What a Country

by Paul Kirby

  “Who?” asked Dell.

  “Butler and his mate by the looks of it,” replied Richards.

  “Fuckin’ hell. He’s persistent, I’ll say that for him,” said Dell, annoyed.

  Butler had gotten fed up with waiting in the café and listening to all the snide remarks about him and Wilson, so he had decided to try Dell at home. He knew for certain Dell wouldn’t be very happy about it. But what was he supposed to do? He was under a little bit of pressure himself and he desperately needed the support of Dell and his two mates.

  The intercom buzzed in Dell’s flat and he picked it up. “Mr. Butler, what can I do for you?”

  Butler, not expecting that reception, asked, “How did you know it was me?”

  “I could smell you, mate,” said Dell as he winked at the others with a grin.

  “Ha ha, very funny. Look, Joe, I need to speak to you about that thing I mentioned to you the other day in the pub,” said Butler with a bit of nervousness in his voice.

  “Ah, yeah, that thing,” said Dell, having spotted the nervous tone in Butler’s voice. “Well, I’m a little busy right now, so we’ll have to arrange another day, mate.”

  “What if I came back this time tomorrow?” asked Butler. Dell thought if he had two Old Bills around his place at the same time, they might try and bug him.

  “I tell you what we can do. You come around on your own and we can have a chat, but if you bring any of your colleagues with ya, forget it,” said Dell.

  “Okay, Joe, no problem. It’ll just be me, I promise. Cheers, Joe, I appreciate this. See you tomorrow then, mate,” said Butler, relieved.

  “Ah, yeah, and not so much of the mate. Alright?” said Dell as he put the intercom phone down and the three of them laughed.

  Butler got back into the unmarked car a happy man as he felt sure that once he’d explained the facts to Dell, he’d join forces with him.

  “What the hell does he want with me? The snide prick!” said Dell.

  The other two men shrugged their shoulders. Funnel said, “Well, you’ll find out tomorrow, mate, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, well, he seems pretty keen to talk and he doesn’t seem to want me at the station. I wonder what he’s up to,” said Dell, curious. “Anyway, anyone want another tea or coffee?” His guests both refused. “Right then. Let’s pop over to Big Burt’s. I wanna let him know we’re gonna have to release some dough from the betting account and put it into Doc’s account, but only when we know everything’s alright.”

  As they entered Burt’s shop, he was behind the counter. Dell promptly told him about his unwanted visitor.

  “Well, he poked his head in here earlier,” said Burt, looking up slowly from his Racing Post, giving one of those knowing looks over the top of his glasses that said everything.

  “Oh, yeah, what did he say?” asked Dell.

  “No, nothing. Just opened the door, looked about, then went,” said Burt.

  “Well, he’s meeting me at my place tomorrow. On his own,” said Dell, nodding at Burt as he said it.

  “Oh dear, Joe. Well, just you tread carefully, my son,” replied Burt.

  As the shop was empty, Dell explained the reason for his visit. “You don’t think that’s what he’s sniffin’ around here for, do ya?” asked Burt suddenly.

  “No, no! He wouldn’t know anything about that. No one does. Only us and we ain’t treadin’ on no one’s toes. I don’t know what he wants, to be honest, and I can’t wait to find out.”

  The trio hung around the betting shop for a while, looking at the day’s racing and watching the morning dog racing as the Lightfoot brothers prepared for their trip. They’d agreed on the rented accommodation they were to use for getting their bits ready for Sven’s request and they’d got the addresses they needed and the vacuum packing machine. All the rest of the equipment would be purchased once they had reached their destination. Nothing now was going to stop them. They turned in around nine thirty, ready for an early start in the morning, and hoped to catch the first ferry out of Dover. Then it was on up to Holland and an overnight stay somewhere before the final push into Sweden.

  They rose as planned, packed the motor, and headed off for the Channel crossing to Calais. They chatted about the trip as they drove out of the darkness into the dawn down the M2 through Kent. David, putting his younger brother at ease, told him that before this one, he used to drive to the port with two kilos concealed in the truck and related how he had to go through two customs stations before he’d even gotten on a French road. He explained how this way was so much better as they were leaving Old Blighty as clean as a whistle, and even if they did get pulled in, they’d soon be let go as they had nothing on them.

  As they went through passport control, sure enough, the Kent police were at the checkpoint and flagged them down straightaway.

  David stopped his pick-up truck and let the window down. “Morning officer,” said David with a smile.

  “Morning, Sir. Would you mind pulling in over there?” The officer pointed to the big customs shed.

  “No, not at all,” said David as he drove the short distance to the entrance and turned to his brother. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, I’ve never had this before. But don’t worry.”

  They parked and got out of the vehicle as instructed. They weren’t the only ones to get pulled in. They watched another car having a good going over by the customs men. But they did get alarmed when the police followed them in and got out. The usual questions followed. “Is this vehicle yours?” “Do you know why we’ve pulled you in?” But what they thought was a bit odd was that the police who were with them were not bothering with any of the other vehicles. They were subjected to a very intense search and the officers looked extremely puzzled as they’d found nothing incriminating whatsoever. They even put two sniffer dogs over the truck, one at a time, and still came up with nothing. At one point David quipped, “Perhaps they can smell intent.”

  The officer in charge looked the pair up and down and disappointment showed as clear as day on his face. The information they had received from one of Butler’s team had proved inconclusive.

  “Why did you pull us, officer? Is it because we’re black?” David asked cheekily.

  “Never you mind, son. On your way and enjoy your trip,” said the officer.

  As the pair drove out, the officer from the Kent Constabulary got in touch with Scotland Yard and shared with Butler what now looked like misinformation. This came as a shock. As he prepared for his meet with Dell, Butler needed something concrete on him and his boys to force them on board if they wouldn’t volunteer. Now he was going to have to rely solely on Dell’s patriotic side and hope to God he would play ball.

  The Lightfoot boys missed their ferry and had to hang around for the next one. Once they got in the queue, David rang Dell and told him what had just happened.

  “Really? What the fuck was that all about then?” asked Dell.

  “I don’t know, Joe. But we were the only ones the Old Bill were lookin’ at,” replied Lightfoot anxiously.

  “Stroke of luck, though. Bloody good job everything got changed round, really, wan’ it?”

  “Yeah! It was. Shall we carry on, or do you want us to abort?”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it, David. You’ll be alright to carry on, won’t ya?”

  “Well, that’s what I’m askin’ you, Boss,” said Lightfoot.

  “Yeah, bollocks to it. It was probably just one of those things.”

  “But if you hear anything, let me know, please, Joe?”

  “Yeah, ‘course I will,” replied Dell as he suddenly thought about Butler’s appointment. Were the two a coincidence, or were they linked? He’d do his best to find out.

  Dell made all the appropriate preparations for Butler’s visit and sat waiting for him. As expected, he turned up bang on time. This was going to be very interest
ing indeed. The intercom buzzed and Dell let Butler in. As Butler entered the apartment, he took a look around and said, “Nice place you got here, Joe.”

  “Well, what did you expect, Mr. Butler?”

  “Only the best for the top man, eh?” was all he could think of to say.

  “Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Butler? You seem pretty desperate to get hold of me, so what do you want?”

  “Well, it’s like this, Joe, and this ain’t easy for me. I’d like you to listen very carefully to what I have to say, and you being a reasonable man, I’m sure you’re gonna understand,” said Butler.

  “Hold on a sec, Mr. Butler. Would you like a drink or somethin’ to calm ya’self? I can see you’re a bit on edge,” said Dell, now putting himself firmly in control.

  “Err, err, yes, please, if you don’t mind. Could I have a Scotch on the rocks, if you have it?” asked Butler.

  “No problem. Sit down and make ya’self comfortable.” Dell went to his drink cabinet and pulled out two frosted glasses. He poured out two large measures of whisky and then dropped in a few ice cubes. Dell sat down and handed Butler his drink. He then pushed his in the direction of his guest and the two glasses knocked together in the usual ritual. “Cheers,” they said together. The two men sat opposite each other, sizing each other up, and Butler began.

  “Well, you’re probably not aware, but there’s big surveillance going on in this area.”

  “Wow, wow! Let me stop you there, Mr. Butler. This better not involve me, because since my release, I’m not involved in anything. All I’m interested in is finding my son and being the father to him I should have been from the start.”

  Dell was wearing a poppy, much to Butler’s joy, but it didn’t seem to fit in with his immaculate appearance.

  “I see you’re wearing a poppy,” said Butler, getting off the subject slightly.

  “Yeah, so what! I have respect for the fallen and so should you,” said Dell bluntly.

  “Oh, I have. I have and I’m glad to see that you do too, Joe,” said Butler, starting to feel a little more at ease as he gulped back his Scotch. It wasn’t meant to be him that felt nervous. It was meant to be the other way around. But he was in Dell’s domain now and felt humbled.

  “Get to the point, will ya? I’m doin’ you a favour here, givin’ you my time. Not you doin’ me one,” said Dell firmly.

  “Right. Like I said, the surveillance thing has nothin’ to do with you or any of your boys. There happens to be an active terror cell working on your manor, Joe, and we’d like your help,” said Butler bluntly, getting back to business.

  “Now, there’s a surprise. What the fuck do you expect? There’s enough of ‘em around here. Who is it? Muslims, Polish, Russians? Who? And what the fuck would I know about any of ‘em anyway? I keep to myself, as you of all people should know.”

  Butler picked up his glass and looked at it as if to say, “I’m empty.”

  “Would you like another?” asked Dell, getting up and grabbing Butler’s glass before he could answer. Dell poured him a big one and slammed it down on the table in front of him as he sat back down. “Go on then, tell me. What’s all this got to do with me?”

  “Well, it’s a bit delicate and highly confidential,” Butler replied, sipping at his drink.

  “Yeah, well, it always is with you. Isn’t it, Mr. Butler?” interrupted Dell.

  “Please let me speak, Joe. This isn’t easy for me, but there’s been a change in government policy and they’ve decided they need people like you to combat the terror threat to this country,” said Butler, taking another sip of his drink.

  “Ah, yeah. Well, go on then, I’m all ears. Tell me why and what they want from me. Is this some sort of prison PPI where I get all my sentences back?” said Dell sarcastically. Then he continued, “I know what you’re tryin’ to say. You want to hire people like me to do the dirty work for people like you. That’s right, innit?”

  Butler looked at Dell in complete shock. “Whatever makes you say that?”

  “I’ve heard it before, years ago when I was in Spain. But back then, the problem was with the tea caddies. Now it’s with whatever piece of shit wants to come here and take over our country because we stand back and let ‘em,” ranted Dell.

  This was just the sort of attitude Butler expected and wanted, and added to the fact that Dell was sporting a poppy a few weeks before Armistice Day, he was getting the feeling it wouldn’t be too hard to win him over.

  “What do you mean, you’ve heard this story before?” asked Butler.

  Dell got up and walked around a bit and then told Butler about when he and Slaughter had been approached in Spain by who they thought were government men who wanted the pair to rub out a key IRA man. As Butler listened, it all made sense. The men at the meeting a couple of weeks before had told him who he was intending to use for this mission before he had had a chance to tell them. Joey Dell was on their radar anyway. It was all coming together.

  Butler was convinced now that he’d selected the right man, but he had to convince Dell he was the right man. The men in Gibraltar must have known something about him even then, but he was nothing more than a kid at the time. What had he done for them to approach him? And how could Butler find out? He wasn’t going to try to find out today, but he was determined to at some point. Today he was just going to do what he’d come to do. The way Dell had preplanned this meeting out with Butler, there was no way he would incriminate himself with anything from the past anyway, so if Butler thought he would, he’d have to think again. Dell was far too clever for that, as Butler would eventually find out.

  Back in the mid-eighties, when Dell and Slaughter had been in their late teens, they had spent half a year ducking about on the Costa del Sol. Although they’d had a bit of experience in drug dealing at home, they’d decided it would be a good idea to ply their trade in sunnier climes. During their time there, they not only earned some good money, but they also made some good contacts. As they built up their little business, their operation grew a lot more quickly than they’d imagined, and a very well-known Spaniard took a liberty with them. The Spaniard had made a big mistake and paid with his life, and it was Dell who had ended it for him. That was when he and Ronnie Slaughter had bolted off down to Gibraltar, and the rest, as they say, is history.

  When Dell had finished his story, Butler again commented on his wearing a poppy. “Oh yeah, well, as I say, I like to pay my respects to all the men who fought for this country. Mind you, if they saw it now, they’d wish they hadn’t bothered.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, and a lot of men and women in the force feel the same way,” replied Butler.

  “Well, you can’t blame ‘em, can ya?” said Dell.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Joe,” said Butler, sipping at his Scotch once more.

  “Oh yeah, and why’s that?” Dell asked.

  “Well, I didn’t have you down as a patriotic man,” Butler replied.

  “Oh now, so what did you have me down as then?”

  “Well, you know. A man with a reputation like yours,” said Butler a little uneasily.

  “No, I don’t know. Anyway, spit it out. What’s this all about then? I’m still none the wiser,” said Dell, starting to get a little impatient.

  “Well, as I was sayin’ earlier, right on our doorstep we have an active terror cell. They’re planning something in our community that will affect a lot of people nationally, but most of them will obviously be local people. People we all know. Some of them will be people close, people we love and have known for years. It’ll affect all of us, especially here in West London. In fact, what they’re plotting will touch the world and probably make them heroes and martyrs to their kind.”

  “Yeah, alright, Mr. Butler, but again, what has this got to do with me? Anyway, why don’t you nick em?”

  “Well, that’s just my
point. We’re looking for people like you. A sort of underworld resistance to combat this scum. People with fight in ‘em, people with guts. Not many men carry the sort of clout you do, Joe,” said Butler, hoping to press the right buttons. “You’re a highly respected man, Joe, and highly influential.”

  “Don’t talk stupid, Mr. Butler. So I was right in the first place. You’ve come at me with the same offer as that lot years ago, haven’t you? Why the fuckin’ hell do you lot come to me? Why me, eh? Do you lot think I am a mercenary or something?” said Dell angrily, gulping his drink down. He reached for the bottle and poured them both another.

  “Not at all, but you know as well as I do that you’re the man who makes things happen. You and your boys are pretty much untouchable. Even the fuckin’ Eastern Europeans won’t go near ya, and don’t you try and tell me otherwise,” said Butler.

  “What are you talkin’ about, you cunt? That drink’s gone to your fuckin’ ‘ead.”

  “Look, Joe, me and you go back years, don’t we?” said Butler in a sort of plea.

  “Yeah, that’s right, we do, but who always cops the bird? I fuckin’ do, that’s who!” replied Dell.

  “Okay, okay! I agree, you have done a bit of time, but only on silly things. We never got you on the proper things. You were always too clever. Do you know how many men have put their time and careers into trying to get you weighed off for life?” shouted Butler, now trying to get into Dell’s face.

  “No, I don’t and I don’t care.” Dell then stopped and thought for a moment. He thought back on the things he’d actually been responsible for that could well still be on file as the cases had never been solved. “Okay, okay, you start talkin’ and tell me what the fuckin’ deal is, then. And don’t fuckin’ lie. I want it straight.”

  Butler gulped another one down as he slammed his glass on the table as if to say, “Fill it up then.” Dell obliged and Butler braced himself to tell him the way they wanted it to be. This meeting was rapidly turning into a bit of a drinking session as both men were eager to hear what the other had to say. Dell thought he had Butler up against the ropes. He could tell Butler was out of his comfort zone and he needed Dell right now a lot more than Dell needed him. Another bottle of Scotland’s finest was opened as Butler started. “The powers that be want results and they don’t want to lose any more men than have been lost already, if you get my drift.”