‘Well what?’
‘What do you think?’
Fitchett gave his customary shrug. ‘I don't know, but I'll tell you this much: it took about twenty people to kick things off in Dublin, if that. There's thirty-eight over there and a lot of them are still pissed about what happened down here in ninety-seven. You think about that.’ He leant back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling.
‘There is one thing you should know, Guv,’ chimed in Porter. ‘Thanks to dick-head here, they're using my real name.’
‘What! Why did you do that?’ groaned Jarvis.
Fitchett shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why not?’ he replied, without looking down from the roof.
Jarvis watched him for a second before shaking his head and turning to face Fabio. ‘OK my friend, this is your call. As far as I'm concerned, we have to go with the idea that they will try and stop the game. But we still do not know why.’
Fabio pushed himself off the wall, walked over and looked at Porter. ‘Are you OK?’ Porter nodded. ‘And you will go back in?’ Another nod, slower this time. ‘And you?’ He turned his head towards Fitchett who shrugged and lit a cigarette.
‘Do I have a choice?’
The Italian took a deep breath and stood up to his full height. ‘Then I will get my men to take you back over the other side. But as soon as you have anything which may help us, you must get out. It is very dangerous for you.’
Porter jumped down off the table and grimaced as his leg felt the jolt. ‘I'll be OK.’
Fabio nodded and spun away as the fax machine began churning out a sheet of print. He took a brief look at it, gestured to Williams that it was for him and picked up the phone. ‘I will call my superiors and I suggest you do the same Paul. But from now on, whatever happens we make the decisions. This is our operation now.’
Chapter 16
Tuesday, 26 October
18.00
Terry Porter followed Gary Fitchett out of the patrol car and, without thanking the driver, closed the door and limped across the car park in the direction of the parked Lexus. Within a few moments, Hawkeye and Billy Evans appeared in front of them, both of them looking remarkably concerned.
‘You sorted?’ asked Evans.
‘Yeah, they were all right. Just cleaned it up and stuck on a bandage. Bloody wops, only one of them could speak any English.’
Evans looked at him for a moment and then smiled. ‘You OK, Fitch?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Poxy spics, fucking place stank of garlic.’
Evans pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered them around. They all lit up and stood there for a moment before Evans took Fitchett's arm and led him away. Porter watched him leave and had begun walking towards their cars with Hawkeye when the noise of Evans shouting made him turn back. He made a move to hurry over when Hawkeye grabbed him.
‘None of our business son. Just let them sort it out.’ He led Porter over and sat him in the Lexus. ‘It's getting dark Terry lad. We'll be off soon.’
‘Why? Where we going?’
Hawkeye looked down at him and grinned. ‘You'll find out soon enough.’
Jarvis was angrily pacing up and down the small room, a mobile phone pressed tightly to his ear and a long fax hanging out of his other hand. ‘Look Guv, I just don't know. At the moment, it looks like I was wrong. From what we know at the moment, and to be honest that isn't much, they'll kick something off tomorrow night inside the ground.’
He stopped pacing and looked at Phil Williams who was the only other person in the room. The others had left after Porter and were now helping Fabio keep the car park under observation. ‘… Well he was happy to go back in and the Italians are all over them. If anything happens, they'll get him out … How can they make a mistake Guv? He's the only black guy over there.’ He sat down on a chair and rested his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on Williams who pointed an imaginary gun at his temple, as if to shoot himself.
Jarvis simply looked back, unsmiling. ‘Guv, are you going to order me to pull him out?’ There was a long pause and then he relaxed. ‘Yes Guv. I'll wait to hear.’ He closed the phone and put it in his pocket. ‘Fucking hell,’ he groaned. ‘Talk about covering your own arse.’ He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘If he had his way, we'd be over there pulling Terry out right now. Thank Christ the Home Office or something have told him that the Italians have asked for him to be left in as long as possible. If there is something set up, they want to know who the contacts are and he's the only one who can find out for them.’ He slapped his knees and stood up and walked over to the kitchen area. ‘I need caffeine.’
‘Well, what's happening now?’
Jarvis looked at Williams over his shoulder as he poured himself a coffee. ‘Nothing … yet. The DCI can't, or won't, make a decision. He's waiting for something to happen here.’
He picked up his cup and sat down. ‘I'll tell you what though, I wouldn't like to be in Terry's shoes at the moment and I'm certainly not leaving him in there a second longer than I have to. Not even Evans is worth that.’
They sat for a moment and then Williams walked over; picked up the fax and studied it for a moment. ‘This still doesn't make sense to me.’
Jarvis looked up from his cup. ‘What?’
‘Well, out of all the cars in the car park, we now know that at least seventeen are registered to Evans, right?’
Jarvis nodded.
‘But why use cars we can trace back to him? And have you seen them? On here it just says BMW, Mercedes or whatever. But they're top-of-the-range jobs. Not rubbish. I just don't get it.’
‘And you think I do?’ He stood up and walked over to where Williams was standing and took the fax from him. After a quick glance at it, he suddenly gave Williams a slightly quizzical look. ‘Could we have been looking for something that doesn't exist?’ He handed Williams back the fax and swallowed a mouthful of coffee. ‘What if everything Evans told Fitchett is the truth and he really is being paid to take this lot into the city, get things kicked off and then get them all out and back home quickly. That's what they did in Dublin, and we never managed to tug anyone for that.’
Williams looked down at the list and shrugged as Jarvis went on. ‘That's why he's using cars from his garage. He knows they're decent motors and so they'll be quick and reliable. But they're incidental.’ He put down his cup and began pacing around, talking more to himself than Williams, who simply stood and watched as his DI struggled with the whole concept that he might have been coming at this whole operation from the wrong angle. ‘Remember, he recruited all these lads. He knows them all personally, or at least most of them, and if he had any doubts about anyone, they'd have been cut loose by now, even Terry.’
Jarvis stopped pacing and turned to face Williams. His body language had changed: now he was obviously excited. ‘But this lot aren't just fighters, they're top boys. They know how to hit a target and then vanish like that,’ he said, with a click of his fingers. ‘From what Fabio has told us, we haven't even got the benefit of CCTV here and so it'll be even easier for them.’ He began pacing again. Staring down at the floor and grinning as he warmed to the task. ‘He's so fucking arrogant, it probably never even occurred to him that we would get hold of this.’ He walked over to the table, picked up his cup and sat down again, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. ‘No, it pains me to say it, but I'm beginning to think we've been barking up the wrong tree all along.’ He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. ‘We keep trying to work out what he's up to but we already know because he told us. There never were any drugs. This is all about tomorrow night.’
Williams looked at him and shook his head. ‘Then I best give this to Fabio,’ he said, picking up the fax and stuffing it in his pocket. ‘If this is their case, then everything is down to them now.’
Jarvis looked at him, and if anything, the smile on his face widened. ‘That's what the man said. It's their operation now.’
Gary Fitchett came storming across the car par
k and thumped his fist on the top of the Lexus. ‘Cheeky cunt!’ he barked before taking out a cigarette and lighting it angrily. Hawkeye gave Porter a wink and walked off, leaving him sitting half in and half out of the car.
‘What was all that about?’
Fitchett looked down and shook his head. ‘He's getting twitchy, that's all. Giving me the biggie about bringing a … you know … sorry … oh bollocks.’ He looked away and sucked furiously on his cigarette.
Porter looked down at the floor. ‘So what's happening now?’
‘In about twenty minutes, we're all getting picked up by coach and taken to a bar in the city. There's beer and grub laid on or something. He'll tell us all about it when we leave here.’
Porter nodded. ‘Then what?’
‘How the fuck do I know? Back here and crash in the cars again I suppose. Get ready for tomorrow.’
He turned away and leant against the car but Porter grabbed him and pulled him round and down so they were almost face to face. ‘Now tell me what really happened over there!’ His voice was angry, barely disguising the fear that was beginning to gnaw away at the pit of his stomach.
Fitchett tried to look away but was too close and gave up. ‘Some of the others have been giving it the large one. You need to be careful. That's all.’
He pulled away and stood up but Porter climbed out of the car after him. ‘What d'you mean?’
The two men stared at each other for a moment. ‘Are you fucking stupid or what?’
Porter grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards him. ‘What do you mean?’
Fitchett grabbed his arm and shoved him back against the car. He was angry now, the look in his eyes no longer subdued but raging. Porter took a step back, he'd seen enough of Fitchett in action over the last couple of years to know that, when he got like this, he usually struggled to keep control of himself. He glanced around and when he saw no one was in earshot moved forward and hissed: ‘Look, you stupid cunt, you're a black bloke right in the middle of one of the heaviest England crews anyone has ever put together. If you want me to spell it out then here it is: this lot aren't your greatest fans and they don't fuck about. If they can, they'll do you. Big time. And they won't think twice about it.’
He flashed another quick glance around and then moved even closer, thrusting his finger into Porter's chest. ‘Billy wanted to know if I'd back you up if they started and, fuck knows why, I said I would. But if they find out that you're a copper, they'll do me as well and the only way either of us'll get home is in a box. That's if they can find enough bits.’ He gave him a final glare and then moved back a step before taking another swift glance around.
Porter looked at him for a moment and then sat down in the car. He was scared now and his mind was racing. He'd been in plenty of dodgy situations before but never anything like this. He felt alone and in big trouble. He was sure that Jarvis and the others were nearby, but he couldn't see them and that made it even worse.
The sound of singing broke out across the car park and he stood up beside Fitchett and looked across towards it. ‘No surrender, No surrender, No surrender to the IRA!’ The right- wing anthem. He turned his head and looked towards the two police cars still parked by the exit. Bad knee or not, he could be there in less than a minute and then that'd be it. All over. Screw Jarvis, screw Fitchett and screw this lot. He had himself to worry about and he'd had enough.
He put his arm on Fitchett's shoulder and pulled him round. ‘Gary, I'm out of here.’
‘What? What d'you mean?’
‘Fuck this for a laugh, I'm off, it's too dangerous.’
Fitchett spun round and grabbed him. ‘You cowardly wanker, you're going to leave me here to face this lot aren't you?’
Porter shook his head. ‘No, you're coming with me. Jarvis is still on the other side of the bridge, we can …’
Two hands shot forward and grabbed his collar, pulling him forward until he could feel Fitchett's breath on his face and he could see every detail of his eyes. ‘Oh no. You're not going anywhere you bastard. Not yet, not until I say so. I swear, you try and dump me and I'll fucking do you myself!’
The sound of approaching footsteps made them both turn their heads. Walking towards them were two men. Like most of the others, they were late twenties, early thirties, slightly stocky and smartly dressed. Their arrogance walked about ten feet in front of them. Porter hadn't seen either of them before but Fitchett obviously had. He dropped his hands and pushed Porter back against the car before turning to face them.
‘Well, well …’ began the taller of the two, ‘lovers’ tiff?’
Fitchett pulled himself up to his full height and Porter leant off the Lexus and stood up behind him.
‘Fuck me, look what we've got here. You remember these two don't you Terry? They're part of that little firm we turned over in London a couple of weeks ago. I can't remember who it was … Orient? Or Brentford?’ He shrugged his shoulders, a gesture inviting them to say who they were. Demean them a little. They never took the bait and so he went on. ‘… Rangers maybe? Oh no, I've got it,’ he exclaimed with a click of the fingers and a broad smile. ‘Chelsea! Yeah, that was it. How's your boy then? Can he see yet?’
The bigger of the two moved forward. ‘Yeah, that's right. And you're the mouthy Brummie from the Globe. I see you've brought your pet monkey with you this time.’
Porter looked at the back of Fitchett's head. He was finding it hard to come to terms with the transformation that had taken place in him. Only a few seconds ago they'd been arguing about their very survival, and now he was the old Fitchett. The one he knew from a hundred away trips. Arrogant, cocky, confident. And very dangerous. The tone in his voice was calm and assured, but he was getting ready. Winding himself up. He looked the two of them up and down and started again. But this time his tone was more disapproving and accompanied by a slow shake of the head.
‘I don't know, we'll have to have a word with Billy about this, Terry. He told me that the only people coming on this trip were top boys. But these two can't be top boys can they? Not the way they ran from us.’ He moved his head slightly, as if looking over his shoulder, but his eyes remained firmly fixed on the men in front. Just in case. ‘If Billy'd told me there were some under fives coming, I wouldn't have bothered.’
The two men let out an ironic laugh. ‘That's what we like about you northerners, your sense of humour.’
Fitchett smiled. ‘Well, that's why we like taking on the Cockneys. It always gives us plenty to joke about.’
The three of them laughed, and then the bigger of the two Londoners raised his finger. ‘Watch your back son. We owe you, big time, and payback's coming. And you,’ he said, pointing past Fitchett at Porter, ‘you shouldn't even be here. But we'll sort that out later on.’
Fitchett moved forward. ‘How about we sort it out right now? I need cheering up.’ But without another word, they turned and walked away. Fitchett watched them go for a few moments and then turned round. ‘That's all we fucking need.’
Porter grabbed him again. ‘Look, we can be out of here in two minutes …’
Fitchett's face was a picture of disgust. ‘You make me want to vomit. You think I'm walking out of here now? So they can say I bottled it? Fucking forget it. I've never run from a ruck before and I'm sure as shit not gonna start now.’
Porter pushed him away angrily. ‘Well screw you. I'm out of here.’ He bent down and reached into the back of the car for his bag, but as he did so, a boot shot forward and smashed into the side of his damaged knee. He let out a loud yelp and fell face-forward into the car. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he shouted, grabbing hold of the steering wheel and pulling himself upwards. ‘What did you do that for?’
Fitchett stood over him, his face sneering down, almost manic. ‘I told you, you're not going anywhere.’ He looked around to see if anyone had seen what had happened and then smiled. ‘Besides, the bus is here. We've got a party to go to.’
The two men ran out of the small br
ick building and headed towards the Vauxhall Vectra. ‘Where are they now?’ Jarvis screamed into the phone as Williams dived into the driving seat, started the engine and pulled away even before the doors were closed. ‘Right, wait there. We'll be about thirty seconds.’ He closed the phone and inhaled deeply. ‘Shit, what's the bastard up to now?’
Williams sped across the bridge and then hit the brakes, slowing the car down to avoid drawing attention to them. ‘Where are they?’ he asked.
‘By the entrance I think, over there.’ Jarvis pointed towards the petrol filling site and Williams steered the car towards it. They quickly found Parry and White, and Williams pulled in beside them.
‘Where's Fabio?’ asked Jarvis, after winding the window down.
‘Some of their plainclothes lads have just turned up. He's gone to brief them in the cafe.’
Jarvis nodded. ‘And what's happening over there?’ He looked over to the far end of the car park. It was getting darker by the second and even though it was fairly well lit, they could barely make out any of the cars they were supposed to be watching.
‘An Italian registered coach turned up about five minutes ago and our lads have started to get on board. Evans must be bussing them in to somewhere.’
Jarvis pushed open the door and got out. If he couldn't see them, they sure as shit wouldn't be able to see him. ‘Any sign of Porter?’
Steve Parry got out and walked round beside him. ‘No - well, not really.’
Jarvis turned to face him. ‘What d'you mean not really?’
Parry screwed up his face. ‘Well the Lexus is parked just over there,’ he said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the car park. ‘Terry and Fitchett were standing next to it and it looked like they were arguing but we couldn't be sure. Then two of the targets came over and they spoke to Fitchett, but after it looked like it might get nasty, they left.’
‘That's all?’
Parry nodded. ‘Yeah.’
Jarvis turned back to look at the dark outline of the coach. He could see the lights on inside and people milling about but couldn't make out anything specific. He sighed out loud. ‘Shit, this is a new one. Where'd you think they're going?’