Heavy Duty People: The Brethren MC Trilogy book 1 (31 page)

I pulled the pistol from under the back of my cut off and slipped off the safety catch.
Leading the way, silently we crept up the stairs and along the darkened landing towards the meeting room door.

There was no one on guard out
side, they were all in the room.

I stopped and listened for a moment
at the lit crack around the door. There was no sound of conversation, just odd words every now and then in query or acknowledgement. Dazza would be using the whiteboard again I reckoned, to make sure nothing could be overheard. Even in here he was being cautious about the risk of bugs.

That might be useful for us though
, I thought. He would be going through the final drop plan again on the board so there was a chance that there might be some info on it which would be of use to us as well. Behind me Popeye and his team stood in silence in the darkness of the corridor. Stepping back from the door and to the left to make a space I waved them forwards with the end of my gun, and pointed down to where there was a loose floorboard that would creak if stood on. Carefully and deliberately, Popeye stepped over it to stand in front of me while the two other guys with pistols formed up on the right. The AK47 lurked in the gloom of the corridor.

We tensed. We all knew this was it.
The guys were watching me.

Three
, I mouthed silently.

Two. Popeye raised the sledge hammer.

One.

With an explosion of noise Popeye let out a fearsome yell and swung the sledgehammer crashing round into the door with all his whipcord force, bursting the lock from its jamb. As he did do the two guys to the right shoulder charged the swinging door
, bashing it inwards and almost falling into the room to the left and right on the other side, guns out, while behind them Popeye flung the hammer to one side and we charged in after them with the AK47 guy bringing up the rear.

Inside
the room Doggie, Bagpuss and Scottie sat, chairs drawn up in a loose semicircle facing Dazza who was stood, dry-wipe pen in hand to the left of the whiteboard. At the crash of the door bursting open I had a momentary impression of their four faces turning towards us, mouths open in complete astonishment. I stood still while Popeye and his guys’ momentum carried them on, shouting instructions as they rushed the guys in the room, using the element of shock and pure armed aggression to force them up and against the wall, spread-eagled at gun point before they really knew what was happening, while Popeye swiftly ran a practiced search, patting them down for guns while his boys stood back, guns at the ready so as to be able to plug anyone who moved.

‘
They’re clean,’ he said stepping back after a moment. And then, ‘Good job guys,’ to his lads.

As I just stood there and watched, i
t had all taken just a few seconds from start to finish. And we hadn’t even needed the handcuffs.

I walked into the room and up to the start of the line where Bagpuss was standing. Without saying a word I put the muzzle of the silencer to where the back of his neck met the roll of fat of his skull and squeezed the trigger. The gun gave a kick in my hand, there was a cough from the silencer and before he started to slump I was squeezing the trigger again into the back of Scottie
’s neck. As I swung the gun around for the third shot, Doggie had started to turn towards me to see what was happening to the guys beside him. A startled ‘Hey!’ had start to form in his mouth before the gun popped and kicked again in my hands as I shot him in the temple and took a step back to let his body collapse on the floor in front of me as well.

Dazza
stood there rock solid facing the wall and just muttered ‘Oh fuck!’

‘
Yeah, that’s right,’ Popeye said triumphantly, before I waved him quiet with a lift of the gun and stepped across to be right behind Dazza.

I had learnt my lessons from history.
To be safe from revenge, there was only one course of action open to you, to destroy utterly anyone that you had moved against so they could never, ever, rise against you.

As I moved across, gun now lowered to my side,
Dazza moved too, slowly dropping his hands from the wall and turning around to face me.

‘
I’m not turning away,’ he said matter of factly, ‘If you’re gonna do it you’re gonna have to do it to my face.’

‘
Alright,’ I said, ‘but there’s some things I want to know first.’

‘
Such as?’

‘
What happened to Gyppo?

‘
Christ mate, that’s ancient history. What d’you want to know that for? Want to know who did you the favour?’

‘
Favour?’

‘
His bird. You did alright there didn’t you?’

‘
You bastard! And Tiny?’

He just shrugged,
‘What’s it matter now?’

‘
It’s the same thing. I just want to know.’

‘
So what’s with all the chat then Damage? Killing time?’

‘
Maybe.’

We stared at each other for a moment in silence. Then
Dazza said in an exasperated voice. ‘Look, if you’re going to do it, just fucking get on and do it.’

‘
OK then Dazza,’ I said, ‘if that’s the way you want it.’

‘
I do.’

I raised the gun and
placed the muzzle of the silencer right between his eyes. He didn’t even blink. He really was something. I fired. A red purple hole appeared in his forehead, the skin singed blackish around the edge from the flash and he slumped silently towards the floor as his legs buckled beneath him and his head lolled forwards onto his chest.

Reaching down
I shot his prone body twice more in the back of the head and neck. As I leant over him I whispered so that none of the others could hear, ‘That was for Gyppo you fucker.’

‘
From both of us,’ I added silently.

‘
OK, you know what to do?’ I said turning to Popeye.

‘
Yes. We’ll see you there. Now get going,’ he replied.

*

I walked around the corner of the lower barn and flashed my torch down the track towards the trees that obscured the road. There was an answering flash and a few moments later the sound of an engine starting and then headlights came on as a long wheel based Landie started up the track.

Now all that remained was to take delivery of the drop.

We did it just the way Billy had described it, right up on top of the moors where the ground flattened out into a rolling boggy mossy upland crossed by the occasional sheep or shooter’s track. Up here we were easily out of sight of the road and so we laid out our torches in a cross and then sat in the Landie to wait.

‘
How’d it go?’ asked Gut.

‘
Fine.’

‘
No problems?’

‘
No problems.’

‘
Good. Now let’s just hope the rest works out OK or we’re all fucked.’ And with that he lapsed into silence.

We took it in turns to stay outside on sentry duty. We needed to hear the plane as quickly as possible so as to make sure we had all the torches lit in time. Half an hour passed. Then an hour.

‘What’s up? D’you reckon their coming?’ asked Gut. ‘How long do you think we give it?’

‘
Relax, they’ll be coming. Dazza was there wasn’t he?’ I pointed out with more certainty than I actually dared to feel. This was when I would find out whether I was right about what Dazza had been planning. ‘He was obviously expecting them.’

‘
OK,’ he said reaching into a bag in the back of the van and pulling out a Thermos. ‘So we wait. Meanwhile no use getting cold. Coffee?’

‘
Now you’re talking!’ I said delightedly. That was one of the great things about Gut. He was just so practical and domesticated. I would never have thought about it until too late.

He was just starting to pour when one of his guys pulled open the door with a breathless
, ‘It’s coming!’

‘
Shit!’ said Gut spilling his drink as we leapt out of the Landie. The guy was right, I could hear the approaching drone of a distant plane’s engines quite clearly now.

‘
Quick!’ I shouted, ‘get the torches on!’ as bodies dashed in each direction, beams of light shooting upwards into the misty air as they hit the switches.

The approaching noise grew louder and louder. It was definitely heading our way. And then t
he plane came swooping in, low over the horizon, roaring overhead at what felt like only a few feet above our heads in a tremendous blur of screaming noise and vast overwhelming bulk before with a massive whoompf noise three black parachutes suddenly billowed against the sky above us, followed almost immediately by a rattling crash as the load’s sledge was jerked backwards out of the plane and off the roller on the rear cargo ramp and into the air… before smashing down violently onto the ground, and skidding wildly until it came to a halt; while the plane, suddenly lightened from its load climbed back up into the sky and away, its rear cargo door closing as it did so and its noise quickly diminishing into the distance as it flew away from us and off, on towards Glasgow and its entirely innocuous landing as an innocent cargo flight.

As we stood and listened to the
receding roar of the engines, we were all too surprised to move for a moment. And then with a shout, Gut suddenly started to run towards where the sled had finished up wedged against a mound of turf.

It had worked
, I thought to myself as I walked after him. Just like Billy had said. It had really fucking worked!

By the time I got there Gut had his knife out and had opened the outer packaging. We were all crowded
around, wanting to see what was inside. Wanting and not daring to hope that I had been right.

But I was.

Neatly stacked and secured in their packaging were those white wrapped packages that I was expecting.

Fuck me
, we had a metric tonne of coke. A thousand bricks.

It took a surprising time to load into the back of the Landie.

*

The yellow of the sodium lighting danced
on the black water of the dock as I met up with Popeye at about five am. There was no one else around that I could see. He was in the wheelhouse of his fishing boat and his crew cast off as soon as I got on board.

He had
used those big builders’ dump bags. You know the ones, the sort they deliver a cubic metre of sand or whatever in, or there’s some bigger ones, a metre and a half long, I tell you they’re just made for the fucking job.

They had stuffed each of the bodies into one before they had a chance to stiffen up. The bags made it easy, with four
handles that helped them carry them down to the van like a purpose-made body bag. They had trussed each body with rope to securely wrap the bag round it and then the handles gave something good and strong through which they had passed the chain that secured the bag to its weight of concrete blocks that were going to act as weights to anchor them down when they went over the side. We would be going way out but even so we didn’t want to take any chances. We didn’t want any of these fuckers putting in a surprise reappearance on some beach somewhere.

‘
Any chance that anyone saw anything?’ I asked Popeye, looking down at the floor of the after deck where a blue tarpaulin was lashed across one side concealing the bags.

‘
Nah, no one about this time of morning,’ he said, as we cleared the harbour entrance.

‘
Won’t people notice you going out?’

‘
Not really,’ he shrugged, ‘often make an early start to get out to where we need to. Don’t sweat it. It’s all OK. Just enjoy the ride.’

Out in the
North Sea and away from the shelter of the land it was a bit rough for me. So enjoying the ride wasn’t really on my agenda.

About half an hour out Popeye cut the engines and came and joined me down below.
‘We’re far enough out now and it’s still dark so no one’ll see us, so I reckon we get on with it here, OK?’

‘
OK by me,’ I said, ‘It’s your call. Lead on.’

Together with two of his guys, Popeye stripped back the tarpaulin and they quickly set about disposing of the bodies. The two guys picked up either end of one of the first of the sagging silent bags and balanced it in the middle on the boat
’s rail while Popeye lifted the anchor up on its chain and played it down over the side and into the water. Then Popeye let go of the chain which immediately snatched at the bag, tugging it out of the guys’ hands and tipping it over the side and into the water with a splash before disappearing in a flurry of bubbles.

‘
Very neat,’ I complimented Popeye, ‘You done this before?’

‘
Occasionally,’ he grinned.

‘
So,
tonight he sleeps with the fishes
.’