"Meltdown" - читать интересную книгу автора (McNab Andy)

8

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.

'My hero,' she said warmly. 'Thank you.'

Danny shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 'No problem.' Maybe his chat-up technique wasn't perfect, but Danny reckoned he'd made some progress. Fergus and Siddie had concluded their business.

It was a simple and straightforward deal. In exchange for providing the 'cast-iron' information that the Headingham twins were the makers and suppliers of Meltdown, 'Frankie' was walking away with five thousand pounds in used twenty-pound notes as a down payment. Once Siddie and his boys had moved in and taken over the operation, Frankie was to receive another fifty grand. Cash. Frankie had given Siddie a mobile number, which he would call when everything was sorted.

That was it. Business done. Frankie had supplied everything Siddie needed to know: a description of the twins, the address of their apartment and details of their regular comings and goings. He couldn't tell him where the drug was being made because he didn't know, but Siddie was more than confident that he could discover that information for himself. He would simply make the twins an offer they couldn't refuse.

The gang boss had listened in silence as Frankie told him in detail about Teddy and Will Headingham, and when he'd finished, Siddie shook his head in disgust. 'Who'd have thought, eh? These privileged kids, they've got everything. Expensive education, university, the lot. And what do they do with it?'

He reached into a drawer of the desk and pulled out a wad of notes held together by a thick elastic band. 'They turn to crime, that's what they do. It's not right. Just shows you the way the world is going, eh, Frankie. It's definitely not right.'

Fergus didn't count the cash that Siddie handed over to him. He knew there was no need.

They walked back to the front door and Siddie held out his hand; this time, when they shook, Siddie didn't let go at once.

'I'm sure you've heard about the way I do business,' he said quietly, staring into Fergus's eyes. This looks like a very lucrative deal for us both. But' – he let the 'but' linger menacingly before continuing – 'if this is a scam, or if you're trying to have me over in any way, then I'll come looking for you, Frankie, or whatever your name is, because frankly, Frankie, I don't give a shit. And when I find you – and I will – then it won't matter what your fucking name is. Because you'll be dead. Capisce?'