What a Country

by Paul Kirby

  Rita had no idea what she was actually getting herself into and neither did Ifty. Rita didn’t even know the car was stolen. She just thought she was helping out. Obviously neither one of them knew they were being watched by several undercover Met Police officers in various motors strewn along their route. Due to intelligence, they knew exactly where the car was being taken. Ifty on the other hand was receiving instructions over the phone through Bluetooth from Badini and every now and then, he had to relay them to Rita, who said, “Why all the secret stuff? Can’t they just tell us where to go?”

  “I don’t bloody know,” said Ifty.

  Eventually they arrived at the destination, dropped the car off, and collected the money. It was a garage unit on the Park Royal industrial estate in a quiet corner just big enough to garage one car at a time. It had a little reception area to the side with a door and once inside you could walk into the workshop area, which had rolling doors to get your vehicle in. For the next week, this was to be the DSTC’s headquarters, and they were of the opinion that while they were there, they were pretty much out of sight of the general public. They had a car to work on, which was nothing unusual in this environment, and at the same time they could finalise their plans for 11/11.

  Ifty took the cash and said his goodbyes. He and Rita left the scene, thinking no more of it as they headed back to Ifty’s place, where once indoors they planned on getting cleaned up and going out for lunch. They would soon find out this was not to be. As they drove onto Ifty’s street, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by unmarked police cars with flashing blue lights coming out of the front grills. The pair were completely taken aback and their first reaction was that there must be some sort of mistake. Armed officers sprang from the cars, pointing their weapons at the pair and making them get out of their vehicle with their hands in the air and lie face down in the road.

  Rita thought to herself, This is a bit much for having a pedophile husband, but this of course had nothing to do with Dick whatsoever. Rita and Ifty were arrested on the spot and bundled into a van, having endured the usual search procedures. Both were taken to the Paddington Green police station of all places, and this came as an even bigger shock because this was where terrorists were taken. It didn’t make any sense to either of them. They weren’t terrorists and didn’t even know any, or so they thought. In fact, Ifty couldn’t even spell the word. But they soon came to realise that, for whatever reason, they were in deep trouble. Rita had gone from being the wife of a nonce to the top of the terror list in less than a month. Now that takes some doing by any standards.

  The pair were grilled for hours on end, but neither could offer anything because neither of them knew anything. So nothing could be leaked back to the real terrorists, neither would get bail and the pair would be remanded in jail once they’d been to court. Operation Desert Storm was in full cry now and nothing was going to halt it.

  Bart Durley was totally unaware of his mum’s situation and, as laughable as it was, Ifty hadn’t received any solicitor’s letter. Even if he had, it wouldn’t have made any difference to him in his current predicament. Bart stupidly had always thought any type of threat to him could be resolved by a solicitor’s letter. What he hadn’t taken into consideration after living like that for years was the fact that some people didn’t give a damn about a soppy letter. They were just waiting for Bart to turn up in the wrong place at the right time, and Bart was about to do just that.

  His lust for cocaine fuelled romps with prostitutes or brasses, as they were more commonly known, were getting out of hand. The more his personal problems grew, so did his desire for escapism. Little did he know an old friend from his childhood days had been waiting many years for Bart’s appearance and would have a permanent cure for his desire.

  This man was one of three brothers with a reputation of their own. They were also on very good terms with Dell’s firm, but were unaware Durley had been using Dell’s headquarters, the Country, for a while. Anyway, that didn’t matter, as coked out of his tiny brain, Durley was about to present himself to the Yerby brothers on a plate like a stuffed turkey at Christmas.

  They’d all grown up in the same street as kids and the middle brother, Jimmy, was more Bart’s friend than the other two. In fact, the other two couldn’t stand Bart, but Jimmy had taken pity on Bart back then and although he knew Bart was a compulsive liar and a proper little sissy, it amused him really. He even went on to be Bart’s best man when he married Sebrina.

  Then, a few years later, Bart, being Bart, offered to help Jimmy out with a business deal but couldn’t help himself. He embezzled twenty grand out of the unsuspecting Jimmy. When Jimmy discovered what he’d done, never thinking for one minute Bart would do such a thing to him, he confronted him. Bart promptly went to his solicitor and then the police with tales of blackmail and extortion, which came to nothing. But the mandatory letter from Bart’s legal advisor dropped through Jimmy’s door, which left his hands somewhat tied. The whole episode was never forgotten by the Yerbys, especially Jimmy, and they decided to bide their time and give Bart his punishment when the opportunity presented itself. Today was that day.

  The Yerby boys owned a sauna room and tanning shop that offered the added extras for dirty little pervs like Durley and just as the youngest brother, Rodney, was having a fag outside the bookie’s, he watched Durley park right by the saunas, get out of his car, and head for the door. There was no mistaking it being Bart, as he had the private plates on his car he’d had for years: BND 118.

  Rodney couldn’t believe what he was seeing and as neither of his two brothers was on the premises at that particular moment, he quickly got on the phone to tell them what he’d just witnessed. Bart obviously didn’t know who owned the place he’d just entered, or if he did, he was too out of it to realise. Tony and Jimmy were there in minutes and joined Rodney at the bookie’s opposite. They rang reception to inquire about the man who’d entered the building about ten minutes earlier wearing a red jumper. Sure enough, the reception informed the brothers the man had booked a sauna and massage with all the extras and was planning on staying a while.

  “Beautiful,” was Jimmy’s answer.

  “Get the tools. He’s getting the full treatment, but we’ll make sure he’s paid up first!” said Tony, the eldest brother.

  The girls were instructed to keep an eye on Bart and keep him occupied for as long as they could. They needed a bit of time to get the torture room ready and as it soon became clear Bart was holding a sizeable amount of a Class A drug on his person, things just got better. The torture room was just that. It was full of whips, handcuffs, masks, ropes, and other little items of pain, which was a further service the establishment offered.

  Jimmy had an idea and ran it past the other two, who agreed it was a better move than using tools. Anyway, they didn’t need to use tools on a prick like him, although they all would have liked to. Jimmy was more than capable of dishing up a bashing to Bart and could probably do it with one hand tied behind his back. So the brothers waited for Bart to spend a bit of cash in their establishment and when he was all finished, one of the girls was to bring him to them.

  While they waited for Bart, they exchanged reminiscences about him. One story in particular that Jimmy always laughed about was when they used to go to Stamford Bridge together to watch Chelsea play. It involved a punch-up outside the stadium, as it often did, during a midweek cup tie against Man United. Bart was always telling people what a football thug he was and how he was always fighting opposing fans. This couldn’t be further from reality, as he was frightened of his own shadow, but it was amusing to listen to because those who knew him knew different. Jimmy took the story up:

  “So, there was about six of us on the Fulham Road, just outside the West Stand when about the same number of Mancs came across the road shouting to us, ‘Who are ya? Who are ya?’ So, without saying anything, we just let ‘em ‘ave it, except for Durley, of course
, he ran off straightaway and just as I’m weighing up this northern monkey, I looked up and saw him dodging his way through the crowds, trying his hardest to get away. What a cunt, eh? And I got nicked for it! God knows what stories he told people after that one. I never did forgive him for that. I mean, why pretend you’re something you’re not? People just used to laugh at him. He was a fuckin’ embarrassment. Anyway, it’s payback time for the smarmy cunt and I’m doing it, boys, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, no, not at all. You’ve got more reason than any of us to do it,” said Tony.

  Bart seemed to be taking his time and the boys were getting impatient. He was doing a lot of talking as usual, but the use of drugs made him worse and his stories more exaggerated. The brothers actually felt sorry for the poor girl who had the misfortune of entertaining him.

  “How long’s ‘e gonna be, the prick?” asked Rodney.

  “Don’t worry about that. Every hour he’s in there, it’s costin’ ‘im,” was Tony’s reply.

  “Well, I was thinkin’ we might ‘ave to push a pair of waders through the door, ‘cause the bullshit must be really thick in there by now,” laughed Rodney.

  “You ain’t wrong there, Rodders,” said Jimmy, who couldn’t wait to get his hands on Bart.

  “Ain’t ‘e the idiot that used to call his missus Sexy Sebs?” asked Tony.

  “Yeah, that’s ‘im,” said Jimmy.

  “Well, she looks like a little boy, what I remember of her,” he replied.

  “Yeah, well, that would explain a few things, wouldn’t it?” said Jimmy. “And she’s got a nose like a dog sniffin a shitty arse,” he continued.

  As the brothers sat around laughing at Bart’s expense, the door opened and in bowled Bart, thinking one of the other girls wanted to see him and that she’d got the hots for him. Well, that’s what he’d been told. The atmosphere changed in that room instantly and so did the colour of Bart’s face. He stood there shaking like a jelly on a tumble dryer when he saw all three stony-faced Yerby brothers staring back at him.

  “Hello Jimmy, how are you, mate?” he blurted out, as if nothing had ever happened between them.

  “Well, fancy seeing you here,” started Jimmy. “Still got a taste for the brasses, I see. Oh dear, and what would that sexy wife of yours say if she found out?”

  “Ah, she wouldn’t mind. Anyway, she knows what I get up to. We don’t keep secrets,” lied Bart.

  “No, ‘course not, mate. Anyway, seeing as you’ve just invited yourself in, I think we have a few things to talk about, don’t you?”

  “Look, if you touch me, my mate Joey Dell will sort you all out,” said Bart, thinking he’d just issued a threat to the brothers.

  “Will he now? Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll give him a quick ring and let him know you’ve burst into our meeting, uninvited, throwing his name about,” said Jimmy as he went through his phone contacts looking for Dell’s number.

  “Yeah, you do that,” said Bart, all cocky.

  Bart was quick to jump on the fact that he may be harmed by the Yerbys, but at this point, they hadn’t issued any threats whatsoever. They were quick to seize the chance to test his alleged friendship with Dell. They knew Dell well enough to know Durley was never his type of associate.

  Dell’s phone rang and he answered to Jimmy. “Hello,” said Dell.

  “Alright, Joe, how are ya?” asked Jimmy.

  “Alright, thanks. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Jim, Jimmy Yerby.”

  “Hello, Jimmy, how are ya? I ain’t seen you for ages, mate. What can I do for ya?”

  “Well, Joe, me and my brothers were in our office havin’ a chat when a supposed mate of yours let himself in and very rudely interrupted our conversation.”

  “How rude of him. Who was it?” asked Dell curiously.

  Jimmy looked straight at Bart as he paused for a second or two and while looking him up and down said with a grin, “Bart Durley.”

  “Who?” exclaimed Dell.

  “Bart Durley.”

  “Bart Durley?” Dell repeated down the phone, trying to get his head around it.

  “Yeah, thinks he’s one of the boys, full of shit, and he reckons he’s a good mate of yours,” said Jimmy, trying to jog Dell’s memory.

  “Ah, fuckin’ ‘ell. I know the idiot and he ain’t no mate of mine, Jim. In fact, I’m not sure if I’ve ever spoken to him. Ah, yeah, I did go somewhere once and he was there, but trust me, he ain’t no friend of mine,” assured Dell.

  “I didn’t think he’d be your cup of tea, Joe. I’m sorry to trouble you with such trivialities. We’ll have to have a beer sometime,” said Jimmy apologetically.

  “Yeah, tell ya what, Jim. I’m in the Country over Ladbroke Grove most evenings. If you fancy a pint, it’d be nice to see ya,” said Dell.

  “You know what, Joe? Me and my brothers might pop over later if you’re there. It would be nice to get together for a beer with you and the boys,” said Jimmy happily.

  “Yeah, come over. It’d be nice to see you lot too,” said Dell.

  They said their goodbyes and hung up as Jimmy turned back to Bart Durley, who was doing all his usual panic stuff by now, trying to gain a bit of sympathy.

  “Well, Bart, looks like you been telling lies again, my son, ‘cause Mr. Dell reckons you ain’t no friend of his,” said Jimmy, turning a bit nasty.

  “He’s lying, not me. I … I … I … don’t tell lies,” stuttered Bart as he stood there white as a ghost, shaking like a leaf, and hyperventilating.

  “See, there you go again. You just can’t help ya’self, can you?” said Jimmy, as he walked toward Bart and then WHACK! He smashed him straight on the chin with a right hand that would have made Mike Tyson proud. Bart hit the deck like a sack of spuds, out before he even hit the floor. Then Jimmy carried on kicking the shit out of him as he lay there unconscious. Screaming all kinds of obscenities at him, through gritted teeth, Jimmy concentrated on doing Bart’s ribs in with his boot. Tony and Rodney had to stop him before he killed him, then the boys served up the coup de grace.

  Jimmy stopped, grateful to his brothers. As Bart lay motionless on the floor, the brothers went through his pockets, knowing full well he had a decent-sized package of cocaine on him. After they had found it, they got on with their plan and took about an ounce of the drug from Bart’s person. They weighed out about a dozen grams of it, put it all in the usual paper wraps, then returned it to Bart’s pocket. Then, with the rest of the bag, they wiped some around his nostrils and over his top lip, so whoever found him would know straightaway what he’d been up to. Then, with surgical gloves, Tony tied up the bag, gave it a good wipe, and placed it back in Bart’s other pocket.

  Bart was also holding a fair bit of cash on him, so they begrudgingly left that on him and dragged him out the back and dumped him on the pavement before ringing the police. They’d stitched Bart up good and proper and as the police were told of a disturbance involving drugs, they were quick to turn up on the scene.

  Tony and Jimmy left as Jimmy needed to get out a bit lively and Rodney stayed behind in case he needed to deal with the police. They’d arranged the perfect story and Bart was back in the shit once more. The Durley family now looked like public enemies in the eyes of the law. Things can change pretty fast when you don’t want them to.

  When the police arrived, they found Bart on the pavement starting to come around, holding his head and trying to sit up.

  “Afternoon, Sir, are you alright?” asked an officer.

  “Ooorrrrh,” groaned Bart. He was far from alright. He was suffering properly. Apart from a concussion, he had several broken ribs, and when he was out cold on the floor, Jimmy couldn’t resist kicking him right where it hurts. Bart had spent most of his life avoiding a good beating and it had finally caught up with him. In fact, he had actually gotten off lightly because the Yer
bys had wanted to go to town on him for old time’s sake. When Jimmy came up with the idea of setting him up for a conspiracy to supply charge, they thought they’d take the best of both worlds.

  As Bart laid on the pavement moaning and groaning, not knowing what day of the week it was, both officers noticed the residue around his nasal area and as he wasn’t outside a bakery, they realised it wouldn’t be flour that was over half of his face. Rodney Yerby went out the back to investigate the situation and told the police of Bart’s obnoxious behaviour inside his sauna and how he’d been upsetting customers and staff all afternoon and that he’d been told to leave. It was no surprise to find him in this condition as someone was bound to hit him sooner or later.

  The police, however, were more concerned with searching Bart for drugs and on learning his name was Bart Durley, a name very familiar to law enforcement, they were doubly keen on nicking him. And after finding a considerable amount of Class A drugs on him, they decided to call an ambulance as he was in no fit state to be taken to the station. He needed treatment.

  The Yerby brothers decided to take Dell up on his invitation for a drink and arranged to go over and have a couple with him in the Country. They wanted to tell Dell firsthand about Bart Durley and they knew he’d enjoy the story. What they didn’t know was that if they hadn’t gone to see him then, within the next day or two they may never had gotten to share a drink with him ever again. Nonetheless, he and Big Burt were there to meet all three brothers and a good laugh and a catchup was had by all and they particularly liked the Bart story. Mickey liked it the best out of all of them, as he loved the way Jimmy told a story. When backed up with a couple of pints, his stories always sounded even better.

  Chapter 38

  Now that Rita was behind bars and Bart was hospitalised with new charges to face, Dick’s despair spiralled out of control. He was totally alone. He had no one he could turn to for support. Dick sank deeper and deeper into a black hole from which he would never extract himself. Suicide now figured heavily on his mind. The drink wasn’t helping and neither were his constant visits to Father O’Reilly. His whole world was falling apart and everyone in it seemed to have turned their backs on him. He couldn’t take any more and the fact that he was facing a very long time in prison and would probably die there meant he started to plot his own death. If Bart thought things were bad now, they certainly weren’t going to improve any time soon.