Chapter 15

Nothing, the whole place cleared out. Camera’s dangling off green and red wires in every corner of every room. Every bottle of spirits smashed along with all the glassware. The beer taps have been crudely snapped and the bar stools lay in shards of wood and expensive upholstery. Every casino gaming table has been smashed, chips and tokens smeared around the floor. I nearly lose my footing on the ball from the roulette table.

My heart hurts. The adrenalin from the anticipation of a violent confrontation has decided to pummel my relaxing body.

I follow Underwood towards the back office. A large room, probably one and fifty square feet. It is absolutely destroyed. The weak lighting that emanates from the few fittings that aren’t smashed fails to camouflage the wanton destruction that has taken place in here. Computers and electrical equipment has been destroyed, there are holes in the walls and broken tables and and chairs cover the floor. Reams of paper covers the mess like a melting layer of thin snow.

‘Where is everyone?’ I say, to myself but out loud.

Underwood is looking at individual pieces of paper then tossing them away. He looks up at me.

‘They’ve battened down, I think.’ he walks back out towards the main casino. I survey the scene one last time. There’s fuck all here. I walk back to to the casino. Where are the Changs? Where are the new boys? This so-called climax of gang warfare is now just silence

As I push open the main door through to the casino …

‘

Chapter 14

We’re back on the road to where this all began. The long road to Rosestone Airport. The road which last time was heaving with smog and traffic and is now eerily quiet. At least that stops me from needing to use the siren.

I’m loathe to ask questions from our friend Castelano and I’ve been giving him stage 9 so as to avoid any difference of opinion in case he somehow gets the idea we’re going to be friends. I know where we’re taking him but I don’t know why. At least he has been useful in confirming some things that we half knew already, namely that Walker is a piece of shit and there’s no way that he’s going to let us climb to the summit of this case. This leaves very little in the option department because either way we’re damned.

If Wong was killed at Walker’s request then we’re not safe by any means. By driving one of the main players round in our car this further enhances our chances of trouble finding us before we can get out of its way.

‘What was he doing in the Red Dragon then?’

‘I can speak for myself,’ he chirps. He’s got some balls.

‘Go on then sister. Continue.’

‘I was seeing Graysmith. He wanted to know some information about Chang Cassidy’s. Security, staff numbers, offices, that sort of thing.  From what I gather he had a job he wanted doing but it was too hot in there and I didn’t get to find out what it was. I can suggest it wouldn’t have been pleasant. Just money to me to get the fuck out of here again. ‘

‘And?’ asks McBride, his face angry and empty.

‘And nothing Aiden. Last time I left I didn’t plan on coming back. I got tied up owing someone a favour and I couldn’t not do it. All that bullshit about honour amongst thieves, call it what you like. “To live outside the law you must be honest”, right? Just see what happens at the top of your organization and you’ll see it. What do you gain from solving this case? Promotion? Kudos? Pictures in the press? What has your boss got to lose from you solving this case? His career? His family? His fucking life? At this stage in the game the main players are in debt too much to each other to fuck around and let a couple of rozzers rumble their plan. Heads are gonna roll when this Lippman character shows up. Him and his Manchu crew are not going to creep in the back door to this town, they’re coming in all guns blazing.’

‘You know Lippman?’ I question.

‘No. I know of him and I know he’s supposed to be making a grand entrance. He’s got ties to Graysmith. He’s engineered this deal for the Manchu. He’s the one pushing for the Chang regime to be reduced.’

It all seems clear now. Everything has been revealed bar one thing, who the fuck is Lippman?

‘Lippman’s supposed to be dead.’

‘Well he’s not dead, more a ghost. If you can get to him this may well be resolved… but I wouldn’t expect it.’

The journey to the airport is almost over. Silence falls over the car again as I try to take in what’s been said. McBride seems to be thinking it through also. I’m racking my brains for more questions to ask, just to get anything, any clue whatsoever. This could be our last chance. I let out a sigh and clear my racing mind, I’m about to begin a question I haven’t yet thought of when McBride starts.

‘So where to now Rowan?

‘Overseas. China, America, South Africa. There’s work for me over there. Work where I can get my head straight. You mustn’t blame yourself for Wong y’know Aid? I know he’s been sailing close the wind for long enough and in his business it’s only a matter of time before  this will happen.’

‘Well what about you then eh? Why aren’t you fucking dead?  Joey was too good a person to get mixed up in this.’

‘He should’ve learned his lesson after Hyeon and he didn’t. You remember when we were kids, right?”

‘Fuck off Rowan, this isn’t time for a trip down memory lane.’

I can’t resist, ‘Please continue Castelano. What was my young apprentice like as a child? Did he watch much television?’

‘What. Oh fuck it. All I’m saying is you’ll have to move on. This can’t be the one thing you take away from this experience. We’re all sitting in a car on the road to nothing. Some of us drive in the fast lane and get there quicker.’

—

I tail off from conversation at this point. It’s all got a bit philosophical for me, The rolling landscape has become vacant and vast as the noise is occasionally punctured by the overhead rumbling of a plane coming into land or taking off. Then we’re here. The security man approaches the car as I slow to a stop. I show him my badge and he waves us through. This is it.

============================================

‘Here y’are,’ I say as he rest two Cabo Coffees down on the flimsy plastic table in front of me. i sit down in the even flimsier plastic chair facing opposite my brother. I look at Rowan. He is examining his coffee and stirring the boiling hot liquid with his left thumb. I get caught in a trance half-mesmerised by the spiralling of the frothy coffee and also at how he is managing to put his digit in a substance which is pretty much as hot as the sun.

I finally break off from staring at the dark brown coffee and look out at my surroundings. We are sat in the cafe just before Passport Control. We are in an area the size of your typical classroom away from the huge cavernous check-in area. The sanitised, drab interior of the coffee shop is enlivened by a few pieces of abstract art painted in all the colours you can imagine. One picture I reckon looks like a plane taking off with huge flames surrounding it. Hmm, not hugely calming for the nervous flyer. Another painting looks like a small child looking at the sky which contains lots of whoosing bright objects.

‘Shite aren’t they,’ My brother says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I only utter a small noise from the bottom of my chest.

‘Why do you do it Aidan?’ he carries on.

‘Do what?’ I say, staring deeply in to his eyes – the exact match of mine. Small, concentrated windows.

‘This police shit. It’s beyond a joke man.’

‘What the fuck do you mean?’

‘Most cops including that twat you hang around with, Underwood, yeah? They have families, I remember that bitch he’s married to from years back. He has kids. He has something else. What do you have Aidan?’

‘It’s a job. And I think it’s a pretty important job. What I do instead to get by. Fucking rob, steal, lie; just like you, eh?’

I can feel warmness flow round my body. He could always do this. Always wind me up and make me snap. I just can’t control it. When I caught up with him at the crest of the hill in Chinatown i lunged and brought him down with a monster rugby tackle. He crumpled to the floor. I lifted him up and was about to smack him in the face. The adrenalin was still pumping from the near-riot in the bar. All he needed to say was one word and I honestly don’t think I could have contained myself. All the chasing and running away and the lies and pain all coming out in one devastating delivery. But instead, for the first time since Davey was killed he looked deflated. Tired too. He just slumped in my hands and looked exhausted. I finally felt the pain in my gut as the adrenalin rapidly subsided and I talked to my brother on the level for the first time since Hyeon.

‘Just like me eh?’ Rowan giggled, ‘How many laws have you broken in the last three days Aidan? Speeding, fighting, drunk and disorderly for starters. I could continue. We are the same, my brother, we are both non-adherents to the law. You work above the law – I work below the law. That’s the only difference. Clans, gangs, death, feuds, politics, magic, money, belief, girls, power. None of it matters. It just matters too much.’

‘You’re a pompous cunt Rowan.’ I say, I’m not rising to this. Not now, not anymore, ‘You may not see it, for whatever reasons you may have. But we do represent a line. Yes the thin blue line of cliché but you’ll never understand it. Or you can’t. Come on, it’s time for another of your final goodbyes.’ I stand up and smile at my brother. He stays sitting for a moment then stands up and picks up his undrunk coffee and follows me to Passport Control.

‘You may be right Aidan. You always were big on your Good and Bad. You could only see the black and white.’

‘No, I see it all perfectly Rowan.’ My brother laughs again.

‘Goodbye Aidan, I’ll get out of your way so you can be the hero, maybe this town’s too big for the two of us.’ We exhange smiles at the phrase, one we used to say at each other all the time as kids when we building dens in the garage.

‘Goodbye Rowan.’

‘Remember little bro, two in to one doesn’t go.’ He looks at me very strangely as he says the words I can’t seem to escape. Like he is trying to hard to impress upon me the seriousness of what he is saying.

‘Yes, it’s all I’ve bloody heard these last few days.’ I say trying to lighten up his departure. Rowan turns around and walks to the bald guy checking passports. After he is waved through he stops and flicks around again to face me over the bald headed guy’s pate.

‘That’s because it’s the most important thing you will hear kid.’

My mind stops. Again I feel young again, like my brother is at once goading and protecting me. I look at my feet as feel my eyes begin to well up. When I look up he is gone. The enigmatic Castelano once again moves out of my life. This time I feel I will see him again. I dab my eyes with a napkin garnered from the coffee shop then I head back through check-in, nod to Underwood who is standing just inside the entrance and we both head out to Underwood’s car.

‘You alright?’ Underwood says as we pass through the swivelling door.

‘Yeah, I’m fine ta,’ I say, a numbness that I can’t place passes over me. We make it to the Nissan through the drizelly car park. My mind feels like its not working in conjnction with my body. This is a fucking very bizarre feeling. Thankfully I punctuate this feeling by speaking:

‘So we heading back in to town?’

‘Yep.’ is Underwood’s response that I can barely hear because he is inside the car now about to shut his door and I’m on the outside. I open the passenger side door and enter.

‘Where to?’

‘Well a little birdie has just whispered in my ear that some other big birdies have just flown in and they’re heading for a nest.’

‘Interesting, does that nest contain other birds.’

‘Yep and they’re gonna be angry little cunts when they find out some other twats are trying to take it.’

‘Come on then, get that fucking siren on Underwood’

Underwood doesn’t need to say anymore, he manages to accelarate faster than anyone has ever done before in a Nissan Sunny and we are back on the Roseby Way within minutes ready for battle.

============================================

I’ve been sitting in the car for a while. I begin to wonder about what they were like as children, whether it was easy for them growing up. I can tell from the way McBride carries himself that he’s emotionally redundant or retarded and probably sad about his life. He’s melancholic, like he’s missing something in his life but can’t quite work out what it is or how it would better him, complete him.

You’d think it bizarre that brothers can end up on other sides of the law but it’s not unknown or even that uncommon. It’s not exactly Cain and Abel stuff, the careers they choose are probably the sacrifice and it’s always the dad who’s acceptance they crave. Makes me glad I never had two sons. I know how I felt when I grew up, I could tell that I was the favourite, the loveable rogue, the tearaway, the sportsman. My dad could relate to those things. Not like Simon. We hated each other growing up, now it’s more of a conditional independance that we use to stay away from each other. A defense mechanism. Things would be different now, common ground is easier to find when you walk a bit slower.

Before I drift off into wonderful nostalgia there’s a rumbling feeling which precedes the sharp shrill of the mobile ringing. I scan the screen as I lift it up to my ear and answer.

‘Afzal my old friend. What’s cooking good looking?’

There’s a puzzled but brief silence at my uncharacteristic opening gambit.

‘Er, Are you with McBride? I’ve been trying his mobile. No answer.’

‘He’s inside the airport terminal, think it’s run out of battery or something. His phone, not him.’

Then another brief pause, I wait. Then, ‘Ok then. So what?’

‘Sorry, got distracted. Walker’s just walking around. It’s him, he’s in. Deep. He got that Tsien out of here dead, He’s released Chang and Baines but I heard them talking. Something about getting more numbers to Chang’s ‘cos there’s gonna be a big deal going down. They’re expecting visitors from another family coming to try….No, not tonight, why don’t we have that one tomorrow. Have you heard from Zalif yet? What…His driving test…. Sorry Den, Walker walked right past again. That Chang was saying to Walker that he’s expecting a load of trouble tonight. Someone important came in on a flight from Beijing earlier, a big player. Just get there as soon as you can.’

‘Right, that’s big news. What do we expect?’

‘Just get there, this is your big chance I’d say.’

‘Yes, thanks. Look, take, er, right. See you later. You find out anything else let me know.’

I ring off and take stock for a second. Blood starts coursing through my veins a little quicker as the heart rate rises.

We need to take immediate action so I race out of the car and head towards the airport entrance. Then as I get to the door I see him down the concourse in the distance looking vancant. His eyes look into my direction so I wave him to make a move.

I wait for him to get here, I notice the look in his eye.

‘You alright?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, I’m fine ta,’

‘So we heading back in to town?’

‘Yep.’ .

‘Where to?’

‘Well a little birdie has just whispered in my ear that some other big birdies have just flown in and they’re heading for a nest.’

‘Interesting, does that nest contain other birds?’

‘Yep and they’re gonna be angry little cunts when they find out some other twats are trying to take it.’

‘Come on then, get that fucking siren on Underwood’

But I’m already on it. The engine is roaring and I’m heading back towards town. Towards the sea, towards Chang’s.

—

As we floor it over to Chang’s I explain everything that Iqbal told me to McBride. Obviously he’s not that surprised at Walker’s involvement in the grand scale of things. The golden rule of police work is making sure the shit sticks to where it’s supposed to. When a celebrity gets pulled for speeding they have the top brass lawyers on the case to make sure every protocol is followed or their client walks free, and this is what we must be careful about the choices we make with regard to Walker.

Evidence is the only thing that can pull Walker out of this and that’s something we don’t posses which forces our hand – Walker must be kept clean out of this. We are no closer to getting him locked up than we are finding Lord Lucan, meaning we don’t drag his name into this and he is less aware of our awareness of him.

What we can be certain of is that we are on the precipice looking down into the solution and possible revolution with regard to gangland in our beloved Rosestone. New players to replace the old but the old won’t go without a fight.

This is the last stand.

—

‘How do we go in then? Is this covert mission or all guns blazing? Back up or what?’

McBride’s flooding me with questions while I’m trying to think. I planned on coming up with a plan on the drive over but that’s passed by in the blink of an eye and now we’re back again the car park outside Chang’s. My body is aching from the blows I took earlier and I can still taste the vomit at the back of my throat, it left that thick residue over my teeth and the lining of my mouth.

‘I don’t..I’m not sure Aiden. I mean, what do we expect to go on in there? Guns. People. Large people. Bodyguards. All that shit. And we need to get to where the action is.’

‘Shall we just have a look around first? See what we can find out? There’s gotta be a sign of something somewhere. Have you got your piece on you?’

‘It’s in the boot. I was hoping I wasn’t going to need that.’

‘If not used than at least for protection. Just think what we’re dealing with here for a second.’

McBride has a look on his face that pretty much explains that he’s right. There will be trouble here and heading into it face first without any protection would beggar belief.

‘Vests?’ I ask.

‘If you’ve got them.’

‘Trousers?’

‘What? Dickhead.’

We both crack a smile which for a brief moment removes us from this scene.

—

After suiting up we both head for the main doors of Chang Cassidy’s. The wind has held it’s breath leaving the air warm and heavy. The bright lights beckon us from inside Chang Casidy’s, but it’s evident right from the start that something is wrong. Seriously wrong.

Where usually there’d be the hustle and bustle of gambling audible it seems quiet. In fact, deserted. Inside there is no one around. No one at the bar, no one at the tables, no one anywhere. The music is still playing but we’re the only people to hear it. I’m startled at a crackle then realize it’s McBride on his phone.

‘Need assisitance to Chang Cassidy’s. This is DI McBride, armed response as soon as you can. Do not inform Walker.’

I half listen but I’m trying to poke around. I catch look for a security camera thinking that someone must be aware of our presence but it would appear that they’ve already been taken care of, most are hanging from their supports or ripped off completely.

Chapter 13

Enigmatic eh? So that’s what his brother is. Or so McBride says anyway. It would appear after talking to Chang that Castelano is the glue that holds this case together, the cord that binds us et cetera,  cetera.

We’ve left Chang and that fuck rat Baines in the interviewing room. It won’t be too long until they’re back to their old tricks, whatever they are. In the mean time we need to hit the road. Why walk when you can run, right?

The evening has descended around the sky, plum coloured shapes reveal a rising moon every now and again as they drift in across in the cool breeze. As I glance at the moon, I see a plane go over and I’m reminded to where this case began.

‘Shall we try the Airport?’ I ask McBride as we approach the car.

‘I’m not sure, Dennis.  I suppose it’s either that or the bars. Hang on, what about the docks? It’s where he tried to get out all those years ago. It’s not too far from the casinos. Could be the best place.’

‘Sold. Get in then.’

In one fluent movement I unlock the car and open the door, the key slides smoothly into the waiting ignition, like a lubed up knob. The car starts, into reverse and out of the car park.

The roads are pretty clear so we feel like we’re getting somewhere quickly. I keep the radio off to help us concentrate.

McBride starts wiggling the stick that moves the position of the wing mirror.

‘Oi. don’t fuck with that. That’s set up prefect for my racing style of driving.’

‘It’s broken.’

‘You’ve broken it then. That’s gonna cost you, ooh, about fifty quid I reckon.’

‘Piss off. It was already broken.’

‘See you in court. So… pier 82 then you think? Star Cargo Lines? I’d say if anywhere would be a good place to start that could be it.’

And at that, we approach the car park to the docks.

‘I don’t want to waste any time, I’m not parking here.’

‘I didn’t expect you too. It’s pretty quiet round here tonight.’

The conversation tails off. Focus and concentration are what’s required. A gaping hole has appeared where the ship was the other day and I realise it may be too late. Fuck. That could be the last straw. Walker’s looking for any excuse to get us off this case and the lead we were looking for could be sailing away into the distance.

Shit.

‘Go to the office, find out when it went.’

‘Is there any point?’ I question. Then I look out and see a familiar looking ship being taken out to sea by a couple of tugs. It’s just about light enough to see the paint on the side.

‘Is that it there?’

‘Fucking hell,’ McBride exclaims. ‘How are we gonna get to that? Coastguard?’

‘I’ll get on the radio.’

============================================

‘Fucking garbage!’

I’m fucking furious, they won’t stop the ship.

‘They won’t stop the ship, I’m fucking furious’ I shout in Underwood’s direction.

‘What were they saying,’ Underwood says.

‘They say they have a prior order to let the ship leave. From on high,’ I let the words hang in the air and Underwood grasps my meaning straight away. This case is way above our heads.

We are sat in Underwood’s shitty Sunny looking out at the ship slowly head in to the purple horizon. The race to the docks, the frantic call to the coastguard and the ultimate feeling of deflation and the end of the adrenalin rush make me feel ill. Underwood looks like he feels the same. We sit in this contemplative mood for what seems like years. Years falling in to the ocean, with nothing to remember them by.

—

Half an hour later we are sat in the Doggly Arms in the Artists Quarter planning what to do next. The Artists Quarter is probably the only area in town where the gangsters have no real presence. It is full of student housing and uber-cool bars and shops. The Doggly Arms is an old-style pub slap bang in the middle of all the chic bars.

‘I say we hit Chinatown. Every fucking bar, every restaurant, every fucking business in that whole fucking area,’ Underwood says, nursing a Glenfiddich whiskey.

‘How on earth are we supposed to crack this in a day?’ I say, my thoughts aloud, ‘It’s a joke, it’s not a Nick Nolte film.’

‘We know now though for sure. Walker’s on their side, we can only do what we think is best.’

‘But what is best? Who are we working for now?’

‘I honestly don’t know Aidan, but we can’t lose our sense of what’s right. We have some cheeky cunts ordering murders in our town. All we can do is solve them. We’re not superheros.’

‘No, I suppose you’re right.’

‘Of course I am. Come on let’s go crack some skulls.’ We get off our chairs and head towards the door, ‘Besides, you’d look like a right dick in tights and a cape McBride.’

—

We pull up outside the Red Dragon where the mute guy told us about Snake Eyes. We enter through the double doors and the place is packed. It is full of Oriental folk enjoying a pumping night out unbeknownst that the town is dying on the inside. There’s no table service in here tonight, just a fucking thumping sound coming from the speakers. I look at Underwood. He nods and walks towards the bar pushing through patrons as he does so. A few guys throw dirty looks at him while one little feller pushes him in the back and scampers away when Underwood turns and scowls at him.

The bar is packed, we can’t go there, in fact the whole place feels like it’s just got even busier. I’ve lost Underwood in the crowd. I spin around and a bevvy of cheeky young Chinese girls start dancing with me. I’m nearly taken in by the ladies when I hear a shout and the whole bar seemingly move like it’s balanced on a ship in a storm. Everyone in the Red Dragons seems to move in one giant, slow motion one way and then they return as people push back. I survey the scene and see a group of Chinese men throw a couple of punches at Underwood. I see one guy land on Underwood’s temple and he crumples. Something in me snaps and I blast my way through the throng.

I smash one guy straight in the face with a straight right hander. His face explodes on my knuckles. Crimson flies in the Red Dragon. I weave out of the way of a chunky twat who tries to grab me and punch him in the right temple as he falls right past me. Underwood is on the floor below me and I pick him up off the floor. He’s a heavy cunt and he’s bellowing at me. I jab another guy in the stomach but it’s too weak and I get one back in the chin. The pain makes me wince but also fires me up even more. It’s rage time.

I pick up a bottle and force it over the guy who chinned me’s head. I spin round and Underwood has hold of someone else by the throat. I use the remnants of the bottle to send the guy to the floor in a crumpled, pathetic heap. Underwood is still bellowing at me and the whole bar is now ready to take us on. I look stupidly at the roaring monster whose arm I’m holding on to. He’s shouting in my face. I can’t make it out at first but then it dawns on me.

‘Castelano!’

We head for the exit but the patrons are blocking us. I pick up some more bottles, throw a couple to Underwood and we smash them on the floor and point them at the angry mob. We edge our way out as nobody wants to risk taking on the two crazy white guys who have just possibly killed some of their fellow drinkers. We reach the doors when the bottles start flying at us. Shards and specks of glass pepper my face as we get out of the door and look left on October 1st Street- downhill. I catch a glimpse of someone running. Could it be Rowan? I chase the shadowy figure down the street. My blood and other peoples’ blood fly off my face as the wind and adrenalin put me at top speed down the main Chinatown street. The smells and sights of Chinatown flow through and out of me. Jasmine, smoke, tea, Money Exchange shops, young students are turning in to a blur as I catch up with the man ahead. It’s definitely my brother, Castelano.

I look round to see if Underwood is behind. I can’t see him. I carry on at top speed, sure that this time I’m taking my brother out of the game.

============================================

I start to give chase after McBride but I only make it a few steps before my legs turn from flesh and bone into a wobbling strand of jelly. I head back towards the car noting that I’m still full of adrenaline, the pain still hasn’t come but I know it’s on its way. I have to concentrate and jog my memory of how to walk, remembering to put one foot in the other.

When I get to the car, gravity feels like it’s forgotten where my stomach belongs and I heave all over the door but now isn’t the time. I need to get to McBride. Now. So I get in, fumbling again with my bloody hands and the car keys that don’t want to go where they need to. Key, ignition, turn, clutch, gear, biting point, accelerate and go. I reverse up to thirty and try to do one of those J turns but miscalculate badly and clip a curb as I over-steer, then overcompensate in the other direction. I’m weaving across both sides of the road wildly trying to get control of the car, then finally I ease of the petrol and the road becomes more solid and easier to manage.

I race through what happened whilst trying to concentrate on the road and look for McBride. That man in the grey suit was there in the bar, he was shouting something about Kuzinsky but I couldn’t get it inbetween those damaging body shots I was taking, then I heard ‘Castelano’ come across the air.

Then I see McBride growing in size as the distance between us gets smaller.  He looks like he’s arguing with himself. I pull up, but they seem oblivious to my presence.

‘The enigmatic Castelano I presume?’

‘Underwood right? Me and Aidan need a bit of space yeh? Back off a minute.’

‘You’re not in any position to be making pleas for time and space. There’s plenty of that in Woodlands son, which is where you’ll be going.’ I spit.

His face changes and he looks at McBride. ‘Give us two minutes mate. This is complicated.’

‘I’ll be in the car.’ I turn away. Back towards the Sunny. As I climb down into the seat I feel a creak and an ache, my body sensing that the pain is coming. My temperature is lowering, my breathing rate slowing and the sweat beginning to dry off into a cool layer, chilling my skin.

And I sit. And watch. They offer very little between them in body language, it’s all tense and jittery and probably a good idea that I’m not there.

—

About ten minutes have passed before there seems to have been an agreement or stalemate reached. There’s more nodding that before and then they both start walking back to the car.

‘How’s the reunion going then boys? I’m taking the kids to Alton Towers in a couple of weeks if you fancy it?’

In unison I’m greeted with ‘Fuck off.’

‘That’s the spirit lads.’

===========================================

‘Can you turn that music off chief,’ my brother says. Underwood’s playing that soul shite again.

Underwood glares behind him at my brother in the back. I think that’s all he needs to do to get his message across.

‘So that’s a “no” then I take it?’ my brother says. I notice Underwood clench the steering wheel tighter.

‘Yes son, you are correct, this the Marvelettes and Don’t Mess With Bill. Now if you fucking ask me anything stupid again, it’ll be Don’t Mess With Dennis Because Dennis Will Tear Your Tongue Out And Make You Eat It. Is that clear “chief”?’

‘Yeah whatever mate.’

We glide on down the Roseby Way in silence for a few minutes. We’re heading to the airport at my behest. Underwood hasn’t asked me anything about my conversation with Rowan yet. I decide to take the initiative.

‘Walker had Wong killed,’ I say whilst maintaining my view outside of the window at the trees that line the great boulevard of Rosestone. Underwood nods, a grimace appears but he doesn’t speak,

‘Yeah,’ I continue, ‘Wong was helping Walker out with information, probably for a while and in the end the bastard betrayed him.’

‘Is this what he said?’ Underwood doesn’t need to even acknowledge my brother but I guess his intention.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you believe him…’

‘I do. Wong discovered the links between Walker and the Changs, through Rowan.’ This time I gesticulate with my head to the back of the car. ‘Wong apparently told Walker that he wasn’t going to work for him anymore. Proper kicked off at him, no wonder he sounded so off on the phone to me when I arranged to meet him. He must’ve thought that I was involved too.’

‘And he probably thought you were all the way to his death.’ Underwood says. He’s right Walker must have had him tailed and then executed when he was in a discreet spot. And that discreet spot happened to be at my behest. I inadvertently had contributed to Joey’s death.

Silence polluted the car again. Although I have been surrounded by death for what seems like all my life, each death in this case has affected in me in two ways. Firstly, the ability to get on with my life and file the death neatly away in a safe compartment where it doesn’t affect my everyday self has continued. Yet conversely each death has made me question the point of life itself. The futility and the cheapness of it all. The futility of death has always made me brave out death and let me rise above it. I don’t know if ‘rise above’ is the phrase I’d use but I can’t find the words in my brain to do it justice. But now it seems like the empty cavernous space in my head that I use to try and resolve these deaths is being intruded by something primitive and gnawing.

Am I finally now beginning to properly mourn my parents, and possibly also the brother I loved who is now someone I know by a pseudonym? I feel it may be so. Even more than the huge events that I have experienced; for some reason this one is hitting me hard. My emotions are swinging wildly, yet I seem to have more focus when it matters. My brain is thinking clearer than at any time, but the blurring between black and white has surpassed grey and is becoming transparent like my ethics are being washed away.

Despite feeling like we haven’t got near to solving this case it also feels like it is arriving on the crescendo. These hours will be momentous and I am scared for my own life for the first time ever.

Chapter 12

Rozlov – Wong – Byelovets – Tsien

What are the links? Lippmann – Kuzinsky – Chang?

We’re back at HQ in our incident room. The names are there on the whiteboard. Two lines of names. Fuck all info out of them.

‘Is it going to make any difference?’ I turn round startled at Underwood, who is sat absently looking out of the window to his right.

‘What,’ I say, ‘How do you mean?’

‘We aren’t gonna be able to pin anything on Chang. He will complete this stupid fuckin’ merger with Kuzinsky, who we don’t even know. Is this investigation going to resolve anything?’

‘We can try…’

‘Fuck trying,’ Underwood shouted, standing up and walking up to the board.

‘Look,’ Underwood is jabbing each name on the list, ‘Rozlov, fucking scumbag, killed by the Chinese. Wong, killed by another piece of filth. Byelovets, killed by whom, someone closer to us than we’d like to imagine?’

‘This isn’t helping,’ I say, I’ve not seen Underwood like this for a long time.

‘And Tsien. The public are sickened but the press already know he’s a gangster. If there were no more killings life would go on.’

‘But it’d be carte blance for the evil fuckers to carry on doing what they are doing,’

‘Aidan, we can’t stop it. This is too big for us. There is too much money involved and too many people who should know better.’

‘It’s not over Underwood. Gangster’s are dying, it shows that there are problems. It’s up to us to exploit this and bring them down.’

‘We can’t fucking bring them all down. You know that, don’t be so fucking naïve Aidan,’

‘I don’t mean the fucking system. But if we can take a few down we can disrupt them and that means the public are a little fucking safer, yeah?’

Underwood goes silent and walks back towards the window. He continues staring outside for a minute at least when he turns around to me and simply nods.

—

Half an hour later and the whole of CID seem to be in the incident room. We are all sat discussing the case when Walker enters the room with a flourish. He storms to the front and everyone goes silent. The guy is a pro, he could be an actor. He has an undeniable presence.

‘Now I assume DS Underwood and DI McBride have filled you all in on the case and what we need to do. Now Underwood who is behind these killings?’

Underwood has returned to his normal self now. Well as normal as the irascible bastard ever can be. He stands and addresses Walker.

‘We believe that Wu Chang ordered the murders of Rozlov, Byelovets and possibly even Tsien. It is our belief that Chang is the biggest gangland boss in the city. He is organising what is, in effect, a merger with the major Eastern European gang led by the Kuzinsky family. This is to counter the emergence of a new Asian gang which is making inroads in the illicit activities of the aforementioned gangs.’

Walker looks blankly at what was admittedly a fabulous performance by the miserable old cunt.

‘That is all you lot have come up with,’ Walker looks at his hands which are bunching up on the edge of his desk, ‘A merger? This isn’t the fucking footsie one hundred!’

‘It is what we’ve discovered,’ I interject.

‘Bollocks,’ Walker thunders, ‘Orders? Orders? I want names of murderers. Every single crime in this city is ordered but I want to know who is performing these despicable acts.’

‘Well Sir,’ Underwood says, ‘That would be easier if people in custody don’t keep dying. Tsien allegedly killed Byelovets, but now we don’t know anything because someone was responsible for releasing him.’

The room goes deathly silent. I always thought that was a cliché but not today. Had Underwood just said that? I look at him and he looks calm, calmer than I’ve ever seen him during a case. Walker is staring at him. I look closer at Walker, in fact everybody is looking at him. He’s never been in this position before. He has basically been accused of…what? Complicity in murder?

‘What are you insinuating Underwood?’ Walker is still staring at Underwood, ‘If you are accusing me, your commanding officer of being in cahoots with Chinese gangsters, then come out with it.’

‘Sir,’ Underwood is returning the stare, ‘I am just saying this case is becoming difficult because people who can help us are turning up dead or missing. It’s the same as the files on the Kuzinsky family members.’

‘What about the files?’

‘Well there aren’t any. None at all. For a group of people who were quite prominent in Rosestone crime in the seventies and eighties there is nothing on them at all. We need to find out why.’

Walker breaks his gaze at Underwood and picks his coat off the chair. He saunters over to the door to leave when he turns around to address the force.

‘Right, I remain unconvinced about this line of detection. You have twenty four hours to make a concrete connection or you’re off the case Underwood. Oh and Mr Chang is waiting to be interviewed downstairs with his lawyer.’

Walker exits the room and the silence holds for about thirty seconds until Underwood breaks the atmosphere.

‘Right then you fuckers, you know what to do. Let’s fucking smash these bastards once and for all.’

============================================

It’s all a bit cloak and dagger this now. I’m about 99.9% certain that Walker is not helping us get any further with this case, and more than that, he’s giving us 24 hours to finish the deal. Prick.

We head out of the incident room which has the rumble of voices being spurred into action. Walker didn’t click when I told him the bollocks about us suspecting Chang. Thick fucker, why would I tell him that Chang had hits on his own people. He’s got his head up his own arse trying to protect himself and his alleged spiralling gambling debt.

McBride clears his throat, ‘Any plans then?’

‘To be honest Aidan I’m not sure what we’re going to get out of this. I just hope this time he doesn’t pretend that he can’t speak English,’

McBride expels air quickly through his nose in as if to start laughing. ‘God that was a nightmare. When he was in for Hyeon. I remember that like it was yesterday.’

McBride then starts scuffing his shoes over the balding grey carpet tiles that have been here longer than I have. To say this place needs a lick of paint would be somewhat an understatement.

‘What you doing?’ I ask.

‘I think I’ve got some chuddy on me shoes.’

‘Come on knob head. How’s your Mandarin?’

He utters something back as we enter the room and I’m not sure if it’s a wind up. I know he can speak some foreign muck so I wouldn’t put it past him.

Upon entering the room I notice a smartly dressed and cool as a cucumber looking Wu Chang. Sat next to his right is a face I haven’t seen in a while. His bespectacled solicitor Giles Baines. He’s worked in the Chang family as long as I can remember. Little scrote. Thing I hate most about him is that he never stops sniffing like he’s always got a cold. Drives me mad. He’s probably got fucking AIDS or something from tongueing too many arseholes.

‘Gentleman, sorry to have kept you waiting. How are you for drinks?’

‘We have more pressing issues than that at the minute. Chiefly, why has my client been pulled here? He’s a busy man.’

Chang just eyeballs us, they both have a stage 2 painted over their canvesses.

‘Right, right, I’ll get to it then shall I? McBride.’

‘Right, ok then. Well…. There’s been a murder…’

I nearly burst out laughing, all he needed was a Scottish droll and we would’ve had Taggart in our midst. He continues, ‘Quite a brutal murder, and at the scene of the crime there was a reference to your client. A sort of poem, written in the blood of the victim.’

‘And what did that poem say officer er..?’

‘Sorry, we didn’t introduce ourselves did we? I’m DI Aidan McBride.’

‘And I know who you are Underwood.’ He said Underwood like it was some sort of dirty word.  ’So what did this poem say?’

‘It said 2 into 1 does not go, Mr Chang you must know.’

I watched Chang as he said it but he gave nothing away. I needed to say something.

‘Mr Chang, do you know a Rudolf Kuzinsky.’ He speaks to Baines in his own language. Brilliant, we’ve got to go through this rubbish again. ‘Look fucko. We know you haven’t murdered Tsien.’

His eyes flicker when I say Tsien.

‘We need your help in stopping the new guys coming in. We need to stop more of your people turning up dead.’

He says something else to Baines in Chinese and then looks me straight in the eye.

‘There’s a family coming in, ruthless and powerful. They are not a very honourable family. They would kill their children if you offered them the right price.’

‘Like Abraham.’ McBride chips in.

‘Yes, like your Abraham.’ Chang replies back to McBride. This seems to have impresses Chang. ‘Have you heard of Fu Manchu?’

At this serious point in the conversation it doesn’t seem a good idea to ask if they do a cracking beef chop suey so I let it slide.

‘Rudolf Kuzinsky is a business partner of mine, he’s been working overseas for a good couple of years helping set up our online betting shop. The age of the internet has opened up new ways for people to give me their money. The people in this country never know when to stop, like your bro..Tsien was a good man, I was unaware of his death, I think that he’s been hunted from beyond the grave. His killer will not be found.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘Look, this is a waste of my time. Get down to the Double or Quits or look for Manchu. He’ll lead you to your murderer.’

============================================

‘No,’ I interject, ‘Not until we get to the bottom of this. As am sure you are aware Mr Tsien is not the only murder that has occurred in Rosestone in the last few days.’ I ask the question rhetorically. The only answer I look for is in Chang’s eyes. Blank. Nothing. He just stares in between Underwood and me.

‘A certain Mr Sergii Rozlov,’ I continue, passing photos of the dead body towards the Chang and Baines. Chang’s fingers trace the markings on the body, they flicker slightly as he goes over the Chinese writing, ‘How old are you Mr Chang?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Chang says, off-key for the moment but he soon regathers himself.

‘That’s what it says and it was carved in to his body by the killer we believe. What does that mean.’

Chang and Baines chat again in Mandarin. I can see Underwood tense out of the corner of my right eye. I can only pick out occasional words. “Murder”, “visitor” and “message”.

‘Please, Detective, I do not understand your questions,’ Chang finally says.

‘Like fuck you don’t,’ Underwood stands up and slams his hands on the table, ‘We know you ordered Rozlov’s murder. He was involved with the Manchu’s family. We know you ordered Byelovets’s murder. We even think you may have killed your own friend Tsien.’

‘Why would I kill anybody? I am a legitimate businessman, Mr Underwood.’

Underwood looks towards me and smiles.

‘Mr Chang. You will remain in custody now. I know for a fact that we are closing in on this case. And you will be going to prison for a very long fucking time.’

‘Excuse me, Detective,’ Baines interrupts.

‘No! Fuck off Baines. We know everything that is going on at the moment. And more. We know about the so-called merger, we know about the arrival of the Manchu family. Now we are the law around here and we don’t like scumbags turning up with no hands or feet at the steps of our public buildings.’

‘This is ridiculous Detective,’ Baines interjects again, ‘You have no evidence to keep my client here, and your insinuations will potentially lead you in to a lot of trouble.’

‘Mr Baines,’ Underwood sits down again at the desk, ‘Do not make threats to me.’

‘I wasn’t threatening you Underwood.’

‘I know you were. You’re a fucking lawyer. You can cover a turd with pastry and call it a lovely pie. Your weasel words don’t cut it with me. We know what’s happening and myself and McBride here are going to fucking send you down Chang. And you Baines. We’ve got our fucking eye on you too.’

Underwood stands up again and Baines flinches. Chang has remained motionless throughout the speech. I get up also and make the way to the exit. I open the door and wait for Underwood who saunters over.

‘Detectives,’ Chang has called over to us, ‘You may think you know a lot. But we always know more. We are always watching. Good luck with the case.’

We both walk out and slam the door. I tell Underwood that we’re off back out again. The low evening sun greets us as we make our way out of HQ towards Underwood rust-bucket of a car. The day seems saturated with colour. I like it at this hour but today it the sun feels like a weight on my shoulders. I enter the passenger seat and Underwood is pulling away by the time I put my seat belt on.

‘I don’t think we can rely on anyone at HQ, Underwood.’ I say as we move on the Roseby Way.

‘I think you’re right Aidan. This fucker has eyes and ears everywhere. So what’s the plan?’

‘I think it’s time for a shake-down. Every fucking dive, every club, every bar. We fucking hit it and go nuts. We need to find out who Kuzinsky is and where the fuck he is. There’s also someone else we need to find who might be able to crack open this case.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘My brother, the enigmatic Castelano.’

Chapter 11

Underwood and I walk out of the station front doors and head down towards his shoddy vehicle. Smelecki had refused to co-operate when we moved on to him and his friend killing Byelovets. He just said there is no way of finding his body. Sometimes you know this is the truth. These types of guys don’t leave many clues, as we have seen throughout this case.

‘Byelovets is dead,’ I say walking past a filthy tramp with matted hair and an open can of Tennents Super in his right hand, ‘So who else could be working for this Kuzinsky feller?’

‘I don’t know,’ Underwood replies, ‘Once again this case is proving a big, big head-fuck. How’s the force so out of the loop? No one seems to have heard of virtually any of the guys involved in this shit.’

It has been troubling me that such big bosses are operating so effectively under our radar. We thought we knew who was pulling the strings in this town. The only one it seems that actually does is Wu Chang. Since Rozlov’s killing we have seen names like Graysmith, Kuzinsky, Byelovets, Manchu and Lippmann being bandied around. We arrive at Underwood’s car and I enter through the passenger side. Underwood gets in and we slowly move away.

‘Byelovets is getting dumped at sea in one of his own boats, I think that’d be a fair assumption,’ I say, thinking aloud rather than telling Underwood.

‘Aye lad, he’s getting munched by fish as we speak I’d bet. We never even saw the guy and he was one of the big players in town. I think we need to go to Chinatown and talk to the Chongs.’

‘The Changs’ I correct Underwood.

‘Whatever, dirty fuckers whoever they are. We’re fucking this one up Aidan. Three dead so far.’

‘Joe Public only knows of two at the moment. We’re not mentioning Byelovets yet, no one else knows, let’s leave it at that.’

‘You might be right,’ Underwood slams the brakes outside Chang Cassidy’s and we exit the car and make for the casino entrance. We are greeted by a couple of large Eastern European guys. I don’t give a shit if they recognise me, I’m back on the beat now.

‘Excuse me,’ says the bouncer on the left, he has the typical Eastie hair that looks like it was done in the army, ‘The club is for members only today gentleman, you can not enter,’ I share a Stage 4 with Underwood.

‘I’m sorry but I’m DI McBride and this is DS Underwood, we are with Rosestone CID, we need to speak to your boss,’

‘We can’t do that, the boss has said he cannot be disturbed today,’ I can tell Underwood is beginning to seethe and out of the corner of my eye I see him about to launch in to a typical tirade. I put my hand on his arm and keep him at bay.

‘We are on official police business and we have to speak to Mr Chang immediately.’ The other bouncer steps up, this one is equally shithouse-like but has a skinhead.

‘We say no, you cannot come in today,’

‘Guys,’ My patience is beginning to wear a little thin now, ‘We don’t want this situation to get out of control now do we. We don’t want to start checking on your immigration backgrounds now do we?’ The bouncers share a glance at each other, pure gold,

‘Well Sir,’ the first bouncer says, ‘We are Polish and we are in the EU so we are here legally, there is nothing you can do about it.’

Bollocks, I look at Underwood, He is giving me a Stage 14.

‘Listen lads,’ Underwood says, ‘We could call in a few other units to come down and search this place. We don’t want that now do we?’

The bouncers look at each other. It’s either let us in or let our boys rummage around and see what they discover. Presumably the boss does not want that kind of attention.

‘I will go and talk to the boss. Please wait here a moment.’ The skinhead walks inside to gain permission. Underwood and I wander to the pavement to talk.

‘You fucking lemon,’ Underwood says. I was expecting that.

‘There must be something going on today, let’s disrupt them and stay a while?’

‘Yeah, sounds good dickhead, now don’t do any more talking you’ll only get outwitted by a half human- half gorilla again.’ The bouncer comes back out and motions to us to go in to Chang Cassidy’s, which we obligingly do.

============================================

I don’t understand this bouncer, or at least he doesn’t seem to understand me or McBride or that we are the fucking police and we don’t have to explain why we want to go somewhere, we just fucking go there. That’s what we do and that’s who we are. Pricks.

One of them leaves to ask mummy if the big bad policeman can pay her a visit.

While he’s gone, I have a quick word in McBride’s shell like.

‘You fucking lemon.’

‘There must be something going on today, let’s disrupt them and stay a while?’ he says.

I quickly weigh up what we need to do, this is our best chance to get something.

‘Yeah, sounds good, dickhead. Now don’t do any more talking, you’ll only get outwitted by a half human – half gorilla again.’

At that, one of the numb fucks signals for us to enter. We just get through the first double doors and I realise how much this place has changed since the years when I came here.

Lots swankier. I remember it being the place to go back then but it was full of top brass from the unions and all the major players from the import/export game.

I suppose it’s much the same now but instead of cargo being food, antiques or cars it’s drugs, guns and people.

I’m about to tell McBride to get the drinks in when the mobile rings. It’s Walker.

‘Alright gaffer, problem?’

McBride pulls that inquisitive look as if to ask who’s on the blower, he mouths ‘Who is it?’ I mouth ‘Walker,’ to him and he raises his eyes and stands looking round.

‘Not a problem Woody, just filling you in on some details. The er… Beloveds fellow.  He’s longer with us so you don’t need to chase him down.’

That’s a bit of a surprise to me, Walker knowing that. Maybe he’s been talking to Smelecki.

‘Oh, ok boss. We’ll not follow up that lead then. Anything else?’

‘No, no. Just thought you might want updating, we need to make some headway with this case and the less time we spend chasing our tails the better. I’ll be back in tomorrow early. See you then. Cheerio.’

‘See you later then. Bye.’ Then he puts down the phone.

McBride’s straight in my face like an exuberant puppy.

‘What did he say? Did he have anything useful?’

‘Calm down Lassie, he said Byelovets is dead so not to bother trying to find him.’

‘How the fuck did he know that? He’s not been in HQ so he won’t know we’ve got Smelecki, he can’t have spoken to him. Something’s not right about that.’

‘Hold that thought rover, look who it is.’

He looks over his shoulder and scans the area looking for familiar faces, while he looks I quickly move away and head towards the bar.

‘Who am I looking at?’ I can faintly hear him say, then he realises he’s talking to no one. He peers through the moving bodies and spies me propping up the cold granite slab dressed up as the bar.

As he walks over I maintain my hard look although I really want to smile, I realise he’s right  – I am in a funny mood today.

‘Knob. How old are you?’ He’s trying to act tough but I can see through him. His face wobbles into an asymetrical smirk.

‘I think the best thing to do is lie low for a while and see who’s about.

‘There’s a booth over there,’ he point with his chin by nodding his head back, his clean dark hair flicking back in the same motion.

We glide across the floor inbetween the moving people like a dancer over ice. Seats are at a premium here, they like you to be on your feet and at a table in a place like this.

Burning a hole in your pocket as fast as you can so the next big roller can come down and lose his not so hard earnt money.

A fit piece of ass takes our orders for drinks but I abstain from the usual cocktail of Jack Daniels and coke by following McBride’s lead and order 2 coffees. He takes his black with no sugar while I take mine with plenty.

At this late stage of the day I need a clear head and mind.

As the waitress leaves and tells us to help ourselves to the buffet in the corner of the room I start to settle and unzip my coat.

‘How long shall we give the man upstairs then? 5 minutes? 10 minutes?’

McBride seems a little lost in thought, his pupils are dancing across the floor, he’s checking faces, outfits and associates. Who’s playing what and spending what.

He snaps out of his trance, ’10 minutes. He knows we’re here and if anything dodgy was going on they stalled us long enough to flush the toilets of any unwanted presence.’

‘Yeah, good point. Ten minutes is enough.’

The girl returns with our coffee’s and places them carefully down on the table with her left hand whilst balancing the tray upon which sits various sizes of empty glasses in her right hand.

‘Cheers love,’ I say just before she turns to make her exit. She flashes a wrinkled little smile, showing her dimples and then goes, leaving me following the rythmic sway of her arse cheeks as she goes.

‘I could spend 10 minutes with her, nestled inbetween her two good reasons.’

McBride makes a small grunt of disapproval while I take a swig of my coffee and burn my tongue.

============================================

It’s time to visit Mr Wu Chang. The reputed boss of Rosestone. The man who tells the mayor what to do, the man who tells the police to investigate someone else. There is nothing on his file at HQ barring a couple of obvious assumptions like “Mr Chang is rumoured to be a gangland head boss”. Yes, I think we knew that.

Chang’s is busy tonight and I notice that there is a lot of burly men around the place. Wu Chang’s boys. I count at least twelve guys after a quick scan. I turn to Underwood who is eyeing up a tiny waitress with a lascivious smirk on his face.

‘Hey Underwood,’ I say tapping his arm which is resting on the table, ‘Something tells me we might not get to visit our man tonight,’

‘What?’ Underwood is brought back to police work, ‘How do you mean? We’re fucking talking to him tonight,’

‘Look around, his heavies are rolling deep. We’re not gonna get through without back-up.’ After a few seconds of thought Underwood looks directly in to my eyes.

‘You’re right Aidan,’ he says, ‘He’s showing his power, but in a very subtle way. Shrewd cunt. We might have to go back to HQ and blow this one open to everyone.’

‘But we know what will happen then. Word’ll get out and everything will simmer down in hoodtown.;

‘I know, I know. We’re going fucking nowhere. Fuck!’ Underwood slams his cup down, shattering his saucer underneath. Patrons look over at us startled and Underwood looks down at his hands which are cut badly.

‘What the fuck are you lot looking at?’ Underwood shouts. He gets up off the table and makes for the exit. I follow him out of the door.

—

‘We have to get a warrant or permission from his lawyers to have a proper chat,’ Underwood says while driving his excuse for a car, ‘But if we do that he will know that the police are taking this case super-serious. At the moment he can still chance his hand.’

‘We’re going to have to,’ I say, reluctantly so, ‘It’s in the hands of the lawyers now.’ Underwood looks at and grimaces.

Modern investigations like this current one are becoming rarer yet when they do occur are on a much larger scale than before. And when they get so big and so important to a force the risks of failure become to much. So policing becomes a giant compromise.

The solicitors for the police and for the accused take turns offering sweeteners, settlements and suspended sentences. The policing takes a back seat as a few scapegoats inevitably end up being charged for some major crimes. The majority of the thugs and the big bosses escape genuine punishment. The police claim a few scalps and the scum are happy that their empire remains intact.

This is fucking off the investigators. We did not join up to let a bunch of fucking leeches decide who is committing the kinds of crimes that they can reach a definitive verdict on. They say our type are “old-fashioned” police officers. That is bullshit. We believe in “old-fashioned” law and order. Where people are innocent or guilty and it is our job to prove it. Outsiders may reckon that Underwood and I are polar opposites and we are in many ways. But we both firmly believe that we are in this job to stop the scum on our streets breaking the law and ensuring they don’t do it again.

‘Back to HQ then?’ Underwood says.

‘Yeah, let’s tell them what we’ve got these last few days.’

As we head on to Albert Roseby Way, there is a buzz on the police radio. A call to the Town Hall, suspected murder. Fuck! Underwood performs a U-turn on the dual carriageway and we fly off on the short journey. The Town Hall is a small yet impressive structure built in 1996 to replace the old monstrosity that arrived in the 1960’s. That is now a call-centre.

—

We pull up outside the Town Hall and there is a crowd of what must be three hundred people. We get out of the car and jog over to the crowd. Underwood shouts ‘Police, coming through!’ at the top of his voice repeatedly. A few people do not move and Underwood grabs them and throws them out of the way causing abuse to be hurled his way.

We make it to the tape and flash our badges at the bobbies. I duck under the rope and see there is a body on the steps. The limbs are pointed out like a star and I notice that the body is missing its hands and feet. They look like they have been pretty cleanly chopped off. Pretty fucking gruesome.

‘Christ, this guy is out on a limb.’ Underwood says. He walks to the head of the guy while I inspect the feet a little closer. The ankle bone has been sliced through. How did they do that so clean? Trails of blood and flesh drip out of the exposed legs and blood is flowing down the steps of the Town Hall. Underwood grunts. I look up at him.

‘Well guess who it is?’ he says.

I stand up and see who it is. It’s the Vietnamese guy who was in custody with Smelecki. How on earth has he ended up here? I walk up the stairs and notice there is blood on the fifth step up higher than the body’s head. Once again the blood is shaped in to gory letters. It says

2 IN TO 1 DOES NOT GO

MR CHANG YOU MUST KNOW

I look at Underwood and we share a Stage 4. We stand up and look at the crowd that has developed. TV crews are showing up now and the noise is actually building up very loudly.

‘This case has been cracked open now Underwood. No suppression anymore. It’s do or die.’

‘Indeed Aidan,’ Underwood says, he glances at me and smiles, ‘We’re under some fucking pressure now but so is Mr Chang. The game is on now.’

============================================

Argh. My pissing head is going to explode. Chasing my tail is neither amusing nor fun.

Another load of this ’2 into 1 does not go’ bollocks has now surfaced, written carefully in crimson above the handless and footless dead chink who not so long ago in this chain of events was watching over our very own McBride dressed as his very own brother.

The good thing is that this is a direct link to Mr Chang. This gives us a reason to get him interviewed without any questions asked. He doesn’t have to know that we were looking at bagging the prick 15 minutes before this little chain of events but it’s a welcome step on the right direction.

—

In the car back to HQ I feel glad to get away from that scene. It was claustrophobic. The press pressure is now unavoidable. This is the point where we have to answer questions to the public on possible suspects, leads and the rest.

The public feel threatened because they think it could happen to them. I’ll give it a few days before the lazy journo’s start bringing up Hyeon or Stickfield. The good thing is that we’ve got details on this dead fucker.

When Joe Public reads the local news and finds out the the handless dead chink was a mafioso they’ll think that he had it coming and that they’ve got nothing to worry about because they lead clean lives.

The press officer from the station’ll start the rot off and deal with all the fuckwits who I’d hate to talk to.

Unfortunately we live in a time where every detail is scrutinized and looked at. Inquiry after inquiry to find out that it’s nobody’s fault. Or even if it is our fault and the police force is fined it’s not as if we pay the fine – it’s the fucking tax payer. Sometimes I wish people understood this process. Just let us do our job.

My mind has wandered, I realise we’re halted at the traffic lights a few minutes away from our final destination. I lift my gaze from the car in front to one of those advertisement boards which have three different images which alternate by spinning the smaller boards. This one has a few pieces which don’t match the others, while Loreal newest shampoo hussy is winning me over with her smile, what should be her nose features what appears to be the left eye of the dog from the Churchill’s adverts. I fucking hate those adverts.

—

We leave the car and head up the few stairs into the back door. McBride enters the pin to get through the black security door and then we head past the window with strips of mirror every quarter of an inch.

‘Fancy a brew?’ McBride asks. It feels like we haven’t said anything for an hour but it’s barely been 10 minutes.

‘Yeah, I’ll come with. We need to organize who’s going to be doing what.’

We continue walking silently to the vending machine.

‘Four sugars for me,’ I say.

‘Four?’ exclaims McBride.

‘No just fucking about, make it five.’ I share a wry smile then the machine drops out a brown plastic cup and whirrs into action.

‘Plan of action? Shall we contact him direct or contact our lawyers to contact his lawyers who’ll contact him to contact us.’

‘McBride starts to chuckle. ‘Sounds about right. He’ll get back to his lawyer saying this then they’ll get back to our lawyers saying that and we’ll be forced from pillar to post hearing snippets of bullshit. Did you check his file? Apparently Chang’s rumoured to be a gangland boss. It’s a fucking joke, there’s someone who we know is involved in all this shit that goes down and we get fuck all out of it.’

‘The wonderful world of law and order my friend. It’ll make you laugh and make you curse.’ We take our drinks up two flights of stairs and into the dingy dark office. I switch on the third and forth switched on the plastic panel so that only our area is brightened. It feels like we need to concentrate and having a brightly lit work space may open up too many opportunities for distraction.

‘I’ll call Walker,’ I say, I take the phone of the hook and check the speed dial buttons, it’s number 4. I dial that and after three rings the ring changes tone, alerting me that I’m being diverted to his mobile.

It rings a further four times then I hear; ‘Walker.’

He sounds quite abrupt. ‘Yeah gaff, it’s Underwood. We need to pool all the law we can get. You heard about the message on the steps?’

‘Ah, Underwood. Glad you called. I’ve been informed about the message. Are you at HQ now?’

‘Yeah, me and McBride. He’s going through numbers. We need to act fast.’

‘Hold your horses. I presume you want to pull Chang in? We need to know every detail. You know how hard it is keeping our friends from the gambling circuit in the clink. I’ll be over shorlty anyway. Like I said, hold tight for the minute. Bye.’

The line goes dead.

I get a numb feeling in my stomach that Walker may have his own interests in this case that go beyond his level of duty. And just at the point where we have a clear link to make serious inroads into a case. This could go further than the seasonal trimming of the gangland tree, we could nail some of the roots.

I turn to McBride, ‘I think Walker’s been got to again. He doesn’t want us making any moves.’

‘You think?’ He doesn’t seem that shocked. ‘See what he comes out with but we’re getting Chang in here as soon as possible.’

Chapter 10

Underwood? Fucking Underwood! I nearly grin. Not just at Underwood’s Hollywood entrance but the looks on the faces of Smelecki and Tsien. They are glued to the ground. Underwood buzzes his radio and speaks:

‘Yep, all units, I have gained access to Smelecki. All units approach, we have the suspects apprehended.’

Underwood walks over to Smelecki and orders him to put out his hands. The club manager has still not spoken and obeys Underwood. Tsien also puts his hands out patiently waiting to be cuffed. This whole situation is getting more and more surreal.

‘Fuck me Chief, you took your time,’ is the first thing I can say.

‘Indeed Aidan, I thought I’d let you stew a little longer,’ Underwood replies and looks over towards Smelecki who is looking puzzled.

‘The police… man?’ is all Smelecki can say.

‘Yes. The very same. Now why the fuck were you going to hurt Castelano? The more you tell me now the less we kick the shit out of you down the station.’

Smelecki looks crestfallen. It is all happening too fast. Underwood walks over towards me in the dentist’s chair that I appear to be sitting in. He unties me and I scoot up, then he grabs Smelecki’s cuffed arm and pulls him up to his face.

‘Castelano is a shit, he lies to everyone.’

‘Who’s everyone? We’re getting a bit fucking sick of this now.’ Underwood is right in Smelecki’s face and has Stage 10 all over his face. He is one wrong answer away from being throttled.

‘All the bosses. I’m only a lowly guy. There gonna kill me whatever happens now I’m gonna be in jail.’ I step up to Smelecki demanding my own answers.

‘For fuck’s sake. Why would you get Castelano to spy on the other casino bosses? What is fucking going on eh?’

‘Turf war.’

‘What do you mean?’ Underwood says, ‘The Easties versus the Asian’s? We all know that?’

‘You just don’t get it do you?’ Smelecki’s face is turning crimson, ‘It’s not a fucking war itself. It’s a merger.’

Underwood and I stop in our tracks.

‘How do you mean?’ I say.

‘The head bosses are sick of fighting, there is too much competition. So the Chang family and the Kuzinsky’s are going to become one force in the city. A monopoly.’

‘So why the battles,’ Underwood is the one to turn red, ‘Why are people being killed in my city? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Jesus man. It’s capitalism. Winners and losers. However the stakes are too high this time for people to enjoy their ah… redundancies shall we say? Until this war is finished more people are going to die’ Underwood releases Smelecki and walks over to Tsien.

‘Right take Smelly outside the door,’ Underwood says. I guide Smelecki over to the smashed door-frame and see what Underwood is up to.

He walks over to Tsien and unlocks his handcuffs. Then he guides the silent Vietnamese guy over to the dentist’s chair and reapplies the cuffs on him so he can’t get out of the chair. Underwood follows me to the doorway and we both walk out holding Smelecki.

‘I can’t believe you’ve got loads of units trying to find me, Underwood.’ I say.

‘I fucking didn’t, you soft cunt,’ Underwood replies, then gives the prisoner a crack round the head, ‘I just had to make this twat think I had back-up when all I had was my big fists and my brilliant brain. Good eh, dickhead?’

============================================

Well, well, well. We’ve been barking up the wrong tree. It’s not because the Easties and the Chinese can’t stand each other that there’s dead bodies turning up in carparks, airports and God knows where else. No, it’s because they wan’t to be friends. That makes perfect sense.

Fuck me, when I was 5 and I wanted to be mates with Jackie Delaney I didn’t go round beating the shit out of all his other friends so by process of elimination we’d be best buds did I? In todays cut throat businesses it seems more common practice to cut throats.

So anyway, that daft prick Smelecki fell hook, line and sinker and sold his story quicker than a tart who’d shagged a footballer. Useful information though it was, I’m loathe to go through that sort of situation again in order to get it, something serious could have happened to McBride, the twat.

I cuffed that extremely large Chinese looking cross breed chap to the dentist chair the small cupboard and lead McBride and Smelecki out through the adjoining room and into the corridoor.

‘I can’t believe you’ve got loads of units trying to find me, Underwood,’ he says. Brilliant. I love spoiling surprises. Just up my street.

‘I fucking didn’t you soft cunt. I just had to make this twat think I had back up when all I had was my big fists and my brilliant brain. Good eh, dickhead?’

His face is a picture, I’m not sure weather he’s going to laugh or go mad. We continue in silence back up the stairs to the main floor.

‘Hang on here a sec, just need to check something.’ I say then I dash up the other flight of stairs and into the CCTV room, the bloke who I sparked out is no longer there so at least there can’t be much damage. Then I turn to leave and go back down the stairs. ‘Sorted. Let’s go.’

We open the double doors and come out to the right of the bar. At first there are a few glances, then when people start to realise who it is who’s wrists are clasped in front of him, the glances turn to full blown stares.

‘Look at your adoring crowd Smelecki. Are these all your friends?’ I enjoy laying into him.

‘Fuck off pig. I was trying to help you.’

McBride pipes up, ‘Well a dead officer’s no use to us.’

‘I didn’t know, you were Castelano as far as I was concerened. If you’d have got killed it would have been your own fault.’

‘Aw, lay off him McBride, he’s had a tough day.’

We walk out the front doors and pass the bouncers from earlier. McBride walks over to the thickest looking one,

‘I think you owe me a tenner.’

He looks confused. ‘That’s mine Castelano. You owe me it.’

‘DI McBride. That’s my fucking tenner.’

He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a tenner and gives it to McBride who walks back towards us with a stupid grin on his face.

============================================

Instead of grilling Smelecki straight away we decided to head back out to Chang Cassidy’s, the scene of my daring escape yesterday. Was it yesterday? Or the day before? Fuck knows, but before we go I need to start working shit out, this case is still not making a whole heap of sense.

My head is all over the place after being drugged by Smelecki. After we dropped him off at HQ I decided to do a bit of old-fashioned police work and list out everything we know. The criminal gangs have been pretty quiet recently.

However quiet is an inadequate description of the underworld. They have not been quiet but have been operating without causing harm or perhaps more importantly, fear to the general public. It’s how they like it and if many cops are to be believed it is how the police like it too. Many officers feel that as long as the groups keep the feuds within the criminal community then they should be allowed some leeway with their behaviour.

When illicit activities such as prostitution, low-paid or bonded workers, drugs and gambling are not dealt with by the politicians then the police have no option but to try and contain the effects of these things. There is only so much that we can do. People who believe otherwise are either stupid or naïve. Or most likely both.

The clichéd ‘thin blue line’ really is there to contain not to remove. When the streets are calm the public feel assuaged even though the “bread and butter” criminal behaviour is increasing.

When the bad shit happens that is when the public get narked, but it’s also when the drugs, the sluts and the crime goes down slightly. It’s just nobody realises. It’s all undocumented except for bodies turning up. No-one cares if a fucking scumbag drug dealer or pimp dies, unless it is at the airport or wherever like Rozlov’s body.

It’s in these times when the police are under huge pressure to “get results”. It’s when we can do no fucking right with Joe Public. It happened in 2004 and the Hyeon case. Twelve murders in a few months and it nearly destroyed us. Underwood has told me about the same backlash happening in the mid-eighties and before in the late sixties when a rapist was on the loose in town.

So who are the main players this time? According to Smelecki the Chang family and the Kuzinsky family are pitted against the incoming Manchu family and assorted cast-offs resulting from the “merger” between Chang and Kuzinsky.

The Chang family are undoubtedly the major players within the underworld in Rosestone. They are regarded as an efficient, ruthless outfit but one who are rather restrained with regards to criminal activities. They have been involved in some way in virtually occasion that the underworld has moved up to the “normal” world. However this has often occurred because they have not reacted when new criminal gangs have moved in to their territory. Hyeon was a case in point when Koreans and Vietnamese took the Chinese on in a brutal turf war.

The Chang’s moved to Rosestone after the Communist Revolution in China but were initially involved in the textile trade, following the Rosestone tradition. By the 1960’s they had become involved in all sorts of shit in the city. The head Dai Chang had moved from Taiwan in 1962 and stamped his authority on the town. He died in 1987 and was replaced by his son. Fu Li Chang who stepped up criminal dealings until the late nineties when his legitimate businesses were flourishing. He was killed during the Hyeon case and replaced by his brother Wu Chang.

The Chang’s own large swathes of the Marina area apartments as well as most of the remaining textile factories in town. Chang Cassidy’s is their most prominent status symbol but other possessions remain unknown like much else in Rosestone.

It took a lot of searching to discover who the Kuzinsky’s were but after a few hours of searching I found something very interesting.

From a file about casino ownership in 1972 was a report about the new owners of the Double or Quits casino (then known as Hot Lipz). Three men were listed as leaders of the new consortium. A man named Frank Lippmann, a “Gregory Belovets” and also a Rudolf Kuzinsky. Bosh, first link there. This is where the buzz gets you, when you start to make links between people.

I call up the police files on the computer about Byelovets and the other two. Byelovets I know about. He’s the owner of three shipping companies including Star Cargo of course and is regarded as the main shareholder in Double Or Quits casino. I call up Frank Lippmann’s file:

Name: Frank Lippmann

DOB: 12/04/1931 (died 24/12/1980)

Birthplace: Berlin

Accountant for the Belovets (AKA Byelovets, Byelyavits) and Kuzinsky families. Married to Kristina Kuzinsky, sister of Rudolf Kuzinsky. No children. Died Xmas Eve 1980 in a house fire. Regarded as brains behind the financing of property purchases in Rosestone. Fired in 1979.

House Fire eh? This is a big link but no kids and now dead. I call up Rudolf Kuzinsky’s file.

Error: File not found.

I try another few spellings but I receive nothing on my screen. Strange. I try Kristina but there is no luck there either. I then put in a general search for any Kuzinsky. Nothing. So who are the Kuzinsky family? I text Underwood and tell him we need more info on the Kuzinsky’s. He texts me back:

Let’s pay Smelly a little visit. If he doesn’t talk tonight he never will again.

=======================

Computers. PC’s for PC’s they say. Blackberry’s for the boys in blue. I can’t deal with them. The computer at home wouldn’t load a file for me so I put a golf ball through the screen and got a brand new one. Just can’t seem to get them to do what I want. McBride over in HQ’s got his eyes glued to a screen looking for personal files on the filth that’s involved in this particular mess and it appears to me even he’s not immune from Stephen Hawkins voicebox buddies.

He appears to be onto something though. I get a text from him, he’s getting names and data. Rudolf Kuzinsky? Never heard of him. Died in a house fire? Never heard of it. I’m in the car, looking for a receipt for my bleeding shoes, the fucking tongues come loose after all my activities and I’ve only had them 7 months. They can balls if they think that’s my fault.

This car’s a right mess. Might have to make a bet with McBride with a car cleaning forfeit involved. I see my Lucozade from earlier and pop the cap off taking a massive gulp. It’s awful, really warm and thick. I struggle to swallow then all of a sudden I’ve got fucking hiccups.

I hold my breath for as long as I can muster and it appears that years of smoking haven’t helped me progress from my young days of being a good swimmer. I used to be able to do a length and a half under water when I was younger, bet if I tried now I’d drown after a few yards.

It’s getting on, my moody Tag Heuer tells me it’s half 8, I should probably be heading back to the cold thing sat miserably in the kitchen. My tea, not the wife. Cold stew with dumplings that by now probably resemble large, white pieces of anthracite coal as opposed to the doughy delights that they will have been a few hours ago.

So we need dirt. Kuzinksy is another name brought to the table and Smelecki needs to give us some details. I take the mobile from the sticky pad on the dash of the Sunny and scroll down to McBride then hit the button to send text. I start typing, then I realise that instead of saying ‘I’ll’ it says ‘G.k’ si I must have knocked the thing onto predictive text. So I call him instead.

After three rings he answers.

‘It’ll make your eyes so square four eyes.’ I start.

‘Don’t be so arrantly egregious Underwood. It gets boring. What do you want?’

‘No need to start talking posh. Hic…. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.’

And then I put down the phone. Cold tea will have to stay cold for a little longer.

There are very few cars in the car park and the gaffer’s fucked off for the day so I take his space, less walking for me.

I head up to the main office on the third floor where I can hear the clicking of a keyboard before I can see the back of his head. I start creeping up slowly behind him. I fancy giving him a big clip round the back of the head.

He’s totally unaware, I pull back my hand and…

‘Hic…’

He hears me and turns to see me with one arm up in the air.

‘I could see you in the reflection off the screen dickhead. And I could smell your breath before that.’ He retorts.

‘Stop looking at porn and tell me what the score is.’

‘Can’t get nothing on Kuzinsky. Fuck all.’

‘Is it going to be a job for Smelly then? Is he going to be our saviour? Our shining light? Bacon of hope?’

‘You mean beacon?’

‘I said beacon.’

‘You said bacon. Anyway, come on. Let’s go see Smelly.’

‘He’s in Cell 5.’

‘Aah, nice. The one with the broken toilet. Is it still backed up?’

‘Oh yeah. Almost to the top. There was a junkie in before him, he’s been released.’

‘In more ways than one?’

‘That’s right. We need to find out about this Kuzinsky character.’

‘God, I haven’t played bad cop-bad cop for ages. You can be bad cop and I’ll be bad cop too.’

We walk back down to the stairs to the cells. At the desk is the uniformed gimp Joey Walker, the whipping boy of the force. I can’t be bothered with pleasantries.

‘Keys for Cell 5.’ I bark at him.

‘Someone got out of bed at the wrong side today. Or they didn’t get their leg over.’

‘Yes that’s totally correct. You’ve quite accurately described the last 5 years of my life. Now give me the keys for Cell 5 you waste of space.’

I can hear McBride in the background stifling his laughter. He hates Walker, ever since one of his major witness wound up dead in the cell during his first case, the Darling bust. I didn’t really know McBride and it wasn’t long after that he disappeared back to wherever he came from, and not for the first time either.

I get the keys,

‘Thank you, darling.’ I say as patronisingly as I can muster and we move away from the desk and down the corridor. When we’re almost out of earshot McBride bursts into a massive cackle.

‘I hate that cock. He’s just not funny at all. I was just stage nining him at all times. I don’t think he looked in my direction.’

‘Good, feel the anger my young apprentice. Come to the dark side. Use it against Smelly.’

We arrive outside Cell 5 and I open the peephole to see him sitting with his legs tucked up against his chest and his arms wrapped round. I bang on the door and his eyes quickly fix upon the faceless sheet of iron that divides us and him.

‘Let me out,’ he shouts. ‘I’m busting for a shit. This loo’s totally fucked. I’m gonna shit myself.’

I open the door and lean in, ‘Calm down Smelly. We’ll take you to the loo. Come on. Oh, your laces are undone.’

He looks down and then realises I’m making a complete cock of him.

‘I don’t have any shoes on.’

‘Yes, that’s right, so you can’t strangle yourself. We’ve not used you to your full potential yet. Anyway, come on, the toilets are this way.’

He gingerly approaches. ‘Do we need to cuff you?’ McBride asks.

‘No, I’ll be good. As long as I can have a shit.’

We lead him down towards the interview rooms, down the soulless grey corridors with rubber floor pads in blue. The toilet comes up on the left.

‘Right, in there. We’ll be outside.’

He rushes in like shit off a stick, from outside I can hear the door slam.

‘I hope there’s no shit tape.’ I chuckle out loud.

‘That would be quite funny. So then, Kuzinsky we need info on, Lippmann we need info on also. We could do with getting something rock solid on how this works with the Double or Quits.’

‘Yep.’ I answer.

‘Valuable contribution there. You’re in a funny mood today.’

‘Why thank you for saving my life Dennis Underwood. Without you now my life may have now been covered in a black plastic bag and running down one of the tributary rivers out towards the North Sea.’

As I finish my sentence the toilet flushes in the loo,

‘Don’t forget to wash your hands,’ McBride shouts through the door. Then turns to face me, ’Right then, lets do this.’

I see the look in his eye and he means business.

‘Decided not to flush yourself away then. Right then, onwards and downwards we go.’

McBride lets out an uncharacteristic howl, like a mad scientist in a horror film which catches me by surprise. We walk side by side with Smelecki in front of us.

A left at the bottom of the corridor and then a few steps brings us to the third of our interview rooms. I turn on a row of switches on the outside of the room, giving light to the pokey hole inside.

‘Enter,’ I say to Smelecki.

As he goes on, McBride says in my ear, ‘Do we need a tape?’

‘Don’t know. We should do. To be safe, might forget something anyway.’

‘Yeah, best do. I’ll go get a tape.’

‘Ok, then. I’ll tenderise the meat ready for roasting.’

He hurried off and I follow Smelecki into the small yellow room. ‘Sit down,’ I tell him and then continue to the other side of the table and sit down myself.

Then I sit and stare. I don’t say anything until McBride shows up. I give him total stage 16.

After a few minutes of examining the space between Smelecki’s eyes McBride shows up. I flash a smile at Smelecki while McBride pops the tape into the top of the Panasonic recorder and hits record.

I let him go through all the law jargon, ‘Present at, commencing at,’ and all that rubbish and then we begin.

‘My colleague here has been looking through your file, we’d like to ask you some questions about some of your former colleagues. There are a few names we’d like to discuss and I’d like to ask you to carefully consider your responses.’ I start.

‘Ok,’ he says. ’Who?’

McBride takes over.

‘The first one is a Mr Rudolf Lippmann.’ I study his face as the name is said but he doesn’t reveal anything. ‘What do you know about him?’

‘He’s dead. Died in a house fire. Terrible tragedy. Totally ruined Christmas, put it that way. Look, what do you want from me? I’ve told you about the Changs and The Manchus and the fact is that they’re probably looking for a way to get rid of me.’

‘Maybe we can offer you a way out,’ McBride probes, ‘but we need to know the ins and outs.’

‘Lippmann? Kuzinsky?’ He winces a little when I say Kuzinsky. ‘We can’t find nothing on this prick.’

He looks uncomfortable with what he may be about to say.

‘Kuzinsky is ruthless. Bad, really bad. He played a part in the house fire that toasted Lippmann. Lippmann was the accountant for Double or Quits and the mastermind behind the merger with the Changs. Real shrewd. The rumour went round that he married Kuzinsky’s sister just to get at her brother, and she the same. A loveless marriage, that’s why there were no kids.

Kuzinsky and the German had different ideas in where to take the business, the Changs became involved but there was a higher bidder, I never got chance to find out who it was who Lippmann was dealing with but Kuzinsky was in too deep with the Changs. He wanted them in.

Lippmann didn’t care, he was going to split off to open up some new casino, they wanted a lot of property in the area. He was quite ahead of his time with his ideas, he knew he’d make money out of it, he didn’t give a fuck.’

‘So where did you come into this may I ask?’ I said.

‘I kept my nose clean, if it isn’t broke don’t fix it. Two into one does not go, that’s what Kuzinsky used to say. I kept out of it.’

‘What do you mean two into one does not go?’ McBride says. He looks puzzled by this. I don’t think it means anything.

‘That’s what Kuzinsky was saying before the German was killed.’

‘Where is he now?’ He continues.

‘I don’t know. He left Chang Cassidy’s with a suitcase full of money that he said he was owed and never came back. It all fell through, the deal with the Double or Quits and then the Changs got in with Cassidys.

He lost a lot of money in that, with Lippmann gone, Kuzinsky couldn’t run on his own, he left me in charge of Double. He was saying that he should have known better. That two into one does not go.

He wanted to get his own back so I think he played a part in one of the Changs murders and then left the country from what I understand.’

‘So you’ve had no contact then?’ I ask.

‘Look,’ he says, then stops to consider. He takes a deep breath before continuing, ‘what am I going to get out of this. Kuzinsky? Lippmann? They’re all ghosts.’

‘Do you believe in ghosts? They could come back to haunt you.’ McBride jumps in. He seems very interested, maybe he knows something I don’t about this. I begin to wonder what happened to him these last two nights.

I feel we may have got enough for today.

‘We can keep you protected. A safe place,’ he responds by starting to look calm. ‘We’ll put you in a cell while we figure out what to do with you.’

I motion McBride to stop the tape, he debriefs the Panasonic and then clicks the tape to a stop.

‘Don’t put me back in that cell.’

‘We won’t.’

Chapter 9

A few pints at the Broken Arms went down a treat and I figured I best get myself home, I’ve been spending a few too many nights away from the apron strings of my sorry wife and after spying the barmaid’s mammaries swinging round as she busies herself I’m feeling in the mood. Not too much action mind, I plan to be up early in the morning.

I leave and bang the stereo on loud as I can concentrate on, the best of The Who, Afzal sorted me out with it. Won’t Get Fooled Again’s ringing in my ears as I run the lights heading towards Belvedere. The town’s eerily quiet, orange streetlights lead the path to my house. I’m feeling a little drunk and the throbbing pulse in my straining trousers is now turning into a pounding urge to get to bed and rest.

—

Morning feels like it’s arrived a little too quickly today. A thought crosses my mind about what’s happened to McBride. For all I know he might not have got his foot through the door, he might’ve got his face smashed in and be found somewhere in the canal. It’s fucking ropey this. It’s five o’ clock and I need to make tracks, I’ve got to get back down to the docks and watch those dodgy fuckers unloading filthy immigrants through the back door.

There’s a lot of questions that need answering today. I’ve been thinking about McBride holding back about his brother. After sleeping on it I can see why, I’m not going to tell that twat though. It’s another one for me to know and him to find out what I can do with it. Information is power as they say and I need to hold my information cards close to my chest.

—

So it’s back down to the docks, that beefy, ugly prick of a skipper stand-in said to be late so it’s a full tank of double mocha fuck off and the window down in the motor to blow away the cobwebs. By the time I arrive down at the docks there’s plenty to keep me occupied but I head straight for the same place as yesterday. From the window of the Naughty Sailor I peer down, the coffee’s steaming up the window and I’m struggling to concentrate.

I see what appears to be a lookout in a black trenchcoat, he’s got a radio piece in his ear and is almost continuously talking. There are fork lift trucks emptying containers and a crane lifting them out of the hold below. I can’t help but think it’s a distraction from the real deal going on. Smuggling pesky filthy scratty bastards from Poland, Latvia and God knows where else.

The wide cunt from yesterday has popped his head up. There’s two scabby fucks pulling a knackered tarpaulin sheet over a plastic wrapped crate. I can’t make out what’s inside. Wide cunt speaks to the prick on the radio, he looks like he’s getting a bollocking. Not happy at all, talking about the skipper as he walks away. The skipper walks slowly. Cockily lazing so people know who’s boss. Thing is, he’s not the boss, is he? Unless we’ve missed a trick.

—

An hour passes by and I’ve seen more people than I can count. The dock is really alive at this time of day, ships of all shapes and sizes. It’s a shame the place fucking reeks otherwise it’d be a nice place to come and sit when I get old and passed it. A place where I can get in the way and pretend to be deaf. As I get lost in thought I start beating rythms with my fork against the formica table, my left arm’s been resting in the wet ring left from the base of my coffee cup and the waitress glances at me while the radio cackles in the background, some Simon Cowell type rubbish probably. Must concentrate.

I watch the boat, I see people all over so it’s hard to focus on who is and who isn’t working/smuggling/being smuggled. Think I might have to get closer to the action but aside from not having a wash for a few days I think I might stick out a bit poking around. Fuck it. I’ll just go down and start causing trouble. I leave a 2 pound coin on the table and make my way outside.

—

Down by the boat I spy my first victim,

‘Oi, you,’ he looks at me, ‘Yes, you dickhead. What do you do here?’

He looks at me blankly for a second, looks around nervously then responds: ‘You talk to captain. No speak English.’

‘Where are your work papers, how long have you been in our fabulous country? God’s own kingdom?’ He doesn’t have a clue or he’s holding out. I can tell straight away this is gonna be difficult to get anything out of him.

I can hear that prick McBride in my ear now, ‘we should have got a warrant,’ or something sensible like that. This dick’s got stage 8 on his face and I need to prove to myself I can crack this nut. Since the debacle surrounding the Pinders’ Way incident I’m sure I’m not trusted on the force.

‘OK dickhead, you get back to your work, I’ll talk to someone with a brain. Useless prick.’

With that I leave, I can see the radio wearing mug in the background looking around scratching his balls like a guard dog. Time to move swiftly, I head up the greasy ramp onto the boat, I’m not sure if anyone’s looking but I figure if I don’t look dodgy then no one will think I’m dodgy. Turning left as I board I hit the steps up, then halfway up think I should have gone down. Fuck it.

At the top I have a quick look around and see the door leading into a control room. No one there. Good, gives me a chance to turn my arse around and go back downstairs to see what’s going on. I skim back down and who do I see heading in my direction?

‘Wide boy, so good to see you, I’ve been looking for you. How are you?’

‘What are you doing on my ship? I told you to come later, then you assault my staff. Your presence here is not welcome.’

‘Well I’m the fucking police sunshine, I’m used to my presence not being welcome. Now I want to know what goes in and out of this boat, who goes on it and where they come from. I want to see fucking papers for every stinking fuck piece to ever grace the land upon which this ship is attached. Understand?’

‘Do you have warrant to accompany your inquisition? If not I can’t help you officer.’

‘Very clever. I don’t need a wa..’

‘Where is your partner? You were with someone yesterday?’

‘He’s downstairs looking around.’

He turns around and makes an attempt to start running, as he gets a step away I swing my leg out and trip him. He hits the deck like a sack of spuds, his head catches a cargo crate on the way down.

Boom.

He’s fucking heavy this prick. He’s not moving either, on closer inspection he’s out cold, there’s a cut on his eyebrow that’s gushing a fair bit of blood. Time to flee the scene or time to find out more? By now I’m pretty sure there’s something going on, probably best to call a squad and get it all done properly, especially after this episode. Maybe just a quick peek around.

I look around to see if I’ve been spotted but I’m in the clear, I think. Then I realise, what the fuck am I looking for? A load of scruffy bastards with funny accents? They all have them, this is too much for one man to deal with, they need a squad, I’m out of my depth.

—

I high tail it back to the motor and sit for a while re-tracing my steps in my head. My thoughts go in order of what I think happens,

* People get brought over by boat
* They get their passports
* They get shipped out to the farms for labour

But that doesn’t explain dead bodies. The Chinese link has to have something to do with this. At the minute I’m hoping McBride is getting somwhere. We need gold from the gambling lot about where the Chinese fit into this.

I’m back to feeling lost. I head back to the station to see if that clever bastard Iqbal can shed any light on the situation. The roads are still quiet so I get my foot down on the way back and call into The Crusty Bin for a bacon butty with brown sauce. I eat that in the car park wondering whether that numb fuck has come into consciousness yet.

—

Ikbal wasn’t much use.

‘We’re searching the computer, it’s got names of the farms and little else. We think that’s why it was in the bin.’ He said.

‘Have we sent anyone to the farms yet?’ I ask.

‘No, thought you and McBride might fancy that one. Where is he by the way?’

‘Fuck knows, lazy bastard. He was supposed to be at the docks with me this morning but he never showed up. Did you know he hasn’t got a telly that prick?’

‘Life doesn’t start and finish with TV Underwood.’

‘No, but it fills the parts inbetween pretty good you miserable shit.’

Contrary to popular belief I do like Ikbal. He’s fucking clever, I’ll give him that. We had a fall out a few weeks ago and he was right but you can’t let them know that, not in this. He’s good with McBride too, those two are both bright and it’s all about that these days. You don’t get taken on till you’re in your twenties these days and they want you to be mature. We were kids when we started, the world was certainly a different place. No CCTV, no DNA testing, no ballistics experts just people fucking winging it. Trying to make a difference.

Now perps are smarter, even thick fucking dealers are scientists. We used to go around a community and bang heads together and get where we wanted to be, now the community spans all counties, all countries and all continents. It’s such a big business. Sometimes I wonder whether we actually make a difference, is it all in vain?

It’s the families who get the raw deal out of all of this. My wife and kids get a non existent figure in their lives. To the kids I’m the evil one who dishes out the bollockings and to the wife I’m the one who gives excuses for forgetting anniversaries or is too busy to celebrate birthdays. A man who can’t leave his work outside the front door. McBride’s got the right idea, stay single, but then again, you can’t go through life without getting your bread and butter. For all the shit we go through, it’s fucking heaven when you get home late and get in bed and you’re wife puts her arms around you and tells you she loves you.

‘Fuck off you sour old shit,’ he says and then smiles. Little bastard.

—

I leave the headquarters with a copy of the map with the farms on and photocopies of all the passports. Weird passports they are – all of the faces are turned three quarters to the side. Side facers is the new name going round HQ. I’ll be putting it to good use as soon as possible. Some of the names of farms I recognise on the list, some from experience of being there and others from hearing things from others.

Topsy Farm for example, over Windsor way, I went there a few years ago when they found the bodies of the missing twins. 11 years old they were, missing for 2 weeks and they turn up there, horribly mutilated and burned. I don’t know how people could bare to live on land that’s been tarnished like that.

Another on the list, Beak County Farm, that was the site of a large scale cannabis growing group. They set the land on fire when the Narc’s drew them out, it fucking reaked up there for weeks, you couldn’t collect evidence in the state it made you up there, no one could stop fucking laughing long enough to remember what they were supposed to be doing.

Then I noticed Hare Farm, I didn’t think that place was still going, I used to go there when I was younger with the kids to the feeding farm – feed the pigs, goats and sheep. The kids used to love it but the cunt who used to run that was a fucking kiddie fiddler, had a shrine to kids in a barn, sick fuck.

I study the map and figure the best way to get around them without going in circles. I reorder the list,

1. Sandown Farm
2. FJYR Holdings
3. Greenfield
4. Hare Farm
5. Mosstone Farms Ltd
6. BOCM
7. Topsy Farm
8. Wharfe Rhydding Farm
9. Donnely Farm
10. Cuttichini Farm
11. Starter Ltd
12. Beak County Farm
13. Manchu Holdings

Then I realise this is going to be a long day so I head over to Tesco to get some supplies, a steak and kidney pie which I’ll eat cold, a large bottle of orange Lucozade, some Thai sweet chilli Walkers crisps and a king size Mars bar then I take the Roseby to the outer ring road and head North towards Sandown Farm. I’ve not been here before, it’a quite new from what I understand. The roads are still pretty quiet, the radio’s telling me that if Barnsley lose the next two matches they’re going to be relegated after the points deduction for going into administration which quite frankly appauls me.

The main news is about ID cards being made mandatory and also a story about some tart from Big Brother who’s just shagged her way round half a football team and is now crying cos she’s pregnant and she doesn’t know who’s it is. I laugh to myself, I can imagine 13 blokes all lining up in a clinic having a test for nailing some filthy slut. She get’s what she deserves. She was a wanker when she was in there and she’ll learn the hard way.

I pass the Zoom Air Stadium after about 15 minutes, the land opens up a bit here, a lot more rural. The roads are still clear and I wind the window down and take a deep breath of that country air. Actually, it stinks of fucking manure. After two minutes of listening to more Shouty Girls on the radio I see the sign for Sandown Farm, next left it is. I slow down, indicate and turn, the road turns into a mud track for about 200 yards and then I pull up outside a large cream house, there’s some barns to the left of the house and I can hear some chickens making noises I don’t particularly like.

There’s no one in sight so I wander around. After 10 minutes or so I spot some people working in a cabbage field, they’re too far for me to be arsed walking to and since I can’t see anyone I call it a job and head back to the car. As I’m almost there I hear the sound of voices that could quite easily be side facers. They come round the corner of the house laughing then spot me and shut up. They look away.

‘Hi there folks,’ they ignore me, ‘I said “hi there folks”. Can I have a word please?’

The fattest one out of the lot with a wonky face like a smacked arse speaks,

‘What do you want? This farm is private.’

‘I’m looking for a man who works here, he’s called Grigoryy Byelovets.’

‘I do not know that name. Who are you?’

‘I work for a debt collection agency, I can’t really say much more.’

‘Then we can’t really help you. Goodbye.’

‘Sorry, can I just take your name for reference, I have to tell the gaffer like.’

‘Tis Simon Mostock, M O S T O C K,’

‘Thanks.’

I head back to the car, key in the door and get in without looking back. I spin around on the dirt, flicking up a cloud of dust as I go then give them a wave as I disappear. Turning right at the bottom of the road I nail it for a couple of hundred yards before pulling into a bus stop. Who’d catch a fucking bus here? I don’t know but I suppose you have to serve the public.

Once I’ve pulled over I take the sheets out of the plastic sleeve containing all the photocopies of the passports and start to examine them, I get through 32 pages of miserable faces till I spy our Simon Mostock,  though I doubt very much he’s called Simon Mostock, more like dirty fuck.

—

After visiting three more on the list I pull over and check my messages in the mobile, there’s a joke about Harold Shipman being well hung from Alan, the landlord at the Working Mens, a message from the wife asking if my Mother would want the same perfume we got last year and one from T-Mobile saying my international calling rates have been reduced to 32 pence a minute to call our and 18 pence a minute to receive from abroad. Basically, nothing interesting. I reply to the wife and delete the other two, I fucking hate jokes that aren’t funny. Why bother wasting your credit?

The farms I’ve visited were much the same as the first, I’m bored already and still don’t have much to go on. There’s a definite link between the photocopies and the people we have here, raids will need to be done all over to close the ring down. The problem is tying someone to it at the minute, McBride’s brother is the missing link to these people, how he ties to the dead man is another story. I write a text to McBride;

Still alive? Meet shed number 2,6 PM. Woodsman.

Then I pause, not sure I should contact him yet. Fuck it. I send it, too late now. Then I wait.

5 minutes past and I haven’t got a reply so I sack it off and head to Mosstone Farm Ltd, over near the airport where this whole sorry mess started. It’s a long narrow winding path that leads from the main road, about 2 miles down I pass a field of grazing Brown Swiss cows, then a field of sheep and although I can’t see them there is without doubt the smell of pigs here.

There’s no house at the end of the road, just a collection of static caravans. There are fields in all directions, this looks like a big farm, then again, it is corporate so I should expect nothing more. A green Range Rover pulls up behind me which I don’t recall seeing behind me as I drove up here. It pulls up next to the Nissan and stops.

There’s a man and a woman inside, they both get out and she is a fine piece of arse. White blouse bursting open, blonde hair, knee length black skirt and high heeled patent black stilletos. I’d shag her from here. He’s looking a bit too clean for a farmer too. Long hair and designer stubble.

‘Can I help you?’ he asks, drawing my gaze from her pert mammaries,

‘Yeah, do you have a Grigoryy Byelovets here?’

‘No, what is it to you anyway?’

I can feel the bird’s eyes, I’m sure she’s eyeing me up. I turn my eyes and address her,

‘Sorry, yeah, I work for a debt recovery company, he’s giving us the run around a bit and we had this down as one of his addresses. But you’re obviously busy so I won’t keep you.’

‘Yeah, I know that man, tell him from me he’s a fucking dead man, I don’t think it’s just you who he owes money too,’

I laugh, ‘Aah, I see, and who might you be,’

‘Steele, Simon Steele.’

‘Well I’ll be seeing you then.’

With that I get back in the car and drive away. I’m just about to start thinking of Simon Steele, or more likely his fit bird when the mobile vibrates and the sound of Tarzan informs me that I have a message. I check and I’m quite relieved to find it’s from McBride.

Aye chief. Will be there. Lot’s to tell. I’ll be there at 6. McBride.

That’s settled that then, at least the little prick’s not dead.

I pull out and head back to the centre of town. I’m at a loss slightly for what to do with myself, It’s the calm before the storm in this sort of situation, Everything’s moving slowly as I consume myself with a plan of action.  The nice houses of Belvedere Heights begin to merge with the rougher streets of Fosster on each sides of the road. I really should be continuing the visit to the farms but I can see that these need more manpower than just me on me tod. I’ve probably already started a stir by asking a few questions.

I stare at the sign telling me where the turn off to the zoo is situated. I see a giant advertising board changes shape from showing me Jefferson Springboard’s new album release date to an advert for the Double or Quits Casino. Something tells me I haven’t seen the last of that place.

I look forward and see a large spot of rain hit the windscreen and meander it’s way down the glass. Then another and another, all flowing down their own lines of desire, painting a speckled picture as they rinse off the mud and dust from earlier. I flick the switch to turn on the wipers which shudder into action and squeak as they judder backwards and forwards. In the same motion I hit the indicator to make a right turn and cut across the next lane to the sound of parps, peeps and honks. I take great delight in flicking up my middle finger into the rear view mirror, fuck ‘em.

It’s five now, only an hour to get to Shed 2 so I better make tracks otherwise I’ll miss the prick.

—

Shed 2 is a house in Reynolds only 5 minutes from HQ. It looks fucked from the outside, like an abandoned decrepid shit hole that smack heads wouldn’t squat in. The force secured seven safe houses around Rosestone after the Clearwater Inquiry, it was figured that they could be vital if an officer was in need of somewhere secret to gather their thoughts or just hide from the missus for a few days/hours/weeks. They’re not used much these days as we haven’t come under much flack.

I have to park the car a few streets away and make the remaining journey on foot in case the place is under surveilance or just so that people don’t question a random car outside. I get there at half five, plenty of time to get settled. If I’m honest, I feel like I’ve been wasting my time. Without anything to really sink my teeth into this job can leave me feeling a little flat. I would’ve liked to have done more but making a move today could’ve put everything else in jeopardy. So much relies on McBride.

I knock on the door and it’s opened by Lenny Cotter, I haven’t seen him for fucking years. The sheds are covered every few days by old coppers, retired blokes who still like to keep their hand in. Their main duties include making sure the place is tidy and making sure there are tea bags in the cupboard.

‘Alright you dodgy old bastard, how you getting on?’

‘Alright Woody, still getting by. Not had you here for a very long time. What are you up to?’ He responds. His eyes are crystal blue but really watery. He shouldn’t be here really at this age. If someone came in full force and wanted to make trouble he’d be fucking hopeless.

‘You shouldn’t still be here, what if something happened? You could get killed, remember Lakeby?’

‘Oh I no, don’t worry about me. I’ve only come to get away from the wife. Retirement will happen to you you know. Sitting at home twiddling your chuffin’ thumbs. There’s no dignity. Sometimes I come here just to es….’

Fucking hell, I remember this prick now. He wouldn’t shut up. Jesus. I should just stop him talking.

‘Listen Lenny, have you seen McBride?’ I ask. He looks puzzled, I can see the cogs turning in his brain. Come on for fuck’s sake. Get a move on.

‘Don’t know him. Who’s he?’

‘Oh sorry, he’s been in and out the force but probably after you went. He was here for Hyeon.’

‘Ooh, much before my time, you’re older than I thought.’

‘Fuck off. So you’ve not seen him then? He’s usually far too punctual. No cause for concern I suppose, it’s only, what? Ten to?’

‘Well, I suppose I’d better be getting off anyway. I’ll see you another time Woody. Take care.’

‘OK Len. Be good.’

With that he makes his exit, he struggles with the heavy steel door and then when he’s at the other side there’s a dull thud, informing me I’m now alone in this place. Still, better than listening to that old prick rabbit on, fuck me.

—

It’s now half six so concern has been and gone, left to be followed by worry, anger and fear. Where the fuck is he?

I don’t really want to face up to the fact that I’m going to have to track him down, see what’s happened between his text and now. I’ve faced up to the fact that this is not innocent, this isn’t McBride fucking around and trying to shit me up, he’s in trouble. Fuck.

This is what we didn’t want.

This is the point where the plan turns sinister. From a simple half thought plan into a hammer shaped cloud, waiting to crash down round my ears. If Aidan gets killed I’m in a world of shit and an ice pick wouldn’t even start to scratch the surface. Fuck.

I think about the best place to start, it’s got to be the Double or Quits. Smelecki’s the main man as far as Castelano’s concerned, or at least that’s who we think has most to do with smuggling. I’ll head there. Am I sure? Yeah, fuck it, if I need to retrace his steps I may as well start at the beginning.

—

I punch it away from town up the backstreets of Reynolds, snaking through the underbelly of terraced housing and speed restricting measures taken to keep the people on the streets safe. I go straight through a red on the main junction bringing me out onto Watergate, the main slither of road containing all the dockland. Then it appears in front of me, glimmering in the evening sky like the scales of a fish.

If I try pull the car up like yesterday I’ll probably create a scene that at this time I don’t need. Time to play it a little bit cooler. I leave the car in the car park round the side and head to the main entrance. The same gormless fuckwit from yesterday is on the door. As I approach his body gets bigger, stiffens like an erection. Probably best to act humble for a change.

‘Evening lads, any trouble tonight? Heard there were some trouble after Rangers got tonked?’

His stage 9 moves to a 2 when he realises he can’t get a rise out of me.

‘A few individuals were causing a bit of grief but nothing we can’t handle,’

‘That’s what I like to hear lads. Good stuff,’

With that I move away and head through the main doors, not giving them a chance to talk much was the best way to play it. They’re that thick they’ve probably forgotten already and taken in by something more interesting. Reciting Chaucer perhaps, well, perhaps not. Thick fucks.

The place is quiet inside, the lull before the storm. This could work to my advantage, people always get slack when there’s nothing to do. Perhaps a bit of a commotion could cause a bit of a decoy for me to slip in unnoticed.

I need to pick my victim, someone who’ll get taken in quick enough. A quick look around and I spot a middle aged man playing on one of the many bandits in the place. There’s an endless trail of smokerings coming from his wrinkled up face. I make my move quickly, up to his shoulder and tap him in the back.

‘Can I have a quick word sir?’

‘Who the fuck are you? I’m busy.’

‘DS Underwood, that’s what they call me in the force anyway, but you can call me Woody if you like.’

He looks surprised but I got the prick’s attention

‘Erm, wh..yes. What’s the problem?’

‘They asked me to have a word with you about cheating on the machines, they’ve said you’ve been using magnets to get they rolls to change.’

‘Is this a wind up?’

His face is totally serious, he looks worried. I don’t think I’m going to get anything out of this.

Then he carries on, ‘It’s my wife isn’t it? She put you up to this. That fucking bitch. I’ll fucking kill her. Well tell her from me I don’t play her fucking games. She can rot in hell.’

Bingo, that was an unexpected treat. Now he’s really going. Shouting at the top of his voice.

‘They want to think I’m a cheat, they can fuck themselves,’

I move away as I catch the bouncers moving in out of the corner of my eye. I’m all too aware now that this will be the main focus of the man in the CCTV room. I head straight to the bar and through the doors to the side.

That’s one down and another to go. I head up the stairs and down the long grey corridoor, listening in the hope of hearing something to alert me to McBride’s presence. At the minute’s there’s just the faint sound of the wallpaper music being played on the floor. This may take longer than I want, I’m probably best looking in the CCTV room, see if I can spot anything. I head back down the corridor to the first room at the top of the stairs, I’m starting to breath heavily from all this running around.

I bang on the door and enter without waiting for a response,

‘Have you seen Smelecki?’ he turns and looks at me, ‘Smelecki, Smelecki, your fucking boss dickhead, have you seen him?’

Then I run straight for him and smash him in the face, he’s out stone cold in a second. ‘Probably shouldn’t have done that.’ Don’t know who I’m talking to but my adrenaline is going fucking nuts at the minute.

I look at all the screens and I can’t see McBride or Smelecki in any of them. One of them is black though,  totally black like there’s something to hide. I think this would be a good place to start. There’s a sticky label on the bottom of the dusty black plastic surrounding the moniter, U12. Nice one, that’s that sorted. Now where the fuck is U12?

Surely U must be underground? I leave the room swiftly and head back to the stairs. It says I’m on L1 so I go down. Them I’m on G so I carry on going. The next set of stairs takes me to U1, almost exactly to where I want to be. I start running, my shoes covering the worn maroon carpet as fast as I can, the labels on the door go by, U1 on the left. U2 on the right. I fucking hate U2 but that’s another story. I keep my eyes to the right, U4, U6, U8 then round the corner the the right. I go through a set of black double doors with small glass panels in each and continue at speed passing U10 and I finally stop outside U12.

I pause outside the door and listen. I can’t hear anything. I put my ear right up to the door and still can’t hear anything. Panic hits me as I turn to check for cameras, there’s none pointing at me at the minute, so that prick must still be out cold.

I bite the bullet and open the door, the heavy door swings wide open, I move in and with one movement scan the room. It’s fucking empty. Brilliant. The screen must just not have been working. I’m breathing heavily, I can feel the sweat dripping down my back like sand in an egg timer, which reminds me that time could be running out. I’m just about to leave when I hear a thud, it didn’t come from this room but it didn’t sound too distant. I listen again, I can hear voices, it sounds like Smelecki. It sounds like it’s coming from behind what looks like a cupboard door nestled in between two glass fronted filing cabinets.

As I move closer to the door I can make out the voice, it definitely is Smelecki, he sounds like he’s questioning someone. This is it. Fuck, get your head steady old man. I listen:

‘Very strange that Byelovets was there eh?’

‘Yes, I suppose,’

That’s McBride. At least he’s alive and I’m in the right place.

‘Even more so considering my friend Tsien here killed him yesterday afternoon. A rather startling resurrection I may venture?’

Fucking hell, these fuckers are ruthless. Byelovets dead too? That’s one less to find. One less to question and one less to put away. That probably means that McBride’s next. Shit. Do they know who he is?

It continues:

‘Oh well it might not be him. I can’t be sure, it was dark.’

‘I think Mr Castelano, we know whose team you are on. If Chang, Graysmith and his new Euro-friends think they have won this war then they are very much mistaken. I believe it is swinging right back to my organisation.’

So they think he’s Castelano. That’s who they want dead then. I concentate even more while he continues,

‘You were always a rat Castelano but it ends now. You’ve played your last card, and the gamble hasn’t paid off. You must die.’

Time for my entance, I twist the handle and ram my shoulder through the door, they all stop in their tracks and turn to look at me.

‘You should take the jokers out of your pack Smelecki. Thought you’d have learned that by now?’

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

‘Castelano here’s got friends in high places. Out of your reach anyway you fucking scumbag.’

Chapter 8

I look at my watch, it’s half eleven. I hear Underwood’s car pull away and listen as it the last sounds of its spluttering engine fade in to nothing.

I lift my head up from staring at the floor. It’s pretty busy around the Marina. I suppose it is a Saturday evening and the place is full of young groups of people laughing and joking. A couple of stunning girls walk past me and laugh at my odd looking suit and silly hair.

There isn’t a chance in hell this will work. I can’t believe how much I might have fucked this one up. The whole case is speeding off like a decoupled train. I’ve got to attempt to reconnect the train to the carriages and get the case back on the rails.

I’m dressed as my sociopathic brother who no-one knows exists apart from my drink-sodden, asocial partner who is at this moment probably eyeing up some bar tart. I chuckle to myself bitterly as the realisation that I may be beaten up or even worse begins to hit me.

I pause outside a bar called Silver. The Double or Quits is a little further on. It is a gaudy, large building. It is a concrete dome with a glass domed roof and a fifteen foot statue of a deck of cards on the top. The building is dwarfed though, by the surrounding blocks of apartments. Many have been built in the last ten years as Rosestone has enjoyed an economic renaissance.

Despite being one of the smallest buildings in the enclave the casino is the only with a bit of land surrounding it. It looks like a diamond placed in a ring. Your eye is drawn to it. Now I walk over there.

It’s still light and I hope the security guy outside doesn’t recognise me from our visit to see Smelecki. I try and put a little swagger in to my walk and realise I’m looking ridiculous.

‘Hey!’ It’s the doorman. Fuck.

‘Yeah,’ is all I can muster.

‘Where’s my fucking tenner eh?’

‘You what?’ I say back. I must be looking gormless, I shut my open mouth.

‘Fucking Town beat Rangers in the friendly. You dirty Prod bastards are shite. I told you we’d win.’ The doorman is smiling and gives me a playful nudge.

‘Oh God, yeah,’ I fumble in my pocket for some money, my hands are shaking. I hope this big fuck doesn’t notice, ‘Here y’are mate. The boss in?’

‘Yeah mate, he’s in a meeting at the moment. Just wait at the bar.’ The doorman gestures to the other bouncer, ‘Eh, who’d have thought it. Fucking Castelano finally paying a bet.’

‘Haha, I thought I saw a pig flying over the harbour earlier,’ the other man says.

I laugh and enter the Double or Quits. The doors close behind me and I rest on them and exhale for a few seconds. The doormen seemed convinced but they didn’t seem the sharpest knives in the drawer. I scan the place. Even at this hour no one is charging for entry so I wander straight through the second set of double doors in to the casino.

God, it is an awful place, it’s busier than the last time we were here but it’s still a soulless place. Dark and trashy with some proper odd looking fuckers. You can tell the guys who are gambling away the mortgage. They’re the ones being plied with booze by staff and sat on their own. They are so tense and wrapped up in their own world. I’d hate to be like that. Fucking dickheads.

I wander over to the bar and order a large JD and Coke. The barman pours it and says it’s on the house. Must be my brother’s local.

I keep looking around the place. The roulette tables are full of the cackling wenches who are on a hen party. The other games appear sparsely populated. I feel no compulsion to go over and play, at least that’s a bonus that I don’t want to piss my money away. My eyes return towards the bar area when I feel a presence on my left. I glance around and see Smelecki.

‘Castelano,’ he says softly, ‘Where have you been?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ a cagey answer.

‘I need you to do a job for me. It’s an urgent matter,’

‘Yeah,’ I reply, ‘Depends what it is,’

‘Only a little job, over at Chang Cassidy’s. All you need to do is take a quick look around.’

‘Why, what’s the score?’

‘There’s a meeting there tonight. I need you to find out who is at that meeting,’

‘OK, I’ll go now,’

Smelecki doesn’t react so I get off my seat and make for the exit. I glance back near the doors and see Smelecki is still watching me.

—

Outside I flag a taxi down and tell the driver to head for Chang Cassidy’s. Chang Cassidy’s is the most elitist of the casinos in Rosestone. It was opened in 1929 as Cassidy’s and was a popular haunt of all sorts of characters until it close down in 1978. It reopened under its current name in 1987 and has a very exclusive clientele. Underwood used to say he was a regular in the 70’s but admitted he’d never been there in its new incarnation.

It is just outside the marina area going northwards towards Eastwood. It is basically a doorway sandwiched by a butchers and a newsagents. I exit the taxi and walk over to the casino. In the doorway stand four bouncers. Four very big bouncers, they all must be at least six foot five. My guts are tossing around and I know this is the big test of my disguise.

‘Alright fellas, how’s it going,’ I saw with mock bravado.

Silence. I force myself not to let it show and speak again.

‘Busy tonight guys?’ Another awkward moment, then the bouncers relent and let me through.

‘Good evening sir, enjoy your evening.’ The biggest bouncers says to me.

I walk in and let the doors close in on me, then I lean back on them and exhale a breath I wasn’t sure was still in me. I’m surprised that there is no one charging for entry. Presumably the money they make on the games is enough.

I walk up the and enter the second set of double-doors. The place is amazingly lighted. The room is not huge but conveys a great sense of atmosphere and drama. The circular room contains slightly elevated shaded booths around the ring of the room. The only light is cool blue light which shimmers on people’s faces like warm ice.

In the centre of the casino is the gaming floor. This is lit up like a boxing ring in the centre. It is busy with a good mixture of women and men. Rich people who are casually flicking around money I won’t see in three years working on the force. I look to my left and take a seat in booth near the exit so I can watch the whole place.

I take a seat and order a whiskey which arrives promptly. I’m more relaxed than in the Double or Quits. I look at the whiskey sloshing over the ice in my glass. I casually look around the casino and try to recognise someone.

Nothing so far. I’ve memorised some of the faces in the case from the leads we have so far. I can’t see any of the people in the booths. This place is wonderfully secluded and not a great place to spy. I realise that I might have to walk around but this isn’t the place to schmooze.

At the main roulette table there is a guy. He looks Chinese. He isn’t playing but he is surrounded by a lot of people. There’s some security guys there trying to be kosher citizens. There’s at least four within a few metres of him. He’s got to be high up the chain.

I slink back in my seat with another whiskey and try and assess the situation. It’s about half one in the morning. The night seems in full swing, it’s busy and there is a lot going on. Magicians, singers and plenty of bar girls. This is the moment that something will happen. Leaves and forests.

I wait and wait. Minutes go by. Another whiskey is drank and I’m feeling a little light-heaced. It’s now after two a.m.

The Chinese guy is still walking around the different tables chatting like he’s fucking Prince Charles. People who don’t know him are confused and chatting to him. The ones who know him are reverential. There’s John O’Neill, former Mayor of Rosestone. He knows which side his bread is buttered. Cunt.

O’Neill was Mayor in the 1980’s. A proper Gordon Gecko-yuppie type. I never thought a guy like that could get elected in a working class town like ours. I suppose this was at the height of Thatcher’s reign of terror. The town was a shit-heap then, no jobs and the trade unions were in the pay of the gangsters. O’Neill never appeared corrupt just a flash git. One term was all he lasted then he went back to whatever job he used to do in London.

One of the security taps the guy on the shoulder and whispers in his ear. This is it. The Chinese guy acknowledges the burly fucker and continues his foray around the casino. The burly man walks off towards me. Fuck.

He’s about six foot but very bulky with sandy hair and a Scandinavian complexion. He continues past me to the table next to me. I stare at my drink while he chats to somebody. I strain to hear but I fail. The music is at the perfect level where conversation is easy when someone is next to you but you can’t hear anything in the adjacent booth.

Then up stands a man. It’s Graysmith. I look up at him and he is surveying the casino before setting off towards the bar area.

After they walk past I stop looking at my drink and glance around. As I look around so does Graysmith. He has a look in his eyes. He recognises me. Or my brother? Now he’s whispering to the security guy. Balls. I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t risk being caught in here.

I drink up and make for the exit. As I’m departing through the doors I look over and the security guy is moving over to me. He’s moving slow, trying not to cause a scene in this type of establishment.

I speed up and race up to the exit. I thank the guys on the door and look out for a taxi. I keep walking briskly away from Chang’s Casssidy’s. I’m about fifty metres from the casino when I hear a shout.

It’s aimed at me, they want me to come back. No fucking chance.

A taxi pulls over and I jump in. I tell the driver to head for the TravelStay Hotel back in the marina. I booked a room there earlier in the name of Underwood.

The driver pulls up outside and I get out and in to the hotel. My heart is pounding like a bitch. I arrive in my room, lay in my bed in my clothes and feel myself drifting away.

—

What is that noise? Fuck it’s my door. I get up and realise I’m in a foreign room. I walk to the door and it’s an attractive girl in a maid’s outfit.

‘You need room clean, sir?’ she says in a soft Eastern European accent. I look blank for a moment and realise where the fuck I am.

‘No, it’s fine thanks, the room is clean,’

I shut the door and walk back in to the bed. I check the time. Three p.m.

Bloody hell half the day is gone. But I feel fucking refreshed. Nothing beats a good sleep and I’ve had nothing like it recently. I think back to last night’s close shave at Chang Cassidy’s. Graysmith was there. Is he involved in all this shit? I wouldn’t be surprised. I need some background info on him big style.

This is where I’d have rang Joey Wong. It still hasn’t hit me that he is dead. The second body. Executed by someone. The same guy who killed Rozlov?

I need to head for the Double or Quits and tell Smelecki who I saw there. I have a quick shower and as I get out I hear a knock at the door. I can’t be arsed going over there and finish drying myself off.

Back in my room I look at my phone and see a message from Underwood. He wants to meet at six. I look at my watch. Half four. Plenty of time to get to the Double or Quits and back out again. I text back and notice a piece of paper stuck under my door.

I wander naked over to the door and lift the paper up. It is an A4 piece and folded three times. I unfold it and there is a message on there.

STOP PRESS

2 INTO 1 DOES NOT GO

PRESS GANG WE THINK YOU SHOULD KNOW

GANG LIFE

NO MORE POLICE NO MORE KILLING

LIFE TIME

TIME TO END THE GRILLING

What a strange message. What does it mean. Two in to 1? This case is really getting on my tits. I’ve never encountered such a fucking subversive, underground piss of shit. At least the Hyeon case was straight-forward. Although that did involve lots of fucking killling. At the moment this case is a couple of isolated murders. I feel that we can stop this one getting out of hand.

—

I leave the hotel and walk down the marina road feeling pretty good about myself. I fooled Smelecki and I seemed to have an effect on the boys at Chang Cassidy’s. Whether that was because they knew I was a cop or my scumbag brother I don’t know but I didn’t want to hang around and find out.

The evening sun is lovely and low on the horizon even though it won’t be subsumed by the sea for another four hours or so. Rosestone looks magical at the moment and there are a lot of people milling about even on a Sunday evening. I spot the Double or Quits in the distance and prepare myself for another few hours blagging before I meet up with that miserably twat Underwood.

I reach the doors and the same bouncers are working again. The one I was talking about yesterday acknowledges me with a smile.

‘Evening. Good night?’ he says.

‘Yeah, not bad. You know how it is,’ I say, non-committal as always.

‘Indeed, we’ll see you later,’

I enter the casino and it is virtually dead. No one is in. I walk to the bar and the barman tells me that Mr Smelecki is waiting for me in his office. I check the time – it’s quarter to six – and make my way towards the double doors to the right side of the bar.

As I pass through a couple of heavies nod to me. I’m well in to this role now. It’s time to step it up before I meet Underwood. I walk through the CCTV centre and knock on Smelecki’s office door. I hear a muffled ‘enter!’ and walk in.

‘Ah, Mr.Castelano,’ he says, his arms in a wide embrace about four metres away from me, ‘Did you find the information I required?’

‘I did, Mr Smelecki,’ I say maintaining eye contact.

‘Good,’ is all he says and he turns his back to me towards the window of his office. The view is a grey breeze-block wall, ‘Very good.’

I stand waiting. Then I feel something hard pressed in my lower back. I don’t need to look around. I know it’s a gun.

‘Do not move Mr.Castelano,’ Smelecki says, still facing the bleak window, ‘We need to discover exactly what you know.’

I feel a prick in my back. My head feels light and fluffy and I sense myself laughing at the thought of Underwood being a prick, but he wasn’t in my back, he has no back, ha ha…

—

One of the few things I remember of my Dad when I was a boy was my fourth birthday. We lived in a tiny, terraced house in Howton. The house appeared massive when I was young but every time I drive past it now I see it how small it really was. There was only one bedroom. My Dad used to sleep in the front room while my brother and I slept in a double bed in the upstairs bedroom.

On this day we went to Howton Field’s Park. What year was it? Eighty-one? Eighty-two? I had a toy boat that Dad had given me for my birthday. It was a simple red boat with a white sail that shimmered in the autumn wind. We reached the park and I remember the three of us sat by the lake. Rowan picked his nose a lot, I played with my boat in the water and my Dad just sat watching the water, as if waiting for something.

I always wonder what he was thinking at that moment. In less than a year he would be dead. A brain haemorrhage took my father aged just thirty-two. My mother had died aged twenty-six from complications after surgery for an ulcer. I was two years old. I can’t remember anything about her. Sometimes I smell something and it makes me think about her. Perhaps it was her scent that is still lodged in my head.

I’m now thirty one and approaching the age where my father died. People say it’s unfair when parents die before they see their kids grow up. I’ve never really thought about it much. There’s not much you can do about it. You have to live your life in a way that you hope makes your parents proud.

Losing people you love may have been the reason why I have never had a long-term relationship. It was not just my parents. My mentor, Ryan Western, died aged thirty-eight. He was renowned as the best copper on the beat. Underwood respected him massively. He cracked the Creampenny case. He died of AIDS. I was the only person, except his boyfriend, that knew about it. Everyone else thought he had cancer.

Just so people would think higher of him if they didn’t know he was gay. It fucked me off for months. A man as brilliant as Ryan lacked the confidence about his own personal life in front of others. I could never understand why he needed the respect of people that didn’t deserve it.

I sometimes feel like I’m barely human. I genuinely feel that I was born to protect other people. Policing wasn’t a job. It was something I was destined for. The more I think about it, the more mixed I feel. I feel blessed that I have the ability to make things truly better for society.

Yet, there is always something missing. It’s something that Underwood has but fails to realise. It’s probably a generational thing but he is a creature of instinct and a set moral compass. He can never reconcile his detective work and his home life. He’s still got two decades before he retires too. He’ll never make it. You only have so much luck.

Losing people early in life makes you appreciate your own mortality. I’m not scared of death. I don’t want to die but I’m ready for it. But I’m not going without a fight. Underwood is a firm believer in breaking a few rules to catch the big fish. I’m not sure he realises that I am the same. Vengeance and brutality are methods which are necessary in the course of our work. Whatever peoples’ opinions of us we do what we feel is for the greater good.

—

‘I see you are awaken?’

‘He’s still out. Give him a few more minutes.’

‘No, we start now. He must never settle. This man has caused us a lot of problems.’

Pounding. My head is pounding. Who is speaking?

‘Did you go to the meeting Mr Castelano.

‘Dad?’ I say, the voices aren’t making sense.

‘Yes, this is your Dad. Now tell me what happened at the meeting.’

‘There wasn’t a meeting.’

‘Come come Mr Castelano. We know you were at the meeting at Chang Cassidy’s last night. Who was there?’

Why is he calling me Castelano. My name is Aidan. I open my eyes and I’m in a dark room. There are no windows but the room is lit by candles dotted around.

‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ my headache is easing now. It’s Smelecki. He’s in front of me. He moves towards an inch of my face and brings a knife out. The blade is a dull grey, which makes it much more sinister than if it was shining. I can feel sweat dribbling down my face. I try to react and hit him but my arms are tied down. I look below and I’m covered in a white sheet and my arms are strapped down.

‘Now, Mr Castelano, if you do not tell me who was at the meeting at the casino last night I will slice your ears off. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say. Out of the gloom comes a South Asian man. He walks behind me and holds my head still.

‘Well,’ I begin. There is no way out now. Is he going to kill me after I talk? ‘I saw a Chinese fella there. He looked like the boss. I don’t know his name; he had a scar down the left hand side of his face. Definitely the boss.’

‘Course he was the boss,’ Smelecki is furious, ‘do not start to patronise me Castelano. You know Wu Chang. You worked for him for a year! Now start talking. If I get one more smart answer out of you, I will start cutting. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ He needs stalling. I wonder what time it is. I arrived here at about five wasn’t it? ‘There was another man there who I recognised. It was Mr Graysmith.’

‘Graysmith?’ Smelecki retreats away, ‘What was he doing there?’

‘Well the bos… Mr Chang’s boys went to talk to him and he walked off with them to meet Chang I suppose.’

‘Then what?’ Smelecki said, ‘What was said at this meeting?’

‘I don’t know. That’s when I left.’

‘What the fuck do you mean, you left. You should have been in there, he trusts you! You’re lying to me Castelano!’ He brought the knife back up to my face.

‘Honestly,’ I say, ‘Graysmith had a word with security and they came after me, so I ran away,’

‘But Graysmith told me he wasn’t involved. Why would he be there at Chang’s?’

‘I don’t know, they were the only ones there,’ I try a risky move, ‘Byelovets turned up as I left.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, I only caught a glimpse of him but it was definitely him.’

Smelecki stands up and relaxes. The Asian guy releases me and walks over to him. Smelecki walks around the room. I can feel his presence behind me.

‘Very strange that Byelovets was there eh?’ Is it a rhetorical question?

‘Yes, I suppose,’

‘Even more so considering my friend Tsien here killed him yesterday afternoon. A rather startling resurrection I may venture?’

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuckety-fuck.

‘Oh well it might not be him. I can’t be sure, it was dark.’

‘I think Mr Castelano, whose team you are on? If Chang, Graysmith and his new Euro-friends think they have won this war then they are very much mistaken. I believe it is swinging right back to my organisation.’

Smelecki walks back around and whispers something to Tsien. He looks at me.

‘You were always a rat Castelano but it ends now. You’ve played your last card, and the gamble hasn’t paid off. You must die.’

Chapter 7

History of Rosestone – Pre 1960′s

In 1086 the first mention of Rosestone was recorded in the Domesday book. A hamlet called ‘Rosston’ was a coastal town off the Eastern coast of England. The population was around two hundred people. Some of the familes in the hamlet were the Smiths, the Hansons, the Rosslebys and the Eastwoods.

The King (William the Conqueror) held only one great house – Stevedale House. The clergy held much of what is now the west of the city beginning with the Cathedral, then a monastery. The monks’ land stretched about three miles of fields and buildings. The families mentioned above owned the rest of the land in the area.

The town was only mentioned occasionally over the years. The next significant mention was of a ‘Rosstown’ in 1638 due to a visit from Charles II. Over the next hundred years the town was mentioned more frequently. It’s spelling was not finalised until about 1770 when the name was formally chartered as ‘Rosestone’.

In 1772, the end of slavery was announced in Britain. Rosestone was a minor player in the slave trade as it was on the East coast of the country. However the Hanson Theatre in the West of the city was built from the profits of sugar trader Robert Paul Hanson. Hanson was a known opponent of the abolition of slavery and formed the Anti-Abolitionist Forum which soon had over 500 members in England.

The first Mayor of Rosestone was elected in 1789 for a first eight year period. Although the position was largely ceremonial the first election was a battle between RP Hanson and Georges de Luc-Baisson, a French émigré. Luc-Baisson won the vote, although only three hundred people were eligible to vote. Hanson moved out of the city soon after but Luc-Baisson died a year in to his tenure. The next mayors both enjoyed three eight year terms: David Eastwood (a minor member of the Eastwood’s burgeoning businesses), Francis Dominic Franklin and James Aloysuis Smith.

The next fifty years saw the area grow in to a medium sized town. By 1820 it was estimated that around 10,000 lived in the town. That was when the town exploded in to one of the UK’s biggest cotton manufacturers and docks.a collection of entrepreneurial Capitalists stepped up to wrest economic control from the clergy and older folk.

By 1870 the town was now estimated to be home to 75,000 people including many overseas migrants. The city had developed a few distinct areas named after many of the leading Capitalist industrialists.

Frederick James Robert Eastwood employed over 6,000 workers at his cotton plants in the North of the city. Josiah Reynolds owned a smaller wool factory to the South of the Eastwood estate while Percy Howton ran a sprawling empire to the South of the city.

Howton was an interesting character at the time. Unlike Eastwood and Reynolds who were historic families in the area, Howton appeared to come from nowhere. There were no records of the man until his first cotton factory opened on fallow land to the North/ Central part of the city in 1836. By 1850, aged 28, Howton was the richest man in the area with diverse interests in train building, military clothing and the first department store in the city. The four storey Howton’s.

The 1838 Mayoral election was the first with increased suffrage after the 1832 Reform Act had been passed. Around six thousand males were eligible to vote. Percy Howton was against two men. One was Dr Simon Johnson, the head of the Rose Hospital (as it was then called). The other was Albert Roseby, a 57 year old watchmaker.

A bitter campaign ensued between Howton and Johnson, who was believed to have been paid to run by the young industrialists Eastwood and Reynolds. The two front-runners took votes away from each while Roseby won the election by pledging to stand up to the increasingly powerful capitalists and to invest money in education and health care for all.

Roseby’s victory was a major boost for the town. He became the arbiter of disputes between the industrialists and oversaw many social and economic reforms. In 1865, Albert Roseby died aged 84. The year he died saw the main artery road built that disected the North and South of the city. Instead of being called the Great Rosetone Road, it was named in honour of Albert Roseby.

It was not long after in 1867 when the name Roseby would be known as a curse. Albert’s eldest son George was locked up in Eastwood Asylum after killing a policeman. Some people thought that it was organised by acquaintances of FJR Eastwood in revenge for closing down one of his factories in the early 1860’s. In 1870 two of Albert Roseby’s daughters died giving birth. Both mothers children survived, who would write their own pieces of notoriety in Rosestone’s history later on.

In 1885, scandal hit the town when local press revelead that they had found plans for the hijacking of the Statue of Liberty while it was being transported across the Atlantic. Further investigation is carried out but critisized by the Americans for the lack of results. Press reports labelled it a cover up.

In March 1889 a copycat of the imfamous Jack the Ripper killing spree wreaked havoc in Rosestone for 2 nights. 3 prostitutes were mercilessly slaughtered. The killer was found to be William Butler, a disgraced doctor. He was sentenced to death on the gallows and hung on the 16th June.

In the new century, Percy Howton’s business continued to flourish as he built 2 new factories and also new housing for the staff in the surrounding area, not to be outdone, FJR Eastwood also opened 2 factories and pledged half the funds to the new wings being built at St.Judes hospital which was named after him. ‘Reynolds Wing’ was the new maternity ward.

Plans were also drawn up for the Cathedral which would be named after Saint James the Lesser (the Cathedral was also named Church of the Brother of The Lord.) The Cathedral marked an exciting time in Rosestone as the town looked at creating huge estates for the greatly increasing number of migrants.

The second theatre Rosestone has ever had was finised being built in the developing Howton area. Finished by December 1910 the aim was to try help improve the towns image and also attract more revenue to fund the building of the town hall. The opening play was the late David Garrick’s A Christmas Tale. Reviews were terrible but the theatre still carried on until 2001, when the building was torn down to make way for a new shopping complex containing the new County Sports shop and a Starbucks.

The first World War saw many men young and old join the fight against the Germans. The Battle of Mons (1914) saw the first great loss of soldiers from Rosestone, 8 were known to be killed in the battle.

1917 saw a major fire burn down roughly a third of the warehouses on the docks. 18 were killed and many more injured in the blaze. Police investigation said that it was a suspected arson case. Years later, it was revealed in the diary of Laurence Rocher that he had hired a drunk to start the fire because of a dispute with Josiah Reynolds over some land that he sold him. Reynolds said the land was for farming but then built a factory on the site. The fire was started in the warehouse on the docks owned by Reynolds which then spread.

Chapter 6

It just keeps on getting better this fucking case. We’ve got a prick on the run from the hospital which just turned out to be the brother of another prick, except this one’s next to me, standing there. Inside I think he’s shaking like a shitting dog, worried about the whole outcome.

I’ve tried to remain calm about the fact I’ve only found out he’s got relations. Tried to remain calm that his relation is on the lamb from the hospital and more than anything, tried to remain calm that he’s a deceitful little scumbag who should know better than to not hide important fucking details.

So ‘Castelano’ has vanished from St Judes. This place is fucking awful. The modern facade doesn’t compensate for the grim interior once you’ve got past the first few wings. They’ve had trouble in the maternity ward with babies not getting the attention they need when they’ve been born. I remember hearing a story recently about a mother giving birth in the corridoor ‘cos there were no beds free. Can you imagine that? Place of birth: Reynolds Wing. It’s fucking awful. I never wanted mine to come near this place. We were in Stocksbridge, I had to drive the screaming bitch 10 miles but I wasn’t risking it. She might’ve caught bird flu or MRSA or some other fucking disease. My mind turns back from one disease to another:

‘Is he your older or younger brother then, McBride?’ I snarl.

‘I told you I have nothing to do with him. Hit the road or hit the wanker on his door?’ he responds.

At that I realise the alarm is still ringing.

‘Who’s raised that alarm, love?’ I ask the hot nurse in front while imagining what her boobs would look like pressed against my chest. She’s tasty.

‘It’s the security alarm. It means someone’s triggered it.’

Not too bright though.

‘C’mon, room 3.. what is it?’ I say making my way down the large echoing corridoor.

’396. Are we wasting our time though? What are we going there for?’

‘To talk to those fucking so called guard dogs. Muppets. How can a man under surveilance check himself out of hospital unnoticed? It’s a fucking joke. Oh here they come.’

I look forwards and see two bobbies checking every room frantically like rats looking for a last meal.

I start clapping and the looks on their faces turn from rats to startled rabbits.

‘Well done you set of dicks. How the fuck did this happen?’

‘I was having a shit and left him.’

‘OK, fuck face, what’s your excuse? Where were you?’

‘Erm, I was…’

I got bored as soon as he opened his mouth.

‘Shut the fuck up if you’ve got nothing important to say. You’ve gotta stay here and check every room. I mean every room.’

The first one pipes up, ‘Don’t you think he’ll have got away by now?’

‘The best way to hide a leaf is in the forest.’ McBride enters.

‘What?’ he replies.

My turn again, ‘Just shut the fuck up. Stop complaining and get looking. Pricks.’

They’re fucking useless these pricks. How can you fuck up standing outside a room. It’s not as if he even jumped out of the window, that I could handle but having someone check themselves out? That stinks like shit. Useless bastards. I’m gonna have a word with their super. Wankers.

—

We left the hospital and got back in the car. I sit for a second stuck for what to do.

‘Where to now then?’ I ask.

He’s quiet. I continue.

‘He can’t go back to Fothergill, he surely can’t be thick enough. Where did you two used to go when you played hide and seek? Is there some little hole where you could stick your head in the sand?’

‘Fuck off you cunt. I told you I didn’t get on with the bastard. I’m stuck. I feel like a dick. This should’ve ended at Stickfield. Fuck.’

Right then, that’s him no use for the rest of the day. Brooding, miserable shit.

‘Let’s go for a drive then.’

We pull out of the car park and head for the docks. No particular reason for it, just seems like that’s where we always seem to be pulled to.

‘Did you look like your brother?’

‘Bore more then a passing resemblance yeah. Why?’

‘Do you think you could pass yourself off as your brother?’

‘Are you taking the piss. That’d be a suicide mission. I’m not getting involved in that bullshit.’

I give him a big grin, as big as I can,

‘That my friend may be our only option.’

============================================

Look at the grinning gobshite. He’s all teeth now, grinning like an imbecile. He’s right though. Pretending to be my brother might get us some information that we need.

‘Right, we’re off to your flat to get you ready, OK dickhead?’ Underwood says. I ignore him, and he heads off back to my apartment in Reynolds.

‘Are we not off to HQ?’ I say after a couple of minutes.

‘No, we’re not,’ Underwood says, looking over at me with a mixture of disgust and amusement, ‘You’re not the only cunt who can keep a secret,’

–

Sometimes my flat doesn’t feel like my own. It’s a house, not a home. I’ve not eaten here for a week. I don’t even own a telly. What the fuck do I do when I’m here. My mind is ablaze with thoughts. Why didn’t I tell anyone about my brother? Is Underwood going to grass me in? Where is my brother now? How did he get out?

The apartment is clean, the living area is on the right as you walk in to the hallway with the kitchen at the far end of it. The bathroom and my bedroom are off successive doors to the left. We walk in to my living room and we both sit down on the red leather sofa I have with the view of some shitty offices over the road.

‘Where the fuck is your TV, McBride?’

‘I don’t own one,’ he looks at me like I’m a fucking nutcase.

‘Right how are we going to make you look like your brother?’ Underwood says, ‘fuck about with your hair and put some pimp clothes on, eh?’

‘Yeah pretty much. You think this’ll work?’

‘Probably not, but you fucking owe me, and the city,’

I don’t respond to the comment. He’s right, I’ve fucked up badly. And for what? To save my brother? Of course not, for my own reputation. I’ll never make Chief with a bent fucking brother.

I get up off the settee and head for my tiny room in to the en-suite bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror. I look like shit. My eyes are as red as the top of a vodka bottle. My hair is matted and falling out, I’m sure. My skin is cracking badly, I put my hand up to touch it but my hands are shaking too much. I’ve got to get a fucking grip. I take my clothes off and take a shower.

—

I walk in to the front room wearing an awful suit I bought back in the mid-nineties- the sort of burgundy monstrosity that Rowan used to wear. Fuck knows what he wears now. Rowan was a fucking edgy cunt too. I was always much more restrained but the way I’m feeling now I should be a perfect actor.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I shout at Underwood. The twat is going through all my drawers.

‘Checking you’re not hiding anything else,’ he replies, ‘Can I trust you?’

‘Course you fucking can, dickhead. You keep going like this…’

‘And what,’ Underwood is up at my face like a shot, he moves quick sometimes. He grabs me by the lapels, ‘At the fucking moment Aidan, I don’t know who the fuck you are,’

‘I’m your fucking partner on this case, you know that, we’ve cracked cases before. You know I’m not a shitter,’

‘Do I? Where the fuck do you go after work eh? Where did you go after the Hyeon case? Eighteen months away with no contact, then you’re back as my partner three months ago,’

‘Were you missing me?’ I say, my anger is building now.

‘Don’t fucking give me lip, lad. I’ll fucking knock the shit out of you. You come back and people start dying again. You’re a curse, McBride,’

I push him away and move across to the kitchen. I drink water straight from the sink tap. It calms me slightly,

‘What do you want me to do eh? Beg for forgiveness? We either fucking end this shit here, or we try and stop more people dying. We have two dead including a friend of mine,’

Underwood is silent for once. He looks away from me and stomps to the window of my fifth floor flat. He gazes lazily out of the window at the streets

‘Come on, let’s solve this fucker. I’ll drop you at Snake Eyes. I won’t contact you. You contact me. Don’t go through the station. You understand?’

‘Yeah. Come on, let’s get out of this place,’

============================================

Why has he not got a telly? If there’s one thing that makes me think someone’s an oddball all they have to do is not have a telly. I mean, what does he do with himself when he’s here?

I had a quick shifty through his drawer when he was in the shower but I didn’t find anything incriminating, just some awful pants and a leather thong which I’ll keep to myself. There’ll be a time when that could come in uselful to know. He caught me having a look which is something I could’ve done without but for the time being he’s in my fucking pocket the prick. It’s not a bad appartment he’s got. Nice and clean which isn’t surprising considering it looks like he’s hardly here. Those offices over the road leave a lot to be desired though. Fucking awful.

‘Come on, let’s solve this fucker. I’ll drop you at Snake Eyes. I won’t contact you. You contact me. Don’t go through to the station. You understand?’ I ask. I’m in no mood for any fucking around now.

‘Yeah. Come on, let’s get out of this place.’

We leave his appartment and head straight down to Snake Eyes. I take it steady, the roads are still quiet as the sun begins to lose it’s grip on the sky and head for all the other places in the world that haven’t yet started their day. He looks different, McBride. Like he’s grown a bit. If I’m being honest I wouldn’t like to be in his position, it’s a fucking tightrope that he’s walking to say the least.

‘How you doing?’ I ask. He’s still a prick for not telling me about his fucking brother. After a few seconds he hasn’t responded so I bang the CD on from before, Motown Chartbusters Volume 3. Fucking brilliant, Tears of a Clown, brilliant song.

‘Does that have to be so fucking loud?’

‘Ah, it fucking speaks.’

‘Leave it out, arsehole. I’m fucking worried. What if this goes tits up ey?’

‘Then maybe it’ll end up all wong for you like your friend.’

I see his fist clench.

‘That’s out order you fat old cunt. You say anything like that…’

I slam the brakes on and his body jolts forwards, I then pull the release knob so his chair pushes forward so he can’t lean back. I pull the lever under his seat and slide him forward so his face is right in the heaters. I then turn on the heaters full blast so it’s blowing right in his face.

‘How do you like that you little fuck?

‘Let me out Underwood. I’m not kidding. I’m fucking stressed out. Stop being a cunt.’

I turn the heaters off and the driver behind me beeps their horn. I pull over to the side of the road.

‘We need to sort this fucking case out, okay. Make sure you’ve got your story straight, make sure.’ He’s a stage 9 now if I ever saw one. ‘Don’t be stupid but don’t be too fucking clever, you’re no good dead to anyone here. And yes, the stereo does have to be that loud.’ I give him a smile and pull off from the roadside.

—

I stop the car a few minutes away from Snake Eyes and I’m feeling nervous for the kid.

‘So this is it then. The end of the road for now,’ he says.

‘Yep, get out of my fucking car.’

He chuckles.

‘No, seriously, take care of yourself.’ I carry on.

‘What are you gonna do then?’ He asks. I pause and exhale a deep breath.

‘Gonna check out the docks on the morning, see what really goes on and maybe head out to one of those addresses on the maps, see what the gov thinks.’

‘I don’t think we should involve Walker in too much of this. I’ve got a funny feeling.’

‘There better not be anything you’re not telling me boy.’

‘No, no. Honest, but I think about this, then Stickfield and I think somethings not right from a Police perspective.’

‘I know what you mean. For now we’ll play it by ear. Tell him what he wants to hear like. Right, it’s about time you pissed off.’

‘Right.’ He takes a deep breath and steadies himself then opens the car door. ‘I’ll see you in a while.’ And he’s gone. I watch him walking down the road, getting taller as he goes. I wonder what he’s thinking. After he’s out of sight I pull away, back to the road again. I turn the CD up, it’s on Still Water and I feel a little bit more relaxed than I have all day. I head back to the Broken Arms for a quick pint before I go home.