Horse's Arse (32 page)

    'Fuck
knows,' bellowed Driscoll, 'probably the Old Bill, bastards.' He limped towards
the kitchen still swearing revenge at he knew not whom and demanded his mother
get the kettle on and make a brew whilst he calmed himself and contemplated his
unexpected period of freedom. As the kettle boiled he ran over in his mind what
needed to be done to ensure his freedom became permanent. First thing tomorrow
he'd show himself around the Park Royal to let people know he was still in
charge. It was very likely attempts would be made to fill his place in his
absence and it was important that he showed he was still the main man. And then
there was the trial to sort out. He was cursing the fact that he'd trusted the
moron Baker to get rid of the gang's bloodstained clothing, which he'd
spectacularly failed to do, and now the Old Bill had some strong forensic
evidence against all of them. The eyewitnesses could be dealt with easily
enough - only Morgan was a real problem, though Driscoll was confident he could
be persuaded to change sides again. He'd got Danny completely wrong. Thought
he'd be OK when the wheels came off, but the Old Bill had really done a number
on him and got him to roll over. They'd also given him and Baker a tidy fitting
up with the gun Myra had used to kill the copper. Driscoll had not known of its
existence but the Old Bill had got his prints on to it and the ammo. That was
down to Baker as well — the idiot had not told Driscoll about it and now they
were both in deep shit. Driscoll sat at the breakfast bar fuming. He and Baker
were also in the frame for the attack on Myra in the bedroom. He regretted that
now, but her death had had little impact on him. If anything, it had been quite
convenient, because she had the potential to be a nuisance. She was so unstable
there was no way anyone could be sure what she'd say or do from one moment to
the next. Morgan really bothered him, though. The little bastard had given the
Old Bill chapter and verse about the attack on the pub manager. He'd even
embellished the story a little to further implicate Driscoll and Baker, albeit
at the interviewing officer's behest. It would be very useful if Morgan
suddenly found himself dead as well. Driscoll decided to get word to Baker and
the others on remand in Strangeways to take care of it. His evidence could be
very damaging and Driscoll couldn't allow that. He'd get his instructions into
Strangeways via a visit Baker was due from his mother in two days. As he sipped
at a mug of milky, heavily sugared tea, he nodded to himself, satisfied that he
was getting his train back on the tracks.

    The
phone in the hallway rang again and he put his mug of tea down in surprise.
Who'd be calling so late unless it was another threatening call? His mother
made no move to leave the kitchen and answer it, so he eased himself off the
chair and limped out into the hallway.

    'Fuck
off, you cunt,' he screamed into the mouthpiece, assuming it would be the same
sort of call as before. It wasn't. This time the caller adopted a very
different tack.

    'Bobby,
is that you?' the voice whispered urgently.

    'Who
the fuck are you?'

    'Bobby?'

    'Yes.
Who the fuck are you?' shouted Driscoll again.

    'Alan
Morgan, Danny's dad,' came the reply.

    There
was a stunned and lengthy silence. Driscoll knew virtually nothing about
Morgan's family, other than that they had been driven out of Handstead in the
aftermath of the Mafia's downfall.

    'What
the fuck do you want?' Driscoll finally asked sullenly.

    'Listen,
we need to talk,' continued the whispering voice. 'I know what Danny's done and
I can't live with it. We're paying for what he's done and it's not right.'

    'So
fucking do something about it then,' interrupted Driscoll loudly.

    'That's
why I'm ringing, Bobby. I can do something about it but we need to meet. I
don't want to talk on the phone. I'm back in our old house in Deacons Drive.
Can you come over so we can talk?'

    'Bollocks,'
shouted Driscoll. 'I'm not going fucking anywhere. You deal with the little
shit before I do.'

    'Bobby,
we need to talk,' continued the voice in the same urgent whisper. 'I'll be at
the house until just after midnight, then we're gone for good. If you don't
come I'll assume you're not interested. That'll be a shame, because I can sort
things out. Take care, Bobby,' and the phone was put down quickly.

    'Fuck
off,' screamed Driscoll, before pulling the phone line out of the wall socket
and hurling the whole phone at the wall.

    Back
at Handstead police station, H and Jim hurried out into the back yard, where it
was still sleeting heavily, and got into Yankee One. Jim had the keys for the
evening, and he settled himself and waited whilst H got comfortable. H had been
restored to full driving duties following Bott's demise, but tonight was Jim's
turn to drive, H to do the paperwork.

    'Ready?'
he asked.

    'Let's
go, Jim,' responded H, picking up the main handset to book on. 'Delta Hotel from
Bravo Two Yankee One, show us on watch please,' he said quietly.

    'Thank
you, Yankee One,' responded the operator. 'Good hunting, boys,' she added.

    The
Brothers looked at each other and grinned as Jim took the car out into Horse's
Arse to find Driscoll. Hunting was definitely the appropriate term.

    The
temptation to confront Morgan's father had been too good to resist and Driscoll
had quickly dressed to go out.

    'Where
are you going so late?' asked his mother as he buttoned up his coat by the
front door.

    'Out,'
he snapped without looking at her.

    'Where?
Who was that on the phone?'

    He
tapped the side of his nose by way of reply and opened the front door, slamming
it shut behind him. The sleet and chill wind took him by surprise and he gasped
involuntarily as the cold hit him, and hunched his shoulders to keep warm. He
hurried down the path, crossed the deserted street and made towards the
industrial estate on a short cut to Deacons Drive. The bitter chill made his
damaged knees ache more than usual, but he soon found that the exercise eased
them and he lengthened his stride. He was looking forward to the confrontation
with Morgan senior and began to formulate what he intended to do and say.
Depending on how big Morgan senior was, he might even give him a slap. It
depended very much on his size, though, because at heart Driscoll was an abject
coward and generally depended on Baker to do his muscle work. He walked quickly
along a rubbish-strewn alleyway and out on to the industrial estate, glanced
left and right and began to cross Wheatcroft Drive to walk to the alleyway
opposite which would cut out having to walk right through the estate. As he
crossed the road he was startled by two figures that suddenly emerged from the
darkness of a building to his right. He stopped in his tracks as they closed on
him.

    'Hello,
Bobby,' one of them said. The pair walked under the weak street lamp and into
the pale yellow light.

    Driscoll
recognised the Brothers immediately. His blood ran cold as it dawned on him
that they had phoned him on both occasions and he was now completely at the
mercy of these two mad, dangerous bastards. H had been absolutely right. The
one thing Driscoll really needed to know was whether Morgan would give evidence
against him and he had walked straight into the trap. Driscoll's mouth was dry
and he swallowed hard as they stopped under the light and grinned at him.

    'You
should be at home, shouldn't you, Bobby?' said H. 'I was sure your bail
conditions said you had to be at home in the evening. That's right, isn't it,
Jim?'

    "S
right, H,' answered his colleague, 'and there's a power of arrest for breaching
the condition. It's back to Strangeways for you, Driscoll, for a very long
time. Where are you off to at this time of night anyway? It's a bit late to be
going visiting, isn't it, H?' The Brothers laughed and stared at Driscoll,
relishing the moment for a while longer.

    Driscoll
knew he'd been had and that his ill-gotten liberty was about to be whisked away
from him before he'd had a chance to enjoy it or sort things out. Dodgy knees
or not, he decided to have a go. He took off like a greyhound for the opposite
alleyway, catching the Brothers completely off guard.

    'Fuck
it,' shouted H, starting after him. 'Get round the other side quickly, Jim, cut
him off.'

    As H
raced after Driscoll down the unlit alleyway, Jim ran back to Yankee One parked
at the rear of the building and raced away to try to intercept the foot chase
on the other side of the industrial estate. Deliberately, he did not use the
radio to summon assistance; there was no way he and H were going to give up
their prize to anyone else.

    Back
in the alleyway, H was closing on Driscoll, but still about thirty yards behind
him. Driscoll's knees were not up to anything as energetic as a foot chase, but
he could see the lit road up ahead at the end of the alleyway and kept going.
He could hear the copper panting behind him and knew he couldn't afford to get
captured. Too much depended on his remaining at large.

    Jimmy
Martin and Dave Chance had escaped from the car park at the Hoop and Grapes
and, because they had not gone back to Baker's flat, had avoided the police
round-up. Now they sat in a clapped-out Ford Capri listening as Martin revved
the engine until it screamed.

    'It's
absolutely fucked,' he shouted above the din to his partner in crime, who
nodded his agreement. 'Be all right for a bit of a burn-up, though,' he added.

    They
had stolen the unregistered and untaxed rust bucket from outside the owner's
house about an hour ago and brought it down to the industrial estate to do some
handbrake turns and then set fire to it. It was what they always did with every
car they nicked. They were nothing if not predictable and consequently had
previous convictions as juveniles as long as the proverbial arm. Both wannabe
Mafia, they came from the Park Royal estate and had been involved in car theft
and other petty crime most of their young lives. Aged only fourteen now, they
were very well known to the local police and had only one aspiration: to move
into the ranks of the Park Royal Mafia as full-time members; to become Bobby's
boys. With their backgrounds, they were condemned to that fate anyway,
regardless of any other aspirations they might subsequently harbour.

    Martin
put the Capri into first gear, revved the engine again until it sounded as
though it must explode, and then let the clutch in fast, causing all four
wrecked tyres to smoke before the vehicle careered forward. The boys were
whooping and cheering as the car roared along the empty road, both anticipating
the handbrake turn in the cul-de-sac at the other end.

    Neither
H nor Driscoll heard the screaming engine from within their alleyway above
their own laboured breathing and thumping hearts. Driscoll had his head back,
eyes fixed on the enlarging square of light ahead of him that meant possible
escape. He emerged out of the darkness into the light without slowing, was
across the pavement in a single stride and into the road and the path of the
speeding Capri. Still in the pitch-black alleyway, H saw the collision
perfectly framed for a split second in the square of light as the stolen Capri
hit Driscoll side on at 60 m.p.h with a sickening thud, who then disappeared
from view as though flicked by a giant finger. H came quickly to a halt, still
in the darkness, panting deeply and unable to fully appreciate what he had just
seen. He heard the car engine slow slightly and then the screech of tyres as
the vehicle turned in the cul-de-sac and then flashed back through the square
of light. From where he was, H was unable to even establish the colour of the
vehicle, let alone its make, or the identity of its occupants.

    As
the sound of the engine died away, H walked to the edge of the darkness and
peered out into the road. All the buildings in his view were in total darkness
and the road was deserted. There was a vast amount of broken glass spread
around, but of Driscoll there was no sign at all. For one moment H wondered if
he had been picked up by the occupants of the car but he quickly dismissed the
thought. He was expecting to see body parts all over the place, but there was
nothing to see other than the broken glass. He had begun to walk towards the
cul-de-sac when he heard the sound of a speeding engine coming towards him and
he turned to see a pair of headlights approaching him. Momentarily fearful it
might be the bad guys returning, he was relieved to see it was Jim in Yankee
One.