Henry shrugged. ‘Just want to know what I’m turning a blind eye to.’
‘Just some nicked property. Nothing really.’
‘You sure?’
Costain paused. ‘Just put him on to a good shoplifter that’s all.’
‘Okay,’ Henry said accepting this. ‘Whatever.’
‘So why the hassle?’
‘I’ve hassled you, have I?’ Henry said, affronted. ‘Just run that one by me, Troy?’
‘You know what I mean. Turnin’ up at my waterin’ hole and puttin’ me in a. . a situation which I’ve got to explain to some very nasty people.’
‘You’ll think of something,’ Henry said with certainty. ‘Go on, have a guess why I’m here.’
‘Doh — let me think about that one.’ Costain put a finger to his lips in a dumb gesture.
‘You don’t have to be the Brain of Britain to get it right, Troy.’ The car was beginning to steam up. Henry flicked the fan heater up a notch and readjusted the rear-view mirror for a better view of his informant.
‘Yeah, right. . Rufus and his two cronies blasted to smithereens not too far down the road.’
‘Correct. One point.’
‘How much is this gonna be worth?’ Troy asked. ‘Because I’ll tell you now, whoever grasses on whoever pulled those triggers is gonna need some dosh to lie low, get out of the country or whatever. It’s not gonna be cheap information, Henry.’
‘I take it you already know something, then?’
‘Not saying that.’ Costain became cagey. ‘But if I did’ — he opened his palms — ‘it would be expensive. Big drugs people involved there, I’d say.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Henry. ‘I would never have guessed.’ He paused, then for the first time turned in his seat and looked squarely at Costain, who shrank a little deeper into the upholstery. ‘I’ll make it worth your while, but you’d better get something quick. Slow won’t do.’
‘I’ll see.’
‘Good man. Hey, just an afterthought, you knew Johnny Jacques, didn’t you?’
The words penetrated Costain’s cranium quite slowly. He said, ‘What d’you mean, knew?’
‘I take it from that reaction he used to be a bit of a buddy of yours?’
‘Bit of a buddy? Bloody good mate. . what’s all this “knew him” and “used to be” crap?’
‘You haven’t heard? He’s been taking flying lessons, only his wings didn’t flap fast enough. Splat!’ Henry clapped his hands once to reinforce the last word.
‘Jesus! Dead?’
‘Dead as a pancake, I think the expression goes. So who would want to hoiek him out of a window?’
‘His bird? He was always messing her around.’
‘She got burned to death in her flat, Troy, the same flat JJ took a leap from.’
Costain reached for the door handle. ‘I’ll be back to you soon.’
‘You know my mobile number,’ Henry called out to Costain’s retreating back.
‘It’s Dix,’ Crazy said watching the CCTV monitor. He pressed the door release button and Dix went out of sight as he stepped into the counting house, reappearing a couple of seconds later in the living room, sports bag in hand, humble in his body language.
‘Sorry about the lateness,’ he apologized. He gave the bag to Crazy who immediately unzipped it and tipped the contents out on to a table top.
‘You’d better explain. We should be out of here by now,’ said Ray.
‘It’s that idiot, Zog. He’s just one lazy twat. Doesn’t want to hand any money over, can’t be arsed to collect it in the first place. I had to shove the shotgun up his shitter and go round all his people to collect his debts. Took time, Ray, but at least it’s all there.’ Dix nodded at the pile of cash. ‘Eleven grand.’
Ray sighed. Zog had been getting to be a nuisance. The only problem was that his string of contacts was second to none and his infrastructure of drug selling in Fleetwood was excellent. He was just very lazy, reluctant to pay up and a user himself. ‘We’ll have to see about him,’ Ray said. ‘Later.’
‘Yep — it’s all here,’ Crazy said, leaning back from the task of counting the money. It had been easy to do because Dix always presented it in neat bundles anyway. Crazy picked up one of the bundles and tossed it to Dix, who caught it expertly. His week’s pay.
‘Cheers.’
‘Okay, Dix, you can get going and we’ll see you in a week’s time,’ said Ray. ‘Meanwhile I’ll have a think about Zog.’
‘Sure.’ Dix checked his watch. Miller should have filled up by now, should be pulling up at the top of the street to take Dix back to the coast. ‘See you guys.’ He folded his money and tucked it into his jeans’ pocket, collected his now-empty sports bag and turned to the door. ‘Give me a buzz out,’ he told Crazy.
Crazy watched him walk out of the room into the short hallway. He glanced at the CCTV monitor, saw nothing untoward on the street and pressed the electronic door release. At the same time the screen went blank. Puzzled, but still with his finger on the door release button, Crazy smacked the side of the monitor in the hope that this tried and tested method of repair would work. It had no effect.
‘Strange,’ he said.
‘What is?’ said Ray, who had been transferring the recently counted cash into the big holdall. Crazy directed Ray’s eyes to the blank screen. Then both men looked up as Dix walked back into the room. His face was a veil of fear, his eyes terrified and pleading because there was a massive revolver skewered into the back of his neck, held there by a large man wearing a stocking mask pulled down over his face, distorting his features. Three other men, similarly attired and armed, crowded in behind him.
‘There was nothing I could do, Ray,’ Dix wailed plaintively.
The man pushed Dix hard away from him, making him stumble towards Ray. The three other men fanned out into the room, brandishing their guns with cool menace.
The one who had herded Dix into the room pointed his gun at Ray. ‘Hard or easy,’ his voice rasped behind the stocking. ‘That’s always the choice. Just hand the money over, nice ’n’ easy and there’ll be no problem at all.’
Miller had been in the business long enough to know when something wasn’t quite right and the dark shapes huddled in the parked cars only a matter of yards away from the counting house put his senses on a high. He drove past as though he had not seen them and pulled in a few streets away where he sat and inhaled deep breaths.
Then he leaned over to the passenger side where Dix had been sitting and reached into the footwell. His fingers curled round the barrel of the pump-action sawn-off shotgun Dix always took with him on collection days. Miller knew the weapon was fully loaded and ready to fire.
There was a very uneasy silence between request and response. Both parties weighed up each other’s strengths and weaknesses. There was no contest here. Ray and Crazy, even if Dix was included in the reckoning, were outnumbered, outgunned and outmanoeuvred and they knew it.
‘Looks like it’s all yours,’ Ray said, admitting defeat.
The biggest of the four intruders, the one who had done the talking so far, said, ‘Good speech. You’ — he pointed to Dix — ‘pick up the bag nice and careful.’
Dix shot Ray an anxious glance.
‘Do it,’ Ray confirmed the instruction. He was standing still, his nostrils flaring, assessing the situation continually, looking for an advantage.
With a tremulous hand, Dix reached for the holdall containing the week’s takings. His fingers closed around the handle loops.
Ray said, ‘You don’t really think you’re going to walk out of here with my money, do you?’ His voice was soft.
‘Yes we do.’ Their spokesman raised his weapon, a Star Model 30M, 9mm, originating from Spain. He pointed it at Ray’s chest. ‘Oh aye, we do.’
Miller came down the street, his back tight to the building line, staying deep in shadow, the sawn-off held diagonally across his chest, ready for instantaneous use.
He was a former soldier. Nothing special, just an infantryman, but he had done time in a few of the world’s hot spots in his younger days. This situation reminded him of Northern Ireland, a semi-derelict Belfast street of the 1970s. He had been up and down numerous of them and even now he expected a sniper to have him in his sights.