STATUS DRIFT: A gripping undercover detective crime thriller, page 9
I open my jacket so he can see I’m reaching for the money. I bring it out and place it on the table. ‘Two grand, cash, as agreed. What I’ve told you is true, although I’m always on the lookout to top up my pension with private work. I’m flexible, skilled and discreet. I’m good behind the wheel of a car or bike if you needed extra outside staff.’
Razor motions for Kat to come over. She does and takes a seat at the table we’re at. She sits back and crosses her legs. She’s paying no interest in me despite my fake revelation.
‘Tell me, Sky, does she look like the kind of woman who’d be interested in the likes of you? You couldn’t keep her in a week’s wages. You’ve got an interesting name, one I’ve not heard of. That can be a good or bad thing. I need to do some asking around. I make it a rule to do my own referencing of potential recruits. You understand it pays to be careful in my game?’
He’s finished and looks out towards the dance floor. The food arrives and he starts eating his rare steak burger and fries. I’d opted for the same. Kat must be on a break as she joins us with a mixed fish salad, no dressing. Her eyes meet mine as she eats and she offers the glimpse of a smile.
Razor breaks the feeding. ‘I need to make a couple of calls. You stay here with your dream. I’ll be back soon.’
He motions for a barman who comes in and picks up his plate and follows him out of the room. I sit and eat, hoping the food will soak up the alcohol. I don’t feel safe at the present time. I feel like a prisoner on a cell visit left with the gaoler. I’ve no idea why he left when he did but have to take heart from the fact I’m still in his club and in an exclusive area. If he didn’t trust me, I wouldn’t be here. Either that or he’s making arrangements to have the situation rectified by his own bodyguard who’s sitting opposite me.
I keep fit, train four times a week at the gym and feel confident in my physical abilities. Edinburgh and the hit and run earlier have unnerved me though. Kat stepped in quickly at the Ace Cafe. She had no idea how I may react. I’ve seen her work the floor here and the male who was escorted out didn’t stand a chance despite his size. She’s martial arts fit and has confidence to match. Kat breaks my thoughts.
‘So do you like the place?’
‘Is that the best chat-up line you have?’
I smile at her and she looks straight at me, her large eyes reflecting the main dance floor lights. She’s stoic in her response.
‘Funny. You’re not my type. You were lucky last night that he didn’t floor you. We’ve been sat here for a few minutes and you haven’t given me the courtesy of a thank you at saving your arse from a certain kicking. I see men like you every evening. Flash your cash, wear a sharp suit and chain to match. You reckon you’re a gift. Well, you’re not. You wear your ego like a whoopee cushion just waiting for someone like Razor to sit on you and laugh as the air gets released.’
She finishes her speech and having put me in my place stares out towards the dance floor. Razor clearly feels no trepidation at leaving her alone with me. He’s chosen his security well and feels at ease in this environment. His shed. His lair.
‘Must be a bitch to work down here? It’s like a tomb with atmosphere.’ A weak attempt at deflection away from me but I need to try and get some rapport back from where I’d left it; high and dry.
‘Money talks. It pays me well. He has a way with money like all men in his position. Why did you turn up here tonight? Fool’s errand, if you ask me, unless you’ve got something he wants?’
‘I gave him my word. What more should there be?’
‘Something about you isn’t right. I don’t know what it is yet, but I make it a habit of knowing who’s sniffing around looking for work. You don’t look like you’d know your way around a bar.’
She turns back to me and her eyes are wide and conveying her message accordingly. I can sense this won’t be a tale of unrequited love. I get up and look out the window.
‘Just remember it was your boss who invited me here. He could have organised a courier for the money and to hand me back my key but he didn’t. You could be wasting your breath as this may be the first and last time I’m seen here.’
She remains seated. ‘I hope you’re right because as of this moment he’s making a call. The person he’s calling knows everything about anyone. What he doesn’t know, he can find out. He never does that unless he’s thinking he has further use for someone. What that could be with you, I don’t know. What regiment were you with?’
‘That’s none of your concern. With the greatest respect, I’ll talk to the organ grinder not the monkey. You’ve made your position clear.’
She shrugs her shoulders and turns towards the door as Razor returns. His face is relaxed. He’s smiling. His bald head glistens in the lights. As if he’s read my mind, he takes out a handkerchief and wipes the top of his head. It’s floral; I’m guessing a Japanese designer. He enters the room and comes over to Kat. She stands and he leans into her side. I can see speech but can’t make out what’s being discussed. Kat leaves the room.
‘Everything all right?’ I ask.
Razor sits. I feel like I’m in an interview room with me as the suspect, unrepresented, with no custody time limit. Razor stands and begins pacing the room. Each step definitive and with purpose. Like a cat with a cornered mouse.
‘I’ve made a call. You’ve not been telling me the complete truth as to your employment. This concerns me. Your motivation for attending has become… let’s say… questionable.’
He doesn’t look at me but states his case. I swallow and maintain my composure. The trick in this kind of scenario is to ensure your legend is good. Stick to it in the event you’re fronted out as undercover Old Bill. I don’t believe for one minute he suspects that, but preparation prevents piss-poor performance.
‘Word is you’re a bit of a legend in the north? North London, that is. Not the kind of legend you’d want, mind you, being on the mob’s most wanted list. “Dusty”, they’re calling you, as you’ve a reputation for taking out the trash. Last person I knew who worked the bins was my old man. He was as straight as they come. But you’re far from it. Last bit of trash you’re rumoured to have disposed of was another man’s gold, or “ice” shall we say. Now you’re here in my club drinking my best whisky and eating my food. So I think to myself… what would you want from me? A place to move some of the gear you’re alleged to have nicked from one of London’s top villains? You like my company so much after one meeting you’d like to become best pals? Or simply you’re an arrogant jumped-up prick that has come to me for protection? So, Sky, which one is it? If you fuck me about further, I will hand you over to the Italians and they will reward me handsomely.’
He’s sitting down. He’s not going to top up my drink. I’ve no idea who he’s spoken to but whoever they are, they’re spot on. They certainly know me. This isn’t good. I thought I’d done well enough to be on the radar but as a weak blip. Intelligence didn’t show any firm links with others I’d come up against through work. I have two options here: deny everything, or go with it and try and make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. I decide on the latter.
‘You’re right. I’m here partly for protection and partly for work. I’ve heard you have something in the pipeline and you need another party to make it happen. Now, I’m not saying I know what the job is, because I don’t; but I do know that whatever you have planned, I will be of use to you. You’ve referenced me now. You know what I’m capable of. For the record, I didn’t take anything from the Italian. He settled that score when he slotted those two on the Barnsbury. I get why he’s pissed though. He hasn’t got his gear back and is down on his bank balance. I can’t help him there. That knowledge died with the two he had executed. I need money and I’m for hire. That two large was part of a drying pot of cash. In return, I want to know you have my back as far as the mob is concerned.’
Razor gets up and goes to the door. Kat opens it and a few seconds later returns with an open bottle of whisky and two fresh tumblers. Razor puts the glasses down and pours two. He picks one up and starts drinking. I take the other and do the same.
‘Why should I do what you’re asking? Put my club at risk from unwanted attention just because you chose to work with a bunch of foreigners with long memories? You’re nothing to me.’
He drinks some more. ‘I have your number. I’ll be in touch. Now drink up, it’s time to leave.’
I take that as a positive, down the whisky and salute him with the empty glass. I grab my jacket from the chair at my side and put it on. Kat opens the door and acts as my escort across the club’s floor and up to street level. She hands me my bike keys and phone. She points across the street to where the bike is. I have no helmet. I’m drunk. I turn towards her. I hand her the lock box key. ‘Until the next time then.’
She says nothing, returns inside and shuts the door. The early morning air is cold. A breeze displaces road grit and dust as I walk towards Euston station and find a taxi home. I’ve seen the car Winter’s outside team are in but for once I feel comfort in that. For a fleeting moment I realise someone has my back. They must have been through different emotions not knowing what was happening. It’s 0400 hours and they’ll be as tired as I am drunk. I put the SIM back in the phone. I’m not being followed, the street’s deserted. I try Mike first. My conscience seeking ease at the situation I left in his flat. The mobile rings out and sounds loud in the relative quiet of the city at this hour. Lights are on in some windows. Workers getting ready for an early shift or revellers returning home. Eventually Mike’s croaked voice comes through.
‘It’s me, Sam, how are you?’
He’s awake. He coughs violently. I can hear the sound of phlegm being projected from his fat-filled, nicotine-invaded throat.
‘Where are you?’ He obviously doesn’t wish to share his current health situation.
‘Making my way to Euston. You?’
‘You know where I am, you overzealous twat. The same place you fucking left me for dead.’
‘Let’s not get too dramatic. You were conscious and breathing when we parted. I even put a cover over you, you ungrateful bastard.’ I wait as he begins to wake up.
Mike comes back on.
‘Listen. Get home and we’ll meet again soon. What was the outcome?’
‘To wait until he makes contact.’
‘Okay. That’s a good sign. As much as we could have expected tonight. You got in and stayed a good while so he must think you’re all right. Have you phoned Winter?’
‘Not yet. I’m doing that after you. There’s something else we need to discuss but in person.’
‘I’ll call her. Meet me for a drink, later, the usual place.’
I acknowledge and end the call.
I try Winter’s number but it’s engaged. I figure the outside team will be letting her know I’m out, so I leave it for a respectable hour. I know I should speak but my mind isn’t in the game for the detail she will require. I turn my phone off; hail a cab and head to Watford. The commissioner won’t be happy at this expense but there’s a need to keep up appearances. Tradecraft has no cost in my head.
13
The Italian espresso attacks the back of my throat, awakening my brain and clearing out the previous evening’s debris. Mike hasn’t arrived yet. I look out of the coffee shop window at the entrance to Cobalt Square and view the minions going into work. Slaves to a wage with little return. I remember the vibrancy the place once had. Detectives buzzing in anticipation of the next job. Overtime was healthy. There was a lust for work and getting the job done was what everyone wanted.
Times have changed. Office space is sparse and units fight for computer terminals and vehicles to do the job. There’s no overtime to speak of and what work there is, is dictated by those above who are driven by the needs of the mayor and whatever the media perceive to be the issue that needs most policing. Meanwhile those like Razor carry on exploiting the current times, making sure their vaults are filled before the tide turns and they become the next project.
I feel different to Razor. My motivations are self-serving. I too have used austerity to my advantage, but I trample on the pond life to reap my rewards. I don’t exploit the workers. I get the job the police want done, but not the prosecutions or seizures they always hope for. The cat must have its cream.
The coffee house owner doesn’t care. Whatever the financial situation of the country, people always find the money for coffee. His is the best. I see Mike as he crosses at the lights in front of Cobalt Square. He doesn’t wait for the lights to tell him to proceed, he just weaves his portly Barbour-clad frame through the stationary vehicular commuters, pushbikes and pedestrians.
He pulls up his coat collar and has his head down as he comes towards the coffee house entrance. He sees me and enters. The owner gives him a smile and a nod. Mike’s a regular here. His habitual drink of choice arrives shortly after he’s sat down and removed his coat.
Traffic becomes a slow-moving vista framed by the large wooden window of the coffee house. The windows don’t steam up here – strictly continental breakfasts and fresh coffee. Mike has the appearance of a man who’s ended up at the end of the line and just got off the first train back in the morning. I know because it’s been a habit of mine in days gone by. Days I rarely visit now due to my reluctance to socialize with those who I, occasionally, have to work with.
By those I mean police colleagues, not criminals. There are so few undercover officers left, and spread so thin. Mike sips his coffee and nods at his cup out of appreciation of the content’s effects on his alcohol-addled body.
‘You took your time.’
Mike looks up. He isn’t in the mood for smart quips. ‘I had a rough night as you well know, so what happened?’
‘Well, I can’t say my night was much better. I was trapped in some kind of underground bunker that your man calls a club, after giving up my phone and any means of communication with the outside world, aka, you.’
‘Boo, fucking, hoo. You’re a grown-up now and can look after yourself. You’ve been doing this long enough and never had any problems… death threat aside.’
‘Word of my worth is out on the street. Razor made a call, away from me, and fed back the fact I was on Big G’s most wanted list. He also established I have a reputation for “taking out the trash”, as he put it. Now forgive me, sir, but I have a slight cause for concern and feel justified in using my original legend. He wasn’t buying my initial story. If he had found out it was bullshit, it would have been game over. It’s also good for me to know how credible the threat still is. He’s using it to his advantage and holding it over me like a loose hood.’ I keep my powder dry around the other attempts on my life.
‘Relax. He’s doing what any good criminal at his level does. It’s his way of getting a reference. If he still wants to talk, then the reference’s good. I’ll make sure the line room know and check with them if they heard the conversation.’
He sips his coffee and looks out the window. He’s not the same man that took me under his wing as a DC, showing me the ropes of the undercover world. We had a laugh and did some good work, but then he went and took a promotion and I didn’t like the next man I had to work with, so I did the same. Mike went higher. I could too, but I’ll wait and see how this game pans out. It too could be my swan song if the hitman on my tail has anything to do about it.
My phone vibrates. I let it ring some more, then show Mike the number. Mike recognises it and nods, I pick up. Mike gets closer to the phone so he can hear. I can’t put it on speaker, it’s too busy.
‘Yes?’ I’m hoping the caller will recognise my voice.
‘Meet me at the club in an hour, bring your bike, I’ve got a job for you.’
I recognise this voice. Brusque and to the point. Razor.
‘I’m busy right now. What’s the urgency?’ I never give the appearance I’m at anyone’s beck and call despite the wish to infiltrate his domain. To appear hasty would smack of desperation and be out of character.
‘See you in an hour, whatever you’re doing can wait. I can’t.’
He’s hung up. Now I should put a call in to Winter but as I’m sitting opposite my cover officer, I will leave that to him. He won’t bother. Like me, he wants to be selective with what her team should know. Right now she doesn’t need to know.
I down the coffee. ‘The elderly gentleman will settle for the drinks.’
Mike spits his coffee out and the owner smiles, nods, and continues drying a freshly washed cup. I exit towards Cobalt Square and the underground car park for my bike.
14
‘Right,’ Winter says, ‘listen in. I need everyone to focus. Shut down the computers and take the phones off the hook. I know it was a long night for some of you and I appreciate this is a reasonably early start. DI Hudson, an update on the events last night.’
All eyes are on DI Hudson. He shuffles in his seat and grabs a blue A4 book he’s made notes in. The dark skin under his eyes tells the team his focus may not be as sharp as it could be, so it’s hoped his notes, however brief, have been made at the time and not after the event.
‘All I can tell you is that Batford entered the club and was seen leaving at 0400 hours. He took a cab back to Watford and a residential premises. The address you confirmed as safe, ma’am. He made no contact with us and hasn’t since he left.’ Hudson finishes his summing up.
Murmured voices intersect across the briefing room and Winter breaks the debates with a cough.
‘I too have had no contact with him, but after our conversation, DI Hudson, I’m happy he got back safely. I tried his number last night and it was turned off as was his cover officer’s. I will pick that up after this meeting. I want a full research package on the venue, associates, social media chatter, the works. Any other questions? Good. DI Hudson has your actions for today. We go live in an hour. I will be in my office.’
