Serious People (11 page)

Seeing a rival breed of influencing in operation now, Mickey abruptly stopped drinking his coffee. “Let’s get back to negotiations; we want a band called Wild n’ Weird.”

“Sorry, who did you say?” Fame said, clearly surprised.

“Wild n’ Weird,” Mickey repeated, a little concerned by Fame’s reaction.

“Wild n’ Weird? I’ve got many more major acts than that. I would be more than happy for…" Fame started.

“Mr. O’Neil was very specific about who he wanted,” Mickey explained.

“That’s impossible. They don’t exist any more! They split up well over ten years ago,” Fame said now looking concerned.

“But they are still one of your acts?” Mickey asked, his voice now getting harder.

“They were, but they’re not an act—full stop—anymore. Honestly, I could get you anyone of my other acts that you wanted,” Fame said, too panicked to use his influencing skills.

Mickey sat thoughtfully. “They used to be one of your acts, and I’m sure you could persuade them to get together for a couple of songs,” he said.

Fame looked back at Mickey, now crossing his arms. “It can’t be done. The singer and the guitarist hate each other. It can’t be done.” Fame finished with more steel in his voice.

“Do you know, Mr. Fame. My friend Seamus here was once a very promising young boxer,” Mickey said, giving Seamus a subtle signal.

Seamus stood up and started to roll up his shirtsleeves.

“Did you know, in one fight he knocked a guy out with his first punch!” Mickey said. Seamus now had started to swing his arms around in a warm up style.

“Look gentlemen, I don’t mean to offend anyone, but...” Fame said, starting to show his nerves.

Mickey continued, ignoring Fame’s comments. “He had a fantastically promising career—that was until they took away his license—for unreasonable violence.”

“Why did they do that? What did he do?” Fame said, almost as a reflex.

“It’s funny isn’t it. Unreasonable violence in a sport that is ultimately all about violence. But I suppose someone’s perception of something will always reign supreme at the end of the day.”

“Mr Dunne…”

“It was silly really, you see. Seamus had this annoying habit which he couldn’t get out of. He couldn’t help but always aim several of his punches at a guy’s groin…” Mickey said wickedly. “I mean, with Queensberry rules and all, they go down as low blows. But I suppose refs don’t see everything, and if you could get a few away, they’d probably start to do the trick if you know what I mean?”

Fame grimaced. Fear is the blunt instrument of influence, but the potential of pain can be a lot more potent. 

“So, this one time he actually dislodged a guy’s testicle sack,” Mickey said, ensuring he kept eye contact with the showbiz manager throughout. He could see Fame’s eyes widening. “The truly amazing thing though, is actually how much damage your testicles can endure before detaching. I mean the aim Seamus had was truly remarkable…”

Fame jumped to his feet. “I can do it!”

“Really? But you were saying it was impossible?” Mickey enquired innocently.

“It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll do anything for you gentlemen. Friends mean everything to me,” Fame tried to say with confidence. “And it’s very important to me that Mr O’Neil sees me as a friend. I mean, the two main guys, they do hate each other. But I’m sure a man of my talents could do something as a favour for Mr. O’Neil.” 

“Good,” Mickey said with a wicked smile.

“Right, shall I get back to you once I’ve got them all back together. I was thinking about a month or so?” Fame said, opening a diary on his desk. “We’d have to track them all down…”

“You can track them down tomorrow.” Mickey said standing up.

“Wait a minute, I have a full diary tomorrow and…” Fame started desperately.

“Mrs O’Neil’s party is at the end of the week. It could be perceived a little insulting that you want to put off this job until after the party,” Mickey said solemnly.

There was a momentary silence. Mickey didn’t doubt that Max Fame had other things to do over the next few days, things that were probably going to bring in money. Mickey could empathise with the frustration that this situation might bring. But Fame knew that he had to do what Mickey had asked and also knew it was going to cost him money. When you work for Charlie O’Neil that was not a situation Mickey was used to being in himself; but he was well used to watching another within one. 

“Right, tomorrow it is then,” Fame said, faking a smile back at Mickey.

Mickey turned to Seamus. “Come on. We should let Mr. Fame get on with clearing his diary.”

“Hey why don’t you show Mr. Fame some of your vocals, see what he thinks,” Seamus asked Mickey. “He’s always looking for new talents in show business.”

“Seamus,” Mickey snapped. “You only talk when I tell you to!”

“Let me guess,” said Early, addressing his new boss. “The Guv just gave you the speech about keeping balance in the criminal world; how our role is to manage the chaos through sustainable leadership in their world?”

Khan shrugged.

“You should listen to the Guv. There’s nothing more important than staying safe in this job,” he continued.

“DS Early, it’s important you know I am now your Guv,” Khan replied. “You report to me.”

Early was taken back for a moment, he had already got the vibe that the woman sat in front of him got a buzz from playing a bitch; but he wasn’t expecting her to bite so soon.

“Tell me all you know about Charlie O’Neil,” Khan asked.

DS Early understood what he was getting with Khan. Fast tracked super cop, ticking every fair recruitment box there was. She was female, Asian and—who knows—probably even a lesbian. Yeah, this girl would go far. There had been many times down the years that, if he’d had to report into someone like this, he would made it his mission in life to make their life hell. Like most employers whose employees number in the thousands, bullying was systematic throughout the MET. But where it differed from the commercial industry was the bullying would often go upwards.

Early had watched several of his bosses down the years have to take abuse from his level. Scores of senior officers disappeared on stress leave and nowhere was it more acute an issue than in high-flying teams like SOCA or The Flying Squad. And this was where the real coppers were. They had no time for fools above them; let alone the fast tracked fools. Special things were generally lined up for these ones.

This was exactly what Hawkins had asked him to do. “Give ‘er some of the old school treatment, she’s not one of us. She’s not earned her place on the team.”

Now, had this been five years ago, Early would have just followed Hawkins’ instructions to the letter and probably enjoyed it. But as it was he couldn’t be asked. He was out of here soon, he’d been gone. He’d used his sick leave wisely and secured a nice little place on the Algarve. A bit of sun, a choice of golf courses… it was going to be heaven. Frankly, all he had to do between now and then was to play the game and watch his work days seep away.

He was going to just listen to what this little lady had to say, offer his advice where he could, and make sure he didn’t have to leave his desk too much. Top priority was to clock off on time every day. That was the plan.

He watched the young Detective Inspector, with wide excited eyes, looking at the monitor that displayed Charlie O’Neil’s record and previous case history. He was pretty sure this was as near to police work as she’d got by this point in her career, which previously would have been more than enough to piss him off. But not now. Now he only needed to think of his brand new apartment in Albufeira and he had instant serenity.

“So, tell me everything you know about O’Neil,” Khan repeated impatiently.

“Everything you need to know will be on there, Guv. There’s probably not much more to add to it,” Early replied.

He grabbed his coffee and took a long slurp. These days he averaged three coffees a day. He tried to space them out, so that they became something to look forward to and break up the boredom of the day. Indeed, he kept thinking he should try and work out, on that basis, how many coffees he had left until he finished and his police career was complete. He could then keep score on a post-it note by his PC and count down the end of his thirty year sentence.

“I have read these files countless times; it’s useless I need real information,” Khan snapped. “You’re meant to know this stuff; you’ve had years on the serious crime squad. That’s why you’ve been put with me!”

No luv, why I’ve been put with you is to slow you down, to keep you out of the boss’ hair. At best to appease you and at worst stitch you up.

Early looked at her for a moment. Despite his new found fondness for doing nothing and just playing the game, he wanted to say it to her, to set her straight. But he couldn’t risk setting the cat among the pigeons, which might rock his comfortable and stable world.

“I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Hawkins like you today Guv,” Early said, giving her an approving nod. “Bloody impressive.”

Khan started scrolling through the screen. “What are you doing here Detective Sergeant?”

“Excuse me?” Early answered.

“Why are you a police officer?” Khan said, turning away from the screen to look at Early.

“You know, the normal reasons… salary, pension, job security,” Early replied. “And it can be interesting sometimes.”

“What about keeping the streets safe? Ensuring people are protected? Making sure there’s retribution for people that break the law?” Khan said, with a note of disgust in her voice.

Early didn’t react to the senior officer's questions; he had no appetite for an argument and thought that would be the outcome of speaking his mind. Her words only worked to confirm in his mind what Khan was—a very green student of law—one who had no experience of the real world and of the greyness of good and bad.

“So why are you in the job, Guv? You seem like an intelligent lady. I’m thinking you’ve been to university. You could have your pick of jobs; so why join the force?”

“Do you know Southall, Early?” Khan said, walking to the coffee machine that was tucked into the corner of the small room they were in. It occurred to Early to ask her for another coffee, but he’d already had three today and he didn’t want to bust his daily quota.

“Yeah of course. Not that well but I could get around there,” Early shrugged.

“Do you remember the fire bomb attacks, back in ninety five?” Khan said sharply.

Early rubbed the stubble under his chin. “Yeah, God that was years ago now. It was in some Pak…” Early stopped himself quickly, remembering his audience and noticing Khan’s eyes narrow momentarily. “…Some corner shop wasn’t it?”

“Yes DS Early. That Packie shop was my Uncle’s,” Khan said, holding the DS’s stare, clearly feeling his discomfort.

Early looked at his feet. “Sorry Guv.”

Khan took a cup from the coffee machine and returned to her seat, not offering him a drink.

“It was some Nazi skin head group wasn’t it?” Early said, now looking back at Khan.

“I was ten years old. Do you know how scared something like that can make you? It was then I decided; you couldn’t rely on anyone else looking out for you. You've got to do it yourself,” Khan finished, returning her gaze to the computer.

Early reached across and switched the monitor off that Khan was looking at.

“I first heard the names, O’Neil and Payne, when I was working with Flying Squad back in the late eighties,” he began.   

“Ok,” Khan replied, desperate to get to the meat of the story.

“I’d been around the block a bit already by then; knew most the key players. Anyway, back in the eighties, no one had heard of these guys at all. They were just another bunch of names. At the time, we were looking into these strings of armed robberies though. These guys had a real nasty m.o. They would make a point of going in with guns and then beating the shit out of one of the waiting customers, using the back of a weapon or their fists. You know, get people’s attention; get the old fear brewing in people’s minds.”

“Real nice guys,” Khan replied, now engrossed by Early’s story.

“Yeah, real clever bastards. You see it got into all the papers—scared the shit out of the public the way they were targeting innocent customers in the banks,” Early continued.

“I imagine,” Khan nodded.

“So, naturally, every bank became very sensitive that these guys were beating the shit out of their customers,” Early said.

“Not good for their customer friendly reputations, I guess,” Khan said, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, instead of following their normal security protocols, if these guys were to storm in, the banks briefed their staff to deal with them as quickly as possible; you know get them out immediately, before they had a chance to kick in one of their precious customers. It was unbelievable. We didn’t stand a chance to catch the criminals. Do you know—they were turning around a robbery in about two and half minutes in their hay day?”

“I don’t get it. How did the banks know it was them when they came in?” asked Khan.

“Oh yeah, I’m forgetting their—what would you call it—branding. The wankers always walked into these places with these Halloween masks and Republic of Ireland football shirts on. So believe me, the banks knew when these guys walked in.” Early said, shaking his head at the memory.

Khan looked back at the blank computer screen, confounded. “I didn’t see anything about this on the files.” 

“That’s because we had nothing to put on them—not a bloody scrap of evidence. Do you know that one day, these cheeky gits came into our local boozer. They were even wearing bloody Ireland football shirts!” Early chuckled. “Seriously, a boozer full of coppers and those gits sat there supping their pints. It was as if they’d just took the masks off after having done another bank job. Unbelievable!”

“But why would they do that?” Khan asked. “What did they have to gain?”

“It’s their world Guv. In the criminal underworld, it’s like a league table sometimes. It’s all about being on top. If you ain’t being chased down by us, you’d be getting chased down by one of your bigger rivals and—let me tell you—that little drink down the pub… that would have moved them right up the table. I’m sure every firm this side of Manchester heard about that one.”

“How much did they make from the robberies?” Khan asked.

“Well, by the end the whole situation had turned into a real PR thing for the banks; it became like a competition between them. They were all busy announcing that their customers came first—before any money. They became the ones almost exaggerating the money that they’d lost in the protection of their customers,” Early said, smiling. “These guys were clever. I dunno what they’d really got in all. Maybe a few mill? Who’s to know for sure. But if you listened to the propaganda from the different banks you’d be sure it was much more than that.”

Early stopped and looked at his watch; it was after five and well past the time that he normally clocked off. He got up, picked up the overcoat that was hanging off the back of his chair, and put it on over his scruffy suit.

“So? What happened next?” Khan said, almost like a small child would at the premature end to a story.

“Guv its gone five; have you not got a home to go to? I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow,” Early replied.

Khan looked back at the computer monitor, trying to hide her disappointment, and on seeing this Early slunk into the chair. Got to keep the world steady, he thought, keep it steady until he gets to the Algarve.

“OK, well this will be the quick version,” Early conceded. “After the bank robberies, there was nothing. It was like in the movies or something; we thought they must have gone to live in the Bahamas with their suitcases of money. But a few years later,
O’Neil &Payne Logistics
appeared on the scene. It was a haulage company, specialising in routes to North and Central America. They had a couple of ships and some small planes.”

“I bet customs were all over them,” Khan questioned.

“Well you’d think so, but they seemed to be legit. The only reason we even knew about their operations at all, was because one day, after one of their lorries drove past us, we were intrigued and looked into it. Really and truly, we’ve never been able to link them to anything. They’re nothing more than names who get rolled out from time to time. You know how it is. You bring in some scroat and they claim that they work for a guy who works for a guy who reports into the big man Charlie O’Neil,” Early said, looking for an opportunity to make his own exit.

“You’re telling me, some gangsters have set up a big haulage business that operates in the Americas—and we can’t find anything on them,” Khan asked, exasperated.

“Trouble is Guv, you’re calling them gangsters, when there is precious evidence backing up that statement. Believe me, we tore their trucks and planes apart for a couple a months about ten years ago, almost on a daily basis, but we found nothing. Less than nothing. They were so apparently clean that some of us got to thinking they had only got into that business together as a big piss take, two fingers to Scotland Yard,” Early said.

“But they’re still the big names on the street.”

“That statement there, is complete conjecture Guv.”

“Well that explains why I can’t find anything worthwhile on the system,” Khan said, annoyed.

“The only way you’ll hear a decent story about those boys is if you pop into one of the boozers around London. They’re like the modern-day Krays. Every small-time criminal wants to be associated with them and throw their names around; but you’ll find nothing that sticks.”

“So what, they just get to get on with it? What about all those poor people that you said they beat up in the banks. Do the victims not get any justice?” Khan said, impassioned.

“Listen Guv; no one gave up on those cases. But some cases just don’t get results. It’s as simple as that,” Early replied. “I’m sure there are other things we could be looking at. There're a lot of cases out there you could be making your name on.”