Rise and Fall (5 page)

Bringing his mind back to the task in hand, Jerell gave the area another once over, making sure that there was no-one around to witness his actions. In future, he would be getting one of the others to do this type of shitty work for him. Jerell was good at dishing out even the most heinous acts of violence; this was a first for him regarding a clean-up operation, but he had wanted to see this through until the very end.

Inside the suitcase was the mangled body of some junkie Polish bloke. The idiot Pole had found out to his ultimate cost that he should have kept his mouth shut. The stupid fucker should have thought twice about running his mouth off to the police when he got pulled in for being found in possession. He clearly hadn’t realised that his loyalties should have lain with Jerell and not tried to strike a deal with the pigs to save his sorry arse. The police would never be able to enforce a punishment anywhere near what Jerell was capable of, and the Pole should have known that.

Jerell was now certain, after torturing it out of him, that the Pole had kept his name out of it with the police; he promised Jerell that he had given false leads trying to cut himself a deal and had made up names. 

Jerell had finally believed the man; no-one could go through that amount of pain without telling the truth. Looking at the mess he had made of the man, though, Jerell had had no choice but to finish him off. It had been a massive fuck-up on the Pole's behalf that he had talked in the first place, and Jerell couldn’t afford that level of distrust now he knew what the man was capable of when desperate to get himself off the hook, especially at this crucial moment when Jerell was busy establishing his reputation. 

Jerell had really gone to town on the bloke; he wanted maximum impact now that he was beginning to make a name for himself. 

Tonight had been essential in the next stage of his game plan. Jerell had shown the stunned boys who worked for him exactly what kind of level he was operating on. They had stood and watched, horrified, as Jerell had carved the Polish bloke up. As the Polish man had cried and begged him to stop, Jerell had enjoyed the show he was providing for his boys, loving the reaction he was getting from them all. They all looked shit scared of what was happening in front of them. 

He had wanted to let everyone know he was the boss, the man in charge. No-one would fuck with him now. He knew they thought he had lost the plot, but he didn’t care. Killing the man so brutally was a complete over-reaction, he knew, but a well-timed one.

This man’s slaying had been a lesson, on a grand scale, for everyone present. They were all in fear of him now. The gruesomeness of the man’s death wouldn’t be forgotten any time soon. 

The sight of the derelict warehouse floor lined with plastic had made the Polish man’s bowels loosen in fear at what he knew was coming, as he had been dragged into the large empty room earlier that evening. Blood had oozed across the sheeting as Jerell had set to work carving and slicing, as the man fell unconscious from the shock and pain, while the boys had watched in shocked silence. Jerell’s finale had been slicing off the man’s head with a machete. He must sharpen it up, he thought now, as he lowered the bag down into the filthy water; the blade had been blunt and the boys had watched horrified at the ruthlessness displayed before them as Jerell had hacked through the dead man’s neck like a piece of butchered meat. 

There was an almighty splash as Jerell let go of the case. The weight of the corpse, along with the bricks he had used to weigh it down, made it plunge straight down to the riverbed. 

Jerell smiled at how successfully tonight had turned out. As far as he was concerned, if you want something doing right you do it yourself. He had proved himself tonight. He wanted his boys to fear him; through fear he would have his own army of dedicated soldiers. It was exactly what he had wanted: now they would do whatever he told them. 

At just gone six o’clock, Les had been all ready to down tools and set off for the boozer, when Gary had called a last-minute meeting. He had said he had things to discuss and the tone in his voice told Les that whatever Gary had to say was going to be serious; however, it seemed to be Jamie who was doing all of the talking now that the meeting had begun.

Les was trying to take in what he had just been told. Ever since earlier on today, when Jamie had gone to speak to Gary about the situation with the Jamaican fella and the cars, the mood round here had lifted slightly, and now he knew why. 

Jamie had come back from his little chat with Gary without saying a word to Les about what had transpired, and Les had been too proud to show Jamie that he was curious. Not wanting Jamie to know that he was bothered, Les had ignored Jamie and the two men had done their work in silence for the rest of the afternoon. 

Les had expected Gary to be annoyed with Jamie for the things that he had been saying, but it seemed the opposite was true: Gary appeared more chipper. 

Les looked around the room; even Shay and Gavin seemed to be more in the know about what was going on than he was. He watched them nod their heads in agreement with Jamie’s plan, their expressions indicating that they were drinking everything in without so much as a question. It would have to be Les who burst the bubble.

“That’s your plan, is it?” Les laughed. “You just expect us to walk up to him, tap him on the shoulder and then blow his brains out? As easy as that, is it? Then what: problem solved? Cos if that’s what you think, then you must be completely fucking crazy. Great one, Jamie. Round two to us, yeah?” 

Jamie rolled his eyes at the sarcasm; trust Les to be difficult, throwing his two pence worth in at the last minute.

Les couldn’t help feeling rattled; the decision had clearly already been made, and made without him. He had been left out of the loop again. He was now being informed of their plans like he was an afterthought.

“It’s not quite like that, Les.” Gary sensed that Les might need convincing. Les could be a stubborn old sod, and Gary was more than aware of his personal vendetta against Jamie. “But Jamie does have a point. We only have two choices: we either let them stamp us into the ground, or we take back what’s ours and take them out of the game.” 

Gary tried to sound more convincing than he felt; he agreed with Jamie about what needed to be done, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were way out of their depth. He had heard nothing but bad things about this Jerell bloke, and letting his men get involved with this animal was something that Gary was wary of doing, he really didn’t want to put them all at such risk. 

Lifting himself up onto the dusty garage counter to sit next to Shay, Les tried to get comfortable; now he knew what the meeting was about, he had a feeling that they were going to be at work for a while. He felt his forehead start to throb, signalling the start of another one of his headaches; he always got headaches when he was stressed out, he really wasn’t very good at coping with such high drama. He had wanted to finish early tonight as there was a fishing documentary on TV that he had really wanted to watch, and he had fancied getting a couple of cheeky beers in at the pub first. He loved his creature comforts, did Les, it was the simple pleasures in life that did it for him, that and routine. Tonight he had wanted to put his feet up, order a pizza and watch a bit of telly. But instead here he was, sitting with four men who had all clearly lost the plot, and who were now arranging to start World War Three by murdering a big Jamaican psychopath. Les felt uneasy about the entire thing. They had had more than a few rucks in the past with other firms, it went with the territory in this game, but Les was getting a bit old for it all now, and for the past year or so, it had barely felt like they had been doing anything even remotely criminal. There had been almost no drama. Gary was the one who dealt with the Ugandan contract, and all Les had to do was what he was told, which was just how he liked it; it was all part of his routine.

“Look, there really isn’t a choice, mate.” Jamie hoped that his friendlier than usual manner towards Les might persuade him into coming around to his way of thinking. “If we don’t take this Jerell out, we may as well shut these doors now and skulk off out of here with our tails between our legs.” Jamie couldn’t put it any more bluntly.

Gavin nodded; he was certainly up for dishing out retribution. In fact he would have great pleasure in inflicting some damage on the black bastards; he’d had enough of the fuckers lording it over the place, thinking they were untouchable; as far as he was concerned, there were way too many around already for his liking.

Les felt Gary’s stare burn into him; he knew that he meant business, and there was no way he would back down now that he had made his mind up, as always. Les knew that Gary must be serious, especially if this was the best plan they could come up with. Les couldn’t bear to think about what would happen if they closed the garage, it was his life. He wouldn’t have a clue what to do with himself. 

Catching Gary’s eye once more before Gary quickly looked away, Les could see a glint of hesitation in his boss’ face as he listened to Jamie speak. 

Jamie and Gavin seemed to be the only ones out of the five of them to be confident about the plan; Jamie in particular appeared certain of how they should play this, and it angered Les that once again he was going to have to do what Jamie said.

“And what if it all backfires, huh; what if one of us gets caught up in the crossfire?” Les was sweating at the thought of it. Dodgy cars he could handle, the police, customs… none of that fazed him. Les was good at denial; he knew what type of business they were involved in, but his part seemed so small that he had never really felt like anything he was doing was illegal. Even though he spent his days etching numbers off chassis’ and matching up dodgy paperwork, to him it was just a job his boss asked him to do. Ignorance, where Les was concerned, was most definitely bliss. These days, he didn’t have to deal with any of the contacts or get involved with much that happened outside of the garage doors. This plan was different. A crazed, machete-wielding lunatic was someone he really did not want to get mixed up with. 

“We’re already in the middle of it all, Les, look around you. We've just lost our biggest contract to that fucker. And not only that, he's tucked us up tighter than a mental patient in a straitjacket with those dodgy fucking motors he sold us; we look like a fucking laughing stock.” Jaime got more vexed as he spoke. “We either do this together once and for all, or we’re out of the game.” 

Jamie let his words hang in the air, as he took a swig from his mug; the coffee he had made earlier was now stone cold, but he drank it regardless, quenching the dryness that lingered in the back of his throat. He looked over to Gary for reassurance, he needed him to back him up; his silence hadn’t gone unnoticed. Jamie was only going to fight if there was something to fight for. If Gary wanted this business to keep working, then Jamie needed to hear it; otherwise, what was the point?

Gary had thought about nothing other than Jamie’s plan since their chat earlier, and although he was uneasy about what they may be starting if it backfired, the thought of losing what he had worked so hard at building up over all these years scared him more. 

Jamie was right. They didn’t have a choice.

Meeting Jamie’s gaze, Gary then turned to Les and said: “Well, what’s it to be, are you in? Or are you out?”

Les thought that this was a stupid question; he would be loyal to Gary to the day he died; if Gary needed his help with this then there was no question, he would be there for him no matter what shit it might bring them all. He hated the thought that Jamie was the mastermind behind it all, though, and as petty as it was he made a point of only looking at Gary when he replied: “Well, looks like I’m in, then, don’t it?” 

Shay jumped down off the table he was sitting on. He was happy to go along with any plan; it was what he had signed up for when he joined the team. He gathered the empty mugs; he fancied another coffee, he had been trying to suppress yawns in the meeting as he didn’t want to look like he was sleeping on his feet while all this was going on, it was far too important. They had a lot of ground to cover. 

Gavin was also happy with the plan; he had fancied getting a piece of some action since he had started working at the garage, and now it seemed he would finally have his chance to get some. He loved the thrill he got from nicking cars, but inflicting violence was what he was all about, it was definitely more his thing. He loved a good fight.

Passing Shay his mug, Les was pissed off that they now had a long night ahead of them as they figured out how to execute their plan. Pushing away his former thoughts of a few chilled beers and a relaxed night in front of the telly, Les geared himself up to spend the evening listening to Jamie harp on with his grand plan of arranging the hit.

The men were all agreed.

The music blared out of the speakers, muffling the sound of the chatter in the room and filling the air with the sweet sound of Caribbean vibes. He was a long way from home, but as Jerell lay back on the sofa inhaling his spliff deep into his lungs, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift. When he smoked his gear and listened to his music, he was transported back to Kingston.

Jerell had come to England with fake papers; he had no intention of returning to Jamaica. It hadn’t taken him long to get lost in London, to feel that he could make a go of starting a new life for himself. Meeting Reagan had been fated. The flat they shared was chaotic. Jerell’s boys came and went all day long; he was never alone and that was exactly how he liked it. He couldn’t help feeling smug about how everything had seemed to have fallen into place.

Reagan sat at the table counting out some money, as he skinned up a joint. The musical vibe was contagious; he tapped his foot along to the beat; these days, he felt like a king.

When Reagan had left the care home that he had grown up in, a couple of years ago when he was sixteen, he had wondered what was going on inside the head of his social worker who had sorted this place out for him. The system had landed him his very own council flat bang in the middle of the crime-riddled Stockwell Estate, one of the roughest areas of South London, notorious for gang crime. It made him laugh how this social worker claimed she was there to help him, preaching to him about how to better his life and then dumping him in a place like this, before fucking off back to her two-point-four kids in her own idyllic little house. It was a joke. People who worked for the system had no idea what it was like in the real world.