Heavy Duty People: The Brethren MC Trilogy book 1 (27 page)

‘Anything else?’

‘Possibly somewhere to lie low for a while for the rest of this week. I need Dazza to think Shaz and I have gone away.’

‘We can arrange that as well,
’ said Popeye.

‘
Right then, we’re on.’

*

Sprog, Bagpuss and Wibble were Dazza’s regular couriers, picking up the gear from him or wherever he told them to get it from, and taking it to be posted. With Sprog and Bagpuss out of action that just left Wibble, or me as a stand in since Dazza was obviously careful about who he was using for this. And from what Dazza had said it looked as though come Wednesday Wibble ought to be carrying.

At about two in the afternoon, the strikers let us know that
Wibble was on the move. They followed him discretely as he visited a house in the east end of town, emerging with a heavy looking bag that he chucked in the back of his car, before heading out into the countryside. Out of town, as I had suspected, he turned north, heading up into the borders country where for much of the trip, the roads north would funnel him onto the main A road.

I
fired up the kwacker that Gut had supplied and set off to intercept him. I had on a borrowed lid and jacket so that Wibble wouldn’t be able to recognise me from my gear or tell who it was behind the scarf, but I had on my colours so that he would see the patch when I overtook him.

I caught him as the road rose up and down in roman straightness over a series of ridges, z
ooming up from behind to take up station out in the road beside the driver’s side of the car. I looked in to check it was him at the same time that I could see he had clocked the patch and gave me a grin although I could see he was a bit puzzled that he didn’t recognise the bike. I indicated that he was to follow me and he nodded in acknowledgement, so I accelerated from beside him to swing in front of him. Then for a few more miles I led him further out, further north along the main road he had been taking anyway. Further away from the daytime town and suburban traffic and into the quieter countryside. About twenty miles out we were taking another series of sudden crests when I indicated left and jabbed my arm at the upcoming turn just to make sure he understood. This was the moment, this was where the plan either worked, with Wibble deciding to follow my instructions, assuming that Dazza had sent me, or ignored me, carrying on to where he was planning to go anyway.

I slowed for
the corner and gently dropped the bike through it, holding the speed just sufficiently to ensure it stayed upright and then coasting slowly, bike barely rolling, my eyes fixed on my inside mirrors until with satisfaction I saw his flashing indicators and the nose of his car turn the corner to follow me.

He was trusting me and following. That was good since it was going to make things a whole
lot easier. If he hadn’t then we would still have done it, but it would have required a whole lot more force and violence.

It was about five minutes later and a few miles off the main road that we took him. He was still
behind me as I cruised along, leading him into the spot we had picked and he still followed when I indicated to pull into a lay-by that ran off the road behind a screen of trees, one of those old meanders of country road, cut off by more modern straightening and gradually forgotten except as a place to park and piss.

It was only when you got into it that you could see that the exit was blocked by the white
Transit van which already had Popeye and some of his crew piling out of it.

It was an a
mbush. Wibble didn’t stand a chance.

With a sudden roar two bikes came screaming down the road behind us, appearing out of nowhere.

Wibble seeing what was happening desperately slammed the car into reverse and looked back over his shoulder as wheels spinning on the gravel he tried to get away from the helmeted hoard rushing towards him from the van. But just then, the bikes roared up beside him and I saw the passenger on the back of the first bike rise up in his seat and bring an axe swinging down from on high at the car, smashing into the windscreen in a huge starring crash, while with a darker, deeper roar, the front of a lorry in dirty fluorescent colours swung into the lay-by, closing the gap behind Wibble and cutting off his escape route out onto the main road. The car swerved in its crazy career backwards, half turning as though he was planning to try facing back out, before jolting as the back wheels hit and went up and over the kerb before tipping back as the whole car slid down off the road into the drainage ditch six feet below the side, and the van and lorry closed in around it.

Popeye and his strikers plunged down into the ditch
beside the car, opening doors and bundling the dazed Wibble and his bag out of it. They got the gaffa tape on him while he was still too out of it to put up much of a fight and three of them carried him, starting to kick and struggle as he came to, a pair of them following him into the back of the van where they had thrown him and pulling the doors shut behind them. Popeye slung the bag onto the passenger seat of the van and jumped into the driver’s seat.

And all the time I sat there,
incognito behind a skull bandanna, in stranger’s clothes and on a stranger’s bike.

Gut
meanwhile had jumped out of the cabin of his wrecking truck and was working with one of his guys to get a tow rope on the front of Wibble’s motor.

‘
Right, let’s get out of here,’ he said to me, heading across to join Popeye in the van. He jerked his thumb at his driver, ‘It’s OK, it’ll just look like he’s doing a recovery if anyone comes along. He’ll take it back to my place and we’ll lose it.

Good old Gut I thought, as h
is massive bulk clambered up into the van. Never one to miss an opportunity. Popeye eased the van past Gut’s recovery truck which now had its amber lights flashing and I slipped the clutch and tucked in behind to follow him while the other bikes made themselves scarce.

I didn
’t know where they were planning to take us although I guessed that it was likely to be the place they had seen me before. I just had to go along for the ride at this stage and hope to hell that my plan was going to work out.

It was an old farmstead, isolated a way up the coast. A tumble down barn and an old farmhouse, barely habitable.

We were gathered around the table in the familiar looking kitchen, just Gut, Popeye and me, the others were either with Wibble where he had been bundled away, or keeping an eye out outside, Wibble’s bag sat in front of us.

It was time
to find out how much he was carrying, so I picked it up and emptied the contents onto the table.

There were four
parcels, two addressed to Glasgow, one to South Wales and one to somewhere in the Midlands which was new. But then I’d noticed a new payment coming through recently banked somewhere around Brum, so maybe that was it.

‘
Who’s in Glasgow then? asked Popeye.

‘
The Rebels,’ I said off-handedly, as I looked the parcels over. About the right size I thought.

‘
What d’ya mean The Rebels?’

‘
I’ll tell you in a moment,’ I said, getting out my knife and flicking it open.

‘
And what’s in ’em?’ asked Gut suspiciously.

‘
Well now,’ I said with a broad smile as I picked up a parcel and slit open the jiffy bag it was in, ‘let’s just have a little look-see, shall we?’

The stuff inside was wrapped in brown paper and
bubble wrap which was a moment to cut away and then there it was, a genuine Cali brick, with the scorpion logo printed across the paper wrapping just the way Billy had described.

‘
Is that what I think it is?’ whispered Gut as I handed it to him and picked up the next package.

‘
Yep, and I’m betting they are all the same.’

‘
Fucking hell,’ said Popeye and I plonked the next one into his hand. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much gear. And you knew he had this?’

‘
I didn’t know how much he would have but I was pretty sure he’d be carrying.’

‘
So what do we do with it?’

‘
You hold onto it for the moment. You stick it somewhere safe where it won’t be found and don’t mess with it, we’re going to need this later. But meanwhile I need to keep the addresses off these parcels,’ I said, cutting the front panels off the jiffy bags and stuffing them inside my cut off.

‘
What for?’

‘
For contacts,’ which wasn’t really an answer but seemed to do for now.

‘
Now what?’ Gut asked as I closed my knife and slipped it back in my pocket.

‘
Now I need to speak to Wibble.’

‘
Speak to Wibble?’ You’ve just helped us knock off a Brethren courier for four bricks of finest Charlie and now you want to blow your ID? Are you nuts?’

‘
Yeah, that’s exactly what I want to do.’

‘
It’s your funeral.’

‘
Yeah it is, isn’t it?’

D
own in the cellar, Wibble was gagged and blindfolded with silver grey gaffa tape, and watched over by the two strikers.

‘
Take the tape off his eyes,’ I instructed.

‘
Are you sure?’ the larger one asked surprised.

‘
Yeah, I want him to see my face.’

‘
OK, if that’s what you really want.’

‘
Well he’s heard my voice now hasn’t he? So what’s the difference?’

The striker bent down and none too gently caught the ragged edge of the tape and r
ipped it off Wibble’s face. There was a furious look in his eyes and also one of shock as he saw not only me, but also Gut and Popeye.

I squatted down on the floor in front of him. He had been chained to
some old pipework by the looks of it and his hands had been gaffa taped in front of him.

‘
Listen Wibble,’ I said conversationally as I sat down on the floor opposite him and leant back against a post, I might as well get comfortable ’cos this was gonna take a while, ‘that’s right, it’s me Damage. Look, sorry it had to be this way, it’s nothing personal, it’s just business that’s all, and once I’ve got this thing sorted out you’ll be free to go.’

His eyes told me he didn
’t believe me, didn’t give a fuck and would quite gladly rip my balls off if he had half the chance.

‘
Look Wibble, I need to talk to you so I’m gonna get ’em to take the tape off your mouth but don’t start shouting the house down or it goes straight back on again. Understood?’

There was just his f
urious glare.

‘
Understood?’

He just stayed stock still.

‘I’ll take that as a yes then,’ I sighed, nodding to one of the hulking looming strikers to get it off him.

There was a hesitation, without looking round I could sense
the striker looking to Popeye for instructions, which must have been nodded because the striker leant forward and ripped the tape from across Wibble’s mouth releasing an ‘Oh fuck!’ of pain and a stream of muttered obscenities.

‘
Are you OK?’

‘
Fuck off Damage you cunt.’

‘
Look Wibble, you’ve been in a shunt. I’m asking if you’re OK?’

He looked at me
appraisingly. I could see him thinking. He was confused, he couldn’t work out what was going on here. But he was smart. That was one of the reasons I still liked Wibble. He had a bit of brains, he had potential if he learnt how to use it properly. I was prepared to take some time with Wibble. He looked at the odds and decided that he hadn’t got much choice but to play along with me for now, see where this was going. Like I said, the smart move.

‘
I’m OK,’ he said at last, ‘few lumps and bumps but I’ve had worse.’

‘
Good.’

‘
So what’s this all about then Damage?’ he asked. He had balls as well which I liked. Ambushed, chained up in a cellar and surrounded by enemies and what did he do? He tries to give me a hard time. Defiance. Class. Good stuff. ‘Why’ve you knocked Dazza off like this? You know that’s what you’ve done don’t you? And with these bastards of all people?’

There was a growl from behind me but I put my hand up to stop it.

‘And don’t give me this shit about letting me go. You know you can’t do that. As soon as Dazza finds out what you’ve done he’ll have you.’

I just shrugged and smiled at him
. I wanted to talk to him. I needed to so as to give the guys what they needed. But I also wanted them to hear this. I hadn’t told them yet and they needed to know the whole story.

‘
Yeah, I know. Just like he had Tiny done. Just like he had Billy done too,’ I said, over his rising tide of objections. ‘Just like he had Gyppo, oh but I forget, you wouldn’t have known Gyppo would you? Dazza croaked him before your time didn’t he?’