The Elephant Tree (11 page)

The day began to prematurely darken under a heavy layer of black cloud, and within the first mile of their journey fat raindrops had begun to fall. Scott had been paying particular attention to other road users along the route, especially any that had taken the same turns as them, but he was still made a little nervous by the sudden reduced visibility.

By the time they arrived at the docks the rain had become torrential and the sky even darker and more overcast. A flood of water ran down the side of the road and through the gateway into the docks. It mixed with the oil deposits from the procession of trucks that drove in and out all day, making the gathering pools of rainwater shine with a purple and green reflective hue. The adjacent car park contained around a dozen haulier trucks and numerous vans of various sizes and colours. A signpost indicated that the three storey red brick building directly ahead housed the reception area. They parked as close as possible and ran to the entrance.

The inside was overbearingly warm and humidity hung heavily in the air. A gas fire on high setting behind the counter and a thick inner door made the reception feel almost tropical, apart from the musty damp and oil smell that was released from the carpet. A fat man behind a counter, with thick round glasses and a moustache, glanced up momentarily as they walked in.

‘Bitter out there today,’ Twinkle said, rubbing his hands together and smiling at the uniformed official. The comment was greeted by a grunt and the man continued shuffling through the papers on his desk. Scott took out the forms from his pocket and unfolded them as he walked to the counter. Unsure of exactly what he should say, he decided to say nothing and just leaned over and placed them down with the ID card he’d been given next to some forms the man was currently frowning at on the desk.

‘Two minutes,’ he mumbled without looking up. Scott put his hands back into his pockets and strode around the room trying to remain calm. He had noticed from the outside that all the ground floor windows had been bricked up at some point, meaning the only light in the reception came from six fluorescent tubes, and the only thing to look at were regulation posters on the walls. One of the overhead lights flickered slightly and once Scott became aware of it, he found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else.

‘OK let’s see here then,’ the fat man said more to himself, and picked up the papers Scott had put down on the desk. Tapping a few buttons on his keyboard, he read what came up on the screen whilst smoothing his moustache between forefinger and thumb.

‘Mmm right, you want to go to Station B for collection,’ he said, gesturing with a finger that looked to Scott like something that should be in a bun with fried onions and ketchup. ‘It’s already been cleared. I’ve just authorised pickup on the computer, just take your 200C with you and show it over there.’

Scott nodded, picked up his ID card and papers the officer had indicated as being the 200C, and left in the general direction the finger had wagged in.

‘See, this is fuckin’ easy man,’ Twinkle said, nudging Scott with a gleeful look on his face as soon as they got outside. Scott immediately shot a look over his shoulder to make sure the inside door had closed tight and that Twinkle couldn’t have been overheard.

‘Shut the fuck up. This isn’t easy, it’s fucking risky you stupid old bastard and acting like an idiot is what will get us caught. Unless someone speaks to you directly, don’t say anything until we’re loaded up and back in the van. Right?’ The look he gave Twinkle let him know in no uncertain terms that this wasn’t the time to argue. Twinkle’s eyes narrowed and lips pulled tight over his teeth, but he slowly nodded his understanding and walked on in silence.

The rain was still falling heavily and they were both soaked through. Scott had given up trying to avoid walking in the puddles. He could hear squelching from his feet each time he took a step. A large signpost opposite the reception indicated roughly the same direction that the officer inside had for Station B. They walked back to the van and drove to make the collection.

The area of large warehouses was surrounded by high steel railings that had once been painted turquoise but the steady erosion of rust over the years left only patches of the original colour intact. The whole area would have thrived a decade or two ago but the demise of the shipbuilding industry along the river had seen the main factories have to retool to adapt to the changing market. Most had shut down completely with a ripple effect impacting other local businesses as a result. The docks themselves were in an obvious state of neglect due to the drop in trade and therefore lack of revenue that came through the port. A gutter high up outside Station B had cracked and the heavy rainfall that gathered on the roof flowed through the break, cascading down causing a flood just outside the entrance. Scott drove through the pooled water and parked up in a vacant bay inside.

Around the inside walls were grey metal shelves around thirty feet high. Labelled boxes sealed in plastic wrap sparsely occupied them. The centre of the floor space was devoted to pallets. Some were crowned with various sized wooden crates although most lay empty. Two yellow fork-lifts were stationed near an office cubicle on the right hand side of the warehouse. One had a bumper sticker that read: My other car’s a Porsche.

‘Just wait by the van,’ Scott instructed, ‘I’ll go and sort this out.’ Twinkle grunted and reached inside his jacket for cigarettes.

Through the greasy windows Scott could make out someone sitting inside the office, whistling to accompany the crackly sound of a portable radio that was struggling to maintain reception. Scott walked up to the door and tapped twice on the glass.

‘Yeah,’ a voice said from the other side. Scott pushed the door, greeted the man and handed him the collection forms along with his ID card. The man gave an appraising glance at the picture and then up at Scott, which was more than the first officer appeared to have done; he then entered the reference number onto a computer keyboard on his desk. Pausing for a few seconds, the man leaned in, squinting at the screen. Taking a step backwards, Scott positioned himself in the open doorway in an attempt to survey any movement in the warehouse. If this was a sting operation and the drugs had been discovered, he knew this was the time he had to be ready if there was to be any chance of escape.

‘Is your transportation ready?’ the man asked, without bothering to turn his head and check for any parked vehicles.

‘Yeah, a van in the bay down there,’ Scott said and pointed, unobserved.

‘OK I’ll have them brought over for you to load up,’ he said, tapping a few more keys which resulted in a printed receipt spilling out onto the desk in front of him. ‘Sign here,’ he indicated, after ripping the receipt free from the printer. Scott duly signed the name that matched his ID, wondering if the slight tremor in his hand had been noticeable. He took a copy along with his ID card and nervously made his way back to the van.

A brief red arc shone in the gloom of the doorway as Twinkle flicked away his cigarette butt which extinguished in the water outside.

‘Are we good?’ Twinkle asked as Scott approached.

‘Seem to be,’ Scott said and heard a whine behind him as a fork lift moved into position in front of a pallet, then a hydraulic whir as the pallet was lifted. He opened the back of the van and waited as their shipment approached. Again he checked the exit for the presence of any vehicles that may have contained watching police. The fork lift came to a halt just short of the van.

‘You want the whole lot hoisted in now or you want to check through it first?’ the driver asked.

‘Just stick it in there man. If anything’s missing it’s somebody else’s problem, you know what I mean?’ Scott said with a grin, pleased with his improvisation.

The driver laughed and nodded; a few seconds later it was all loaded up and Scott quickly closed the rear doors. Twinkle glanced from Scott to the driver and back again as if unsure that the job was actually finished. Scott understood his feeling, as it did seem to have been too easy. He thanked the man again and motioned for Twinkle to get back in the van.

Scott’s heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to slide in the ignition key and missed, the key slipping against the plastic steering column. He cursed, and looking down, tried again. This time sliding into the ignition barrel, Scott turned the key and fired up the engine. Twinkle was beaming and talking excitedly like they were already free and clear, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the dashboard. Scott checked the mirrors and craned his neck around to survey as much of the warehouse and the road outside as possible. As satisfied as he could be that there was no obvious trap about to spring, he reversed the van out of the parking bay and turned towards the doorway out of the warehouse. Moving off slowly, Scott drove through the pooled water and back along the access road for the storage stations. As they passed by some stacked metal shipping containers, an unmarked white van with its headlights on became visible up ahead. It edged slowly through the main gate and stopped just inside, blocking the only exit road out of the docks. Twinkle fell silent, as if only now becoming aware of the possible threat they still faced.

‘Fuck,’ he said, regaining his power of speech and anxiously looking from side to side to see any other possible police vehicles. ‘Fuck.’

Scott held the rising feeling of panic at bay. ‘Stay calm, it’s just a van.’

‘Just a van that’s stopped right in our path out of here, Jesus. What the fuck are we doing? Ten grand each and we could be facing ten years in jail? Fuck me.’

Scott tried to block out Twinkle’s anguished cries and swallow the growing panic within himself. He proceeded slowly towards the main gate and what he hoped would be their continued freedom. Still there was no sign of movement from the other van. The rain continued to fall and even with the wipers on high speed, visibility was poor. Scott could make out a shape in the driver’s seat but couldn’t be sure of any other occupants. They were within fifty yards of the gate now and having thought of nothing else, Scott flashed the vehicle’s main beam twice.

The stationary van began to move slowly away from the gate. Scott edged them forward again and as they approached the other vehicle, they could see the solitary driver bent over what looked to be the illuminated screen of a mobile phone.

‘Fuck, it was just some bloke sending a text message,’ Twinkle said, although he still didn’t sound like he could quite believe it. ‘Go Scott, get the fuck out of here.’

Needing no further encouragement Scott accelerated through the gate and beyond. Overhead streetlights illuminated the wet road and reflected up in a pink glow. Scott navigated the first few turns without thinking too clearly about where he was going. He regained some composure and began checking and rechecking the mirrors to make certain they weren’t being followed and tried to recall the
escape route
as Twinkle had called it. Taking the next left onto Freemont, he turned the van in the direction of the highway, and only then did the frantic jackhammer beating of his heart begin to gradually subside.

Twinkle was still shaken, spinning left and right in his seat and staring intently at every vehicle they passed by. Eyes pinned wide in a state of alarm, he muttered to himself constantly as they drove.

‘Twink, calm down,’ Scott said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘If any feds go by, you looking like that is gonna get us pulled over, even if they don’t know anything.’

Twinkle sat back, his knuckles white where his hands gripped the seat either side of his legs but he continued muttering. Doing his best to ignore the distraction, Scott took the turning onto the highway heading north.

‘They’ll make hundreds of thousands out of what’s in there,’ Twinkle said; his tension seemed to have subsided enough to allow him to speak.

‘Probably, yeah.’

‘It’s not right man. We took all the risk and all we get is 10K each?’

‘That was the agreement.’

‘Fuck the agreement. I’m getting on in years, Scott,’ Twinkle said, his voice sounding shaky and brittle. ‘The ten grand isn’t gonna last me long. What then, more of this?’

‘This was your gig Twinkle. You asked me to come along. If you’re getting cold feet now then take your pay and go do something else.’

‘Do what? All I’ve ever done is be a fuckin’ drug dealer. I don’t want to die in jail. Scott there’s hundreds of thousands worth of cocaine right in our possession, right there,’ he said, looking over his shoulder. ‘I know people down South who could move this, no problem. No need to get anyone up here involved. We can make the sale then vanish forever.’

For a brief second the thought grew wings and flew through Scott’s mind like a bat at midnight. ‘No way Twink’, he said, struggling against the temptation. ‘You know they’d never stop until they found us. No amount of money is worth getting killed for, and you know it would be anything but painless.’ Scott fixed his gaze on the road ahead. He didn’t like the new direction the day was turning in. This definitely wasn’t a possible outcome he had anticipated.

‘I can’t do this without you Scott. With that kind of cash we could disappear and never be found.’

‘Shut the fuck up Twinkle. I said no. Under no circumstances are you gonna make me think this is a good idea. We deliver the van, get paid then go. That’s it.’

Twinkle fell silent again. Resigned to a success he had dreamed of that morning, but one which now didn’t seem so sweet.

Scott indicated and steered the van off the highway, continuing to check in his mirrors for anyone who could be following them. Making two complete circuits of the roundabout, Scott satisfied himself that there were no pursuers and turned onto an unlit side road that led to the location where they were to make the delivery. Twinkle’s silence continued – intensified. Perhaps realising the magnitude of what he had tried to coerce Scott into doing. Whether the stupidity of his request had sunk in, or the futility in continuing to try, Scott didn’t know, but he half wished Twinkle would say something to relieve the tension which now hung in the van like thick fog.