcel in safe hands and seeing villains on the floor with shooters at their heads. Especially ones who have tried to sell me out. I have to get my entertainment from somewhere.
Winter will have the arse. You would, if you found your hundred-kilo seizure was ten kilos. Amounts and weights can get lost in translation, especially on a dodgy line. Where’s the rest? That’s for me to know. Man’s got to have something to trade with if the other people in my firm decide to turn Queen’s evidence on me.
It’s getting cold now. I check my watch – 1700 hours – and bang on time the black cab turns into the car park. Ron glances towards the lorries and nods. He parks up near the Shell petrol station and gets out. Ron puts on Ray-Bans, strolls over to the phones and enters the booth. I’ve moved inside Starbucks now.
“Where are ya?”
“I’m having a piss. Meet me by the lorry. It’s the only skip lorry there. I’ve left the key in the visor. Door’s open, no one will bother trying to nick it.”
I grab my takeaway cup, move out and up the stairs to the southbound bridge. I look through windows across at the lorry park and the lorry. I have a great aerial view. I haven’t seen Barclay but I’ve seen the cars shadowing him. If I were Barclay I’d be having some grub and waiting for my next call from Stoner. Ron moves towards the cab. He’s naturally cautious and he’s looking for me or for a rival firm looking to rob him of the load. He takes a final walkabout, approaches the lorry door and pulls it open. The visor comes down and he has the keys.
He’s searching for the ignition. The lorry shudders as the engine starts first time.
All I see is the smoke of car tyres as three attack vehicles get in position, blocking the lorry. All officers are deployed. Handguns drawn. Officers pointing, lips moving, shouting instructions. From where I am, I can’t hear a thing. The traffic drowns out
any sound. It’s like I’m in an insulated booth watching a silent movie. Ron reaches behind his belt. I stop drinking. He draws a gun and points it towards police. It’s the one I recovered from the garage. I hear one shot, then a double tap and Ron is down. I guess Ron had no intention of doing time. Suicide by cop, the media call it. I down my drink and carry on over the footway to the southbound services. Stoner is in the Range Rover protecting the nest. I have the keys to the car.
I take a walk past first and Stoner is sat in the driver’s seat of the Range Rover. I get in the back and give her the keys. She moves off towards the southbound carriageway.
We say nothing. She would have heard the shots. Everyone had. Her phone goes. It’s Barclay. She speaks first.
“What the fuck’s happening? Where are you?”
She’s on speakerphone.
“The filth have been watching us. They’ve shot Ron. His brain’s all over the lorry. What in the fuck do we do now? The lot watching me are stuck. No one can get in or out. Big H is gonna do his nut when he hears all his gear has been taken out. Someone’s grassed us up. It ain’t looking good for you and me babes. We haven’t been nicked. What do I do now?”
I say nothing. I can’t, as she shouldn’t be with me. I have to trust her instinct.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Is he dead?”
“His brain’s all over the fucking lorry! Of course he’s fuckin’ dead you stupid bitch. You’re gonna have to come and scoop me up from here. I’m not going anywhere near the other motors. They could be getting lifted any minute for all we know.”
