The Amen Cadence

The Amen Cadence

Border City Blues: FOUR

By J J Salkeld

HERRINGBONE Press

© copyright J J Salkeld, 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover photograph by R F Simpson

Cover art by Michaela Waddell,
www.verityproductions.biz

St Hugh’s Primary School, Carlisle.

2.58pm, Friday 5th June

Ben Wilson had been at school long enough to understand how it worked. In the last half hour before the afternoon bell the teachers pretended to teach, and the kids pretended to listen. That way there was no hassle. But his new teacher, Miss Rapley, was different. She was nice, but she expected you to listen, and to work, right up to the bell. His mum had been to the parents’ evening the week before, and when she came home she kept going on about how fantastically great Miss Rapley was, and didn’t he agree? He said that he did, but cautiously, and as it turned out that was the right answer, because he’d won himself an extra fifteen minutes on his new computer game that evening. And a good report at the end of term might even bring him a new bike. His mum had more or less said as much.

The sun was streaming into the classroom, and even his desk was getting properly hot. He couldn’t remember that happening before. But Ben wasn’t feeling drowsy, even though Miss Rapley was going on about how amazing the earth was or something, because in a few minutes time he’d be out on the back field behind his street, playing football with his mates. His mum was at work, the same as always, so he’d just go back to Darren’s house with him and his mum, have a drink and a biscuit, and then they’d get straight out there. Ben wasn’t particularly good at football, they all called him a goal-hanger, but that didn’t matter. Because he wasn’t going to be a professional footballer when he grew up. He was going to be a musician, like Justin. You couldn’t beat the life, Justin always said, and even his mum seemed to agree. And she hardly ever agreed with Justin any more. Not that they saw him much these days, anyway.

Ben wondered what had happened to the bell, perhaps the speaker had bust again, so he listened really hard, in case it was already ringing in another classroom. He wasn’t a teacher’s pet, far from it, but he’d be happy to let Miss know if he heard it, like. The seconds stretched out, he watched the dust particles dance in the sunlight, and a couple of times he convinced himself that the classroom clock at the front of the room had actually stopped. He’d learned to tell the time the term before, and it was certainly a useful skill to have.

Miss Rapley was still talking about dolphins and stuff when the bell finally sounded, but from that word onwards she was wasting her breath. The room went from silent to tumultuous in one single syllable. Ben was already up and scraping back his chair, and Darren was shouting something at him from three desks away. Ben couldn’t hear, because there was so much noise, and there was nothing that Miss Rapley could do about it any more. Those were the rules, after all. When the bell sounded school was over, no matter what.

Ben didn’t run along the corridor, because a telling off would cost him time, but still only four or five boys made it out of the main door and out, onto the baking playground, before he did. It was a perfect football afternoon, warm and still, and he glanced up at the blue sky, going on forever and ever. He ran towards the gate, and when he was through looked for Darren’s mum. He couldn’t see her, so he turned back towards the school, looking for his mate instead. Bigger kids were in the way, and so were a couple of mums with buggies and back packs, so he couldn’t see. But Darren wouldn’t be long. Not on a day like this he wouldn’t.

Ben made for the gate again, and he turned when he heard his name being called. It was a man, who he didn’t recognise.

‘Ben Wilson?’

Ben nodded, uncertain if he should say anything.

‘I’ve got a message for your mum, lad.’

‘OK’.

‘Tell her, anytime. Just say anytime. You got that?’

Ben nodded again. ‘Anytime.’

‘Aye. That’s it. Don’t you forget, son. And I’ll be seeing you again, OK?’

The man turned before Ben could say anything else, and disappeared among the crowd of parents and push chairs. And the boy couldn’t move to follow him, because of the rapture, the tsunami of joy that he was feeling. He’d known this moment was coming, felt it for months, and now it had. He’d just seen his dad, it had to be him, and he’d told him that he’d see Ben again. When adults said that, they meant it. His dad was coming back, and that was all that mattered. His mum said he never would, but his mum was wrong. She didn’t know his dad like Ben did.

Conference room, the new hotel, Carlisle city centre

Monday, 15th June, 10.30am

Dai Young watched, amused, as Tania Ferris’s man finished sweeping the room for the second time. He’d told the bloke, twice, that they could have used his own offices if he was so worried, because they were swept weekly. The bloke had shrugged the first time he’d mentioned it, and said that he was just doing his job the second. Young didn’t like his tone, and said so, but the bloke didn’t looked like he cared. That would soon change when he was in charge, thought Young, pouring himself a coffee.

And what was all the bloody fuss about, anyway? It was only Tania Ferris who was coming today, and she was nothing more than the boy’s bloody bean counter, keeping track of the firm’s legitimate business interests. What she wanted the room swept for, Young had no idea. Just playing at the gangster job. He was just about to make this very point to the bloke with the laptop and the fancy sensors, but noticed that he had a pair of headphones on now, the bastard.

When Tania finally came in Young knew he’d been absolutely right about her. She was a small, elegant woman, and she didn’t look anything like her brothers. Mind you, she hadn’t been bare-knuckle boxing, for love and money, since she was eight. In fact, if someone had told Young that she was French he’d have believed them, right up until she opened her mouth. Because the accent was pure Peckham. The two middle-aged men with her sounded more like posh politicians though, and they both looked like their idea of a bundle was nipping in front of some other toff in the taxi queue after the opera. They were crooks all right, Young had no doubts about that, but not the sort who ever went go to jail.

He hadn’t been allowed to bring his own book-keeper, so the first half hour of the meeting was uncomfortable for Dai Young. The one who looked most like David Cameron, or maybe it was Nick Clegg, did most of the talking. And although he didn’t say it outright - he didn’t say anything outright - the message was clear enough. The legit businesses under Young’s control were doing badly, all of them, and things were getting steadily worse.

Young offered the few excuses that he’d prepared earlier. They mainly centred around the assertion that it really was grim up north. ‘It’s more northern shit-house than northern powerhouse up here,’ and he fully expected that remark to raise a few smiles. He was wrong. And when the other bloke, the one who’d barely done more than lift his coffee cup to his mouth for his £200 an hour, said that the numbers simply weren’t good enough, Young knew that he’d had enough.

It was time for a few home fucking truths. Because even if the restaurants, the taxi firm, the nightclubs, the lap dancing bar and even the transport job weren’t doing that well, they all knew that the bent businesses were more than making up for it. It just seemed they couldn’t talk about it. In particular the retail drug business, including the
smorgasbord
of ‘legal highs’ that they now offered locally, had enjoyed a record month in May, and Young was proud of that.

‘Look, Tania’, he said. ‘We both know that this isn’t the end of the world, like. You’ve got to look at the bigger picture….’

‘Stop, Dai. Not another word, with our friends present. Charles and Guy, would you give us a minute?’

The two men stood and turned away, leaving their laptops open on the table and their coffee cups cooling on their saucers. They couldn’t get out fast enough. Dai smiled across the table at Tania as the door closed, and quickly regretted it.

‘Now listen here, you twat. I pay those two chinless wonders a bloody fortune to know everything about one half of our business, and fuck all about the rest. And they’re not daft either, so they never ask any awkward questions. Because they both know that if we even suspected that they knew anything about the rest of what we do, anything at all, they’d be as good as dead. Even the the cops would get it all out of them in five minutes, wouldn’t they? So you never say another word, not even a hint, about our other businesses when civilians are present. Do you understand me?’

‘Aye, I get you. Sorry, Tania, it won’t happen again. But I just thought you only looked after, you know, the straight stuff. All the legit jobs, like.’

Tania Ferris smiled for the first time. It was an elegant smile. She really did look convincingly French, or maybe even Italian, just for a moment.

‘Don’t be such a stupid fucker, Dai. That’s just what we let people think, ain’t it? Because when my big brothers go down for murder or manslaughter or some shit, which they will, then it’ll be me who takes over, you get me?’ She caught the look of surprise on his face. ‘What, you thought it would be you? Fat chance, son. For a start this business stays in the family, always. And anyway, you’ll be dead and gone long before the boys finally get put away, won’t you? ‘Course you will, son. In your line of work, you don’t need a fucking pension plan. Spend, spend, spend, that’s the only way.’

Young nodded, and smiled. It seemed to be for the best. ‘Seize the day, eh?’

‘Make like a mayfly, son, that’s what you should do. But you listen to me now, and you listen well, unless you want your day in the sun to be over a good bit sooner than you expected. All right?’ Young nodded. ‘Good. See, I know that the bent businesses are all doing well, and you’ve done a good job there, don’t get me wrong. You’re not stealing from us either, which proves you’re not quite as stupid as you fucking look. But all that good work will go straight down the shitter if you don’t keep all the straight businesses ticking over nicely. Because you can’t launder all that bent cash through failing straight operations, can you? It just don’t work. So all you have to do is keep the legit businesses looking clean enough to stop the law or those HMRC bastards bringing a prosecution. Because that way we’re golden. After all, if a dealer or a pimp gets nicked, who really gives a shit? There’s always a queue of wannabes and wankers ready to take their place. That’s why it’s called organised crime, son. We organise it, and the little people go to jail for us when they have to. But get one of our straight businesses fucked over, and it’ll be my money you’ll be losing. And I won’t have that, right?’

‘Right. I’ll get straight on to it. Roll my sleeves up, like.’

‘You do that. And just so we’re clear, mate. We only have one friendly little chat like this, just the one. Because if things don’t improve then we’ll send a new area manager up here, and you’ll be retired. That’s retired, as in chopped into little tiny pieces, liquidised, and buried at sea from a bucket.’

‘I’m on it, right now.’

‘Good, and remember that these days this whole business is all about cross-selling. That’s what they call it, you know. The kind of mug punter who come into the clubs, we make sure that we take their money for drugs too. They do something stupid with one of our girls we get cash, or info, from them later, yeah? That’s cross-selling, mate.’

Young rose to go, thinking that business school was over, but Tania Ferris gestured for him to sit down again.

‘You only fuck off when I tell you to fuck off, yeah?’

Young tried to smile, and sat down again. He could kill this bitch before she could make a fucking sound, and even if her minders got him when he stepped out into the corridor it would be worth it. Almost.

‘We’ve got other shit to discuss, before I get the suits back in here. First, what are you doing about this Davey Hood?’

‘Who?’

‘Don’t try that shit with me, you dick. You think your boys only work for you? Of course they fucking don’t. They’re criminals, so of course you can’t trust them, mate. They work for me, so if it happens up here in fuck-knows-where, I fucking know about it. So, anyway, what are you doing about this Hood bloke?’

‘We torched his place. He got the message.’

Tania Ferris’s small, manicured and moisturised hand came down hard on the table. Her coffee cup jumped out of its saucer, landed side on, and the dregs splashed across the table towards Young. Neither of them moved to clean up the mess.

‘Bollocks. Fuck that. And they said you were a hard man, Dai. Fucking old school, that’s what they said. So he has to suffer, this Davey Hood, and his family has to pay too, for ever fucking with us. And you do know what I mean by suffer, don’t you mate?’

Young nodded, and try to hold eye contact with Tania afterwards. Suddenly it seemed really important to impress her.

‘Good. This isn’t fucking amateur hour, mate. So just get it done, and soon. Now, let’s talk about the filth. It’s sweet about your little girlfriend still having the hots for you, and stalking you and all that, but it’s bad for business. What are you doing about it?’

‘I’ve sent her a message, don’t you worry.’

‘What, like a Valentine’s card? You know you can’t ever hurt her, don’t you? It’s off limits, always. What? No, don’t you look at me like that, Dai, all fucking surprised, because you know the rules as well as I do. Listen, mate, it’s so simple to sort. You’ve got someone in place up here in sheep-shagger central’s cop shop, haven’t you?’

‘Aye, but…’

‘No buts, mate. Use your bent copper to piss on this tart’s chips. Having your bloke whisper in the kid’s shell-like, that was just fucking stupid, even assuming that you wouldn’t ever have actually gone through with it, and lifted the kid.’

‘I might have.’

‘You’d be fucking dead if you ever did that. I’d have had you sliced in half like a dead pig, and both bits of your body dumped on the steps of the cop shop. Pulling that sort of stupid stroke would just draw all the heat that the coppers can still generate onto our whole operation, north and south, and what would you actually have achieved, eh? You think your lads were really going to kidnap and kill a six year old kid? For fuck’s sake, use your brain, mate. And that copper’s a proper tough nut, isn’t she? One of us, in a way. All you’ve done is show out now, and given her a fucking reason, like she really needed one. So from now on, use your head, mate, while it’s still attached to your spine. Sort this lot out, and do as I say, or you’re for the chop. And I mean that quite fucking literally.’

‘But you can’t…’

Tania Ferris smiled. ‘Can’t what? You think you could have me for unfair dismissal? Unfair dismemberment, more like. Look, mate, I know we run the whole operation like a straight business, wherever the money really comes from, but that’s not what it’s really about. I wouldn’t want you to misunderstand that. In the end, it’s still exactly like it was in my grand-dad’s time. Rule by fear, and last man standing scoops the pool, yeah? And let me tell you something, that man - or woman - will always, always be a Ferris. But I know what you’re thinking, mate. You’re thinking that you could be over that table and with your hands round my neck in two seconds flat.’

‘I’m not…’

‘And you wouldn’t be the first. The thing is that I know you’re not armed, Dai, but I am. You’d have a dum-dum bullet ripping your guts to shreds before you’d even messed with my make-up. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. I don’t give a shit about you, Dai, because you’re just so easy to replace. I’ve got boys down south who are so fucking hungry that they’d chew their own kids’ faces off if they thought it would get them ahead in this game. So you’ve got three months to get things on track, yeah?’

‘Aye, all right.’

‘Good. Now, I’m going to call Pinky and Perky back in, and they’re going to tell you precisely how much you need to make for us over the next quarter, through the legitimate businesses. So you listen carefully, yeah? My brothers, the stupid bastards, reckon that you’ve got something about you, Dai. Well, let’s see if they’re actually right, for once.’

Young tried to listen through the rest of the meeting, but he kept thinking about how he could kill Tania. But it was just a daydream. And he didn’t have a clue what the two blokes were talking about, most of the time, anyway.

When it was over she was out of there fast, and Young sat for a while, on his own. He should have realised that the Ferris boys couldn’t run an operation like this. How hadn’t he spotted it before? It was so obvious. The old man wasn’t running the business anymore, and word was that he had his hands full to overflowing, what with his latest twenty-something wife. So it had to be Tania. She had to be the one calling the shots.

Ten minutes later, when Young walked down to reception, Tania and her crew were long gone. Like they’d never even been in Carlisle. Sid and Terry were waiting for him, looking as expectant and hopeful as two fat labradors at tea time. Christ, they were stupid. Tania had those ex-special forces types with her, blokes you hardly noticed most of the time, and his guys looked like exactly what they were: ex-nightclub bouncers in crap suits, which couldn’t have looked any cheaper if they’d actually been made out of pound shop carrier bags.

‘Where’s the boy?’ said Young, as he approached.

‘Just bringing the Merc round, boss.’

Young started walking fast, but stopped when he reached the tall, glass door.

‘Get the fucking door, for me one of you,’ he said.

When he got outside the car wasn’t there, and he was just about to turn round to Sid when he saw it, nosing out of the junction to the right. And as the car stopped he could see the damage to the nearside rear wing.

‘I’m sorry, Dai,’ said Micky, running round from the driver’s side to open the door for Young. ‘I was in a hurry. You know, to come and get you.’

‘What did you hit?’

‘A bin.’

‘A fucking wheely bin did all that damage? Are you taking the piss, son?’

‘Not a wheely bin, Dai. It was one of those big catering-sized bastards. Metal, it was.’

Young didn’t say anything as they drove. His mouth was dry, and the town, his town, suddenly looked small, and mean, and cheap. He’d noticed it when he’d first come back; the crap clothes, the tacky shops, the bad teeth, the lazy eyes, but somehow he’d got used to it all again. And that had been his mistake. Well there’d be some changes now, and he was the man to make them. The poor would pay, and the rich would keep out of his fucking way, or there’d be trouble.