by Paul Kirby
“You haven’t asked me anything about the fishing trip, Gerry. I was expecting you to,” said Bart with a sad and serious look on his face.
“No, I haven’t, Bart. It’s none of my business, is it?” said an equally serious Gerry, the cocaine was taking effect on both of them.
“Well, is it alright if I tell you what happened?” asked Bart.
“Yeah, ‘course, mate. Go ahead if you really want to.” This should be good, thought Gerry and let Bart continue.
“We were out fishing on my mate’s boat,” said Bart.
Gerry thought, Ah, your mate’s boat now, is it?
“And after a reasonably successful day’s fishing, I s’pose we were all getting a bit bored. They kept egging me on to give the boat some welly.” Which was partly true. It was only mentioned once by Terry and Dell, but they knew Bart wouldn’t be able to resist an opportunity to show off.
“So I opened her up a bit and not very much, may I add,” continued Bart.
Yeah, right, thought Gerry.
“And the next thing, I turn around to see poor old Bill flying off the back of the boat like an Olympic diver, and Dell and Richards seemed to be turning back toward the sides as if they’d just launched him over. One of ‘em, I can’t remember which, sort of wiped his hands together in that ‘job well done’ action. You know what I mean? So of course I slowed right down, turned the boat around and went in search of poor old Bill. The others didn’t say much. Well, your brother did.” Bart’s version of events was pure fiction, but the truth of the matter was that Bill had been thrown into the sea by Dell and Richards.
“So where was my brother positioned at the time?” asked Gerry, curious by now.
“Well, he was err, err, somewhere near me, I think,” replied Bart.
“So he was nowhere near the others then?” said Gerry.
“No, no, he wasn’t.”
“So did he see the others throw Bill over?” asked Gerry.
“I don’t know if he saw, but I reckon they did do it,” said Bart, his mood a bit more excited. A minute ago, he’d as good as seen them do it. Now he only “reckoned” they had.
Gerry racked up a couple more lines of the devil’s dandruff and they sniffed it up together. They sat in silence for a few seconds. Gerry thought for a moment and then said, “Hmm, so you actually saw them throw him, did you?”
“Yeah, threw him like a rag doll. Well, that’s what I reckon,” was Bart’s reply. Here he went again, one minute seeing it, the next thinking it. Gerry knew this was classic Durley fiction at its best and that Bart would need to be very careful about what he said and who he said it to, but Gerry wasn’t going to tell him that.
“What do you think, Gerry? Will they try and nick me for what they done to Bill?”
“What for? You didn’t throw him in, did ya? What the hell can you get nicked for, you berk?”
“Yeah, you’re right, Gerry. Well, I hope they don’t try and charge me with it,” Bart said, his eyes narrowing as if he was scheming something.
“Well, like I said, they ain’t got F-all to charge you with, have they? If they did, they’d have done it there and then wouldn’t they?” Gerry reassured him.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” said a more confident Bart.
“So, what did the Old Bill say about it anyway?” asked Gerry, not expecting Bart’s answer.
“Well, they reckoned I was lucky to get away alive myself, as my crew were the biggest bunch of brigands and bandits out there. They also used the word cutthroats as well.”
Gerry, getting a bit bored with it, started rolling a joint but chuckled away as Bart said that, and replied in a matter-of-fact way, “Well, they’re not wrong there, are they?”
“Nah, what a mob!” Bart said, deadly serious.
Gerry never said anything to Bart about what he’d heard when he walked into the pub that morning. What was the point? He knew what they were capable of, and Gerry didn’t want to be on the receiving end. Even though his twin was part of it, he didn’t think that would bother the other two too much.
The boozing and drug-taking carried on for a few more hours, and it soon became clear that Bart didn’t want to spend the night alone. He was a frightened man. Scared of what would happen when he went back to answer bail. Frightened of Dell’s boys and just generally worried. He was like a rabbit caught in the headlights and all this drug-taking wasn’t going to do his state of mind any good.
As the night turned into the early hours, Bart’s mood became more emotional and soon tears were flowing. Gerry was on hand to provide a shoulder to cry on and give him a cuddle. Bless him! As the tears flowed and the hugging continued, Bart received one or two pats on the bum, something he was no stranger to. Gerry, noticing he never complained, continued to push his luck a little bit further. Still Bart didn’t complain and if he did, Gerry would just say that it was down to drink and drugs and Bart had been mistaken. Although Bart was no stranger to sexual activity with men, Gerry didn’t actually know that. But he could sense Bart was no straight flyer. So, as the comforting became more sensual, the drink and drugs now taking hold, the inevitable happened and the two of them ended up enjoying a very passionate night.
When morning came, the pair woke up in the marital bed and looked at each other a little bit surprised, but not overly. “Oh, morning, Gerry,” said Bart, a little sheepishly.
“Morning, love, you were amazing last night,” Gerry said with a grin.
“Oh, was I? Look, I don’t normally do things like that, you know, mate,” said a red-faced Bart.
“No? That’s what they all say, mate,” commented Gerry.
“Who do?” asked Bart.
“The girls, they always say that,” Gerry said smiling.
Bart got up and hurried to shower and get ready for work. He was late already and not only was he feeling rough, he was a bit sore as well. Poor old Bart, not only was his head full of old bollocks, how his arse was as well. At least this would take his mind off Bill Winters.
“Don’t tell anyone about this, will you? We need to keep this to ourselves.” As Gerry said this, Bart’s mind flashed back to when he was a young boy. That was exactly what the priest had said to him then. It was history repeating itself—no wonder he was a messed-up piece of work, and at the end of the day, it wasn’t his fault. It was always others who had put him in these positions, and quite often those others were people he trusted.
“And don’t forget to change the sheets before your old woman gets home either,” mentioned Gerry, matter-of-factly.
“Just get dressed, please, mate, will you?” pleaded Bart. “I gotta go to work. Where do you want dropping off?”
“Anywhere on ya way’ll do mate,” was Gerry’s answer.
Bart wanted Gerry out of his house as soon as possible and he needed to meet up with his dad. Work was about the most important thing as he didn’t want to upset his old man. Gerry was dropped off and walked off with not only his head spinning with contradictions but also with a hand he thought he could play.
Chapter 12
On the other side of town, ISIS fanatics were getting themselves some reasonable ideas. The big targets—landmarks such as Big Ben, London Bridge, the Tower of London, and Tower Bridge—were well out of their reach and they began to look elsewhere. A school looked like the easiest target, one that would bring the most carnage and have the biggest effect on the British people. After all, how many schools had been hit in Syria and Iraq and all the other countries in the Arabic world?
Cairo was in favour of hitting innocent children and their parents. She was embittered and could see no wrong with inflicting on others the emotional damage she’d suffered. The Ayatollah loved this trait of hers, and he knew he’d found the perfect female partner. She was cold, callous, and evil. Although she hadn’t been born that way, life had made her that way. Funny old world, isn
’t it?
They didn’t have the money to fund any operation right then, but they had the knowledge and commitment between them. Of that there was no doubt. But with the fundraising activities and their new connections with drug addicts and Gerry Funnel, it wouldn’t be too long before they had the ingredients required to do whatever they wanted. Gerry and Ifty actually had no idea of the cell’s political leanings or that they were part of a cell in the making. It was, in fact, at that time an innocent way for everyone involved to earn a few quid. How times were changing. The whole situation on the surface looked like people trying to survive. The death and destruction motive wasn’t obvious to Gerry and Ifty at all. But it was well and truly obvious to observers.
* * *
There had been no sign of Tommy Butler for a while and that kept the Flowery firm happy. But that didn’t mean they were out of his thoughts. A message had reached him, but he was still none the wiser as to what it really concerned. All he knew was that he’d identified the team and his superiors were happy to let him or his team of trusties deal with it.
The country as a whole was fed up with the terrorist situation, and this meant increasing pressure on the government. They too were far from happy about it and as they had been voted in to deal with Brexit, that also meant protecting the borders against murdering religious fanatics. They were on the nation’s side. It was time to act and act in a very different way than they had in the past. The command was therefore passed down from the Home Office. Find us an independent team that can help sort this problem out. One that can appear independent of government. Tommy Butler was the messenger who in the long run hoped to be regarded as the man who found the Holy Grail. And in his case that was Joey Dell.
Since Dell’s release, everyone from here to Timbuktu seemed to require his services one way or another. For a one-time public enemy, it looked like his star was in the ascendency. Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, but in this particular case, the nation’s unknown heroes were going to stay just that—unknown. Generally heroes don’t become household names until they’ve been dead for at least half a century. Joey Dell a national hero? It didn’t seem likely. Although he might be a local legend, a national legend was far beyond anyone’s imaginings.
Tommy Butler was the chosen one, chosen to be the go-between for his higher-ranked civil servants and what they regarded as lower-ranked workers and doers. But they would all become to realise that at the end of the day, they were all going to need each other. But it would require all parties to cooperate and it was Butler’s job to see they did just that. But this wasn’t going to be an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Butler was going to have to dig deep to pull this one off. These boys weren’t going to trust him or any other representative of the law, so a lot of planning and thought were needed to get these boys on board. But if anyone knew a way, it was Butler. The game was on, but it would take time and cunning. Time was something Dell wasn’t short of serving and cunning he had plenty of. So this was going to be a battle of wits. Let the game begin.
Tommy Butler knew he needed to arm himself and put together a decent squad of his own. He’d have to keep himself out of Dell’s way for a while and send someone Dell wouldn’t know to observe things and see who his associates were these days. Butler still didn’t know what it was all about. It was all top-secret stuff, but his superintendent had told him he’d be informed “all in good time.” He didn’t know MI5 was also involved, and he certainly knew nothing about a terror cell plotting something in Dell’s manor.
David Lightfoot had returned from his trip to Sweden, and he thought he’d drop by and see the Flowery firm in the Country Life, both to let them know everything had gone smoothly and to pick up his wages. Dell was already aware everything had gone alright as the Swedes had paid up in full. David rang the pub and asked if Dell was there. Mickey, recognising his voice, told him he was. “Tell him I’ll be over shortly please, Mickey.”
“Okay, will do, mate,” said Mickey, hanging up. Mickey leaned over the bar as Dell and Richards were both standing there and said quietly in Dell’s ear that Lightfoot was coming in. That was alright by Dell, and they carried on chatting. When Lightfoot arrived, both of the Funnel brothers were there. One was with Dell at the bar and the other was sitting alone at a table. The trio greeted Lightfoot with handshakes and smiling faces. He got a pat on the back from Dell, and “whatever he wanted to drink” was quickly shoved into his hand.
The Funnel brother sitting by himself and pretending to read the paper was not quite so happy to see Lightfoot. That should have been him over there getting a warm welcome and a good few quid in wages. Gerry watched carefully and was envious, but was careful not to let it show. As if coming to rescue Gerry on his white steed, the gallant Bart Durley turned up just at the right moment with his dad right behind him. “You alright, Bart?” asked Dick as he followed him in, looking at his son’s backside.
“Yeah, why?” replied Bart curiously.
“Well, you’re walking a bit funny. Thought you might have piles or something.”
“Am I? Well, I do need the loo a bit desperate, Dad. Can you get these? I need to go,” said Bart, trying to show no pain as he minced off to the toilet. Gerry heard all this and had a quiet laugh to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as he watched the embarrassed Bart Durley rushing off red-faced toward the gents. This certainly took his mind off what was going on at the other end of the bar. Oh well, I suppose things could be worse, he thought as he sat there grinning from ear to ear.
“Alright, Gerry, what you smirking at?” Dick asked him.
“Ah, nothing, Dick, I was just thinking about something, that’s all. What’s up with Bart? Has he got a stomach bug or something?” Gerry asked cheekily.
“I don’t know. He’s been acting strange all day. I don’t know what’s up with him, to be honest,” squeaked Dick. Gerry got up and joined Dick at the bar, where he was still waiting patiently to be served. “I’ll get these, Dick,” said Gerry, thinking it was the least he could do.
“Ah, thanks, mate,” said Dick, needing no encouragement whatsoever to stand down and let Gerry take over the round. Bart came back and his dad said, “That was quick, son.”
“Yeah, well it was desperate. Shut up about it, will ya!” he grimaced, again red-faced.
“Alright, don’t bite my head off. See, I told you, didn’t I, Gerry?” said Dick, as he looked at Gerry and pulled a face.
Gerry just smirked and said to Bart, “Alright, mate, what you want?” reaching into his pocket for some money.
“I’ll just have my usual, thanks, Gerry, and don’t take any notice of him. I’m alright, thanks. You?”
“Yeah, I’m good, mate. Come on, let’s have a drink,” was Gerry’s reply. He was feeling completely relaxed.
“I’m only gonna have a couple tonight, mate. I’m bloody knackered,” said Bart in a “you know what I mean” way.
“Yeah, me too,” replied Gerry, raising his eyebrows.
Bart whispered into Gerry’s ear, “And I’ve gotta change the bedding.”
“Yeah, I know, but won’t the missus get suspicious?” Gerry asked him.
“Probably. I’ll just say I had an accident. She can ask the ol’ man if she doesn’t believe me. He knows I got a bad stomach.” The pair of them burst out laughing.
“What are you two laughing at?” asked Dick in all innocence.
“Nothing!” they both replied.
“Nothing, my arse,” said Dick, and the pair giggled again.
“What now?” said Dick, holding out his hands in a gesture that said, “What are you two children up to?” This cheered Gerry up even more. He quickly forgot about the Swedish thing, and the banter had also made for a much easier first meeting with Bart after their previous night’s encounter.
As Lightfoot was getting up to leave, Gerry heard Dell telling him to see them in the café to
morrow morning at ten and they would square him up. As he stood there thinking, Gerry watched Lightfoot leave and then an idea struck like a bolt of lightning. What a great idea, he thought. He turned and looked at the Durleys, thinking they would never know it was him, and then turned back to look at his brother standing at the other end of the bar with Joey and Barry. He murmured to himself, “And neither would they.” He drank up quickly, said his goodbyes, and went home to think more carefully about his cunning plan. Brilliant, he thought to himself as he walked out onto the street. On his way home, he stopped off at the corner and bought a few different red-top tabloid newspapers to take home and read. He was looking for the part that says, “If you have a story, ring this number.”
Once indoors, Gerry started scanning the papers for the numbers, which were usually just inside the front page. He got on the phone and to his surprise, a couple of them were interested in what he had to say. No loyalties here. Gerry had not only fucked Bart, he was metaphorically about to do him again. Only this time, he was going to get paid for it. Nice work, Gerry thought. Now Gerry was whoring himself and he didn’t care one little bit. All Gerry cared about was making some money, and he wasn’t too bothered how he earned it.
The next day came quickly as Gerry fell asleep early, thinking about the story he was to tell the press. Bart would be named and shamed, but he would think very carefully about who else he would name. He wasn’t that brave, and he certainly didn’t want to follow in Bill’s footsteps, found floating down the Thames or dead in a ditch somewhere.
Bill’s body had been found washed up on a beach somewhere in Dorset and it had been reported in a couple of national newspapers that morning. This would add considerable weight to Gerry’s story, and he could therefore now demand a nice few quid for his version of events, which he could claim had come straight from the horse’s mouth. This really would rub salt into the wounds of Bart, who was fast becoming the second victim in this sorry episode. All the others seemed to be profiting from Bill’s death except Bart, and who knew what effect this would have on him? Mentally he was very fragile and this could push him over the edge.
