The Rack & Cue Read online

  “Calm down, Danny. We’ll find them,” Clive said. “They must have put their foot down. Left us behind.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down, Clive. We balls this up and the Captain will have our bollocks in a vice.”

  “No way. We’ve been working this case too long for him to pull the plug, mate,” Clive tried to sooth. “Besides…”

  “Besides nothing,” Danny spat back. “If we don’t come up with something this time, he’ll not only pull the plug on the operation but take our badges.”

  “You think he’s on their payroll, don’t you, Sarge?”

  It went quiet. Neither man upfront spoke. Didn’t utter a word. The cold from outside seemed to seep inside, causing a chill to stir the air.

  “Have I ever said that?” Danny snapped, banging his bear-like fist on the dash.

  Clive never flinched. He was used to Danny’s outbursts. His intemperance, anger and violence. Even drinking. The man’s wife had pissed off many years ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why.

  Danny loved the job more than anything. More than life.

  Putting scum behind bars was all he knew, and breaking a few of their bones along the way was even better. They’d been partners ever since they left police school many years ago. He’d become used to the big man’s destructive ways. Loved him for it. Cherished him like a brother. Clive knew he’d take a bullet and a beating for Danny.

  “You didn’t have to say anything, mate. The silence was enough!”

  “Hmph,” Danny grumped. “Why don’t you do something constructive, like find out where the biker filth went? How about that, hmm? Instead of filling your head with bullshit!”

  “I am!” Clive said, barely keeping himself from yelling.

  “Good. Because I haven’t dragged myself all the way from the Cardiff nick, just for some boy scout mission into the woods. I want convictions this time. I want Jason ‘Diesel’ Summer doing hard fucking time. Life, if I get my way.”

  “You really think he’d give up Dutch and the rest of the boys?”

  “I don’t care. I’ll take as many of them down as I can. The photos we took of them with Grizzly in Manchester’s a good start. We know they were concealing and trading illegal firearms back there.”

  “But did we get any of it?”

  “Well of course we did! We reeled off snap upon snap of them all together. We must have caught something.”

  “You know it’s going to take hard evidence to put these guys away, Danny. The Captain isn’t going to act on it if it’s not.”

  They exchanged looks. Danny’s eyes were without emotion.

  “He’ll have to act on it this time,” Danny said, almost choking as he frantically shot the words out of his mouth. “I’ll go above the old cunt’s head if I have to.”

  “Here we go again,” Clive said, doing a little huff-laugh after speaking.

  “What?!” Danny demanded. “Don’t think I’ll have the nuts to do it?” Clive didn’t speak; didn’t even look over at Danny. “Well?” Danny pushed. But Clive didn’t rise to the bait.

  “Look?!” Bobby yelled like an excited child on Christmas morning. He poked his head between his two colleagues from behind. “I see their bikes. Look!” he demanded.

  It was hard to see anything. The rain was coming down harder than Danny had ever seen it do in his lifetime, turning the early afternoon into a black and colourless one. It was so dark; it felt like ten in the evening.

  “What the hell are you doing away from your equipment, Bobby? For fuck sake, man! Get back on your console. We…”

  “I can’t pick anything up on it, Sarge,” Bobby whined.

  “Then what the hell have you been doing back there?!” Danny wanted to know, as he turned to look at Bobby.

  Bobby’s apple-cheeked face had turned a dark shade of red. “I…I…,” he stuttered, his glasses misting over as the heat rose in him.

  “Cut it out, Danny”, Clive chirped in. “Stop messing with his head.”

  “And who the hell rattled your cage?” Before Clive could respond to Danny, Danny cut in. “Pull the van over here, Clive. Get in that lay-by. Here!” he snapped at his colleague.

  “That’s not a lay-by, Danny,” Clive insisted. “That’s just where the road has been pushed back against the hedge. The road has probably disintegrated over the years with the weather and poor upkeep…”

  “Who the fuck are you now – Michael Fish?” Danny said a half smile on his face.

  Clive said nothing, just huffed and pulled the van to one side. The tyres slid in the muck but the vehicle eventually came to a stop. As the rain continued to come down in sheets and pelt the now stationary van, Danny and Clive both looked out the driver’s side window. They were just in time to catch a glimpse of the six outlaws entering a shady-looking pub.

  “What the hell is that place?” Danny wanted to know.

  “It looks like a pub, Danny,” Clive said. “The Rack and Cue,” he whispered.

  “Looks like a right shithole. I wouldn’t be surprised if those fucking Boas are up to no good in there. It’s probably another drop zone,” Danny said.

  “Maybe. But wouldn’t they have dropped in there on the way up?” Clive wanted to know.

  “Yep, it’s a pub,” Bobby piped in. “Built in the early 1800s.”

  “Hey, Poindexter put a sock in it!” Danny told Bobby.

  “I was just saying, Danny,” Bobby said, his tone sulky.

  “I have no idea why they wouldn’t have stopped here on the way up, Clive. Maybe the greasy fucks know we are on to them?”

  “That’s a possibility,” Clive agreed, nodding his head. “What do you want to do? How should we handle this – stakeout?”

  Danny shook his head. “No, we’re going in.”

  “Are you out of your mind!?” Clive said, raising his voice. “They could be armed to the teeth in there. It could be a Boa den, fortress or crank factory. Hell, it could even be a whorehouse or all of the above, Danny. We…”

  “We can’t what, Clive? Get our dicks out and show them who the fucking boss is? Oh, yes we can. I’ll have the fucking place shut down and every one of those sons-of-bitches behind bars,” Danny said.

  “Ha-ha, you always did have a way with words, Danny,” Clive said, shaking his head.

  “We’ll stake the building for a bit. See who comes and goes,” Danny said. “If the place appears to be what it is, then we’ll think about going in.”

  “Just three guys looking for a pint of beer?” Bobby said.

  His comment was unanswered.

  “They may sniff us out, you know, Sarge,” Clive said. Those bastards have a good nose for coppers.”

  “I know. You’re right. We’re just going to have to try and box clever. Go in there all rowdy. Throw them off guard.”

  “Push them into doing something stupid?” Bobby tried again.

  “Yeah,” Danny said, his steely gaze never leaving the building. “But first we sit and wait. Wait and see what happens.”

  With that, Clive turned in his seat and faced front. He killed the lights then the engine, which in turn cut off the heater and radio inside the van. Silence followed. Time stretched out in front of them.

  “No point wasting the petrol or battery,” he said, before nuzzling his body into his seat to get comfy.

  Bobby set about fiddling with his equipment in back, occasionally tutting or muttering to himself. Danny on the other hand, retrieved some trashy Sunday newspaper from the glove compartment. He proceeded to turn it to page three. He glued his eyes to the young, brunette bombshell, as he too, shifted in his seat to get cosy.

  The sound of rain bounding off the roof of the van was deafening but calming. Clive had always been soothed by stormy weather, even as a child. It had never scared or worried him in the slightest.

  He felt his eyes close, as he tuned in on the hammering rhythm. What the hell am I doing out here? he thought. I should be at home, my feet up, not being dragged halfway across cow count
ry. Jan was right. I should have given this shit up two years ago. Instead, I let myself get roped back into it by Danny.

  You know you could never break the partnership.

  Never turn your back on him.

  You know how badly he wants to bust these fucks.

  Maybe go out on a high himself.

  Either that or he’ll be found dead in a ditch somewhere riddled with Boa bullets.

  Clive threw that thought out of his head, fast. The thought of Danny dead was a no-no. If Danny was to die, then so would he. Clive knew more than anyone, that he would follow Danny to the very end. To the very death.

  Bobby, on the other hand, would pack up shop and fuck off at the first sign of danger. But not before shitting a stool first. Danny and I are in this to the end. Even if these biker clowns are our downfall.

  He looked over at Danny and smiled, as he watched the man he had been partners with for thirty years continue to ogle the page three beauty. “You wouldn’t like it if she was your daughter mate, now would you?!” Clive teased. This had been a topic of conversation many times.

  “Let’s not start that again, Clive.”

  Clive smirked, and then continued to prod the hornet’s nest. “Come on now, Danny, you know how your ex-wife felt about you looking at such images…”

  “That’s it!” Danny said, before giving the paper a hard shake, then turning to the next page.

  Clive chuckled, and then turned to stare out at the rain once again. Poor Silvia, he thought. If any woman had suffered, it had been her. Danny had hardly ever gone home – practically lived at the station. The man’s brain was constantly tuned into the job. Clive would be surprised if the Sarge ever slept.

  Still. He was a great guy. Salt-of-the-earth. A man you could turn to for help with regards to anything. No matter how big or small the favour: gardening tips to relationships problems. Clive trusted the man with his life. Not just because they’d gone through copper school together, but because of the big man’s nature and good heartedness. He stole a glance at Danny and smiled, as he watched his partner and friend read his trashy paper. He lapped up the crap stories about WWII tanks being found on Mars, or how Elvis had been spotted doing his weekly shop in Tesco at Cardiff.

  “I think I’m picking something up, guys!” Bobby said from behind.

  “You mean your shit equipment is actually working in this God awful weather, Spock?” Danny said, smiling at his paper.

  “Ease up on him, Danny,” Clive said. “He’s doing his best.”

  “Always the voice of reason, ain’t ya? You’re definitely the bitch in this relationship, sugar tits,” Danny said, turning to Clive and blowing him a kiss.

  “Danny, I’m serious. Listen, will you.” Bobby said with a raised voice, which surprised Clive. Danny lifted one eyebrow. He turned in his seat to face Bobby. “I managed to get close enough to Diesel to plant a bug on him. I’ve been trying to pick the signal up since we left Manchester, but the weather’s been interfering with it.”

  “But you never left the van?!” Danny said.

  “I did,” Bobby said, smiling.

  “When you took a piss?!” Danny asked. Bobby smiled. “You sneaky bastard,” Danny concluded, before giving off a little chuckle.

  “Listen,” Bobby said.

  Inside the van, the three men listened intently on what was being said inside the ‘pub’.

  “I can hardly hear it,” Danny moaned.

  “Shh!” Bobby scolded. “They’re talking about the deal in Manchester. About the gun exchange.”

  “Are you recording?” Clive wanted to know.

  Bobby nodded.

  “Good,” Danny said. “These fuckers are going down this time. They ain’t slipping away again.”

  “Now they’re talking about the Manchester Boas going to war tonight with a rival gang. Or something along those lines.”

  “Well?!” Danny urged.

  “I’m losing the signal.”

  “For fuck sake!” Danny yelled and thumped his door. Hard.

  “Look, this gear isn’t exactly top-of-the-range stuff, Danny,” Bobby said, his chubby face burning up, his glasses misting once again.

  “Danny, there’s someone watching us!” Clive said. “I think we’ve been made.”

  “What? Where?!” Danny wanted to know.

  “There,” Clive pointed. “There was someone standing in that window on the second floor.”

  “There’s nobody there, Clive. Don’t you go falling apart on me like Bobby’s two-bit radio here, pal.”

  “I’m telling you…”

  “I see them,” Danny said.

  And, as Clive joined Danny in looking out the driver’s side window, they both saw the curtain on the second floor window move – a large figure could be seen looking down at their van.

  “Let’s move,” Clive said, going for the key in the ignition.

  “Fuck that,” Danny said. “Are you carrying?”

  “Always,” Clive said.

  “Bobby, you stay here and keep your ear open. The first sign of any trouble in there, you get your fucking arse out of here.”

  “Where are we going?” Clive wanted to know.

  “In there,” Danny said, nodding towards The Cue. “We’re going to find out just what type of Boa ‘funhouse’ that place is. Come on. Let’s go,” he concluded, before opening his door and getting out into the pouring down rain.

  Chapter 9

  Bobby watched Danny and Clive disappear into the building, as the front door was answered to their loud knocks. Once they’d vanished into the pub, Bobby had to duck out-of-view, as the person who’d let them in lingered.

  After keeping his head low for more than five minutes, Bobby raised, but slowly. Peeking out the driver’s side window, he saw to his amusement, that nobody stood watch any longer.

  “They never spotted me!” he muttered in a triumphant way while pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Good,” he nodded, rising into a standing position. “I need to try and keep track of what’s going on in there,” Bobby concluded, as he went to his equipment.

  Pulling his stool out from under the desk in the back of the van, which held the crackling radio, headset, walkie-talkies, sub-nosed .38 Smith & Wesson, empty coffee cups, rumpled paperwork, assortment of pens, pencils and sweet wrappers, Bobby sat his plump arse down.

  He placed the headset on and began fiddling with the dials before him, trying desperately to pick up a signal from inside the pub. The weather had begun to ease slightly, which meant the poor signal and static were calming.

  “Come on, come on,” Bobby mouthed, as he tried to fine tune the dials and knobs. “Easy does it. Easy, easy,” he hissed from behind clenched teeth as he honed in on the voices inside the pub. They were becoming clearer by the touch. “Almost got you,” he continued. “Almost.”

  Sweat bubbled then dribbled down his forehead, as he applied more pressure on himself to lock the signal down. “They could be ambushed in there, and I can’t get a bloody lock on them,” he scolded himself.

  Bobby’s tongue protruded as he fiddled and fiddled with the frequency. A smile tore across his face as the voices of Danny and Clive filled his ears. The bugs he’d fitted to the inside of their lapels had worked.

  Before Bobby could remove his fingers from off the large radio dial, a sharp thump to the side of the van made him jump, causing his fingers to slip. The dial rotated madly.

  The signal lost.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, as he snatched the headset from off his head and slammed it down on his desk. “What the actual hell was that?!”

  Leaping from his seat, Bobby caused the stool to slide backward and collapse. It hit the floor behind him, which startled him further. He stood for moments, listening, but only hearing the rain welt the sides, roof, front and arse of the van. Gooseflesh clawed its way up his arms and back.

  “What the hell was that? Did I imagine…” His words were cut short as the damage to the side of the van in front
of him was evident. A crease in the frame – the large dent rattled Bobby further, as he ran his fingertips over the hump-like depression. “Danny, this is not fucking fun…”

  A second crash to the opposite side of the van made him spin around on his heels, only for him to witness a second dimple in the van’s body work. As he looked at the fresh wound, a third, fourth and fifth appeared alongside the second, stitching a line of indentations all along that one side.

  “What the fuck is going on out there? It can’t be Danny and Clive messing around. They wouldn’t cause…”

  A loud crack, followed by the sound of shattering glass caused Bobby to face the front of the van. He was just in time to see the passenger wing-mirror disintegrate. Fragments of glass could be seen mingling with rain, as they were hurled along the road. Bits of plastic and wiring followed.

  Then, the passenger’s side of the van sagged to one side, as the front tire was popped. The rubber gave off a thunderous bang when slashed, which could be heard over the pounding rain. This was followed by the back tyre being ruptured.

  “Oh, shit!” Bobby muttered. “Somebody doesn’t want us to leave…” Pushing his glasses up his nose with one hand, his other instinctively went for the baseball bat that was propped against his com desk.

  The thick, steel shaft of the ‘slugger’ felt tacky. Tacky from the blood of many a poor bastard Danny had smacked a confession out of in the back of this very van over the years. Grasping it tightly, Bobby brought it close to his chest, and curled his other hand around the gaming implement. “Whoever’s out there, you best fuck off. This is a police operation you are involving yourself in. You will be prosecuted for the obstruction…”

  The van began to rock violently, making Bobby drop the bat with fright. He picked up the .38. Turning, he looked in the one good wing-mirror to see if he could see anything. Nothing.

  Nothing or no-one could be seen out there. Then, as quick as anything, the one remaining wing-mirror was ripped from the van – the screws and washers could be heard ricocheting off the bodywork.