Meltdown (5 page)

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, good about
Siddie Richards. He was evil. And proud of it.

Siddie had spent much of the first twenty years
of his adult life behind bars, mainly for crimes of
extreme violence. But he'd never served time for the
most serious crimes he'd committed, because Siddie
had literally 'got away with murder'. More than
once.

When Siddie reached the age of forty, he finally
got wise and decided, reluctantly, to let others carry
out the acts of violence for which he was famed and
feared. Five years on and Siddie ran one of
Manchester's biggest criminal gangs. There was
very little that was illegal and lucrative that Siddie
wasn't involved in. Gambling, extortion, prostitution,
drugs – they were all separate arms of the
Siddie Richards business empire.

Siddie was vain and arrogant. He never tired of
watching the
Godfather
movies over and over again.
He knew every character, every scene and virtually
every line, and would quote them endlessly to his
minions and to his long-suffering wife, Dawn.

And like his screen hero, Don Corleone, he
believed in the old maxim of 'honour among
thieves'. It meant that he operated by a simple rule:
when he went into business with another criminal,
he would never do the dirty on his new partner; not
unless they did the dirty on him. If they did, his
vengeance was swift, merciless and final. So it
didn't happen. Ever.

Fergus had made the appointment to meet the
gang boss after a couple of drinking sessions with
one of Siddie's henchmen in a pub in the Moss Side
area of Manchester. It had been relatively easy. All
Fergus had needed to do was make the gangster
believe it was possible that he knew the way into
the Meltdown drug set-up.

Going by his old alias of 'Frank Wilson', Fergus
told his gangland contact that he knew the makers
of the drug, who were ripe for a takeover. All it
would need was muscle and organization.

The response came back quickly: Siddie was prepared
to meet and talk with 'Frank Wilson'.

The following day Fergus took a taxi out to
Cheadle; like the twins, Siddie preferred to conduct
his business meetings in the comfort of his home.

The house was worth well over a million; it was
located in an area favoured by top footballers and
celebrities based in the north-west. Fergus got his
taxi driver to drop him off close to the house and
then walked the last few hundred metres.

A high wall and an elaborately decorated pair of
tall wrought-iron gates protected the property.
Fergus pressed the button beneath the voice intercom
connected to the house.

The voice that answered through the tinny
speaker was surprisingly high-pitched and thin.
'Yes?'

'It's Frank Wilson.'

There was a low clunk as the mechanism was set
in motion, then the two heavy gates began to glide
open noiselessly.

Fergus walked through and up the drive, past
well-kept lawns with large statues of Greek gods
and goddesses. The house was mostly mock-Tudor,
with thick black beams and heavily leaded
windows, but a few other styles appeared to have
been thrown in for good measure.

The wide front door of heavy oak stood under a
canopy supported by marble columns. As Fergus
reached for the large black knocker, the door swung
open on huge hinges and he got his first close-up
view of Siddie Richards.

He wasn't a pretty sight; he reminded Fergus of a
pit-bull, but he was considerably less attractive. Not
particularly tall – five nine or ten – broad and
barrel-chested, with hardly any neck and a square
shaved head. A puckered scar from an old battle ran
from just above his right eyebrow down to the
bottom of his right ear.

Siddie wasn't going to win any beauty contests,
and when he spoke, the high-pitched voice didn't fit
the look.

'Mr Wilson,' he said, extending his right hand.

'Frank, please,' answered Fergus as the thick,
podgy fingers clasped his own, firmly.

'Call me Siddie. We'll go into my study.'

Fergus followed Siddie along a highly polished
parquet floor, past garish reproduction furniture
that Siddie usually described as 'Louis the
something'.

Standing to one side of the open doorway to the
kitchen was a huge guy who looked as though he
weighed in at about eighteen stone, most of it
muscle. Then, behind him, an even bigger guy
appeared: by contrast, this one was pure blubber
and he filled the whole doorway. Neither gave
any sign that they had noticed Fergus as he sized
them up.

'All right, boss?' said Mr Muscles as Siddie
passed them.

'Yeah, I'm in a meeting. No interruptions.'

The gang boss led Fergus into a room with floor-to-ceiling
bookshelves on two of the walls. They
were crammed with neatly arranged red leatherbound
books.

Siddie lowered himself into a leather chair behind
a large oak desk and gestured for Fergus to sit on
the smaller chair in front of him.

'You must be quite a reader,' said Fergus as he
settled into the chair.

'Never opened one of 'em,' said Siddie, his small
eyes weighing up his visitor. 'My Dawn bought 'em
from some place where they fit books to the colour
scheme. She reckons it gives the place a bit of class,
but she don't read either.' He glanced over at a
small round table where bottles and full crystal
decanters huddled together. 'Drink?'

Fergus shook his head.

'Good,' said Siddie. 'So let's get down to
business.'

What Siddie Richards lacked in good looks, Storm
Karlsson possessed in bucketloads. She was beautiful.
Five feet six, lithe, ash-blonde, shoulder-length
hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones.

Storm was a nineteen-year-old stunner, and she
knew it. And like Danny said, she was 'nice'.
Pleasant. Sunny. The twins had brought her into
the travel business because she was good to have
around: she could make even middle-aged,
paunchy businessmen believe that they were the
answer to every beautiful girl's dream.

When Storm wasn't meeting and greeting for the
twins, she spent her working time flitting between
their apartment and the office at the coach yard,
occasionally answering the phone but mainly, as far
as Danny could see, moving sheets of paper from
one filing cabinet to another.

Danny was sitting at the office desk, supposedly
checking through phone records. He watched
Storm slide another sheet of paper into a filing
cabinet, looking extremely pleased with herself for
successfully completing the operation.

She was wearing a black jacket and skirt, which
ended just above the knees. She looked great –
maybe a little too smart for the scruffy, untidy office,
but Storm was in her PA role so she'd gone for the
PA look.

Danny took a deep breath, thinking again about
his grandfather's order to 'chat her up a bit'.

He hadn't realized that this was going to be part
of the job. Acting. Playing a part. Fergus was doing
it with Siddie Richards; now it was up to him to
be equally convincing. But then Siddie Richards
was an ugly great thug and Storm was a beautiful
young woman. Danny took another deep breath
and told himself that this was work and to just get
on with it.

'You worked here long?'

It wasn't the most original or convincing of chat-up
lines but Storm turned from the filing cabinet
and flashed him a dazzling smile. She seemed to
need to consider the question for a moment before
answering. 'About eight months. I think. Time goes
so quickly, doesn't it?'

Storm spoke with an accent that was pure Home
Counties. And as Danny desperately wondered
what gambit he could come up with next to keep
the conversation going, he seized on this. 'You're
not from round here then?'

Another gem from the book of all-time worst
chat-up lines, but it didn't seem to bother Storm.

'I'm not from anywhere, really. My mother was
Swedish – she died when I was quite young. My
father has always worked abroad – he's always on
the move, so I hardly ever see him. Anyway, he sent
me to be properly educated at boarding school here
in the UK.'

'So are you going to go to university?' Danny
asked.

Storm laughed.

'No. I did Textiles and Media Studies at A level.
My father would have liked me to have taken
more academic subjects and then go to uni.
But it's not my thing, and to be honest, I wasn't
bright enough.' She smiled. 'Academic stuff is so
boring!'

Danny nodded as he thought back to his own
schooldays. He'd done OK at GCSEs but life on the
run with Fergus meant he'd never got as far as
taking A levels.

'I came to Manchester about a year ago,' Storm
continued. Danny was in luck: she obviously
preferred chatting to shifting paper.

'Why Manchester?'

'A job. It was supposed to be in fashion. You know
– buying.' She shrugged her shoulders. 'Actually I
was little more than a glorified sales assistant.'

Danny was on a roll, ready with his next question.
'So how did you get this job? I can't see you
queuing down the Job Centre.'

Storm smiled into his eyes and perched herself
delicately on the corner of the desk.

'No, I met the twins at a nightclub. We got talking
and then I . . . well, I started seeing them?'

'Them?'
said Danny, raising his eyebrows.

'Mmmm,' said Storm thoughtfully as she gazed
out of the window at the city skyline. 'The twins do
everything together.'

She looked back at Danny, whose eyes were
bulging.

'Oh, no,' she said quickly. 'Not that. Well . . . I
wouldn't know about that. The three of us are just
friends.'

'Oh,' said Danny. 'But I thought you and—'

'Everyone does. And I did at first. I thought I was
sort of going out with Teddy, because he was the
one I first spoke to. Then I thought maybe I'd got it
wrong and it was Will who fancied me.'

'And didn't he?'

'I don't know. The thing is, I'm not sure if the
twins have . . .' She paused for a moment.
'The thing is, they're really possessive about me.
They hate it if we're in a club and someone comes
on to me.'

'And you don't mind? Them being so
possessive?'

'Not really. They're like two big brothers. And I
like them, I really like them. And I love this job. I get
well paid and I don't have to work hard. And I go
to all sorts of interesting places.'

She edged a little closer along the desktop
towards Danny. Close enough for him to smell the
expensive perfume she was wearing. She was
looking at him more closely now; differently, as if
she were weighing him up, seeing him for the first
time.

'What about you?' she said softly. 'Will told me
that your granddad is some sort of hero and that
you've done really brave things as well.'

Danny shrugged. 'It was just stuff we had to do.
I'm not meant to talk about it.'

Storm smiled another of her dazzling smiles.
'You're modest. I like that. The twins show off a lot
– it's not nice. And they've got some real morons
working for them.'

'Yeah, I've noticed.'

'But you seem—'

Heavy footsteps sounded on the exterior metal
stairway that led up to the office, and Storm quickly
slid off the desk and moved back to the filing
cabinet.

The door swung open and a young guy of around
twenty walked in. He was thickset and cropheaded.
His face was puffy and pale, with
dark rings around the eyes, which took on a
staring, almost manic look as they settled on
Danny.

'Oh,' said Storm, acknowledging the newcomer,
'you're back at last. Well, you still don't look too
good.'

The young man had obviously been expecting to
find Storm alone. He stared at Danny. 'Who's he?
What's he doing here?'

'This is Danny,' said Storm, concentrating a little
too hard on the filing to be completely convincing.
'He's working here.'

'Yeah? Well, no one told me,' he said as he strode
over to her. Danny could see that he was standing
too close to her for comfort, staring intently at her
face.

Storm edged away. 'You haven't been here,' she
said, not looking at him. She turned to Danny.
'Danny, this is Albie; he works for the twins too. But
he's been ill.'

Danny stood up and nodded at Albie. 'All right?'

Albie ignored him and turned back to Storm. 'I'm
all right now. A lot better.' He put his hand on her
shoulder. 'I thought we could get a coffee or something,
have a talk.'

Storm shrugged off his hand and grabbed a sheet
of paper from the top of the filing cabinet.
'I'm really busy, Albie. I'm sorry. Another time
maybe.'

Albie moved closer still. Much too close. His face
was almost in Storm's as he spoke. 'You can take a
break, can't you? You're allowed that. Just come and
have a coffee with me.'

As Storm backed away, Danny took a few steps
across the office so that he was immediately behind
Albie. 'She told you, she's busy. So leave it.'

Albie wheeled round with lightning speed, his
eyes burning into Danny's. 'What the fuck has it got
to do with you!' he yelled.

Danny took in the clenched fists, the glaring eyes,
the beads of perspiration on Albie's forehead. His
pulse began to race but his voice was calm. 'Back
off,' he said quietly.

For a few seconds it looked as if Albie was going
to leap at Danny. But he didn't. His eyes flicked
back to Storm, then he wrenched open the door,
went out and slammed it shut behind him, and they
heard him clatter down the stairway.

Danny looked at Storm and raised his eyebrows.
'Nice guy.'

Storm's lovely face was much paler than usual.
Her mouth trembled momentarily then she took a
deep breath and smiled gratefully at Danny.

'He's a creep,' she said. 'And I don't think he's
better at all. If anything he's worse than ever. The
twins say he's useful but . . . ' She paused, came over
and gave Danny a kiss on the cheek.