by Paul Kirby
David was also set for his journey across Europe and up to Sweden for his job that would bring a good few quid back the firm’s way. If everything went to plan, it should be a good week all round.
Gerry then turned up and was a little surprised to see his twin brother talking with the Durleys, unaware of what he had planned for the youngster. He was, however, well aware of why David Lightfoot was sitting with the others. The bastard was nicking Gerry’s work and he didn’t like it one bit. Why had he been dropped? He couldn’t see that his drug habits and his low-level drug dealing had rendered him unreliable and vulnerable as far as the job was concerned. He also couldn’t see the fact that as David had legitimate business in Sweden and could provide paperwork to prove his trip was necessary (if required), he was a better choice.
All bets were now on. Even Bart declined the offer from Gerry for something for the evening’s entertainment. Bart didn’t want to oversleep and miss his chance to be the firm’s captain, even if it was for one day only.
Bill enjoyed his last supper as only a convicted man could, throwing almost as much liquid down his throat as he was to swallow the next day. He needed to get away for a bit just to release some tension.
Mickey watched the various groups with caution. Did he feel guilty for his part? Probably not, for his partner had now become a burden and what would be would be. Whether he played a part or not, Bill’s fate was sealed. Bill had been found guilty as charged and, anyway, at least he was going out doing one of his favourite pastimes. He was going one way or another, so it might as well be doing something he enjoyed. Get it out of your mind, Mickey told himself, you’ve done yourself and him a favour.
A very satisfied Dell left the pub around six thirty with a very relaxed Barry Richards and Terry Funnel. They had a date with death and not for the first time felt an early night was appropriate. Big Burt, a little more anxious than the rest, felt it was only fair to have a couple more with Bill as it was he who had called the hit in the end. Had he done the right thing? Did Bill really deserve this? Of course he did, the liberty-taking Irish fool. A good night’s sleep was had by all except Burt. He tossed and turned all night, unable to free his mind of the day that lay ahead.
Bill slept in a semi-drunken stupor. He didn’t know he was going to be the catch of the day, but he did know he was going to get up the next day and go fishing. He couldn’t wait for morning to come and was in bed by ten o’clock.
Chapter 10
Dell was the first one up that morning, having finally fallen asleep after playing the “accident” over and over in his mind. He had to get it right or he was going to rot in prison until the day he died. Before getting up he lay there in bed for several minutes playing it back yet again, just to make sure.
Burt was also up earlier than he had to be. He didn’t get much sleep at all. Burt wasn’t worried the boys wouldn’t do the job. He was worried for his old mate Joe. If Joey went back to prison because of this, that would be it. He would never get out again. He would spend the rest of his days there and Burt didn’t want that. He kept trying to reassure himself that everything would be alright. He knew Joey knew how to kill and that he had never been convicted of such a crime. And he knew the same to be true of the other two, but he still he worried and wouldn’t stop until the job had been completed, properly completed, with no convictions. In reality, Burt had nothing to worry about. Joey Dell had it all taken care of. He, after all, had the most to lose and he knew he certainly couldn’t afford to mess up.
Every man turned up on time. Bill and Bart gave them a bit of a scare as they were about ten minutes late. Bill looked a little worse for wear. The boys drew a sigh of relief as the car rounded the corner. “Thank God for that. I thought we were fucked for a minute,” said Dell.
“Yeah, me too,” replied Funnel as they sat in Richards’ Range Rover.
“Nice of you two to turn up,” said Dell sarcastically.
“Ah, shut up. I feel like shit,” Bill said, and he looked it too.
Bart walked over to the Range Rover “M3, then we’ll get on the M27 to Poole Harbour,” he said. “You got petrol?”
“Yeah,” replied Richards, raising his eyebrows.
“There’s a service station on the M27. Shall we stop there for a cup of tea and something to eat?” suggested Durley.
“Yeah, we’ll just follow you anyway, so pull in when you want,” said Dell, wanting to get away.
“Okay, see you soon,” said Durley, getting back into his BMW.
They drove out of West London and picked up the M3 in no time. The traffic was pretty good at that time of the morning, and they were soon trying to keep up with Durley, who was driving like an idiot.
“This bloke drives like a cunt,” moaned Richards.
“He certainly does,” replied Dell, then continued, “I played out today’s scene in my head loads of times last night.”
“That makes two of us,” said Funnel.
“Did ya? Good. But I want to talk us all through it again. And whatever happens, that little prick in front don’t wanna be finding out that this ain’t gonna be no accident, because if he thinks otherwise, he won’t think twice about grassing us all up,” Dell stated.
“Well, let’s do him as well then,” Richards added with enthusiasm.
“Don’t be so stupid. We can’t have two accidents on the same trip, can we? Anyway, this one’s all been worked out, and it’ll look more like Durley’s fault than anyone else’s. Good innit?” chuckled Dell.
Yeah, it was good, and as he went over and over the scenario time and time again, he finished with “England expects every man to do his duty,” just to make sure everyone knew what they were about.
It was a bit of a crazy journey down to Dorset as Bart drove like an absolute lunatic and the boys struggled to keep up with his lane hopping. By the time they pulled in at Rownham’s Services on the M27, Richards had the right hump, which was never good for anybody. Was there any need to drive like that? If there was, they certainly knew it wouldn’t take too much encouragement for him to do the same thing on the boat. The idiot really thought he was the man, especially today.
Once they had pulled into the service station, Richards said, “Right, from now on, you will drive like a normal person!” poking Bart in the chest.
Durley got the message immediately. But that didn’t stop him from saying cockily “Ah, what’s up, can’t you keep up then?”
“I want to keep my license, you moron!” replied an exasperated Richards, giving a look that left no one in any doubt about how he viewed the situation.
“Ah, oh. Okay then,” stammered Bart.
They all went into the service station and got whatever they fancied, keeping the two groups pretty much separated as no one really wanted to associate with Durley and the condemned man. Dell thought it better to mix as they were more than likely to be on CCTV and he wanted it all to look as if they were all mates out for a day’s entertainment. His assumptions were spot on. Richards hated the closeness as he couldn’t stand either Durley or Winters. As far as he was concerned, a mark was a mark and you didn’t try to get friendly. But he got the picture and did as Dell asked.
On their departure from Rownham’s Service Station, Durley took it easy on the driving as he realised he wasn’t impressing anybody. Once more on the last part of the journey to Poole, Dell ran the boys through the plan yet again and reminded them of the firm’s old saying, “We ain’t come here to fuck spiders, boys.” They all nodded in agreement. They didn’t really need reminding in the first place—they knew the saying and lived by its code anyway, whatever it was supposed to mean. In reality, it meant whatever you wanted it to mean. It was designed to confuse, but to unite as well.
When they reached the part of the harbour where the private boats were moored, they all parked and got a day parking ticket.
“Is there any beer on this
boat of yours, Bart?” inquired Dell.
“Err, I can’t remember,” was Durley’s reply. Of course he couldn’t. It wasn’t his boat.
“Well, there was a shop just down the road; I’ll go and get some,” said Dell. “You go and sort your things out and we’ll meet you two back here. That alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, no worries,” Durley said, relieved they wouldn’t get to overhear his conversation with the harbour master who had been told by the boat owner that Durley was taking the boat out for the day.
“Thought I’d better get some beers for the trip, boys, even a condemned man should be granted a drink before he goes,” Dell quipped. The other two agreed as they walked toward the shop.
When they returned with a couple of crates of Stella and food for the trip, Durley and Bill were ready and waiting for them by the motors.
“Everything alright?” asked Dell.
“Yeah, ready when you are,” replied Durley.
“Thought we’d get you a few beers, Bill. You still feeling rough, mate?” Dell asked him.
“Thanks, Joe. No, not too bad now, but could have done with a bit longer in bed though.”
“For a minute we didn’t think you were coming, Bill,” said Funnel.
“Ah, no. I wasn’t going to miss this. I love a bit of sea fishing,” said Bill with a smile.
They all admired the boat. It was a very nice boat indeed. It had a lower deck with a small kitchen and toilet and a little dining area. It could sleep six—very nice indeed.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting this,” Dell commented as they all had a good look around.
“Me neither. Now this is a bit of me,” said Funnel.
It was a lovely September morning, the sun was out, there was a freshness in the air, and you could see it was going to be a nice day. The kids were all back at school, so it was pretty quiet and ideal for what the boys had in mind. Bart drove the boat out of the mooring area and into the main harbour channel, sticking to the required speed limits painted on the buoys that bobbed around and acted as path to the ocean. It was a fair journey out from the harbour and into the Channel passing by Sandbanks and Studland Bay; the scenery was breathtaking. As the boat entered the English Channel, you couldn’t see the Isle of Wight, which meant a bit of sea mist was hanging about that would provide perfect cover. There were six fishing rods on board and Durley had purchased some bait at the hut where the boats were moored. No one even asked about life jackets, which was surprising considering Bill’s inability to swim.
“When are we gonna start fishing then?” asked Bill keenly.
“Shall we pull up here?” suggested Bart. That’s Old Harry Rocks over there.” He pointed at some rocks jutting out into the sea like a series of old tombstones.
“Yeah, this’ll do for a while. We can always move on if we don’t get anything,” replied Bill.
The rods were already set up, so all they had to do was attach some bait to the hooks and off they went. The boat sat there for a while and they caught the odd fish, but then they decided to sail around the corner to Swanage Bay and try their luck there.
Bill was throwing the beer down him, still celebrating his win and getting nicely drunk. He was catching a few fish to boot, perfect for what the boys wanted and probably better for Bill. It was now past lunchtime and all the food had gone as the sea air had made everyone hungry. Bart hadn’t touched a drop, which was probably the most sensible thing he’d done in a long time.
The mist in the distance hadn’t lifted all day, and it was therefore the perfect visibility for the deed. And the boys wanted it to be done sooner than later. Richards was getting impatient and he kept throwing “when are we going to do it?” glances at Dell. With the four of them fishing from the back end of the boat, the time was now right. Dell gave the nod to Funnel, who joined Durley at the boat’s wheel. Durley really did look upon himself as the captain of the ship. All he needed was one of those caps that only a captain of a vessel was allowed to wear.
“Nuver beer?” Dell asked Winters, all the time watching Funnel making conversation with Bart.
“Yeah, yeah, why not? I’m enjoying myself,” replied Winters happily.
“Go on, son! Get it down ya,” encouraged Dell. Winters didn’t need persuading to take another as Dell joined him for only his third can of the day. It didn’t matter to him; he wasn’t driving and the old wife beater (Stella) was the perfect bit of Dutch courage to take the edge off his nerves.
He had a good look around the boat and out to sea. He could see that with the cover of the distant mist no other boats were in sight. So it was time to get Bart to do a bit of showing off. “What sort of speed does this thing do, Bart?” This was the signal to get ready, also meant to encourage Bart to give the boat some throttle. Not that he needed much persuading.
“Yeah, Bart, there’s no speed limit out here and there’s no other boats about, so you got a clear run. Open her up a bit,” said Funnel, as he stood at the helm with the ever-capable Captain Bart.
“Yeah, alright then. Let’s give it some,” he said with a grin that said, “Watch me everyone, I’m the dog’s bollocks.” As Durley pushed the throttles forward, Dell and Richards positioned themselves on either side of Winters. Both men made a grab for Winters as the boat accelerated, each one managing to keep his footing, and with little fuss, they launched Winters over the back of the boat and into the dark blue yonder. “Aaahhh” and a splash was all the pair heard as Winters belly flopped into the wake created by the boat’s sudden acceleration. He was certainly no Tom Daley nor, as they already knew, a Mark Spitz either. Winters disappeared, never to be seen alive again.
After a few seconds, the pair turned toward the front of the boat, calling out to Durley to stop. “Man overboard!” shouted Dell as soon as he was sure Winters had gone under. Durley and Funnel turned round together and the smile on Durley’s face quickly disappeared as he realised Bill Winters was no longer with them.
“Stop, stop, turn the boat around. Bill’s gone overboard,” continued Dell.
“Bloody hell, what happened?” cried Durley, not as smug now as he was a moment ago.
“Just turn around. We need to find him quick!” yelled Dell. Richards kept quiet, holding on to the back of the boat, looking out to make sure Winters didn’t emerge. He was loving this. His demeanour as his eyes scanned the waters was that of a coldhearted killer.
The boat slowed, then Durley, now panic-stricken, turned her around and went back to look for Winters. He had no idea Bill couldn’t swim and was expecting to find him treading water somewhere near where he went in. If anything happened to Bill, he could be at fault, seeing as he was the captain. As the boat hurried around, there was no sign of Bill anywhere. “Where is he?” asked Durley, increasingly worried.
“God knows. He must be somewhere round here, but it all looks the same to me, Bart,” Dell said, trying to show real concern. They all looked for Bill, but it was becoming more and more clear he was a gonner.
“What the fuck have you done, Bart? He’s nowhere to be seen,” said Funnel, the mood becoming more tense.
“Me? What do you mean, what have I done?” cried Durley, his voice now starting to sound like his dad’s.
“Well, you are the captain of this boat and you did open her up a bit sharpish, didn’t you?” said Dell, laying the blame firmly at Durley’s door. “And when you did that, poor old Bill just flew over the back. Didn’t you hear him yell as he went over?” Dell continued.
“No! How could I? I was watching what I was doing up front, not watching what was going on behind.”
“Yeah, but you did it all so quickly. I don’t think Bill was prepared for it. Poor sod, looks like we’ve lost him for sure now.”
“Yeah, you did do it a bit lively, Bart,” agreed Funnel.
“Bloody hell, what are we gonna do now?” Durley cried.
“Do you have a radio? We need to alert the rescue services,” Dell said calmly, trying to bring a bit of order to the situation.
“Yeah, yeah, there’s a shore-to-sea connection thing on this radio here. I…I mean, sea-to-shore. Ah, whatever, I’ll try it,” stuttered Durley. Even if the others had calmed down, he was still panicking at there being no sign of Bill. The others of course never wanted to see his ugly face ever again. Not the most glamorous underworld killing, but certainly a very effective one.
Bart alerted the rescue people and in no time at all, a search-and-rescue helicopter was out. The boat had to stay put until they were told they could do otherwise. Once they were told they could return to shore, Durley started the engine and this time the boat limped slowly back to the harbour. Durley’s showing off had really done for him this time. He was as white as a ghost and looked ill.
“You alright, Bart?” inquired Funnel.
“No, not really. Poor old Bill. It wasn’t my fault, was it?” pleaded Bart. “You lot told me to open her up a bit, so I did,” he moaned quietly.
“Don’t you start blaming us; it was an accident. But you did give some, Bart,” agreed Funnel.
Dell and Richards looked at each other with a pleased and satisfied expression, and Dell gave one of those winks that says, “Nice one, mate, job done.” He turned to Durley and said, “Don’t you start blaming us for anything, Bart. We didn’t do anything wrong, did we, Baz?”
“No, mate, nothing,” replied Richards.
With the job completed, they knew they were going to have to make a statement, either to the rescue people or to the Dorset police—maybe both, but as it was such a simple incident to explain, no one apart from Durley was particularly worried. They all knew what to say as everything had gone according to plan. If Durley got charged with anything, they weren’t bothered. No one liked him anyway, and Big Burt was going to be well pleased. But he wasn’t going to be told the outcome until everything was cleared up with the authorities and they were free to go.
