Riot Page 24

  “What now Boss?” Carter asked her.

  “Now we wait,” she replied, leaning against the bar, winking at Ryan, who nodded back.

  They spent another half hour in The Wherry Tavern before leaving together. They got into Jules car, who drove around the block and parked up. Together the three of them crept back to the pub, standing either side of the front door. By now Carter had divined that they were flushing out the rat. This family were so unpredictable working for them was never dull.

  The door of the pub banged open and Duncan stomped through it, his phone to his ear.

  “Let’s see who that is,” said Ryan, snatching it from his hand.

  Duncan spun around, the anger in his eyes quickly morphing into shock. “What are you doing?”

  Ryan listened to the voice on the other end and smiled before hanging up. “Why were you speaking to DCI Dwyer?”

  “I wasn’t. It was my dad.”

  “Do you even know who he is?” said Jules, fingers twitching over the hilts of her daggers.

  “You’re only making it worse for yourself by lying,” said Ryan.

  Jules nodded at Carter, who jammed a knife against Duncan’s kidneys.

  “Get in the car,” she told him. “Unless you want one of your vital organs to plop out onto the pavement.”

  Duncan sighed and walked to Jules’s car with his head bowed. As the rear passenger door was held open for him he frowned. “A fucking Volvo?”

  “Get in,” she spat, shoving him inside.

  CHAPTER 25

  Jez and Mikey were finally enjoying time in the gym, both furiously working out. Unlike their landing there was no aggression in here, each man too involved in their individual workouts, enjoying the freedom and activity. Mikey had thought he was big but some of the men in here were monsters with necks like the Hulk’s thighs. A couple he recognised from other northern crime families, all weaker than their own. So far they’d all been polite and respectful towards them, painfully aware that if they tried anything inside then their families on the outside would suffer for it.

  “What’s that noise?” said Mikey when there was a dull buzzing from outside.

  “Drone,” said one of the man mountains, rushing to the window.

  They all joined him, squinting through the bars across the toughened glass. The small machine glided to a halt in the middle of the exercise yard where half a dozen prisoners were executing the tedious anti-clockwise circle. A couple of them made a move towards it before they were bellowed at by a screw to get back in line while another screw charged over to scoop it up.

  “Drone drop,” said one of the mountains, the younger son of a prominent crime family in Birmingham. His family was keen to do business with the Maguires and Laws, so his father had told him to ingratiate himself with Mikey and Jez. “The screws are really clamping down on them. Once a rat got to the stuff first and it was running around with some wrapped coke in its gob. It managed to chew through the wrapper and went off its head. It was hilarious watching the screws trying to catch a rat that was high as a fucking kite.”

  “Did they catch it?” said Mikey.

  “Nah, far too slow. It got over the wall. Must have been good gear because the furry little bastard practically flew over. I often wonder what happened to it. The way it was going it probably ended up in Mexico.”

  Jez nodded Mikey into the corner while the others continued to watch the show going on below. “I hope that isn’t Jules’s hot shot being confiscated by the screws.”

  “It’s not,” replied Mikey. “She’s too smart to do something so obvious. Anyone could have flown that thing over.”

  They went silent when the door opened and a prison officer walked in. He glanced around the room, noted everyone else gathered at the window and handed Jez a small package, which he hastily shoved into the pocket of his jogging bottoms. Without a word the prison officer left.

  “The drone was a distraction,” grinned Mikey. “God my wife’s clever.”

  “And thank Christ for it. I need to talk to her, I feel bad about blaming her for Cathy getting attacked. She did exactly what we would have done. She’s under enough pressure without me adding to it.”

  “She’ll be delighted to hear that. You made her feel really bad.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. She’s done a cracking job keeping everything going.”

  “She has that. So how should we hit John South?”

  “I have an idea. We’re going to need some help though. Brendan,” called Jez to the Brummie man mountain.

  “Yes?” he eagerly replied, bounding up to them like a big terrifying puppy.

  “We’ve got a job for you, if you’re interested?”

  “You bet I am,” he grinned.

  “I don’t want to damage you Duncan,” said Jules, the tip of one of her blades hovering mere millimetres from his left eye. “But I will if it gets me what I want and believe me, I will enjoy it.”

  “You’re more use to us alive,” said Ryan. “So do the sensible thing and start talking.”

  “Oh fine,” he sighed. “My little brother’s looking at a ten stretch for forgery. Dwyer said he could make it go away if I gave him info about you.”

  “And you had the nerve to get all uppity in the pub about being called a grass,” said Jules.

  “Because I’m fucking ashamed.”

  “I did think the lady did protest too much.”

  “What choice do I have? He’s my little brother. He won’t survive inside, he’s so naïve.”

  “Jesus, you make him sound like a little kid. He’s a thirty four year old gorilla with fists like Ford Escorts. Little Benjamin will be just fine on the inside.”

  “He’s blood. I can’t abandon him. Dwyer threw me a chance and I snatched at it with both hands. I’m sorry, it was nothing personal.” He regarded them with resignation in his sad Bassett hound eyes. “Go on then, do it. I know I deserve it.”

  “Like big bruv said,” replied Jules, sheathing her knives. “You’re more use to us alive. We want you to keep passing Dwyer information.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “I fucking am and if you interrupt me again with doubts as to the veracity of my words then I will give you more perforations than a tea bag. Understand?”

  He nodded and remained silent.

  “Good, you’re a quick learner. Dwyer is one devious bastard and we’re going to use his deviousness against him. You’ll call him back and this is what you’ll tell him.”

  “If he finds out then Benjamin will suffer.”

  “If you don’t do it then you’ll suffer. So what will it be?”

  “I’ll make the call.”

  “Sensible lad.”

  Mikey and Jez settled on evening association for their attack. They agreed Jez would be the one to do it as Cathy had been so badly injured.

  John South was a big, hairy, unpleasant-looking individual with grey whiskers on his cheeks and protruding from his nose. His thick blubbery lips made it appear as though a slug was making its way with excruciating slowness across his face and his nose had been punched so many times it had taken on the colour and aspect of a strawberry.

  John South was known as the king of K wing, which was in a way very convenient as Mikey and Jez had planned on taking down the king anyway to show their dominance. However John, after the failed attack on their families, had surrounded himself with some of the worst and hardest of the men on the wing, as well as a few lads from a Moss Side gang who had butted heads with the Maguires and Laws on several occasions.

  “Look at the smug fucker,” hissed Jez. “His goons wouldn’t be so quick to defend him if they knew he’d attacked a woman and her kids.”

  “True. Come on, let’s get it over with.”

  Mikey and Jez, along with five of their own hangers-on approached John, who appeared a little disconcerted by this fact. Clearly he’d expected them to keep their distance so he could continue throwing them self-satisfied smiles.


  “Oy you fucker,” said Jez when they were face to face. “You tried to kill my missus and kids you cowardly piece of shit.” He smiled when the men around him frowned and looked at each other, their big bodies fortunately blocking all view of Mikey and Jez from the CCTV camera mounted on the wall behind them. “My wife’s in hospital with holes in belly thanks to you. But she’s tough. She killed your pathetic cousin.”

  “Nowt to do with me,” he replied. “That lad’s a law unto himself.”

  “Funny that because your brother says you ordered it.” He leaned in closer to whisper. “He’s dead by the way. Your uncle should be receiving his fingers right about now.”

  John gasped and staggered slightly, two of his men holding him upright.

  “You fuck with our family we take it out on yours. That applies to the lot of you,” he added, scowling at the men surrounding John.

  Right on cue, further down the landing Brendan began yelling in the face of one of the screws.

  “I want to go to healthcare,” he bellowed. “My foot’s fucking sore.”

  “Now Brendan, take it easy,” said the screw, who was half his size. “There’s no need to get angry.”

  “There’s every fucking need,” he snarled. “I’m in pain and you don’t give a shit.”

  “Of course I care,” replied the prison officer in a wheedling voice. He looked to his one colleague for help - two screws to two hundred prisoners. The other four PO’s were tied up with other errands.

  The second prison officer, an older, more experienced man approached and attempted to placate him. “Why don’t you go back to your cell Brendan and we can take you to healthcare in the morning. All the doctors will have gone home by now.”

  “What a load of bollocks,” roared Brendan, flexing his vast network of muscles. “You just want me to be in pain, don’t you? I know you do.”

  Spittle showered the faces of the two prison officers, who remained rigid.

  As planned, two of Brendan’s biggest friends, who weren’t quite as monstrous but weren’t far off, stood either side of him, glaring at the screws.

  “Now lads,” continued the older of the two. “There’s no need for this. You don’t want to end up in seg, do you?”

  “I want to go to the fucking healthcare unit,” roared Brendan, thumping his huge fists off his barrel chest.

  “And you will lad, in the morning.”

  “I’m not your fucking lad,” he yelled before lunging for the screw. He picked him up bodily and held him aloft in an awesome display of strength before letting him drop to the floor, his slender body making a resounding clang. Brendan released another King Kong-like bellow, his friends cheering him on while the second screw frantically got on his radio to call for the Tornado Team while backing up to the gate.

  While everyone’s attention was drawn, Jez jabbed the syringe into John’s neck, who gasped and regarded him with startled eyes as every horror story he’d heard about the hot shots this man’s sister made ran through his head.

  “This is for my wife,” he spat.

  Jez yanked the syringe out viciously before strolling away with Mikey and the others. After wiping his prints off it one of the cleaners on the wing took it from him to be disposed of.

  Mikey and Jez took up position at the opposite end of the gantry, watching as John slowly sank to the floor. None of his men noticed at first, too busy watching Brendan and his friends face off against the eight Tornado Team officers who had charged onto the wing in their riot gear. It was only when John fell against the legs of one of his friends and took him down with him that they realised something was wrong.

  “I wouldn’t use them as bodyguards,” commented Mikey. “They’re bloody useless.”

  He glanced at Jez who, unlike the rest of the wing, was watching John in his final moments, desperately clinging onto his friend’s hand. With his last breath John managed to point in their direction before he expired, body going limp.

  “It’s done,” commented Mikey.

  “It’s not enough,” said Jez.

  “Not enough? He’s dead.”

  “I would have liked to torture him.”

  So much darkness rolled off Jez that Mikey almost stepped away from him. “I understand mate but this is the best we can do. The fucker’s paid the price and it’ll put off anyone else thinking of doing the same.”

  “Will it though? Cutting off someone’s face wasn’t enough.”

  Mikey didn’t know what to say to that so he looked down at Brendan and his friends, who were wrestling with the Tornado Team and kicking their arses, it had to be said. The eight officers backed off but one was too slow. Brendan grabbed him by the back of his body armour, which looked comical as the man’s legs kept going in a parody of a run. He dragged him backwards and snaked his huge arm around his throat.

  “Come on then you bastards,” roared Brendan.

  “Isn’t he taking it a bit far?” said Mikey.

  “The lad’s enjoying himself,” replied Jez.

  “He’s going to end up in seg after this.”

  “Probably but he’s got his dad the meeting he wanted with our family.” Jez looked to John South, whose body had been left crumpled on the landing, his friends deserting him now he was no longer any use to them, attempting to distance themselves from his death. Jez fought the impulse to run over there and kick the shit out of his corpse.

  Mikey regarded his best friend with a worried frown. Prison was only enhancing the new darkness to his personality. He hoped they were released before it became a permanent change.

  Vance Chambers and his friends were casually watching proceedings from the other end of the landing. How Mikey wished they weren’t ex-coppers because they all looked handy bastards and he’d like them on his side. The fact that no one on the wing went near them told him all he needed to know about their abilities and, even though they were once the enemy, he found them extremely impressive. Perhaps there was a way they could be utilised without anyone finding out?

  Dwyer was so thrilled he was finding it difficult to keep still. He’d received a tip-off from one of his grasses about a Maguire-Law drug drop, right here outside this warehouse. If he could pull off this arrest then he could probably nick Jules too and finally their empire would be smashed.

  The warehouse was by the docks. Although the docks had closed down in nineteen eighty two some of the buildings remained, so he was stationed in an undercover transit van outside a fading red brick building, its windows broken by vandals.

  “Sir, we’ve got movement,” said the voice of the commander of the Tactical Firearms Unit he’d mobilised for this operation, all four of whom were sitting in another undercover police van at the side of the building. The Maguire-Law runners were known to carry weapons, so he wasn’t taking any chances.

  Dwyer watched on the laptop balanced on his knees as a group of three men casually strolled across the road, heading towards the warehouse. All three carried large sports bags.

  “Wait and see if they go inside. Do not make a move until then,” he told the TFU commander.

  He glanced at the two uniformed officers and three detectives crammed into the van with him, all of whom appeared distinctly nervous, which irritated him. An almost superstitious awe surrounded any operation involving that family, which he was sure was why they’d continually wriggled off the hook. What chance did they have if every officer already believed all their efforts would be in vain? Well not this time. He was going to prove to everyone that family were mortal, just like the rest of them.

  With baited breath he watched the three figures vanish inside.

  “Go,” he yelled into the radio. He looked to his team sat inside the van, who hadn’t moved a muscle, watching him expectantly. “Well don’t just sit there,” he roared. “Get after them.”

  The van doors were flung open and Dwyer and his team charged into the warehouse. They found the three men already cuffed on the ground, surrounded by the team of armed officers,
the three sports bags separated off to one side.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” said Dwyer, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves to begin the search. “That family has really fucking slipped up now sending you here today lads.”

  He failed to notice the confused looks that passed between the three men as he was too busy delving into the bag.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded, pulling out a large bright red dildo.

  The three men blushed and refused to look at anyone.

  “Where’s the drugs?” demanded Dwyer, frantically rummaging through the bag.

  “Drugs?” said one of them. “We don’t have any drugs.”

  A crackle came over Dwyer’s radio informing him that two more men were approaching the warehouse. He nodded at the TFU commander who nodded back and took two of his men with him, leaving one to guard the three men.

  “Check the other bags,” Dwyer told his officers.

  DS Miller took one bag, desperately trying not to laugh when all she found were a variety of sex toys, some she was familiar with and some more exotic. “Is this what you’re looking for Sir?” she asked, holding up a large and intimidating butt plug.

  Sniggers echoed around the building.

  “You know damn well it’s not Sergeant,” he bellowed at her.

  His anger was water off a duck’s back and she merely shrugged, lips doing an amused dance on her face. How she was enjoying seeing him humiliated.

  The search of the bags and the men revealed nothing illegal. After speaking with one of the men - a small timid balding creature who it turned out was a part-time librarian and had been married to his wife for twenty years - she had all the information she needed about what went on in the warehouse. She couldn’t wait to relay it to Dwyer.

  He was still crouched on the floor, tearing at the lining of one of the bags with a penknife.

  “What Sergeant?” he said without looking at her.

  “You won’t find any drugs in those bags Sir. Apparently this site is used for gentlemen to meet up and engage in certain sexual activities without risk of their families and friends finding out.”