What a Country

by Paul Kirby

  With the treasury department of the cell now earning some money, thanks to their introduction to the feminine one of the Funnel brothers, and The Ayatollah scouring the streets for a perfect target, the scene was set for a battle of strangers and opposites.

  Chapter 3

  Dell woke up the next morning at the usual prison hour of around six, only this morning he was feeling the effects of yesterday’s drink and drug binge that had taken place in the Country Life pub in celebration of his release. He was a free man and he intended to stay that way. He lay back on his bed and thought. He’d grown used to being alone after a couple of fair-sized stretches in the nick, but this time he was considering a life free of crime and everything that went with that.

  Where was his ex-partner, who’d left with their young son, Harry? More importantly, how was young Harry? His ex had left him because he couldn’t stop doing the things he was doing and keeping the company he always kept. He was in more than a little doubt over his future. After all, it was his first morning of freedom and he wasn’t too sure about the way forward—he certainly didn’t know the way back. He was chomping at the bit to get back to business. This part of Dell’s persona had no reservations at all. He would do anything to get what he wanted.

  After a few hours of nursing his hangover and watching daytime TV, he decided to ring the pub to see about getting some of his money out of the safe.

  “Hello. The Country Life pub,” said the Irish voice at the other end of the phone.

  “Alright, Bill, it’s Joe. Is Mickey about?”

  “Err, err, sorry, who is it?” stammered Bill.

  “Joe, Joey Dell.”

  “Ooh! Joey, sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice there. I’m sorry, Joe, no, no, Mick’s not about at the minute. Can I take a message?” He had a very good idea what Dell was ringing about.

  “Just get him to ring me when he gets back, please, Bill?” said Dell.

  “Yeah, yeah, mate, ‘course, leave it with me Joe, mate,” stammered Bill once more.

  “Thanks, see ya later.” Dell hung up the phone. Fucking hope not, Bill thought to himself. Bloody hell, what was he going to do? He had lost over half of Dell’s money in Big Burt’s shop and as things stood, he had no way of paying it back. He knew full well what Dell and his boys were capable of and he didn’t fancy any of it.

  Dell thought no more of the conversation and returned to the sofa.

  When Mickey returned about twenty minutes later, Bill shot off a bit lively without telling him Dell had rung. Poor old Bill, he’d only gotten involved with Mickey and the pub as a way of keeping himself out of mischief after getting out of the porn shop game. Keeping out of mischief, eh? That was a laugh. He’d gotten himself into more trouble than he’d ever been in in his entire life. Bloody gambling! It had started out as a bit of fun to pass the time, a few quid here and there, and then as often happens, the stakes got higher and higher until it looked like he might have staked his life.

  Bill sat in the park pondering his future, saying a few Hail Marys here and there and praying to God for a miracle. He could always go to Ireland and hide out somewhere. Then, as he sat there in despair, his mobile rang. He looked at the number, fearing the worst, and saw that it was his brother-in-law over in Ireland.

  “Hello, Fergus. How are you?” inquired Bill in a slightly miserable tone.

  “Hello, Bill. It’s Fergus.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I said, ‘Hello, Fergus.’”

  “Oh, sorry, Bill. How are you?”

  “Ooh, not bad, thanks, Fergus.”

  “How’s ya luck, Bill?”

  “Rubbish. How’s yours?”

  “Not bad, not bad. Now, listen to me, Bill, I have something for ya.”

  “Good, ‘cause I need something. Is it a gun, Ferg?”

  “No, no, don’t be fucking stupid will ya? I have some horses for ya, but you gotta keep them to yourself.”

  “Horses? Now where am I going to keep em?”

  “Shut up, Bill, and listen. You know I have good connections in the racing game over here in Ireland. Well, there’s a big scam being pulled this afternoon. Do you have a paper there?”

  “Ah, hell, Fergus, I’m in enough trouble because of the nags as it is.”

  “Bill, listen to me. This is your big chance to earn a good few quid. It’ll get you right back on top.”

  “Ok, Ferg, go on then. What is it?” asked Bill, thinking he’d got F-all to lose.

  “Right, Bill, there’s a gambling syndicate over here and you know the man but I won’t say his name. Well, they’ve pulled it off before and my man tells me they’re doing it again today. This very afternoon, Bill. Now, do you have a Racing Post there, Bill?”

  “No, Ferg, I don’t.”

  “Well, go and get one and call me straight back.”

  Bill sat there for a second shaking his head in disbelief. This can’t be happening to me, he thought. He hurried off to get a Racing Post, thanking the good Lord as he went. His prayers may just be about to be answered. Bill was not normally of a nervous disposition, but the release of the notorious Joey Dell and the gambling away of the man’s money had all of a sudden turned him that way. Bill purchased his Racing Post and then got back on the phone to Fergus, his potential great saviour.

  “Hello, Ferg, it’s Bill here.”

  “Ah, Bill, do you have the Post now?”

  “I do, Ferg, I do.”

  “Well, turn to Leopardstown, will you?”

  “Right, got it, Ferg, but could I just ask, does the man in Ireland, does he have the initials BC?”

  “That’s right, Bill, he does.”

  “Bee Jeessuss. Thank Christ for that.”

  “Okay, Bill, they’ve been planning this for a couple of years now, so make sure you keep it to yourself. If it gets out, they’ll shoot me for certain, so they will.”

  “Don’t worry, Fergus. I won’t, I won’t. I need this right now more than you do.”

  Fergus gave Bill the names of four horses running that afternoon, two at different courses in Ireland and two in England. None of the four had run for at least a year. They were all at small meetings, so they had a far greater chance of winning while not creating great betting interest. They were all big prices and all guaranteed to win. Game on.

  “Thank you, Fergus, what sort of bet should I do then?” asked Bill.

  “Well, Bill, don’t go placing big bets now; we don’t want alarm bells ringing.”

  “I can’t be doing big bets anymore, Fergus. What are you having on?”

  “Just before the first one goes off, Bill, I’m having a hundred (e/w) on the Acca.”1

  “Is that all, Ferg? You’re not going to get rich on that, are ya?”

  “Don’t be so daft, Bill. Have you seen the prices of those things? If the first one wins, you’ve got almost two grand going on to the next one, man. What’s wrong with you, man?”

  “Okay, I’ll do the same then. What do ya think the chances are, Ferg?”

  “Pretty fucking good, Bill. Like I said, this has been two years in the planning and you know yourself how good these boys are.”

  “I do, Ferg, I do,” said Bill with a feeling of utter elation and relief. “Thanks, Ferg, I’ll go and have a look now.”

  “Be sure to keep it under your hat, Bill, for Christ’s sake, and good luck. I’ll speak to you later.”

  Bill looked at his watch and saw he had two and a half hours before the first race. What was he going to do with his time? He didn’t want to go back to the pub just in case Dell had gone there to pick up his money. If he found out, Bill knew he was a dead man, or at least a very injured one.

  Joey was making a speedy recovery from his hangover and decided to give the pub a ring again to see if Mickey had returned. He had and he answered the phone when Dell called.

>   “Hello, the Country Life Public House.” He made the place sound very posh and upmarket.

  “Mickey, is that you?” asked Dell.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Is that you, Joey?”

  “Yeah. Am I alright to come over and grab a bit of scratch, please, Mick?”

  “‘Course you are, Joe. How you feeling today, mate? Good little drink yesterday and good to see you out and looking well.”

  “Thanks, Mickey. Yeah, it was and good to see you too. Not feeling too bad now to be honest, but I felt pretty s**t this morning.”

  “Well, you’re entitled to, mate. A lot of people turned up in the end, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah, they did. Are you there all day, Mick?”

  “I am, mate. Bill’s out, it’s his day off, and the bird that’s on today doesn’t start until three.”

  “Tell you what, Mick, I’ll come over about three-ish then, if that’s alright with you?”

  “No worries. See you then,” said Mickey, putting the phone down.

  1An accumulator in which all four horses have to win or be placed, and the money builds up if they win or are placed. (The e/w is place money.)

  Chapter 4

  By the time Dell got himself together, it was probably about half past three, which was the same time Bill was sitting in Big Burt’s watching his investment. He was already one horse to the good with the next one about to go off. Bill was understandably very anxious and worried that something was going to go wrong. Why hadn’t he just lumped on each horse with a single bet and been done with it, rather than doing an accumulator as well? He was reliant on the next three horses winning to get him out of trouble. If they all came in, then happy days, but that scenario seemed a long way off right now.

  As Joey sat in one of Ifty’s cabs, Mickey didn’t feel any of Bill’s anxiety. In fact, he felt quite relaxed and had another pint while he waited. When Dell finally walked in all smiles and happiness, he and Mickey greeted each other like long-lost friends for the second time in as many days. Mickey poured Dell a pint and after a bit of a conversation led him upstairs to the safe. They had taken that journey together plenty of times before, but what they saw when the safe was opened this time changed the mood completely. Dell’s stash of cash had diminished since his time away, and it certainly wasn’t mice. Both men looked at each other in astonishment as piles of newspaper cuttings were pulled from the bag.

  “What the fuck?” both men said in unison, staring at each other.

  * * *

  Meanwhile over at Big Burt’s, Bill Winters had just landed his second winner in the Acca and he’d just got his second single up too. Not fortunes in front, but in front and still with the potential to be much richer by the end of the day. Knowing the score with the Irish, Bill was starting to count his winnings, if not also his lucky stars. Well, they had got two up, why couldn’t they pull off two more?

  * * *

  After asking a few questions, Dell took what was left of the cash, which by now was less than ten grand, and asked Mickey to ring Big Burt. He needed the advice and guidance of his older, wiser, and trusted friend.

  Mickey rang the shop, but Albert wasn’t there. It was a young girl who answered, and she’d only been there for a couple of weeks. Normally, Albert would have been there poking his nose in to make sure everything was going alright, but as it was only small meetings in England and Ireland, he felt it was alright to take his wife, Janice, for a bit of shopping at Westfields in Shepherds Bush. Why not? He thought if it got too painful, he could leave her with some dough and get himself over the Country for a couple. Dell might come in for one or two as well.

  By now of course this kind of thought was getting painful, as Burt wandered from shop to shop, dragged behind Janice. He kept looking at his watch. If he heard “Do I look fat in this?” one more time, he was off. They’d been there all this time and she hadn’t bought anything yet. Another shop visited and still nothing.

  “Janice, love, I’ve had enough of this now,” he bravely said, looking at his watch yet again. Janice looked at him with that look women give you when they’re disappointed with you and replied, “Well, it didn’t take you long, did it?” He sighed.

  “That’s the last time you come shopping with me, Albert bloody Kinsley. You always do this to me, you do.”

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “Make me go home when we’ve only just got here,” Janice replied.

  “Only just got here. Only just got here three hours ago, you mean,” said Albert with an irritated expression.

  “Well, just give me some bloody money and I’ll meet you in the pub later,” Janice said, giving another one of those looks.

  “Ah, love, are you sure? I can’t leave you here by yourself, can I?” he said with a fake pained expression.

  “‘Course you bloody can. Now give me some money, and I’ll get a cab and call you when I’m on my way.”

  “Are you really sure? Okay then,” said Albert, digging in his trouser pocket for money, feeling very relieved. He pulled out a nice big wad of crisp lobsters (£50 notes) and asked, “How much do you want?”

  “Erm, you might as well give me ten of them then,” said Janice with a completely straight face.

  “Ten?” Burt said in a rather loud voice. “You’ll be here until Christmas. You ain’t spent F-all all day and now you want a monkey” (£500), said Albert, irritated.

  “Oh shut up, Burt, you know I can’t shop with you huffing and puffing in my ear. Just give me the money and go to the pub,” she encouraged in an “I’ve now got the hump” tone. Burt counted out ten 50s and passed them over, gave his wife a peck on the cheek, said goodbye, and headed toward the car park as quickly as he could.

  Once he’d found his motor, he opened the door, then the glove box. He pulled out his mobile phone and turned it on. There were no text messages or answerphone messages, which was just how he liked it. Burt made a call to the Country and spoke to Mickey. “Where are you, Burt?” asked Mickey.

  “Just about to leave Westfields and come over to you. You sound a bit agitated. Everything alright, Mick?”

  “Well, not really, Burt. Something’s happened.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Serious enough. Dell is doing his nut.”

  “Ah no, why, what’s happened?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can, mate,” said Burt, putting the phone down. If Dell was doing his nut, something had happened, and Burt didn’t like it. His mind raced during his drive over to the pub. Who the hell had gone and upset his old mate. Surely not the Durleys. Surely not even they could be that stupid. He parked the car behind his shop but didn’t bother to pop in. He just hurried down to the pub.

  Inside by now, Bill Winter was in a far more relaxed and happy mood having gotten the treble up. There seemed no reason to think the fourth wouldn’t oblige. The girl on the till had no idea a bet of this size was three quarters in and that she should have alerted Burt when the second one came in. Then Burt could have started to lay off money elsewhere to minimise his losses. But, as hardly anyone was in the shop that day, she had become bored and was on her mobile most of the time, texting her boyfriend, checking Facebook, and doing all the modern things youngsters do when they should be working, which in her case meant checking the shop’s computer to see if any big bets were going to be landed, and if they were, letting Burt know so he could deal with the problem. But in this case, Burt was just as guilty as she as he’d left the phone turned off in the car. She wouldn’t have been able to reach him anyway, but neither of them knew that.

  Bill sat quietly and nervously in the shop by himself waiting for his last horse, in what was going to be more than just a life-changing bet. Just half an hour to go before the off. Bill couldn’t wait. This was it, he told himself. He was either goin
g to be out of the mire or much deeper in it. Bill was confident and nervous at the same time.

  While Bill was quietly contemplating life, Burt walked into the pub to find Mickey at the bar, together with an extremely angry-looking Dell.

  “Alright, boys?” asked Burt, knowing they weren’t.

  “Let me get you a drink,” said Mick, “then we’ll go out the back and explain what’s happened.” Mick got Burt a pint of his usual and the three of them walked out the back to the kitchen. Mick locked the door behind them.

  “Must be serious serious,” said Burt.

  “Burt, remember the morning you picked me up from the shovel and you told me about Bill’s gambling?” asked Dell.

  “Yeah, yeah, ‘course I do.”

  “What sort of money was he putting on, do you reckon?”

  “Well, pretty big stakes to be honest, Joe. Sometimes a few hundred at a time, sometimes a few grand. Why?” asked Burt a little nervously.

  “Well, we went to the safe earlier to get some of my money, and most of it has gone, replaced by newspaper cuttings. And only Mickey and Bill have the combination and it definitely weren’t Mick, so that leaves Bill,” Dell said through gritted teeth.

  “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” replied Burt. “The betting has been going on for a good few months now, maybe longer. You reckon he nicked your dough then?” asked Burt.

  “Sure looks like it. And now I’m gonna make the thieving cunt pay, Burt,” Dell’s voice took on a more sinister tone. Burt had seen this before with Dell and he didn’t like it.

  “No, don’t be too hasty, Joe. Let’s think it out.”