Did Not Finish (26 page)

‘Where’s Derek?’

‘He’s about three hundred yards ahead with the Merc behind him. They just got on the motorway.’

‘Have they noticed you?’

‘No. I’ve had a pretty clear view of them so I’ve hung back.’

‘OK, I’m on my way. I’m a few minutes behind.’

‘Where’s Steve?’

‘He’s following the mechanics.’

It took me ten minutes to reach the M32. Dylan called back twice to tell me they had first joined the M4 going west then the M5 going north. That narrowed down Derek’s potential destinations.

Once I got on the motorway, I caught up to Dylan pretty quickly. Half a mile ahead of him, I picked out the car transporter and Morgan’s Mercedes. The traffic was light, but heavy enough for Dylan and me to blend in.

I called Dylan. ‘I’m behind you.’

‘I see ya. How do you want to handle this?’

‘Stay as we are. If the traffic thins out, we’ll take turns being behind Derek.’ My mobile bleeped, telling me I had another call. ‘It’s Steve. I’ll call you back.’

I switched over to Steve’s call. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Nothing. These guys were just going home for the night. The driver is the only one left now. I’m following him home.’

‘OK. Ditch him and catch up to us. We’re on the M5. I’ve just passed junction fourteen for Dursley.’

‘I’ll see you soon,’ Steve said and hung up.

Knowing Steve was on his way helped settle my nerves. With the three of us back on Derek’s tail, we had the flexibility to handle whatever came next.

Steve caught up with us between Stroud and Gloucester. We took turns at being the lead car behind Morgan’s Mercedes. I didn’t get the feeling that our game of leapfrog alerted Derek or his crew. They seemed to remain blissfully unaware, both vehicles eating up mile after mile, not adjusting their speed or course.

It looked as if we were heading into Birmingham, but Derek led the procession off the motorway into Redditch.

My arms and legs tingled with anticipation and fear. We were a long way from home and I didn’t know what to expect next. I just hoped we weren’t out of our depth.

I put my nerves on hold and coordinated my next move with Steve and Dylan. Dylan and I were to keep close to the transporter. Steve was to hang back. If Derek stopped, we would blow by and let Steve pick up the action while we waited for his update.

The streets narrowed and Derek slowed down to compensate. We soon ended up on streets where traffic was non-existent. Dylan and I were beginning to stick out, especially since Dylan had been directly behind Morgan’s Mercedes for some time. I jumped on the phone to him.

‘Pull over. I’ll take the lead for a little while. Tell Steve the latest.’

‘OK.’

Dylan pulled into a petrol station and I took his place behind the Mercedes.

I felt very alone. Suddenly, it was me versus four scumbags who, together, had killed one person, assaulted and threatened several people, tried to burn down Archway and held me at gunpoint. If they caught me now, I doubted anyone would hold off from pulling the trigger.

Steve called me. ‘I just passed Dylan. I’m in the two spot. Dylan’s going to take over as tail end Charlie.’

Derek flicked on his indicators to make a left onto a narrow street. ‘They’re turning off onto Ladbroke Street. I’m letting them go. Pick up my lead.’

‘Ladbroke Street it is.’

Derek navigated the tight turn with the Mercedes close behind. I kept going straight. The second they were out of sight, I turned my Vauxhall around and stopped.

Steve came into view moments later. He flashed his lights at me and made the turn.

I stayed on the line with Steve and he talked me through a series of streets. I waited for Dylan to catch up, then we followed Steve’s directions. Within a couple of streets, the complexion of the neighbourhood had changed from residential homes to industrial. Address after address was home to ancient factory buildings, but some of the factory sites had been demolished and replaced with modern prefab units.

‘Shit,’ Steve said over the phone. ‘We have a problem.’

‘What is it?’

‘They’ve arrived.’

‘Where?’

‘You’ll see. Turn right at Harrington Road and it’s two hundred yards on your left. I can’t stop. I’m driving by.’

I turned onto Harrington Road in time to see the tail end of Derek’s transporter and the Mercedes disappear between a pair of gates not much shorter than the transporter. Only the top of the factory building could be seen from the street. Along with the solid gates, ten foot high brick walls hid the goings-on from the public eye. But none of that mattered. The familiar Hancock Salvage logo covered each gate. Shit was right.

I parked my car a hundred yards down the street from the yard’s main gates. Dylan drew up behind me and got into my car. I set my mobile to speaker so Steve could hear us.

‘I can’t believe we’ve come all this way and we can see bugger all,’ Dylan said.

‘Steve, can you see any low points?’

‘No, that wall goes all the way around.’

‘Let’s call the cops in,’ Dylan said.

‘And tell them what?’ I said. ‘We don’t know what’s going on inside there.’

To rub our noses in the fact, security lights lit up the yard hidden from us.

‘We’re going to have to go over the wall,’ I said.

‘Are you touched?’ Dylan said.

‘No.’

I’d been looking at the wall. It was a product of its time. It was brick and several layers thick with foundations that probably went halfway to China. I doubted a tank could bust through it without firing a few shells first. A coil of barbed wire ran across the top. It was more like a fortress than a security or privacy wall. But it wasn’t impossible to breach. The brick and mortar surface gave me foot and handholds. The barbed wire wasn’t such a big deal and I didn’t see any security cameras.

‘Those walls aren’t that tough to climb. We’ll find a couple of safe spots to get over. We’ll sneak up on them and as soon as we see something go down, we’ll call the cops.’

‘And who exactly is we?’ Dylan asked.

‘You and me.’

‘And what about me?’ Steve said.

‘You’re our safety switch. You stay on the outside. If anyone catches us, you call the police.’

‘This is crazy,’ Dylan said.

‘But we’re going to do it.’

‘Of course we are.’

Dylan went back to his car and looked for an entry point. We decided to enter from two different points just in case one of us got caught. I turned the car around and looked for my entry. The factory provided a huge blind spot. It blocked the illumination from the security lights and potentially blocked anyone’s view of me.

I drove up onto the pavement and parked the car up against the wall, then powered down the window and climbed onto the car’s roof. I could just see over the top of the wall. I couldn’t see anyone, which meant they couldn’t see me. I grabbed a tow rope from the Vauxhall’s boot and hooked it over a bracket set into the top of the wall for fixing the barbwire. I climbed back down into the Vectra and parked it on a neighbouring street. As much as I liked having the car as a convenient stepladder, I couldn’t leave it parked against the wall.

I scurried back, carrying a floor mat from the car. I stuffed the mat inside my jacket and climbed the tow rope. When I reached the top, I laid the mat over the barbwire. The technique had served me well at Morgan’s workshop and it did again this time. I tossed the rope over the other side of the wall and slithered down. I touched down on soft dirt behind a pile of discarded tyres.

‘Please don’t let there be dogs,’ I said to myself.

I called Dylan. ‘I’m in. Are you?’

‘Now I am. It nearly killed me getting over that sodding wall,’ he whispered.

‘OK. Stay off the line. Call Steve if something goes wrong. OK?’

‘OK,’ Dylan said with a sigh and hung up.

I edged my way towards the glow of the light. I used everything and anything to hide behind, from oil barrels to the factory building itself. Even though I was sure I wasn’t being watched, I didn’t take any chances. The last thing I needed was to walk into one of them taking a leak against the wall.

Unlike the facility Hancock had shown us back in Gravesend, this Redditch facility was far from a showpiece. The place was made up of a mammoth factory building and a storage shed big enough to store half a dozen double-decker buses.

As I got nearer, the sound of voices got louder.

I pressed my back to the building and peered around the corner. Derek’s transporter sat at the centre of the yard surrounded by dozens of wrecked cars. Some had been stripped bare. Most hadn’t. An ancient car crusher sat off to one side with a crane for hoisting the wrecks into it.

I groaned inside. Derek and his boys weren’t alone. Six heavily-built, nightclub bouncer types examined the cars on the transporter. Vic Hancock stood next to a much taller man leaning against an Audi A8. I didn’t see any guns, but if Derek had come tooled up, these guys would have too.

The man with Hancock was obviously Hancock’s partner here. He dressed to impress with his designer suit and topcoat, but his severe crew cut jarred with the designer clothes. The Audi and the gold on his hands said he was a man of means, but none of it looked right on him, as if he’d borrowed his expensive trappings for tonight’s event. To rub that fact in, he was gaunt to the point of emaciation. His skin looked vacuum-sealed to his skull and his pallor was just as sickly – a sun-starved grey. There was also a quickness to his eyes. While he chit-chatted with Hancock, his gaze never left the target – the cars. There was no arguing he was the alpha male here.

I waited until everyone had their back to me before I darted over to a group of four wrecked cars awaiting processing. I scurried underneath a Range Rover with front end damage. It was about as close as I could get without being seen. I was still two hundred feet from the exchange, but it was good enough to hear what was being said. Voices carried on the still night air.

‘Unload them,’ Hancock ordered and everyone unloaded the cars off the transporter. As they rolled off, the bouncer types each took one and lined them up in a fan formation for inspection.

The man with the crew cut inspected the cars with Hancock and Morgan. He checked out the engines, examined the paintwork and the finishes.

‘Nice work, Morgan,’ he said in a heavy Russian accent. ‘What happen to arm? You drop a car on it?’

Morgan squeezed out an anaemic laugh. ‘No, no. Just a small problem that got out of hand.’

The Russian grabbed Morgan’s cast and smashed it across his knee. Morgan screamed and fell to the ground clutching his arm.

Neither Derek nor his friends came to Morgan’s side. Hancock looked terrified. The demonstration proved who was at the top of the food chain here.

‘Jesus Christ, Valentin,’ Hancock said. ‘There’s no need for that.’

The Russian whirled on Hancock. The move startled him and he stepped back, bumping into the Audi. The Russian closed in until he invaded Hancock’s personal space.

‘My friends call me Valentin. You call me Mr Rykov.’

Hancock nodded.

Rykov turned back to Morgan and jerked his hair back. ‘I pay good money for no problems. Got that?’

Morgan nodded, unable to speak.

‘I cautious man. I do my homework. My sources tell me you’ve been getting a lot of attention.’

‘It’s being taken care of,’ Hancock said.

Derek helped Morgan to his feet. ‘The problem won’t be a problem after next week.’

Rykov turned towards Derek and grinned. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘I like confident man. Do I have your word?’

‘Yes.’

Rykov smiled. ‘I have your balls if wrong.’

‘I won’t be.’

‘Good. Let’s get this shit done.’

Hancock followed Rykov over to the Audi and handed him a bunch of paperwork. It looked like the documentation belonging to the cars. Rykov handed him a thick envelope that had to be cash.

We had them now. It was time to call in the cavalry, so I fished for my phone.

Rykov’s mobile rang and he removed the phone from his pocket. He didn’t talk; he just listened. He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it, then snapped his fingers at one of his people and pointed at the gates. The bouncer ran over to them and swung them open.

It had to be another delivery. I guessed the cars were worth about a hundred grand, which wasn’t a lot in this day and age. With the number of cars Hancock turned over through his yards, this operation he had going with Derek was probably being replicated all over the country.

Instead of another transporter, a single car drove through the gates. It was a Renault Laguna with Steve at the wheel. The man in the passenger seat held an automatic against his head.

Lap Twenty-Five

I
didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The sight of seeing Steve being dragged from the car by two of Rykov’s men bound me as tightly as ropes.

Steve was silent. Defiant. I wanted to race in there to save him, but I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t want me to. We couldn’t give ourselves away, not yet.

The Russians dragged Steve over to Rykov and threw him to the ground. One of them grabbed him by the hair and hauled him up into a kneeling position.

Rykov pulled out a gun from his overcoat pocket and pressed it to Steve’s forehead. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Part of our small problem,’ Hancock said.

Derek stepped forward to join Rykov at his side. ‘He’s Steve Westlake. Aidy Westlake is his grandson and the bigger problem here. If Steve’s here, Aidy’s here too.’

Rykov snapped his fingers at his men again. The Russians, along with Derek’s crew, spread out to comb the yard for me. I lay flat on the ground amongst the dirt and shadows and crawled under a buckled and twisted car. They’d find me eventually, but not fast enough, I hoped.