The Damage (David Blake 2) (38 page)

Kinane pushed the fire door a little harder, eased it open, stepped through and pulled it almost closed behind him, careful not to shut it entirely. Instead, he dragged a wheelie bin so that it now blocked the door and prevented it from swinging wide open. From a distance it would appear locked, but all he had to do was remove the bin and it would swing open again, enabling him to silently re-enter the building.

Behind Kinane an engine started, and a van drew slowly towards him down the side street and parked by the kerb. His son Chris was at the wheel and Kevin was sitting next to him. Kinane drew back the side door and climbed in, then closed it behind him. He took the bag his third son Peter passed him and unzipped it. He sat on the floor of the van and began to remove his dinner jacket and tie, which went into another bag, keeping it clean for later. Kinane pulled on a set of oversized overalls, then he gave the word to move. The van pulled away from the kerb.

*

Braddock eased the big Mercedes out of the garage and set off on his usual route. It was raining hard now and the roads were slick with it, the street lights reflecting back off shining pavements. He was driving too fast for the conditions, but it wouldn’t have crossed his mind to slow down. Instead, he pressed on towards the city.

Braddock was pissed off. The day had not been a success. He had started to realise that some of his crew were probably too stupid even to make money dealing drugs on the Sunnydale estate and he was perturbed by David Blake’s reaction to their little robbery. He had expected Blake to come straight down there and have it out with him, but it seemed the guy didn’t even have the balls for that, sending messages instead and skirting round the issue. It would soon be time to explain to Blake that he no longer held any influence over Sunnydale. It was Braddock’s territory now and if he could just sort out a regular supply of H from those guys in Liverpool he’d been talking to, then he would be up and running on his own in weeks. Still, he hadn’t expected it was going to be this easy.

Soon Braddock would have exactly what he wanted; complete control. Despite this, his future seemed uncertain now, and he was beginning to wonder who he could really trust in his crew. It left Braddock feeling uneasy. He knew he had been on edge – he had given Suzy a backhander when perhaps he shouldn’t have. True, she had unwisely ignored his command to get him and a couple of the guys some beers but, it had to be admitted, she was a bit out of it on some of that Dutch skunk he’d given her. Demanding for a third time ‘get…us…a…fucking…beer…Suzy!’ he’d lost his rag and clipped her one right across the chops. She recoiled like she’d been shot, then scampered straight over to the fridge, dug out three beers, pulled the tops off the bottles, handed them over to the lads and silently crept out of the flat with tears in her eyes.

She hadn’t been seen for a couple of hours. It was the first time he’d cuffed her one and, from her reaction, it was probably the first time she’d been hit by any bloke, but she would have to learn. Suzy got free board and lodging from Braddock and as much dope as she could handle. All he expected her to do in return was screw him and fetch him a beer. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask? A man like Braddock couldn’t be seen walking over to the fridge to fetch beers for guys who worked for him. It sent out the wrong signal. It sent out a worse signal if the girl he was with didn’t do what she was told
when
she was told.

It looked like she’d actually walked through the Sunnydale estate and away down the road, silly bitch. People would know that Suzy was the latest in a fairly long line of Braddock’s girls so they wouldn’t touch her, but it wasn’t the best neighbourhood for a lass to be walking through on her own. These posh girls could be bloody stupid and he made a note to take up with something a little rougher next time; something that wouldn’t question him, or ignore him, or take exception to a slap when she was clearly bang out of order. Suzy would be back, he was sure of that. She liked a bad boy too much and, realistically, where was she going to go with no job, no money and a one-fifty-a-day coke habit?

Robbie was on a pay-as-you-go phone and he used to it to dial Kinane’s equally untraceable mobile. ‘Elvis has left the building,’ he said solemnly.

‘Talk properly,’ Kinane told him, ‘this isn’t a fucking movie.’

‘Sorry,’ said Robbie, ‘vehicle sighted, heading east, into the city, as expected.’

Not just as expected, thought Robbie, but almost to the minute. Braddock had a weakness Blake had spotted. Here was a gangster who was tough and ruthless, but he went to visit his grey-haired old mum, who lived in a ground-floor flat at the other side of the city, once a week, regular as clockwork.

‘Never have a routine,’ Palmer always said, ‘that’s how they’ll know when to come after you,’ and he was right. Now Robbie was tracking the robbing little bastard who had beaten Kevin Kinane and stolen the stash, and Joe Kinane and his sons were waiting to spring the trap.

For the next five minutes, Robbie never let his eyes leave the CCTV, switching from camera to camera as Braddock’s car progressed, keeping up a running commentary involving street names, pub names and the number of the B and A roads that Braddock took, so Joe Kinane could ready himself. Occasionally Braddock’s car would disappear for a few moments when there was a gap in the network, but Robbie soon learned to anticipate the reappearance of the car and he would notify Kinane whenever he picked up the Mercedes as it crossed the city.

Braddock was halfway there when he saw her. She was all alone at the bus stop standing in the pouring rain. She didn’t even have a coat on. He pulled the car over by the side of the road and slowed to a halt beside her, but she didn’t react, still obviously furious at him. Braddock slid down the window ‘Get in,’ he told her and when she made no move towards him he frowned, ‘don’t be fucking stupid girl, it’s pissing down. I said get in.’

‘We’ve lost him,’ said Robbie.

‘What?’

‘That’s odd,’ Robbie sounded like he was talking to himself, not Kinane, ‘his c…c…car has disappeared. It should have been back on line by now and…oh…wait a minute…yeah…that’s it. G…g…got him.’

‘Keep me posted,’ ordered Kinane gruffly.

*

Phil ‘The Warrior’ Watson was dancing around his opponent, landing punches at will. The Lewisham pub brawler looked out of his depth, but he was a game lad and he stood up to the blows, before being smothered by Watson’s grip until the referee made them break. It was a strange fight. Watson seemed to be lacking his renowned punching power and he was affording his ill-matched opponent too much respect. When the bell sounded at the end of Round Three, both men were still standing.

‘What is it now?’ asked Kinane, clearly irritated by Robbie’s flustered stammer.

‘He’s d…d…diverting,’ answered the young man nervously, ‘v…v…veering off.’

‘Shit,’ answered Kinane. He hadn’t anticipated that. Palmer had chipped Braddock’s car and he had never once deviated from the usual route to his mum’s flat before, ‘where’s he going? Tell me. Hurry up.’

‘He’s heading south now. I don’t know where he’s going but if he is still off to see his mum he must be taking the s…s…scenic route.’

Kinane ordered his son to start the van and get moving. He knew Newcastle like the back of his hand and the direction Braddock was travelling in wouldn’t bring him out anywhere near the ambush they were planning.

‘Listen carefully Robbie. Tell me every street the bastard takes and don’t lose him, you hear.’

By Round Seven the crowd were getting frustrated. They expected that the north east’s best boxer since the great Glenn McCrory was going to put on a show tonight but, just when it looked like he had rocked his opponent and could move in for the kill, he seemed to lose confidence in himself and falter. The two men traded weak punches, then immediately clung onto each other, like a drunken couple at a dance. The first catcalls could be heard.

Braddock’s Mercedes came around the corner and he cursed as the lights turned to red up ahead of him at the crossroads. This wasn’t his usual route, he had diverted because of the girl, but he knew the road well enough, everyone did, and the lights here were a pain in the arse. You were always likely to be stopped by them and they took an age to change to green. He was tempted to run the red light, but he didn’t want to raise his profile any higher with the police so he slowed to a halt.

It was then that the van drew alongside him. He couldn’t see the driver and he gave it scant attention. Then he heard a metallic scraping sound and he turned to see what was going on.

As soon as the van pulled up alongside the Mercedes at the red light, the side door slid wide and the passenger door was flung open. Joe and Kevin Kinane jumped out, and ran up to Braddock’s car. Before he had time to react they raised their Beretta shotguns and pointed them at the darkened glass of the windows. Kinane couldn’t see Braddock through the tinted window but he took a grim satisfaction in knowing that the drug dealer would be able to see him alright. In fact, Joe Kinane would be the last thing Braddock ever saw.

Both men fired their shotguns at point-blank range, straight into the front and side windscreens of the Mercedes. There were two huge bangs and the accompanying sounds of shotgun rounds destroying metal and glass. The Mercedes alarm went off, adding to the din.

Kinane advanced on the car and peered in through the shattered windscreen – but any satisfaction he might have felt at Braddock’s death was instantly tempered by the sight of two bodies in the wreckage of the car.

Kinane froze, unable to believe the scene that greeted him. Kevin had already turned and run back to the van. Chris was calling his father, urging him to leave now before it was too late. Kinane took one last look at the damage the shotgun blasts had inflicted on the young woman sitting next to Braddock, then he too turned and ran back to the van.

.......................

T
hey were two-thirds through the final round when Big Auty glanced over at me and I nodded my agreement. He caught Phil Watson’s eye and nodded too. Our fighter suddenly became a different man, easily side-stepping a wild punch from the Lewisham lad, then landing three consecutive blows to the head in quick succession that knocked his opponent senseless and dropped him to the floor. The guy tried to get up but he was still on one knee when the referee counted him out.

As the crowd rose to its collective feet to acknowledge the devastating finale to the fight, banging their hands on the tables in the process, Kinane slipped silently through the drapes and back to our table, then sat down between Palmer and myself without a word. Eventually Palmer asked, ‘Well?’ and when he received no immediate answer he prompted Kinane, ‘Braddock?’

‘GNV,’ answered Kinane, but he looked a little rattled.

‘Eh?’ asked Palmer.

‘Good Night Vienna,’ Kinane told us, but he didn’t look as happy as I’d have thought he might. He lived for nights like this, which is why I needed him in my crew. ‘How’d he get on?’ Kinane asked of Watson, like he was deliberately changing the subject.

‘Textbook,’ I told him.

Kinane just nodded like he expected nothing else, then he reached for his beer and drank deeply.

‘What is it Joe?’ I demanded.

He ignored me at first, took another big glug of his beer, then set it down on the table.

‘There was a hitch,’ Kinane finally admitted. ‘He had company.’

‘What?’

Joe shook his head, ‘the car was supposed to be empty apart from him, but there was a passenger. It wasn’t easy to tell after what we did,’ he continued, ‘but I’m pretty sure it was a woman’.

‘Jesus.’ I immediately got a mental image of Suzy, the pasty little junkie who had been hanging around Braddock when we visited him in the high-rise. She might have looked like she was on a one-way trip to oblivion, but I didn’t think we’d be the ones to finish her off. ‘The poor little bitch. How the fuck did that happen?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said it in a dead voice like he couldn’t believe it either, ‘the watchers said he was on his own. I don’t know what happened.’

‘We met that poor young lass,’ I was exasperated, ‘she was a bloody civilian.’

‘A civilian shagging a drug dealer that was robbing from his supplier,’ said Kinane. ‘I’m not saying she had it coming but she got caught in the crossfire. It was his fault, not ours.’

I knew Kinane was trying to rationalise what he had just done. I couldn’t imagine how it must have felt to peer into that car and realise you’d just killed a young girl. I knew Kinane felt bad about the lass so I let it drop, even though it would increase the heat on us tenfold.

I forced myself to be the life and soul of the party that night. I laughed loudly at the celebrity comedian who came on after the fight. He was one of those nasty little fucks who mocks the old, the fat and the handicapped but does it in an oh-so-knowing and ironic way, so it’s alright really. I got to my feet to command waiters to fetch more wine and champagne, then I spent lavishly in the charity auction that was the climax of the evening, shelling out for drive days in Formula One cars, balloon rides and the shirts of former Newcastle players – and I did it all so that no one doubted I was a country mile from Braddock when he was killed.