Heavy Duty Attitude (25 page)

‘Time? Make it eight? OK?
‘And you can guarantee Kev as well?’
There was a pause, before, ‘Good. See you then.’
And he hung up.
‘Will they be there?’ asked Wibble.
‘They’ll be there,’ Bob said confidently.
‘Both?’

‘Both of them? Yes, Noddy and Leeds Kev’ll be there. Noddy’s just told me not to worry about it, he’ll make it happen.’

 

I had been right. Bob had been calling The Mohawks P and had arranged to see him and his ex Dead Men Riding VP.

‘Sure? We need to make sure we get the top guys from both sides.’ ‘I’m certain. Noddy knows me and he knows not to fuck about with me.’ Wibble seemed to consider this for a moment, ‘Well, you’d better be right.’ ‘I’m right. Just wait and see.’

*

 

‘So how about matey boy here?’ asked Wibble, as they both turned to look at me.

‘What him?’ grinned Bob, ‘Oh yes, he’s OK, I did it like you asked. I’ve planted stuff on the files. It shows he’s tight with you guys. Photos of the support patch, everything.

‘If he ever wants to write anything that’s out of line or you just want to set him up to take the rap for something for the club, then the stuff on file will give it the right background.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah. It’s all good stuff. I’ve even got bits in there showing he’s been snitching on you to me, so it’s covered from all angles. Photos, reports, tapes, transcripts, the works.’

Fuck it, transcripts! That confirmed it, the bastard had been bugging my phone.

‘Good,’ nodded Wibble approvingly.
‘You want me to talk to him?’ asked Bob.
‘Yeah, you might as well.’

I yelled as Bob ripped the tape from across my mouth, taking it felt like a day’s worth of stubble with it.

 

‘Have you brought the pictures?’ Wibble asked.

‘Yeah, here, these are copies of some of what I’ve got on file. Have a look at the happy snaps,’ he said reaching down into the briefcase on the floor and handing over a file fished out of it, ‘the surveillance boys got some good ones.’

‘Hmm…’ said Wibble, as he started to flick through, ‘…nice. ‘Hey, what did I tell you?’ he said smiling as he flicked one of the 8 by 10s around so I could see it.

It was a bit of a grainy shot but it, and the next ones he flicked round in rapid succession were clear enough photographs of me arriving at his table at the services, shaking his hand, and sitting down to talk.

‘Hey they’ve got you and Bung’s good side haven’t they?’ Wibble joked as a glossy picture of the huge tattooed biker serving me my latte flashed past my eyes.

‘Didn’t know he had one,’ said Bob.

 

‘See?’ Wibble said, ignoring him, ‘I told you some fucker would be at it. The only thing you didn’t know was that it would be these cunts.’ ‘So you knew there’d be cameras there?’ I exclaimed.

 

‘Don’t be fucking stupid. Of course I knew the snappers would be there at the services. That was why we met there.’

 

‘It was all part of you setting me up was it you bastard?’ I spat at Bob.

‘He’s catching on isn’t he?’ mocked Bob looking over Wibble’s shoulder at the file. ‘There’s some early ones, they got him talking to Scroat outside your place before the run. And then there’s the funeral…’

‘Ah sweet,’ said Wibble stopping on a shot and then flicking it across for me to see myself standing side on beside a line of outlaw Harleys, ‘they’ve got a good one of your support flash there haven’t they?’

‘Yeah, LLH&R,’ Bob mocked.

*
‘Why?’ I asked.

Bob looked at me like I was some kind of an idiot and leant forward and down to speak straight into my face.

 

‘The money of course, you twat. That’s what it’s all about these days, isn’t it? You ought to know that.’

Behind him, over his shoulder, I saw Wibble casually raise his arm up. There was a sharp crack and a spray of blood and brains exploded into my face as the suddenly dead weight of Bob’s lifeless body collapsed, slumping heavily down first against me where I was tied to the chair, and then flopped sickeningly sideways onto to the ground, the back of his head a mess of hair, blood and splintered bone.

As I sat open mouthed and dripping, Wibble stepped forward and prodded the body with his boot, the snub nosed revolver in his hand casually covering the lifeless form while he made sure Bob was dead.

There was no need for a second bullet. The first shot had been just into the back of his head behind his right ear and angled slightly upwards as he was bending down to talk to me. It had blown a hole in the top of his skull above the other ear on the way out.

From just six inches or so behind him when he had fired, there was no way that Wibble could have missed.

Despite that, deliberately and calmly he fired another bullet into the body where it lay with blood oozing out onto the pale carpet, and then another into the arm of the sofa on the other side of the room. It was as if he wanted to make a gift of ballistics evidence to whatever SOCO eventually got the shout here.

Christ, he’s dropped him was all I could think, as I sat there stiff with shock. And then I looked up at Wibble. The gun still casually in his hand. And then I thought, Oh shit.

I was still having trouble processing what I had just seen, the way Wibble had just casually shot him execution style.

Shot him dead.
Killed.
In front of me.

Shock is a weird thing. In my experience, at least, you disassociate from the reality of the moment, you become a distanced observer, and you have almost an out of body experience as you see yourself and your situation, while at the same time, you fixate on the smallest things. It must be the brain’s way of coping I guess.

And in my shock, all I could think about was to ask myself what Bob had meant by one of the first things he had said to me when he arrived. It was a small nugget of a puzzle on which my brain focused.
And you did your bit too sunny Jim, didn’t you? Printed what you were told to print like a good boy didn’t you?

 

What was it that I had printed in one of my pieces that had come from him?

And the only thing I could really think of was the story that the Cambridge crew had been responsible for starting all this shit. Was that what he had meant?

But if Bob and Wibble had deliberately fed me with that, was everything that had happened since a set up?

 

*

Reaching down to me Wibble grabbed hold of my right hand where it was bound by my wrist to the arm of the chair. Before I could realise what he was doing he had forced the butt of the gun against my hand, using his other hand to press my fingers around it, wrapping it all in my fingerprints before placing it carefully in to a Tesco’s carrier bag on the coffee table.

All the bikers I’d seen using this place had always been wearing gloves. Bob and I were the only people who’d ever been here without as far as I could tell. So when it came to dabs, mine would be the only ones around.

That’s it I thought. There’s no way I am walking away from this as a live witness now.

 

I knew too much.

 

And three can keep a secret.
12 Blood in, blood out

Wibble didn’t seen too fussed about bothering to take me back to the cell so I just sat there while at my feet Bob’s blood and brains slowly soaked into the filthy carpet.

Instead he wrote a number out on a scrap of piece of paper and once again forced my fingertips onto it before screwing it up and dropping it into a baggie which he slipped into his pocket.

*

The others arrived that evening. They came together as a group and I guessed they’d all travelled in one car which meant that they had to be very sure the flat was safe and not under surveillance by either the cops or The Mohawks. But then they could be sure of that sort of thing couldn’t they, thanks to the late Bob’s services.

Toad and Scoat I was expecting, it was the sight of the striker Charlie that was the surprise, Wibble had been so specific that this flat was for full patches only so I wondered what he was doing here with them.

No one seemed to be at all phased at the sight of the dead body of the copper on the floor, or of me taped to a chair as they automatically instructed Charlie as a striker to fix them drinks from the kitchen.

Either they really weren’t bothered or they were expecting to see it. Whichever way you read it, it didn’t feel like good news.

 

*

 

But before they did anything else, Wibble had an announcement to make so he called the small group of bikers to order.

 

‘Now, there’s one important thing we need to talk about. As I think we all know, Charlie here’s twenty-one tomorrow.’

 

There was a round of murmurs and jokes which Wibble waved down good naturedly.

 

‘So we all know what that means don’t we?’

There was another round of noise and then Wibble turned to focus directly on Scroat as the rest fell silent, whilst beside him Charlie stiffened in sudden anticipation.

‘Scroat, you’ve been his sponsor,’ asked Wibble quietly, ‘so formally it’s your shout, so I’ve gotta ask you the question. Is it time?’
Scroat glanced across at Charlie, who was now staring straight ahead. If he’d known how to stand to attention I guess he’d have been the pride of a sergeant major’s parade ground, and then Scroat looked back straight into Wibble’s eyes.

There was a hushed pause as everyone waited for him to speak. In their world, whoever the candidate might be, this was one of the key life changing moments for all involved, not just for the striker who was going to be put up, or their sponsor who was putting his reputation, and ultimately even his patch on the line for doing so; but for every member of the club who were potentially going to acquire a new brother to love, support and ultimately rely on.

LLH&R I thought suddenly.
LLH&R. This was what it was all about.

‘For anyone else his age? No fucking way!’ said Scroat eventually, and then his face cracked into an unaccustomed expression which I worked out had to equate to Scroat’s nearest approximation to a smile.

‘But for Charlie? Yeah, no question. He’s got the stuff alright.’

At that there was an immediate outburst of cheering and backslapping for the now grinning and red-faced Charlie together with assurances that he’d make it and not to worry about the formal vote as it was a cert, while above the noise I heard Wibble asking somewhat superfluously, ‘OK then, his sponsor is up for it. Any objections before it goes forward?’

And then he said something odd that I hadn’t been expecting.
‘How ’bout you Toad? After all, this affects you the most I guess?’

‘No chance,’ came an answering growl, ‘it’s cool by me. ‘This was always the deal and I’m happy to stand by my part in it. Christ, man, I know it’s an honour and all but as I always said, I never wanted the fucking aggro anyway. I’m happier being a soldier than an officer any day.’

‘OK then, so that’s it,’ Wibble announced loudly to get everyone’s attention back to proceedings, ‘Charlie’s up for a vote at full church on Monday.’

‘Obviously,’ he continued, talking directly to Charlie now with a serious expression on his face as the congratulatory huddle broke apart and rearranged itself into a meeting ‘I can’t promise what the guys are going to say…’

Then he smiled as well.
‘But you’ve got my vote,’ and with a throwing out of his arms he and Charlie bearhugged backslappingly.

The deal? What deal, I wondered?

 

‘OK then lads,’ Wibble announced as they broke apart, ‘it shouldn’t be long now so all we have to do is wait for the call.’

 

*

 

It came within about half an hour. Once again it was my phone, not Wibble’s that rang.

‘Are they there?’ asked Wibble.
‘OK? They’ve gone inside?
‘Yes? You’re sure it’s both of them? Noddy and Leeds Kev?

Wibble gave the assembled silent room of bikers a quick thumbs up as he received the news he had been waiting to hear. And then the room went completely still as all eyes turned to Charlie.

‘Great…
‘Right, we’ll handle it from here.
‘You know what to do?

‘OK,’ he said, closing the call as the crowd gathered in a rough semicircle around him and Charlie who stood facing each other in front of where I sat. Wibble stood there holding the phone and asked him quietly, ‘Alright Charlie, you know what’s happening here?’

 

Charlie nodded, ‘Yeah, Scroat’s filled me in.’

‘Good, ’cos there’s one last thing you can do, something that’ll make it absolutely certain that you get voted in ’cos if anyone dares vote against you after this then they’ll have all the guys in this room to answer to.’

There was a menacing supporting growl of anger and hackles raising in the room from all the bikers at the idea of anyone daring to gainsay Charlie’s absolute right to a patch after what was about to happen.

‘Are you ready for this?’ Wibble continued, ‘You know what they say, Blood in, Blood out.’

So that was why they had had so much fertiliser.
Charlie didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘Are you kidding? Give me the phone, I’m ready.’
They had been building two bombs.
Silently, Wibble held out the mobile and Charlie took it.
‘Is it set…?’
Two bombs!
‘The number’s there, all you have to do is…’

‘Dial,’ Charlie finished it for him and without a flicker of hesitation he pressed the call button.

 

It was weird but you couldn’t help but wait for the sound of a ring tone, or a noise of some kind.

 

As out on a quiet modern estate, somewhere on the outskirts of Luton and so handy for the M1, a circuit on the receiving phone closed…

I’d only seen one van in the yard. But there must have been another I now knew, there were certainly enough sacks of fertiliser for many more drums than I’d seen being filled. It would have been a smaller van this time I guessed, or something like an estate car. No, it would have been a small van I decided, something like an Astra or an Escort, an estate car was too risky, it would have been too easy to see into.

…the circuit sending a signal to the detonator…

It would be something that Bung could have driven to an anonymous modern detached house down some anonymous developer’s cul-de-sac on an anonymous housing estate, and used the keys he’d taken from Bob to open up the doors to the integral garage and park it inside.