Heavy Duty Trouble (The Brethren Trilogy) (46 page)

In contrast, other parties maintain that these disappearances are evidence that the men’s families had been ruthlessly targeted as part of the bloodletting and search for the missing funds.

Iain Parke, as a former crime and business correspondent on this paper before his disappearance, was fond of quoting a biker maxim,
T
hree can keep a secret
 
–
when two of them are dead
, as an illustration of the club’s codes of
omerta
or silence to outsiders about what is euphemistically called ‘club business’.

He himself had become the subject of particular police interest in the months leading up to both his initial disappearance in
late August
20
09
, and that of Inspector Bob
Cameron
the senior officer at SOCA, the Serious and
Organized
Crime Agency, who had been leading the investigations into the club.

Confidential police surveillance records and photographs from this time clearly show Iain Parke being heavily involved with
T
he Brethren MC over this period, visiting the club’s London premises, riding on Brethren club runs, wearing a personal support patch, and consorting closely with the other alleged victims, club president Steve ‘Wibble’ Nelson and
Peter
‘Bung’
Milton
.

Some sources have suggested that the disappearance and suspected death of Inspector
Cameron
was because he had come too close to understanding Iain Parke’s relationship with the drug dealing elements within the club and his role in connection with that, whatever it might have been.
Indeed until his assumed death
,
Iain Parke remained a person of significant interest whom the police wanted to talk to about Inspector
Cameron
’s death as part of their ongoing investigation
,
and some officers had gone so far as to private
ly
state that he was their main suspect.

Following further investigations arising out of the events leading up to the trial, police
sources
now
suggest that in the
period
following his
initial
disappearance, whilst being based in Ireland Iain Parke actually made a number of trips under false identities to, amongst other
place
s, Luxembourg
,
t
he Seychelles, the Netherlands and Switzerland
. Police believe that all of these trips were
for the purposes of continuing to run money laundering operations
in connection with the drug smuggling ring at the centre of the dispute.

Perhaps
then
,
the only thing that we know for certain
,
is simply that no one outside the club knows, and may never know for sure, what happened, either that night, or in the period leading up to it.

For as a biker spokesman put it at the time to a journalist covering the trial
,
We look out for our own, we take care of the rest.

As with the previous books in this series, all characters, events, and in particular the clubs named in this book, and patches described, are
entirely
fictional and any resemblance to actual places, events, clubs
, patches
or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For all of these inventions I apologise to the
one-percenter
s in the areas mentioned, and any clubs with similar names or patches.

No disrespect is meant; just what I hope is an enjoyable story.

None of the views expressed are those of the author.

While I’m writing, I’d also like to take this opportunity to say thanks to all those who have given me encouragement and feedback on my writing
,
in particular
all those of you wh
o post reviews on Amazon, Goodr
eads
.com
, and elsewhere
–
please keep them coming, it’s good to hear from you.

Additionally I’d like to thank those, from all sides, who’ve written about the biker scene. For anyone interested in reading more on the subject
, as a starting point
my suggestions about books that may be of interest are listed on the publisher’s website at bad-press.co.uk.

The perfect book for those who…speculate as to what goes on behind closed doors at clubhouses across the country…a good story, well told…a real page turner as it reaches its climax.

American
-
V
M
agazine

A fantastic anti-hero… positively
Shakespearean
in his moral complexity
…
If I could only recommend one book this year it would be Heavy Duty People
.

Vulpes L
ibris

Heavy Duty i
ndeed

*
****

Read it in one sitting. Couldn't put it down.

*
****

Damn
g
ood
r
ead

*
****

I
couldn’t
put it down

*
****

Keep them coming, Iain!
A cracking read, only interrupt for food and sleep!

Amazon reader reviews

Heavy Duty People

Your club and your brothers are your life.

Damage

Damage’s club has had an offer it can’t refuse, to patch over to join The Brethren.

But what does this mean for Damage and his brothers?

What choices will they have to make?

What history might it reawaken?

And why is The Brethren making this offer?

Loyalty to his club and his brothers has been Damage’s life and route to wealth, but what happens when business becomes serious and brother starts killing brother?

Download the first chapter to read FREE at
www.bad–press.co.uk

ISBN 978–0–9561615–1–2

A
lso a
vailable for Kindle at
Amazon

Heavy Duty Attitude

Iain had written a book about The Brethren MC and how powerful they could be.

He knew it was a dangerous thing to have done, whether they liked it or not,
and one that had taken him part way into their world.

And now it was his turn.

Now a new President, with big boots to fill, was going to make him an offer he was going to find difficult to refuse, and once in the outlaw biker’s world, would he ever be able to get out again?

And as an outsider on the inside, with serious trouble looming, who, if anyone, can he trust?

Download the first chapter to read FREE at
www.bad-press.co.uk

ISBN 978-0-9561615-3-6

Also available
for
Kindle
at
Amazon

For suggested background reading and details of more biker related books visit
www.bad-press.co.uk

I
f you have enjoyed this book
then as a reader you can help us enormously by spreading the word
,
so please:


        
Tell your friends about it


        
Review it on Amazon, other book si
tes such as Goodr
eads
.com
and/or your blog


        
Tweet about it


        
Link to/like/follow us at:

o
        
Bad-press.co.u
k

o
        
Facebook /
TheBrethrenMCTrilogy
& /
Iain
.
Parke

o
        
Linkedin/Iainparke

o
        
Twitter/@iainparke

Many thanks for your help –
it’s
much appreciated.

The bad-press.co.uk team and Iain Parke.

I, Iain Parke, hereby assert and give notice of my rights under section 77 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All
r
ights
r
eserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted at any time by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

Cover photograph
:

Ghostrider ©
David Hernandez II
2012
– used with thanks.

ISBN 978-0-9561615-6-7

bad-press.co.uk

[email protected]

The Liquidator

Transcript extract

I took the newspapers out onto the balcony at the back of the apartment as I didn’t want to be overlooked. She had bought stacks of the Citizen. It was about tabloid size, printed on rough cheap paper.

I sat in the warm sunshine with my back to the wall of the apartment and gradually over the next half hour or so, the pile of papers on the right became a heap of paper tubes on my left as I took each copy, rolled it along its length and wrapped some tape around it to keep it in shape.

Then I put a blanket in the bottom of a bin bag and packed it with a stack of the rolled up papers. Repeating the process I managed to make four full bags.

I put most of the rest of the blankets to soak in a bucket full of cooking oil.

The day seemed to pass slowly. It seemed an age before darkness fell as it always did at around six. I had about another two hours to wait until the disco at the back started up.

But now I could finish my preparations. I picked up the jerry can. The awkward weight felt heavy but familiar in my hands as with a clank I opened it. As I tipped the sloshing can into the first open bin bag the oily reek of diesel perfumed the night air.

The can shuddered and rocked in my hands as the oil poured with a soft gulping sound, soaking into the papers and the blanket. Once each bag had been doused, another blanket went on top, again to be soused in fuel, and I knotted them closed.

Carefully I closed the can with a snap and left it out on the balcony as I went in to wash my hands. I didn’t want any accidents here, after all.

When I had first moved into the apartments, immediately outside the front of the block, but before the roadside shanty
 
dukas
 
and bars, there was a slowly spreading waste ground strewn with blackened piles of old bags, cans and bottles. This was the dump where all the apartments’ houseworkers simply piled the trash and where once the heap was big enough one or other of them would set fire to it. Until one day, a lorry full of workers and breezeblocks arrived and at the end of three days, there was the pen.

It was a simple construction about two metres square. Three of the walls were about two metres tall whilst the fourth, facing towards the apartments, was half that. Gaps had been left between the breezeblocks at the bottom to let air in so it made for a relatively efficient incinerator. Now, instead of just dumping garbage at random, the houseboys and maids from the apartments dumped it all in the pen, which at least contained it all in one place until it was full enough to burn.

Carrying the first two bags down, I heaved them over the low wall and onto the stinking heap of tied up plastic shopping bags full of papers, vegetable refuse, potato peelings, scraps and all sorts of trash that had been accumulating in the pen over the last few days, together with some brushwood that had been cut from around the entrance to the car park and dumped earlier in the week. I was pleased to see it was so full.