“Have you tested all of the kit?”
“Of course I have,” Clay grunted. Both men knew better than to go into any live-fire situation with untested kit. The last thing you needed when the shit started flying was a dud firearm.
“So what’s in the parcels?”
“Some nice ‘go-faster kit’ I picked up as well. Night-vision goggles, camo nets, a red-dot sight for one of the Berettas, some other stuff…”
Danny rummaged through the packages. “Is that a stinger?” he asked, as he came to a compacted row of steel spikes that resembled the ridges of an alligator’s back. The stinger was designed to be spread across any road surface; the razor-sharp spikes would shred the tyres of any vehicle that drove over them. It effectively brought many police chases to an abrupt stop when deployed.
“Aye, I borrowed it from a friend a while back.”
“Why the hell did you borrow a stinger?”
“Ah, there were a few idiots tearing the town up in their cars. I was going to put a stop to it.”
“With a stinger?”
Clay shrugged. “Those Fast and Furious wannabes were rankling me a-piece. Real pains in the ass.”
“So what happened?” asked Danny.
“I never needed the stinger. Two of the dopes ran into each other head on. Wrote the cars off in one easy move. Both ended up in ER. I haven’t seen them since.”
“So all’s well that ends well.”
“I reckon so.”
Danny lifted the edge of a blanket to reveal a box of HG 85 grenades. “Shit, Clay, you did well to lay hands on these.”
Clay gave a naughty-boy laugh. To the uninformed the simple grey spheres gave no clue to the destructive power they held within. Danny knew from personal experience that they were devastating at the correct range.
“Let’s hope we don’t have to use them.”
“Park that,” said Clay, miming an explosion with his outstretched fingers. “Let’s hope we do get to use them!”
“What are you two deviants laughing about?” Larry poked his head out of the back door of the club. He grinned as he spotted the trunk full of ordnance. “Man, an old SLR, from back when kit was properly made. I never agreed with the change over to the SA80, it always felt like a toy in your hands.”
“All in the name of progress, Larry,” remarked Clay.
“At least you felt like you were holding a real weapon with the old black gat. The SA80 always felt like a GI Joe toy,” scoffed Larry. “It was just like the rest of the eighties; gaudy and done in poor taste.”
“I quite like it, feels much like our M4. Kinda short and stubby but gets the job done,” Clay offered.
“No taste,” said Larry. “Still, that’s ’cause you Americans can’t shoot for shit anyway.”
Danny seized his chance to join in. “It’s all that Rambo spray and pray malarkey; it knocks their eyes off kilter.”
“To hell with the pair of you, Rangers lead the way. Booyah!”
For a moment all troubles were forgotten; just three old soldiers shooting the shit.
Danny looked around the parking lot making sure there were no unexpected observers as Larry hefted the SLR, his hands instantly finding the natural grip. The years seemed to fall away from his face and for a moment Larry Duke had the full bearing of a combat soldier again. The SLR fitted into the curve of his shoulder with the comfort of an old lover rediscovered. He pressed his cheek against the nonslip pebble-grain stock and looked down the iron sights of the rifle.
“So did they have the SLR during the Boer War? Isn’t that the last war you fought in?” asked Clay.
Larry kept the rifle hugged close. “I was one of the best snipers that the Royal Fusiliers had.”
Danny nodded his respect. He knew that Larry had eight confirmed kills to his name. In the world of video game mentality, eight kills may not sound much, but Danny knew that any soldier that had switched off a target carried that kill forever.
Clay held out his hand. “Come on, gramps, before you hurt yourself.”
Larry handed over the weapon. “Pah, I’ve seen more action than you’ve seen women. Still, that wouldn’t take much beating, you ugly Yankee bugger.”
“Do you two want some time alone or can we get back to business?” asked Danny.
Clay and Larry exchanged grins.
“Did you have any trouble getting the kit over the border from Portugal?” asked Danny.
“Nah, I picked most of it up from a pal who lives just over on the Spanish side in Huelva on the Costa de la Luz. I’m telling you, Ron’s got a garage so full of kit, he could supply a small African country and still have some left over. He’s far enough away that none of the local assholes will get wind of gringos arming up.”
All three men knew how easy it was to obtain firearms in Spain. The country had a long history of gun running, brought to the fore during the Spanish Civil War. Despite the decades since, many of the old service weapons were still tucked away in civilian homes. The only limitation was the depth of your pockets.
A voice from the kitchen caused the trio to turn as one. “Well, I see the good, the bad and the ugly are back together.”
“Hiya, Daisy, come an’ give me a kiss,” demanded Clay as Larry placed the SLR back into the vehicle.
“I’d rather kiss a donkey’s arse than you, you big lout.”
“Hey, I think I’ve got a couple of DVDs along those lines.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Pamela shook her head in mock disgust, but she gave him an affectionate hug in way of compensation. Clay stooped and planted a kiss on her cheek. Pamela play-punched him on the shoulder. “And what have I told you about that ‘Daisy Duke’ crap?”
Clay just flashed a boyish grin and winked at her.
“Come inside. I’ll ask Dez to fix you some food and Sally is on her way over with some news.”
“Sally?” asked Clay.
“Sally Winrow from Sally’s Salon, I presume?” asked Danny.
“The one and the same. Well remembered.”
“I’ve got a good mind for details.” Danny tapped the side of his head.
Pamela gave him a dubious look. “I suppose the fact that she’s young and blond and beautiful has got nothing to do with her sticking in there?”
“Blond? Beautiful? Can’t say I noticed.”
Clay locked the car. “I’ve never met her but I like her already.”
“Men! You’re all the same.”
“Nah, some of us are worse,” said Clay.
The three men followed Pamela inside the club. The smell of bacon and coffee greeted them. Clay rubbed his hands together. “Hey, something smells mighty good. I’ve lived on pre-packed sandwiches for the last few days. Some real food wouldn’t hurt right now.”
“Dez, can you do these three vagrants a late breakfast apiece? Grilled not fried for Larry.”
Dez looked up briefly then he went straight back to cooking and singing along to the radio. “Sure, Pam, three specials coming right up.”
Danny was about to tell him that he’d already eaten then reconsidered. A full English breakfast was one of the simple pleasures in life, even for lunch. Besides, most soldiers had a basic rule of thumb during a conflict: eat, sleep and shit whenever you can, because you may not get the chance to do any again for god knows how long.
“Grilled for me too,” said Danny.
“Any ways up,” said Clay.
Minutes later three large servings were brought to their table. The three friends emptied their plates with gusto.
Danny shook his head as Clay emitted a loud burp into his cupped hands.
“Nice…” said Julie as she removed the plates.
“Oh jeez, I’m sorry, miss,” shrugged Clay with a sheepish expression.
Danny gave a tight smile at his brother’s embarrassment. In the presence of men Clay was as rough and ready as any of his Texas kin, but he always tried to be a gentleman around the ladies. “It could have been a lot worse.”
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Clay folded the paper napkin onto his empty plate but said nothing.
Julie bumped Danny with her hip and gave a soft wink as she collected his plate. “Nice?”
“Very.” Danny held her gaze. “The food wasn’t bad either.”
Julie pursed her lips as if to blow him a kiss then turned on her heel and moved back to the kitchen. Danny admired her dark-brown hair. Slim waist, long legs and she smelled faintly of strawberries. She went back about her business and Danny couldn’t help more furtive glances as she leaned over the tables to serve customers their meals. Nice girl… nice curves.
The door to the club opened and Sally and a young man Danny didn’t recognise entered. “That’s Sally,” Danny said to Clay, pointing at the newcomers. The Gunn brothers stood up as she approached the table.
“Hello again,” Sally said to Danny.
“Hello, you.”
“There was a lot of commotion at the flats just after you left the other night. I think you left just in time.”
Danny pointed at the bruises on his face. “Not quite.”
“That was you?” Sally looked genuinely surprised. “But the neighbours said that a dozen men were injured in a big fight.”
Danny shrugged modestly. “Doesn’t take a blowtorch to start a forest fire.”
Clay coughed quietly.
“Sally, I’d like you to meet my brother, Clay.”
“Hello, Clay.” She gave him that same wide smile as she had given upon first meeting Danny, then, “You don’t look like brothers.”
“Nah, I got lucky, I nabbed all the best features before he was even thought of.”
Sally looked at him, her face blank in non-comprehension as she took in the totally different accent. A couple of seconds later she laughed and wiggled a finger at the older Gunn.
Sally introduced her companion. “Guys, this is my nephew, Adam.”
Adam looked to be around twenty. His body shape told of too many burgers and an allergy to exercise. When he smiled it appeared that God had tucked a few too many teeth into his mouth. His hair was best described as tufty. To top off his good looks quota, his eyes were slightly misaligned. He had that “mad scientist” look about him and Danny wondered if that old-time actor Jack Elam had ever taken vacations in these here parts.
Adam was an excitable chap, his words coming out on fast forward. “Are you really the Gunn brothers?”
“In the flesh,” said Danny.
“And that’s your real name?” Adam’s eyes seemed to part company even more when he was babbling. He made twin finger pistols. “Gun? Like in pow pow pow? Rat-a-tat-tat?”
Both brothers struggled with his speech due to a mangled Spanish/Essex accent and his frantic delivery. Danny gave a slow nod in way of answer.
Sally stood behind her nephew and placed her manicured hands on his shoulders. “Adam works for EPS, the delivery company, and he’s got some information for you. Just take your time, Adam,” then with a sly smile, “they don’t speak English very well.”
Adam looked at her, puzzled.
Sally dead-panned the brothers. “Well, one’s a Jock Mac-Tavish and the other’s a Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
Adam grinned. “Well I was out on my route yesterday and on my PM run I dropped off five parcels to a villa about twenty-five miles north of here.” Adam moved his hands in front of his ample torso as if carrying the loads. “Three next day and two outsize.”
The brothers exchanged a look.
“Go on,” said Danny.
“Well, while I was dropping off, a carload of Locos parked up and walked past me into the kitchen at the back of the villa. Just about knocked me over.”
Sally nodded; she’d obviously heard the details already. She patted down a tuft of his flyaway hair.
“Sure they were Locos?”
“They all had that same grey camouflage gear on. One of them pushed me out of the way. He said I was blocking out the sun.”
“Okay,” said Danny.
Adam stared at Danny’s bruises with something akin to admiration; his mouth hung slightly open as he inspected the older man’s face, unabashed. “Then the owner of the villa came to sign for the outsize parcels. His name is Antoni Barcelo. The Locos all called him the boss… well, ‘jefe’ as they passed him. Aunt Sally told me you were going up against the gang so I thought it might be useful.”
“Damned right,” Danny said. “Well done, Adam, you’ve just saved us a lot of work trying to trace this guy. I take it you brought his details with you?”
Adam produced a buff folder from under his arm. “I did a little digging around on the Internet last night. It’s amazing what you can find out about people.”
“Indeed,” said Danny.
He spread the contents out on the table, arranging them in a neat collage. The first of the printouts showed Barcelo’s name and address. One of the documents was a photocopy of the EPS delivery note. Another showed an estate agent’s folio picture of the villa dated a few years earlier. Another sheet from the same company website showed an overhead view of the sprawling property. The price tag of the villa elicited a soft whistle from Danny. “And they say crime doesn’t pay.”
Coordinates were printed in bold handwriting along the bottom edge of another page.
“Google Earth?” asked Danny.
“Yeah, you gotta love it.”
“Is this definitely the same house?”
“Yeah, we use GPS co-ords in the vans now, so I googled them and the address.”
Both Gunn brothers huddled over the aerial shot of the villa and its grounds.
“Very nice, looks like the White House,” shared Clay. He tapped a calloused finger on the picture. “But the realtor might have to take a new picture when we’re finished remodelling it.”
“This is great, Adam, now, what else do you remember about the place?” asked Danny.
“Like what?”
“Did you notice any CCTV on the way in?”
“Yeah, he’s got a few cameras dotted around. There was a big one at the front gate, and definitely one next to the back door. I wasn’t at the front of the house so I’m not sure what they’ve got installed there.”
“Okay, you’re doing great. What about dogs?”
“I didn’t see any but there was a warning sign at the front gate as well. Cuidado con el perro; beware of the dog.”
“You speak fluent Spanish?” asked Danny.
“Of course, I grew up here. I’ve been here since I was eleven years old.”
“In Ultima?”
“No, I’ve been here two years. I grew up over at Alcoy, near Alicante.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“There was a little hut just inside the main gate, like a security cabin, but there wasn’t anybody in it when I was there. They just buzzed me in from the main house.”
Danny pointed back to the aerial photograph. “How high is this perimeter wall?”
Adam gazed at Clay as if measuring the wall against the tallest man in the room. His eyes came to rest about six inches above Clay’s head. “Uhm, maybe about seven feet?”
The questions continued for half an hour more. Danny pressed him for details. Adam smiled as he answered each one. His face bore an expression similar to when a fan meets a movie hero in the flesh. His expression began to trouble the younger Gunn brother.
Adam slumped in his chair and declared, “Man, I feel like I’ve been interrogated by the CIA.”
Sally patted his hand. “Oh, Adam, don’t be so melodramatic.”
“No, no, I’m not complaining. It’s exciting, like I’m in one of those spy movies. Mission Impossible and all that.” He pointed two fingers to simulate a gun.
Clay glowered at the younger man. “It’s nothing like that. If it goes wrong in real life, that’s it. No cut, no second chances.”
Adam recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “I… I know. I just want to help. I see what the criminals, what the gangs, do around here. I just want
to be part of something good, something worthwhile.”
“You’ve done more than enough already. What you’ve given us is great, now you’ve got to get back to your daily routine. Just keep your eyes open and report anything you think might be useful. Can you do that?”
“Kind of like undercover surveillance?”
Danny sighed. The kid was proving hard work. “Yes… kind of, but only as part of your normal day. Absolutely no heroics—do you understand? Don’t do anything that will get you noticed. Am I clear?”
Adam nodded.
“You better listen. I’ll kick your ass big time if I catch you messing around. Remember these Locos are for real. They’ll gut you and leave you lying for the crows to pick at,” Clay rumbled. He did not lift his eyes from the pictures.
“I get it, I get it.” Adam waved his hands placatingly.
The group shared a drink at the bar before parting. Sally gave each one of the men an enthusiastic hug, then linked arms with her nephew and said goodbye.
Once they had pulled away in their car, Clay turned to Danny. “Shit, I’d hate to see him full of coffee; he made my ears hurt. I think we need to video him and play him back half speed.”
“I know, but he brought us some good intel.”
“Hmm, I guess so,” Clay grinned. He bumped his knuckles into Danny’s ribs. “I think Sally was into you.”
Danny fixed him with a sour look. “She’s married.”
“And?”
“That’s it. She’s married… end of.”
Clay shrugged and wrinkled his nose.
“We’re not all womanisers like you, y’know,” said Danny. He knew Clay had struggled with his conscience for many years following the untimely death of his wife. Diana had been killed in a hit and run. The driver had never been identified. As sole inheritor of Diana’s considerable estate, Clay had become a very eligible Texas bachelor, yet he had declined many offers. Danny teased him from time to time as if he did lead a hedonistic lifestyle.
Clay raised his eyebrows. “Ah, little brother, wise in so many ways, yet a numb-nut in so many others.”
“Who said that? Socrates?”