The Baby And The Brandy (Ben Bracken 1) (15 page)

The meaning of the little tank holding a dead fish in Royston Brooker’s safe, with an explanation that I find genuinely interesting. All of that was pretty much to be expected, except for the surprising fighting fish sideline. It was always going to be either drugs, arms or gambling, and it conveniently includes a little of all three.

‘And Sparkles, last night. Where does he fit into things?’

Felix clears his throat, and puts his palms on the table, like he’s drawing the words themselves from the wooden tabletop.

‘The men, down by the river, have been working with us for some time. Sparkles’ uncle, before him too. Our boundaries are pretty clearly defined, as were our roles to each other. We help them with getting things in on the ship canal, in exchange for some distribution rights on their turf. All in all it worked well. For a time. Sparkles decided he wanted to change that, and he made a direct threat to Royston, saying he’d kill him if he ever saw him in that restaurant of his again. We believe Royston took what happened personally, and wanted to make amends. A healthy conjunction with the River was important to us, and I think he felt responsible for our arrangement with the River going sour, for whatever reason. I know that night, when Royston died, he was going over there to try again - a street pusher saw him going in, but that same pusher didn’t see him come out. Next thing we know, he is found dead over at the airport.’

‘Do you know why they would take him to the airport?’ I ask.

‘As far away from their patch as possible, but in such a place so as to make many parties a guilty possibility,’ says Leonard, cutting in vibrantly.

‘Sparkles is a clever man,’ Felix carries on. ‘But even I didn’t think he would do something as unalterable as he did. And it has ended terribly for all parties. It’s sickening really.’

‘I spoke with Sparkles last night,’ I say. ‘He has a different version of events.’

That puts the cat amongst the pigeons, as looks are exchanged once more.

‘Of course he would,’ says Tina, surprisingly. As a girlfriend of one of the väktare, I hadn’t anticipated how much she was invested in their activities. It turns out she takes more than a passing interest it seems. ‘He wanted change but he didn’t want to go about it the right way. It was stupid, almost as stupid as his name.’

That elicits a few chuckles.

‘You have seen his tattoo?’ I say, to confused looks. ‘You don’t know this? He has a tattoo of sparks and stars all over his torso.’

‘You learn something new every day,’ muses Michael.

‘Ben, you refer to Sparkles in the present tense,’ says Samson, and I turn to my left to look at him. ‘You think he’s still alive?’

‘I have no idea, but I definitely didn’t see him dead,’ I reply. ‘And that usually counts for something.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Leonard cuts in. ‘His business is sunk, if you can forgive the pun.’

Felix holds his hand up, which quietens the table in an instant. The man is respected, no doubt about it, and he seems loved for it. Like any great leader, when he speaks, his followers listen - just as they do now.

‘We didn’t want any of this. This is not the way our business is conducted - not now, not ever before. The macho days of combative criminal gangs and their aimless bloodshed are over. There is never to be any regression to that stigma because it is unnecessary, tasteless and always - always - results in a setup that is destined to fail. If this is to be viewed as a sensible, well-run business then it needs to at least behave like one.’

‘With my actions last night,’ I say, ‘I certainly meant no disrespect. I’m afraid I am not following any code of conduct - I was merely doing what it took to keep my friend and I alive. It seems at this point that it is job done on that front. My concern is that Jack’s desire to avenge his father will continue since we have no guarantee that Sparkles is dead, never mind a guarantee that he was responsible for Royston’s death.’

Felix looks like he is trying not to bristle at that, but I catch him and eye him carefully.

‘I mean no disrespect in that either. It makes no odds to me who killed who in this, however it certainly matters to Jack. It depends on what he believes.’

‘Not any more it doesn’t,’ replies Felix, with authority. ‘He’s had his swipe, and I want no more bloodshed associated with us.’

This anti-combat attitude, this careful display of anti-violence, seems at odds with the stories that Jack told me about the Berg. Where was this ethos, for example, when they apparently applauded Jack for running a man off the road? It doesn’t add up. There is something not right about it all. Before I can dwell further, Felix speaks again.

‘Ben, you have learned a lot about us. Please tell us a little about yourself.’

I frown, unsure of what I want these people to know about. I want them to respect me, and be interested in me enough to have me around for a little longer. The longer I am about, the more dirt on them I can amass. Regardless of how they doll up their business to sound anything less than legal, I am in the central nerve centre of a top-level criminal gang, and they are exactly the kind of shit I want to eradicate. But here I am, barely out of prison, out of the frying pan and into the fire. In the deepest of deep ends. Whatever metaphor I choose to apply, this is a dangerous turn of events but one that, if I am to remain true to myself, I mustn’t let slip by.

This is a golden opportunity. I must never lose sight of that.

‘What is it you’d like to know?’ I ask.

‘Where on earth you picked up how to do what you did last night, for a start!’ fizzes Leonard, his enthusiasm becoming ever more brazen. He seems an unpredictable sort.

If I give them information, personal details, about myself, they will surely use them against me if I chose to wage a visible war against me. But sometimes, the truth is actually better than fiction.

‘I am a disgraced, dismissed, dishonorably discharged Captain of the Welsh Guards, Her Majesty’s Royal Army. I was trained all over the world by the best in hand-to-hand combat, demolition, survivalism, weapons and tactics. I served for nearly a decade in Iraq and Afghanistan. I made some bad choices that saw my years of service count for nothing’.

That has shut everybody up, pretty dramatically.

‘Shit,’ says Leonard.

I keep my face stone still while I survey the other faces, and see eyes widening and jaws dropping. It’s nice, after my descent, to have someone to hear my story and look back at me with respect and admiration. But I remember that if the only people that react that way are career criminals, it says a lot for the depths I have sunk to.

I think about telling them about my recent sojourn from Strangeways, but that certainly could put me in a vulnerable position if things go prematurely awry. If I become a fly in their ointment, which in time I certainly intend to be, they could still, despite what I had earlier thought, call the police at a moments notice, turn me in and probably get a pat on their back for their trouble. Besides, I think what I’ve already given them will suffice.

‘I’m back in the country that I have given everything to protect, but this country doesn’t want me. I’ve been discarded by my superiors, hated by my peers and sneered at by society. My family want nothing to do with me. I’m stuck with a set of skills that I have no place for anymore. I’m disillusioned with My Great Britain, which is the ideal that I fought for, and can’t believe how my life has turned out.’

All of that is true, and they know it. They are enthralled.

‘I don’t know what else to tell you,’ I say.

‘Why were you kicked out?’ asks Carolyn, seemingly unable to stop herself.

‘Caz...’ Michael chastises, frowning.

‘No, it’s fine,’ I assure them. I look at Carolyn earnestly. ‘One evening over Helmland Province, my unit were conducting a flyby in an Apache helicopter. There were a couple of restless villages within a couple of miles of each other, that had been causing a few problems. We knew there was an element in there that was poorly equipped but was unhappy with our continued presence there. We got a handle on things, and peace resumed for a time. Our night time flybys were a way to check on things, a quick scope for trouble, and soon they became routine, used primarily to remind any unhappy elements that we were still there. This particular night, out of nowhere, someone took a pot shot at our chopper with an automatic weapon - possibly an M5 machine gun, but nobody saw where or who it came from. We just heard it. Bullets pinged off the choppers bodywork, and a couple made it into the hold. After what I can only view as an act of a very angry God, a stray, bouncing bullet whizzed through pilot’s visor, killing him in an instant.’

Carolyn looks at me like she has never heard anything like this in her life. That, worlds away from her happy little island, men and women are laying their lives on the line and placing their bodies in harm’s way, simply so she can keep enjoying what she is doing.

‘I have seen so many casualties. So many fatal blows. I can categorically say this was the single most unlucky kill I saw in my entire service. I mean, what were the chances? The chopper pitched and dropped like a spinning stone - right into the village market square. It hit a building and landed upright, the impact throwing myself and another man out. The chopper was engulfed in flames seconds after, and nobody else got out.’

Carolyn looks close to tears. I know what’s coming, and if that got her, she’s not going to like any of whats on the way. I let her loose from my gaze and find myself looking down. This is never easy to talk about, and I don’t enjoy anyone knowing it. But they asked, and it’s the only story that I’ve got.

‘The other man was called Steven. We knew that hostile gunfire had come from this area, and that as foreign soldiers, to some people, we were both sitting ducks and prize trophies. We had to get moving. We started down the street in the direction of our base, which wasn’t far away, but we figured if we could get out of there, we could look into arranging an evac procedure. Running along the pavement, we heard a soft spit of air, but no time to think what it was. Gunfire started ahead, and the drone of sirens behind, so unsure of what to do, we hopped down a storm drain into the sewers below the village, thinking we could make it through the tunnels. We were very wrong.

‘The sewer was, if you’ll forgive me, a river of human waste. We had to wade through it. Steven started wincing, and I checked him over. There was a tiny, deep, fleshy bullet wound in his abdomen. It wasn’t bleeding. It’s always the worst wounds that don’t bleed - you know something serious has been hit. Worse than that, the wound was full of this... shitty water. Excuse me.’

I look at the children apologetically, but they are miles away, playing happily. Felix waves it away, his jaw set with his lower lip poked out, shaking his head ever so slightly in horror.

‘He had been shot. That... sound on the street had been the sound of a gun firing from a murder hole, which is essentially a small hole in a wall through which you can stick the barrel of a weapon, and fire indiscriminately. Very crude, and very deadly. Someone had seen us, and tried to take that prize scalp. His deterioration was swift, and soon we could no longer move. We decided to wait in the sewer for rescue. It never came. We lasted six days, with meagre rations. Day four, he asked me to kill him. Day five, he begged me. Day six, he couldn’t speak any more, and I ended it quietly.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ whispers Samson, as he puts a hand up over his mouth.

‘You see, months before, I had told Steven that if ever I was in a bad way, he had to put me out of my misery. I made him promise. And when he asked me to do the same for him, he reminded me. I’m not proud of it, I didn’t want to, and it devastated me. He was my best friend and I killed him. I watched him suffer for nearly a week, and took pity on him, completing his final wish when he was in the grip of a slow death he didn’t deserve.’

I sit up straighter, ready for the finale.

‘I was angry, disorientated, confused, destroyed, grief-stricken and I wasn’t sure I wanted to live any more myself. I threw myself into the main sewer flow and took my chances. I can’t remember anything, but it turns out I was found by a fisherman, stuck in a grid in an outlet pipe between sewer and river. I woke up in the medical centre on Bastion, the base I used to call home. I was in a bad way, spiraling mentally. I confessed to killing Steven immediately, thinking that some compassion would be afforded, given our predicament. I was court-martialed, branded rightly as guilty and my years of service stopped me from going to prison. I was stripped of all my medals, kicked out, shipped home, and here I am.

‘What we were doing out there, the situation we were in, is one that the average person will just not understand. And no one, ever - military or otherwise, is able to picture what they would do if they were pushed into that situation itself. It’s too extreme, so brutal, so uncompromising that you cannot possibly imagine it. I don’t know whether I’ll ever come to terms with it, but I try every day.’

The group takes a moment to digest my story, and for a time all we can hear is the children amiably splashing in the pool and laughing - a sound about as far removed from the cruel turn of events I just described to them. It is positively eerie, and I take a swig of the black coffee, which is now tepid but bitter enough. I don’t repeat what I just said often, but I know that it’s enough for me to be taken seriously.

‘I’m sorry for what you’ve been through,’ says Felix, thoughtfully. ‘You are correct. I cannot imagine.’

I catch Samson shaking his head and staring into space. Carolyn has a tear perched precariously on her eyelid, and is still staring at me as before.

‘It is what it is,’ I say, shrugging, trying to bring the sombre mood back around. And I want dirt. Incriminating, solid, unashamed dirt. I need something tangible, and I need to know what these people are about. ‘Anyway, tell me a little more about how your business works.’

That seems to do the trick, as the atmosphere brightens immediately. Felix looks at me, with a very understanding smile.