So I watched it all on the screens, then, when Carver and Frank returned, we went to Frank's office and shut the door. When I asked Carver how it had gone upstairs he said, 'Like a dream.'
It turned out that after The Brothers left, Yashin must have decided they needed to sample their recent purchase. When the police burst in, they were all gathered round the glass table, cutting the powder in lines with cards. There were twenty and fifty-pound notes, rolled-up and ready, lying around. The briefcase was on the bar with its lid up, one bag slit up the middle. I could see Carver was pleased. 'I don't think he's going to be able to claim he didn't know it was there.'
'So what happens now?' Frank said. 'Am I in trouble?'
Carver gave a sneaky smile. 'Oh, I think we should be able to keep you out of it, Frank-' A huge look of relief came into Frank's face. 'Provided one thing.'
Frank looked suddenly wary. 'What's that?'
Carver pointed to me. 'We need to keep Danny and his team's role in all of this, under wraps. No one must ever know.'
'Why's that?' Frank said.
'Let's just say that my colleague who you just met, is interested in Yashin for all sorts of reasons. He's hoping to play him in various different ways. I don't know the details, but apparently it'll help if Yashin doesn't know about Danny's involvement.'
'But- Does that mean he might not be charged?'
'Oh, he'll be charged alright. He'll appear in court tomorrow in fact. After that- Well let's see.'
Frank looked worried again. 'But what if he comes- Will he be able to come back here?'
Carver stood up. He had things to do. 'I think you'll find that after tonight, Yashin will no longer have any interest in getting into the club business. Besides, he'd never get a licence. For anything.'
'Thank fuck.'
'And speaking of licences.'
'Yes?'
'I believe yours is due up for renewal soon.'
Frank hesitated, looking at me. 'Yes it is.'
I made sure to quash the smile that kept threatening. Carver was playing him like a fish on a hook.
'I'm sure the licensing authority will be pleased to receive the confidential letter from my Chief Constable making them aware of how cooperative you were during a recent police operation. You and your Security Manager, of course.'
Carver threw me a look and a wink then left, shutting the door behind him. I turned to see Frank looking at me. The expression on his face was the sort he might wear if he’d just discovered I wasn’t actually a security guy, but third-in-line to the throne. After several seconds, he collapsed into his chair. His hand went to his forehead, and he rubbed at it, vigorously.
'Holy mother of God. I need a drink.'
Turning the chair, he grabbed the bottle of Macallan and two glasses off the cabinet behind him. He poured one, showed me the bottle. I nodded. His went straight down and he poured himself another.
We drank in silence. I watched Frank as he stared at the top of his desk, taking stock of everything. Eventually he looked up at me and we stared at each other.
I finished my whisky. 'Well?' We both knew what I meant.
He nodded. 'Where's Dave Charnley?'
'Gone.'
Gone? What do you mean gone? I thought you had him tied up, in the office?'
I played it straight. 'I'm told he escaped. He's gone.'
Frank stared at me. He dropped it. He took a deep breath. 'So...'
'Yes?'
He looked at me, swallowing pride. 'So, can you take over?'
I smiled at him.
I found Vicki sitting on the couch, alone, in the Green Room. Her podium duties done and with no VIPs that night, she was working her way through the bottle of Vodka next to her. When I told her we were back on the door, she said, 'Thank God,' filled her glass up, and offered me one. I shook my head. I couldn't afford to get too relaxed just yet.
I sat down next to her. She'd kicked off her shoes and her legs were tucked under her. Her skirt had risen up, showing lots of thigh. 'You were terrific tonight,' I said. 'Thanks.'
'You weren't too bad yourself.' She raised her glass in a toast, kept her eyes on me as she drank.
When I'm alone with Vicki, my stomach had always done this strange thing. That week, staying in her flat, I'd noticed it had stopped doing it. Now it started up again. I reached over and with one finger, pushed back the lock of hair that had fallen across her face. As I did so I said, 'We make a good team.'
As I drew my hand back hers came up to take it and she held it in front of her face. Her eyes bored into mine. 'Yes,' she said. 'We do.'
She guided my hand to her cheek. As I caressed it the way I might a delicate flower, she closed her eyes and leaned into it. For the first time in what seemed a long time, I noticed the fragrance I'd first become familiar with long ago. I don't know why, but I felt the urge to ask. 'What's that perfume you wear?'
She opened her eyes to give me a puzzled look. 'Guess.’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘No, that’s what it’s called, “Guess”.
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Why do you ask?'
I stroked her cheek some more. 'No reason.'
She seemed to remember something and sat up 'By the way. After tomorrow I'm coming off the podium.'
'Yeah? Why's that?'
She shook her head. 'After this week, I think I could do with a break.'
I nodded. 'I understand.' Then I added, 'Shame though.'
She started. 'What do you mean?'
'I was just getting used to it. You do know you're an amazing dancer, don't you?'
She beamed. 'I know some people have said that, but I never believed them.'
'No?'
'But I do now that I've heard it from you.'
'Good.'
She gave me a conspiratorial kind of look. 'Just make sure you're watching. I'll be going out on a high.'
'Oh, yeah? Planning something special, are we?'
'Let's just say I'm working on it. Which reminds me, you'll have to look after yourself tomorrow afternoon.'
'Why? Not rehearsing, surely? Hellfire, you must be taking it seriously.'
She punched my ribs. 'Just be there.'
'I wouldn't miss it for the world.'
We fell silent and she sipped her drink. When the glass was empty, she reached behind her and put it down, all very slow, very leisurely. I still had things to do, but, hey, no rush. Besides, I had this weird feeling going on inside and wanted to see what it meant.
Vicki turned back and looked up at me. The lock of hair had fallen forward again. This time I didn't bother to push it back. Slowly, gracefully, she unwound herself from the position she'd been in since I arrived, then seemed to fold herself, almost naturally, into me, as if we were a matched pair.
I felt the warmth of her body in my arms, pressing against me.
It was the best feeling in the world.
CHAPTER 58
As I approached Harry's van, the two Crime Agency guys from Will's team saw me coming. Flicking their cigarettes away, they nodded their farewells to Chris and Gol and headed towards me. But as we passed, there was no eye contact or acknowledging nods of recognition and they carried on as if they were just two punters, making their way to the club.
I stopped at the back of the van, just as Chris dropped his butt and ground it into the dirt. 'Where've you been?' he said. 'We was beginning to think you'd got tied up.'
'I was, kind of.' I held my hand out. He handed me the keys.
'You need us to come with you?' Gol said.
I shook my head. 'You better get back. Eric's in charge.'
'See you tomorrow, then?' Chris said.
I nodded. 'Come in early. I want to run all the checks. Just in case those idiots have buggered anything up.'
'Will do.'
I waited until they'd gone then got in, started the engine, and drove off.
The track was one I knew from long ago, during my fishing days. It leads
off the main road at Glazebrook and meanders for about a mile down towards the old McAlpine site, next to the River Mersey. There's nothing there now but wasteland. The fishing pool we used to use as kids is actually half way down, but I carried on past, driving slowly and watching out for anything sticking up that might do a tyre. Apart from anything else, Harry wouldn't be pleased.
Not far from the river side, I stopped the van so it was facing a brick wall that looked like it used to be part of an old factory. I needed some light, but didn't want to sit there with the van's headlamps shining out across the river in case someone over that side rang the police to complain.
I got out and wandered round to the back and had a quick look round. As far as I could tell in the dark, nothing seemed to have changed since when I'd scouted the location the day before to make sure it was suitable for my purpose. Satisfied, I unlocked the back doors and swung them open.
The two figures were lying, back-to-back, on the mattress. They were hooded and zip-cuffed together at the wrists and ankles. I climbed in, took out my lock-knife and cut the ties that were holding them together, making sure I didn't cut their individual cuffs by mistake. Then I lifted them up and manoeuvred them into sitting positions, backs against the van wall. I pulled some of the cushions into a pile, took out my torch, and sat in front of them.
With my torch in my mouth, I reached forward with both hands and pulled both hoods off, together. The light from the torch must have hurt to begin with as they both squinted and tried to squirm away from it. I gave them a while to get used it. Then I leaned forward and tore the duct tape off their mouths, the one on my left, Charnley, first, then Bergin.
'Hi Guys,' I said.
Charnley spoke up first, his voice shrill and containing more than a note of panic. 'What the fuck, Danny?' The way he blurted it out, I could tell he was scared shitless. 'What the fuck are you doing?' I guess that, tied up in the back of a van, and feeling it rocking and rolling down a country track at night, the old imagination starts working.
Bergin was calmer, but breathing heavily, staring at me with eyes full of hate. 'You're fucking DEAD Norton, ' he spat. 'They will come for you and gut you like a pig.'
'You think so?' I said. 'Well tomorrow morning, when your boss realises you're not standing next to him in court and begins to wonder why and who set him up, I'd be interested to know who he thinks of gutting first, you or me.'
It was enough to shut him up, for the time being at least. But I saw the way his gaze kept drifting to out the back of the van. Even tied up as he was, he was weighing his chances, checking to see who else was around. I decided to enlighten him.
'There's no one there,' I said. 'It's just the three of us.'
The possible significance of that must have struck them both at the same time as they suddenly stopped squirming to stare at me. I knew they would each be trying to gauge how well they knew me - very well in Dave's case - and what they believed I may be capable of.
Eventually Charnley stopped gauging to stammer, 'Wh- Why have you bought us here?'
'I thought you'd never ask,' I said. 'I brought you here because it’s a nice, quiet place for a chat. And if neither of you want to chat, well then, it’s nice and quiet for other things.’
‘What… things?’
I gave him my most meaningful stare. ‘Things like- Well, what sort of things can you imagine, Dave?’
There was more staring, and heavy breathing. The adrenalin - fight or flight - would be coursing through them now. The trouble was, neither option was available.
I reached behind to my jeans pocket and produced Eric's print-outs. After a quick look to check which was which, I turned to show them to them, shining the torch so they could see them, clearly. I held out the one in my right hand towards Bergin, making sure he could see it. Then I held it up, briefly, next to his face so I could compare. I nodded.
The man in the photograph was in the forward arc of this throw, just before he released the flaming bottle in his right hand. It meant that his face was three-quarters on to the camera fixed to the side of my house. Ironically, but sadly for him, it was the light from the flaming rag stuffed into the top of the bottle, shining directly onto his face, that had enabled Eric's cunningly-purchased, System Enhancement Software, to do its stuff so efficiently. The dark, hard features, the low forehead, the short, black hair. There was no mistaking it was Bergin. He didn't even try to argue. Which was fine with me. I wasn't looking to debate it.
I turned to the other photograph. Charnley was looking from it, to me, and back again. I turned it round to look at it. A still from the camera on Arthur's gable end, It showed a dark coloured four-by-four, stopped a few doors down from mine, a shadowy figure stepping from the front passenger seat.
'Not bad eh, Dave?' I tapped the roof of the car, where the light was reflecting off the bullet-shaped silver-grey roof box. 'Two o'clock in the morning, and only one streetlight still on in the whole close. And you just happen to stop right under it. Marvellous.'
He tried shaking his head. In fact his whole body was shaking now.
'No- Not- Not mi-' He tried. Couldn't get the words out.
'Oh, come on, Dave. How many people do you know drive a Range Rover with a bloody roof box like that? What is it you use it for, golf clubs?' I tapped lower down on the picture. 'And the number plate. What can we see there? Is that an S? And that looks like what, a 6? And that, I think, is a J. Yes, definitely a J. Clear enough I would say. And what's your reg Dave? SU68MJL? A bit of coincidence if it's not yours, wouldn't you say? What are the odds you reckon of someone else with a grudge against me having a car like that, with those numbers? Thousand to one? Hundred thousand to one? A million?'
It was then I noticed the wet patch that was spreading, slowly out across the mattress under Charnley's legs. I didn't mention it. I wasn't looking for outright humiliation.
He went for broke. 'Believe me, Danny. We didn't know your Dad was there. We wouldn't have done it if we'd known.'
It didn't surprise me he'd heard about Dad. By now all of Warrington probably knew. Which thinking about it, was the reason we were there, partly. I leaned in towards him, but made sure I was speaking to both of them.
'I know you didn't know he was there, Dave. Either of you. But that's not the point. He was.' I paused, then added. 'And the thing is, you see. I've a reputation to maintain.'
For a moment no one said anything. But when Charnley realised what I was referring to, he lost it. He started struggling and screaming and rolling about the back of the van. It took me a while, but eventually I managed to get the duct tape I'd ripped off his mouth back on so all he could manage were muffled squeaks and moans. Bergin wasn't so theatrical, but concentrated on trying to break out of the zip-tie round his wrists. No chance. They make that stuff tough. The blood I had to clean off the van floor later showed just how hard he tried. And when I replaced his tape-gag, he didn't move a muscle, just kept staring at me with his dark Russian eyes. To be fair, he’s a brave guy that Bergin. Not one for pissing his pants.
I picked up the printouts I'd dropped during the struggle with Charnley, folded them over and put them back in my jeans pocket. Then I backed out of the van and checked around once more. There were heavy-industry sounds from somewhere further along the river, but they were far away. Where we were, all was quiet. No one close enough to hear anything.
‘Okay,’ I said ‘I think its time you both had a bit of fresh air.’
Reaching back into the van I grabbed hold of the ties round both men's ankles and pulled them towards the open doorway so that their legs dangled over the drop. Charnley started moaning into his gag again.
'Give it a rest, Dave,' I said. 'You're getting on my nerves.'
CHAPTER 59
Saturday
It was a good two weeks since I'd been to Sammy's Gym in Stockton Heath. I stopped going to Joe's years ago. It was never the same after he left. Sammy's has got everything I need. Weights, machines, treadmills, and thos
e cross-trainer things which I really like. And it's closer to home, by which I mean Whitely.
After the night before, which ended later than I’d planned, I woke up in Vicki’s flat feeling I could do with a good work-out. Vicki, wasn't there - her note said she would be back around three - so with no more meetings or arrangements to put in place, I decided a few hours pumping iron and running off the cramps and tensions of the last few days would do the trick.
I was half-way through my weights routine when my phone rang. It was Jamie Carver. I'd been expecting he would call. Before he could say anything, I said, 'How'd it go this morning?'
'No problem,' he said. 'The court remanded Yashin to custody for seven days. It'll give Will time to work on him.'
By now I was aware that Will was hoping to explore some options with Yashin that could result in him not ending up in prison. I'd heard him mention a couple to Carver in passing - some drugs stuff going on in London, something about sex trafficking through Belgium - but stuff like that is all above my head. Where I come from, you get caught with fifty-thousand pound's worth of coke, you do time. Not that I was overly-bothered. The aim had been to scupper his plans. Between us, we'd succeeded. If he eventually went down, fine. If not, then so long as he was out of Midnight's - which he was - that was all I cared about.
Carver and I talked a bit about the night's events, and he thanked me for our help, several times. I told him it was nothing. He asked how Vicki was, and I said she was great.
'So... are you two getting along alright again now?' he said.
I sighed. 'Move on, Jamie.' He laughed.
After some more aimless chat there was a pause in the conversation. I'd been expecting there might be.
'There's just one problem.'
'What's that?' I said.
'In all the confusion last night, it seems one of Yashin's guys, Bergin I think his name is, managed to slip the net.'
'Is that right?'
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