by Paul Kirby
Gerry had his meetings that day and both reporters seemed more than a little interested in what he had to say. Gossip sells and Gerry had now made up for losing out on his old Swedish job. Managing to keep his name out of the story and being able to remain anonymous made the whole thing even better as it was going to keep everyone guessing as to who had actually leaked the story to the press in the first place.
When the story finally broke a couple of days later, it caused widespread pandemonium in the pub. No one had expected it and Gerry took great satisfaction dropping the relevant papers on the bar. It was no secret there what had happened, but no one dreamt of it becoming national news. As soon as the local papers got wind of it, they decided to run a story of their own. The Durley boy became inundated with reporters, exactly the opposite of what he wanted. No chance. Everyone now wanted to know, was Bill pushed or was it an accident? Or plain murder?
Gerry had put the cat among the pigeons. Bart wouldn’t go home as reporters were camped at his front door, and the pub was buzzing with new faces all the time. Gerry was quietly loving it, although he hadn’t expected all this fuss and certainly no one suspected it was he who had gone to the papers.
Chapter 13
With all these new people turning up in the pub, nobody noticed a couple chatting in the corner. They looked just like any other courting couple who had popped in to get the gossip, but this pair remained regulars, even after all the fuss had died down. Not surprisingly both the Durleys were keeping very low profiles. Bart was close to his breaking point.
He refused to give interviews and all he had to say on the matter was that it was just an accident and that no one was to blame, certainly not him. And the Flowery firm had told a group of journalists and reporters who haunted the place in no uncertain terms to Go Away! Social media was alive with stories about Bart and his dad. Gerry hadn’t done them any favours whatsoever. Gerry’s life went on as usual and he even had the two local jihadists, Badini and Dasti, come into the Country to talk about further drug deals. This hadn’t gone unnoticed by the undercover police couple who had strict instructions to keep their distance from Dell’s mob as they would suss them straightaway. But Gerry also was fast becoming a man of interest.
As things quieted down a bit and yesterday’s newspapers became today’s chip papers, the Durleys skulked back into the pub with their tails between their legs. The bullshit flowed once more. But the melee surrounding Bart in the papers and on social media had stirred up a few ghosts the Durleys had thought would remain in the closet forever. With photos being bandied about, one or two memories were dragged up from many years before when the pair had been cleaning windows at an all girls’ convent school.
In the wake of the Jimmy Saville scandal, lots of children involved at the time had come forward as adults and reported indecent assaults, rapes, and other vile acts of depravity. Also, the government had vowed that anyone implicated in this type of behaviour would be thoroughly investigated and, if found guilty, imprisoned. This was an extremely bad situation for the Durleys, as one by one, women filed complaints about them from the days when they worked at the school. All in all, about a dozen people came forward, and before they knew it, the Durleys were the subject of yet another police investigation. Bart was very fond of using the phrase “what goes around comes around”; he was a great believer in karma.
Rita started to meet the Durleys on a more regular basis down at the pub, saying to others that she had to keep an eye on her boys. Of course in reality, she wanted to keep her eye on a certain taxi cab owner she requested each time she went on one of her pub visits. Not only were the men in this family a devious pair, but the mother was also. No stranger to straying from her husband’s side, she was determined to bag herself yet another cabbie.
What’s good for the goose is also good for the gander, at least that was Rita’s opinion, and she knew of her husband’s past. Revenge is sweet, so they say, and Rita was certainly going to make sure she got her share of the candy. Although her husband’s and son’s past had yet to be widely exposed, woman’s intuition told her Dick had probably been up to something, somewhere most of the time, during their marriage. But she was no saint herself and was determined to get her own back. Her sights were on Shifty Ifty. This was a dysfunctional family by anyone’s standards. What a sorry state of affairs, but none of them knew any different. They were all in it for themselves. Rita was totally unaware of the social media campaign implicating her husband and son in pedophile allegations dating back a couple of decades, but she was fully aware they were both capable of anything of a sexual nature, no matter how depraved it might be.
Chapter 14
Big Burt was satisfied that, for now, the fuss surrounding the death of Bill Winters had died down, but he couldn’t help thinking there was more to come from that event. Although he didn’t say anything to Dell and Co., it kept eating away at the back of his mind. After all, he’d been around a lot longer than the others. He knew about other hits the boys had gotten away with in the past, but this one seemed a different kettle of fish altogether, and he couldn’t help but think this one was going to come back to haunt them. Anyway, onward and upward for now, and we’ll cross that bridge when or if we come to it, he thought. He was well aware Bart had said it was an accident when approached by the press, but Bart had also been telling different stories about that day to other people. Then again, who would take Bart seriously? Everyone knew he didn’t know his arse from his elbow. It was the timing of Butler’s appearance that gave Burt cause for concern, but none of the others seemed bothered about it. Big Burt had a gut feeling storm clouds were building and it might be time to batten down the hatches.
Whenever Burt expressed such concerns to his old pal Dell, he was always told he was worrying unnecessarily. The Winters case was over and done with, lost at sea as it were. However, the two Jihadists who had become very friendly with Gerry Funnel were a mystery to the firm, and they were wondering where Gerry had been introduced to them. Why all of a sudden had they started using the Country? When they saw them shaking hands and talking to Shifty, as if they’d all known each other for a long time, the boys assumed they must be related or something, and Gerry must be conducting business with them.
The extremist pair made sure to keep their political views and intentions to themselves. They dressed like any other people of their age, wearing the latest fashions like ordinary Londoners and blending in. They drank, smoked, and did drugs and were even seen coming out of the toilets wiping their noses and checking each other to make sure they had no residue visible on their noses before reentering the bar. They acknowledged people around them but generally kept to themselves as much as possible. They didn’t want to arouse suspicion any more than the boys did, and they kept down to the end of the pub Gerry used. They never thought about venturing up to the other end. That lot up there looked like trouble.
They had popped in only now and then to start with, to see Gerry, but they had begun to get other ideas about this nice, big pub on the High Street. They had decided to check it out to see how busy the place actually got. The Country was a typical suburban pub. Probably once it had had a snug and a saloon bar, but now it had just one large, U-shaped bar with a couple of beer engines and oddly sized and shaped tables and chairs scattered about. Moderate food was served, but customers generally came for the drink and the company. There were the regulars, lunchtime, early evening, and late, and a weekend crowd who came to watch football and horse racing. Mickey put on a DJ or live music on Friday and Saturday nights, and Badini and Dasti discovered the place was full to the rafters with revellers partying and generally having a good time.
This place, or maybe a similar venue, seemed to them a possible target, and they would mention it to their leader. There was one slight problem with targeting the Country. They would have to get past the hostile mob assembled at the other end of the bar. That lot ran security and had searched them already when t
hey’d ventured in, and they were sure to search them every time, as they viewed anyone of Asian descent as a potential threat. In this case, they were right. This would take a lot of serious thought and careful planning, but it should at least be considered, they felt. And to hit all those innocent infidels out enjoying themselves on a Saturday night was a mouth-watering prospect. They did think about trying to use these nights to sell their drugs for the fundraising campaign but then thought better of it. They would more likely become the victims if they did that, and being killed by the Flowery firm wasn’t in their plans. Allah wouldn’t want that and neither would they, so they would have to deploy different tactics.
The Ayatollah and Cairo were not only looking for prospective targets, they were hard at work with their hate preaching. Possible recruits at London colleges and universities were prime targets of theirs. Young, vulnerable, disenchanted Muslim students were of particular interest. The pair were also very busy attending Islamic extremist rallies in places like Bradford and Rochdale and even one recently close by in High Wycombe. Until they had sufficient funds for their commitment, they would carry on exhorting the “Big” picture. In their perfect world, England would become a Muslim state under Sharia law.
The writing was now on the wall and one of these days swords would be crossed, but who would be the victors and who would be the victims? Only time would tell. Big Burt’s inner feelings may have been right, but he had no idea in what shape or form his fears would manifest. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but prophesying an event before it actually happens is a completely different story. Burt wasn’t anxious for no reason, but even his anxiety couldn’t predict what the future held for his beloved Joey Dell and his band of brigands.
To a stranger, Dell and his inner clique looked like men who worked in the city. They were always well dressed, and they were always very respectful to people, and because of that they had gained the respect of others. But if they didn’t like you, you would get the picture pretty quickly, which the Durleys failed to understand.
Gerry knew the score and after he was pushed out of the inner circle, he knew it was best to keep out of the way. He knew only too well how they operated. Once they got the hump with you, you needed to keep your distance. He knew his saving grace was his twin brother, but if he overstepped the mark, even that wouldn’t be enough. He managed to keep half a foot in by getting his gear from Dell, but even this was indirectly as they kept far away from everyday involvement in drug dealing, but it came from them all the same.
London’s answer to “murder incorporated” had put the memory of Bill Winters’ fatal accident out of their minds, but the Durleys couldn’t shut up about it. They would talk to anyone who could be bothered to listen, and almost every time they did speak about it, the story was different. Most people didn’t take any notice, but the couple who had recently started using the Country were all ears. They kept their distance for now, but were keen to listen to what the pair was saying. The seeds of weeds had definitely blown into the pub and one man was very quick to pick up on it—Albert Kinsley. He’d noticed the couple as soon as they had started to become regulars in the pub, and his sixth sense began working overtime. He knew the Old Bill when he saw them and the more he saw of them, the more he was convinced. He never liked the Durleys either and liked them even less when he kept hearing what they were saying about Bart’s nautical adventure.
Burt needed to get Dell by himself for a serious chat. He rang and asked him if he could come over to his office as he needed to get something off his chest and, most importantly, would he come alone? Dell was only too happy to meet Burt. If Burt wanted to talk, Dell was all ears. He entered the shop and Sharon indicated Dell should go upstairs. He didn’t need to be told twice. He winked back at her and made his way to Burt’s office. He found Burt waiting at his desk. Dell gave a little knock on the door and let himself in.
“Alright, Burt, what’s up?” he inquired.
“Ah, Joe, my dear boy, come in and sit down. Fancy a drink?” Burt got up and walked toward a small cabinet he kept a few bottles of spirits in.
“Go on then. I’ll have a brandy, if you’ve got one,” Dell replied.
“‘Course I have, you want ice with it?”
“Don’t mind, mate, as it comes,” said Dell.
Burt poured them both a drink and they sat down opposite each other at a very regal desk, the type you would expect men like these to grace, with paintings of the Queen on one wall and Winston Churchill on another. The mood was serious as Big Burt started the conversation. “I don’t like it Joe, there’s too much activity.”
“How do you mean, Burt?” asked Dell, taking a sip of his brandy.
“Up until Bill’s accident, all was quiet and rosy. Now it’s different. We’ve had all sorts of stories flying about, we’ve had the media hanging around the pub, stuff in the papers, a visit from the dreaded Butler, and let me tell you, that was no coincidence. And that won’t be the last we see of him, trust me, and during all the melee, we’ve now picked up ourselves a pair of undercover ‘coppers’ who seem to becoming residents in the pub,” said Burt in a slightly raised voice.
“Ah, you mean that couple who came in when all the fuss about Bill was going on. Yeah, we’ve clocked them. What do you reckon on it?”
“What do I reckon? I reckon Butler’s planted them there and I reckon the water is looking very murky indeed and either that fishing trip is coming back to bite us in the bollocks or they’re trying to set us up for something. I don’t know; I just have this strong gut feeling that a darker force is at work and that we’re going to feel it one way or another.”
“Well, don’t worry about the fishing thing. You’re not involved in that. Only two of us saw what happened there, and we ain’t saying a word. You should know that,” said Dell.
“Yeah, I know that, but I don’t like it one bit, and I can’t shake off this feeling I have. It’s not natural,” said Burt, doing a sort of shivery shake of his shoulders. Dell looked at him and could see he was a worried man.
“Burt, you’ve got nothing to worry about, mate, just relax. If anyone it’ll be me they’re after, and they haven’t got F-all on me. We’ll take things easy for a bit and keep our eyes on the situation. They’ll get bored after a while and piss off, you watch,” Dell replied, referring to the two undercover cops in the pub.
“Well, you just make sure they ain’t got anything on you and that you haven’t got anything around you that’ll cause you any problems, if you know what I mean. I don’t want anything to happen to you, Joe. I look at you as the son I never had, you know that, don’t you?” said Burt with a little tear in his eye. He thought the absolute world of Joey Dell.
“I know that, Burt, and I look at you as a father figure too. Ever since my ol’ man passed away you been there and I’ve got your back too,” replied Dell.
“Good boy. Just be careful out there ‘cause there’s too much activity for my liking,” repeated Burt.
“Don’t worry, Burt, I will,” said Dell with a little smile. The pair stayed in the office like men do, reminiscing and generally enjoying each other’s company. Both needed this and both needed the reassurance of their special bond.
Chapter 15
Dell left Big Burt’s with the words “too much activity” ringing around in his head. He was trying to keep an open mind on everything going on, but he couldn’t help but think Burt might well be right. He needed to go home and think the whole thing over alone. Besides, Burt had summoned some ghosts by talking about Dell’s mum, who had lost her battle against cancer when he was just a boy of ten. Not long after that his dad had hit the bottle. He died of drink when Dell was just nineteen years of age. Big Burt had been a father figure to Dell ever since those dark days, and all he had wanted to do was look after him. Even though together they had gone down the road of heavy villainy, Burt still only wanted the best for his “boy.” Burt and Joe’s d
ad had been great friends, and Burt had only been able to stand by and watch as Joe’s dad had slowly but surely destroyed himself, leaving his only child alone.
On his arrival home, Dell poured himself another brandy, lit up a cigar, and turned on some music. He sat back in his favourite armchair, put his feet up, and began to reflect on his life gone by. This was something he’d always tried to avoid as he always looked forward, not back, but as he sat there in deep thought, he came to realise that the past had shaped the present and what had happened to him was not his fault, but maybe the person he’d become was. Or was it just he’d become that way as a result of the past? He asked himself many questions but found few answers. Where did he go from here? Dell didn’t know the answer to that either.
One thing he did know was that he wanted to be there for his son. But he was too scared to ask of his whereabouts because he was frightened of what the outcome would be. He knew he was lucky to have his boys around him, but that was all he seemed to be living for. He loved that and so did they. But he really longed to be reunited with his son. How was he going to achieve that when he didn’t know where either Harry or his mum were? For the first time in his life, he’d come to realise he was actually a lonely man despite all the people he had around him. This had to change, he told himself. After what seemed like hours and hours of contemplation, Dell fell asleep in his chair and dreamt of a different way of life where there wasn’t going to be “too much activity.”
