Light and music tumbled out of the open door and a pair of hard lads stood on the stoop, pints in hand, cigarettes dribbling ash into the street. Ro peered up at them. “Reggie. Saul.”
“Ro,” Saul said. Or maybe Reggie. It was hard to tell them apart. Reggie and Saul Godfrey were both heavyset builder-types, with blunt features and thick necks. Which was appropriate, given that they were builders, on occasion. When they weren’t collecting dosh on behalf of the Kelley bookmakers. Ro did some collecting herself, when needed.
“Didn’t think we’d see you tonight,” Saul – or Reggie – continued. “Weren’t you having dinner with your old mum?” His brother snickered, as if he’d said something dirty.
“Weren’t a euphemism, Saul,” Ro said.
“I’m Reggie.”
“Allow it.” Ro made to go inside, but Reggie flung out an arm. Ro looked at the arm, and then at him. “Got something to say, Saul?”
“Reggie. And I heard your bruvver got himself a cushy gig with them Albion tossers. That true? He working with the filth now?”
“And?” Ro tensed, looking back and forth between them. Ordinarily, she had no problem with the Godfreys. Not nowadays at least. Not after she’d nearly drowned Reggie in the gents that one time. “I’m not his keeper.”
“That’s not what we hear.”
“What do you hear, Reggie?” Ro asked, leaning into his space. He twitched back, probably remembering her hand on the back of his head, pushing him down into the toilet. “And who told you, anyway?”
“Word gets around, Ro,” Saul mumbled. She rounded on him, backing him up against the doorframe. Saul had been on the floor, puking up his guts, while she gave his brother a thorough flushing. “Looks bad, your brother…”
Ro frowned. “Albion are just another gang.”
“Yeah, but way we hear it, not for long.”
“Oh, well, that’s different.” Ro snorted. “But I’ll take your concerns under advisement. Now, I want a pint. You going to move, or I do need to move you?”
The Godfreys shuffled aside, and Ro squeezed past and headed for the bar. The public bar and the saloon were both crowded, but that was nothing new. There wasn’t much to do these days but drink.
The Wolfe Tone was owned lock, stock and barrel by the Kelleys. Nor was it the only one. They’d been buying up pubs, garages and the like for years. Diversifying, they called it. Owning a business made it easier to launder cash through it. It also made it easier to move product out the back. And if the plods started sniffing around, well – pubs burned down all the time. Shame, but the insurance money made up for it.
Of course, laundering money was getting harder and harder these days. Hardly anyone was using cash. The pound was in free fall. Cryptocurrency was filling the void. ETOs, mostly – E-tokens. ETO was anonymous and untraceable. It had become the new coin of the realm, at least when it came to the black market.
Ro bellied up to the bar and ordered a lager. As she waited, she surveyed the room, picking out familiar faces. She didn’t need an Optik for that, though she had one. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. Some smiled, a few frowned. One or two ignored her entirely. She wasn’t exactly high up in the hierarchy, which was a blessing at times.
Things were changing. Something was in the wind. Every wide boy, lag and hustler in East London was on alert. Not just the riots or the paramilitary wankers on the streets, but something closer to home. The Kelleys were on the prowl. They were gobbling up bits of turf left, right and centre and there wasn’t much anyone could do about it. Even so, there’d be blood on the streets before it was done.
Ro felt a tingle of anticipation. She hadn’t been called on to do anything too bad yet, but that day was fast coming. There’d come a moment some fool would decide not to stay down, or she’d be ordered to make an example of someone – and then what? She looked at her hands again, wondering if she’d have the minerals to do what needed doing.
“Pensive,” a familiar voice said.
Ro turned. “What?”
The man standing beside her was shorter than her, but not by much. He was stocky, a lad’s lad, with a shaved scalp and three lions tattooed on one forearm. He grinned, showing off a gold tooth. “New word-a-day app the missus got me. Bloody brilliant. Today’s word is ‘pensive’. Means thoughtful, innit?”
“Shut up Colin.” Ro smiled as she said it, turning back to the bar. She’d known Colin longer than she liked to admit. He wasn’t a friend, exactly, but he was friendly. Her pint arrived, head rolling down the sides of the glass. She took a sip. Colin didn’t shut up. She didn’t mind, as she hadn’t expected him to. Colin liked the sound of his own voice.
“Looks like everyone’s in here tonight. Something must be going down.”
“Not that I heard,” she said.
“Billy sent word round.” He was talking about Billy Bricks. William Brickland to the Old Bill. Billy had been a boxer once, before he’d started taking money to lose fights rather than win them. Now he was a top dog for the Kelleys, seeing that things got done when they needed doing. Ro was scared shitless of him. Billy Bricks was a wrong ’un, and not afraid to mix it up with anyone – except possibly Mary Kelley. Then, even the feds stepped light around the matriarch of the Kelley Clan.
“Did he say why?” she asked.
“Does he ever?” Colin looked at her. “Haven’t seen you around much these days, Ro.” He signalled the barman and ordered a pint of Guinness. “Keeping busy?”
“Busy enough. You?”
“You know me, luv. Always something on.” Colin was tapping on his Optik as he spoke, eyes on the screen. He was shaped like a brawler, but he’d never thrown a sober punch in his life. He was a white van man by trade, though that was mostly just a side hustle. He made his real money driving for the Kelleys. When something needed moving in a hurry, there was Colin. He grinned. “Been running some new routes, you know.”
Ro frowned. “What sort of new routes?” Colin’s routes had to be authorized. Since his van was mostly owned by the Kelleys, that was only fair to Ro’s way of thinking.
Colin frowned, as if he’d said something he hadn’t meant to. “Just new ones,” he said, by way of explanation. She heard the hesitation and straightened. Colin wasn’t the sharpest knife in the rack. He’d gotten dinged a time or two for wandering off his patch, making off-the-books deliveries.
The first time they caught you, that got you a warning, maybe a beating depending on how you took the former. Sometimes, if the money was right and you offered to pay a percentage, they even let you keep doing it. But the second time…
“Colin,” she began. He looked past her, and then pushed away from the bar.
“Sorry luv, got to take a piss. Talk later.” He hurried towards the gents, glancing over his shoulder as he went. Ro was about to call after him when a heavy hand fell on her shoulder, startling her.
“Rosemary. Just in time.” She knew the hand and the voice, and didn’t turn. She cursed Colin for not warning her.
“Billy,” she said.
“Was that Colin I saw scuttling away?” Billy Bricks asked as he leaned against the bar beside her. He was an old villain, grey and weathered by violence, but still hard with muscle. His nose had been broken and reset at least twice. Eyes like polished stones looked her over. She didn’t meet his gaze. Billy didn’t like people looking at him.
“Yeah. He had to take a piss.”
“Bet he did.” He smiled. “Thought you weren’t going to make it tonight,”
“I wanted a pint.”
“Well, it saves me having to run you down later, don’t it?”
“Something up?”
“Why would you ask that?”
Ro took a swallow of her beer, playing for time. Something was on Billy’s mind. That made her nervous. “No reason. It’s just… you don’t usually talk to me.”
Billy smiled. He had an ugly smile. “I usually don’t need to, do I?” He turned to the bartender and knocked on
the wood. “Pint of Best please, Harry.” He looked back at Ro. “We’re having a meeting later, in the back. That’s why everyone is here.”
“I didn’t know about it.”
“But you’re here anyway. Lucky you.” Billy leaned close, and she could smell his aftershave. Like him, it was out of date.
“What’s the meeting for?” she asked.
He was silent for a moment. Then, he chuckled softly. “Someone’s being cheeky again. Running a side-deal without permission. One of our vans got spotted down near Blackfriars Bridge this morning. Only we didn’t want no one making any deliveries over that way today, did we? Like I said, cheeky.”
“Maybe they were running a personal errand,” she said, and immediately regretted it.
“On company time? Heaven forefend, Rosemary.” He shook his head in mock-disappointment. “That’s why the place is packed tonight. I’m spreading the word that if anybody hears so much as a whistle about someone taking side-jobs without our say-so, they need to tell me, post haste. And if they don’t… well.” He drained his pint and set the glass down with a thump. “Put it on the tab, Harry, there’s a good lad.”
Billy pushed away from the bar, but paused. “You don’t know anything about it, do you Rosemary? Anything you want to share?”
Ro thought of Colin, and shook her head. “I don’t know nothing, Billy.”
Billy nodded. “Good. But keep an ear out, eh?” He ambled off, calling out to some other unlucky bastard. Ro watched him and then determinedly finished her drink. She needed to talk to Colin. She left the bar, hurrying out back towards the lavatories.
Colin was hanging around near the side-door that faced the gents, face glued to his Optik. She didn’t wait for him to notice her. “Are you an idiot?” she hissed, catching his arm and bending it up behind his back. Colin yelped.
“Hey, let go,” he began, and she shoved him against the wall, her forearm pressed against his throat. Not hard, but hard enough to make breathing difficult. His eyes widened and he clawed at her arm.
“Stop it, stop it,” she said, in a low voice. “Settle down and answer the fucking question. Are you an idiot?”
“N-no,” he gurgled. “Why?”
“Then what are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
She frowned and pressed her weight against his throat. His eyes bulged. “C-can’t breathe,” he whined.
“Stop whining. If you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t talk.” Ro leaned close, eyes narrowed. “Earlier, you said you had a new gig. And the way you scarpered when Billy Bricks showed up… what are you into, Colin?”
“Nothing, I swear. Just some deliveries.” He squirmed out of her grip. “Look, come outside. We’ll talk out there.” He took a quick look around and headed for the side-door. Ro hesitated, and then followed.
The side-door opened onto a narrow alley, barely wide enough for two people. It was full of rubbish and crates of empties, and the smell of rotting veg and stale beer was so heavy she had to breathe through her mouth. She could hear rats scrabbling in the dark, but to her relief she couldn’t see them. She hated rats. Always had. “So spill,” she said, impatiently.
Colin lit a cigarette. Not an e-cigarette, but a real one. Silk Cut. He was old fashioned that way. He didn’t offer her one, but she wasn’t that broken up about it. “I’m just moving some stuff around, right?”
“Like down Blackfriars?”
He hesitated, and she read the truth in his eyes. “You absolute plonker.”
He looked away. “It’s just a bit of work on the side, nothing to get so bloody upset about.”
“It’s not me you should be worried about,” she said. “What if Billy Bricks finds out?”
“And how’s he going to do that, then? You going to grass me up?”
Ro paused, considering. If she didn’t tell someone, and they found out, she’d get whatever Colin got, but worse. The Kelleys only prized loyalty when it benefited them.
Colin frowned. “I thought we were mates,” he said.
“What was it?” she asked, after a moment.
“What was what?”
“What were you delivering that was worth this aggro?” Her hands clenched. She knew she ought to go back in, ought to find Billy. But then what? Turn Colin over? The thought made her stomach do flip-flops. Billy would kill him – or as good as.
Colin finished his cigarette and tossed it away into the dark. “Didn’t ask. I – hang on a sec.” His Optik chimed, and he reached for it. An instant later, there was an echoing crack. Colin’s head jerked backwards, and he toppled without a sound, his Optik clattering to the ground seconds before his body followed suit.
Ro stared in shock. There was something hot and wet on her face. Colin’s body spasmed as it shut down. His Optik flashed and went black.
Behind her, she heard voices. The door opened. Shouts. All of it seemed to be occurring far away. The only thing of importance was the body in front of her, twitching out its final moments in the rubbish-strewn alley.
And then, at last, going still.
Day Four
Monday
Bagley-bytes 13658-2: This just in, someone else is dead, but more on that later. According to our man at the ministry (hi, Dalton) Her Majesty’s Snoops are thinking of a rebrand. There’s talk of a new team charged with the dubious strategy of “intelligence response” or something similar. Everyone stay tuned to update your contacts. I prefer the first name myself, but what do I know? I’m just an unfettered AI with access to the sum of all human knowledge.
+++
RE: sum of all human knowledge. It’s not as much as you might think.
+++
Onto more cheerful topics. The pro-Albion PR campaign is heating up as Nigel Cass kisses the right rings and twists the right arms. Somebody make a note to find out which is which, so we know who to recruit and who to blackmail. Or vice versa. Up to you, really!
+++
Speaking of recruits, underground DJ Adam Logan is throwing another one of his bashes at an old warehouse on Park Street in Southwark. Might be the sort of place to meet new faces, as they say. Someone crash the party, please. And by someone, I mean anyone other than Terry.
+++
Sergei reports that the notorious Clan Kelley dive, the Wolfe Tone, is full of plods. No, it’s not being raided. Apparently someone got shot out back. Quelle surprise, as the French say. Remember that bit earlier? Seems our friendly sniper has been busy. A double-header.
+++
Finally, Albion definitely have a bug up their bum about something called LIBRA. If anyone has any information, please share it with the class. I’m all ears. Not literally of course, but you get the picture. If not, please ask Sabine to explain it to you in words of one syllable or less, as I can’t be bothered.
7: Perfidious Albion
The showers at the hideout were shit. But the water was hot, and Olly needed to feel clean. He stood under the scalding spray, letting the heat seep into his aching muscles. He’d tried to sleep again, but hadn’t gotten much. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the moment of Alex Dempsey’s death – the instant the life had gone out of the man’s eyes replayed over and over again in Olly’s brain.
He wanted to move past it. Needed to move past it. Couldn’t. So instead he stood in the shower and tried to wash it away. Eventually, the water started to cool, and he got out. Someone had brought him new clothes, and he dressed quickly. The shower room was small, badly tiled and smelt of damp. Repurposed lockers had been arranged along one wall, and benches sat in front of them. It reminded Olly of a changing room in some low-rent gym.
As he was lacing up his trainers, Krish came in. “You okay?”
“No.” Olly didn’t look at him.
“Liz shouldn’t have done that, fam. No call for it.”
Olly shook his head. “It’s not that.”
Krish fell silent. Olly could almost hear the questions rattling in his head. He spoke up before Krish could gat
her his courage. “Why’d you bring me in?”
“What?”
“DedSec. Why you’d bring me in?” Olly looked up at him.
Krish smiled. “You got style, bruv. Like me.”
Olly laughed. Krish was all about style. He DJed for a pirate broadcast, streaming an eclectic mix of breakbeat hardcore, grime, old soul rarities and Asian dub, in between delivering fervent political or anti-corporate screeds. Olly had listened to Krish’s show a few times before he’d hooked up with DedSec.
“Proper resistance, man. That’s what you were. I saw that right off.” Krish puffed his chest out. “And you ain’t never let me down. Except for those other times, I mean.”
Olly shook his head. “It’s like the pigeons were out to get me.” He gestured. “Like I was… what’s her name? In that film. You know the one. With the seagulls.”
“Yeah, but twice?” Krish grinned. “You got some serious bad luck, bruv.”
“Cheers.” Olly looked down at the floor, trying not to think about birds. He decided to change the subject. “Did you know him?”
“Who?”
“Dempsey. Guy that got topped.”
Krish looked away. “Not really. He wasn’t one of us, you know?”
“That’s what Liz said.”
Krish nodded. “He was a thief, yeah? Liked to lift people’s wallets, steal their identities, that sort of thing. Never been big on that myself.” He smiled. “I prefer to make up my own. Less hassle.”
“He was old school. Like Liz.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that, man. She’ll pop your plums like it was nothing.” Krish shivered. “Liz don’t fuck around. That’s why she’s in charge.”
“I thought nobody was in charge.”
“Well, she’s nobody.” Krish banged on a locker. “She’s the original model, you know. DedSec one point oh.”
Day Zero Page 7
