Read Online The Baby And The Brandy (Ben Bracken 1) by Robert Parker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Parker
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area are the same, then the Manchester Ship Canal can be used to import directly from the sea if necessary.
‘Another big bonus’, says Jack, as he turns and points high to the sky over Old Trafford, at a plane that is banking right to change course. ‘Incredible, near immediate access to Manchester Airport.’
I can certainly see the appeal of this particular spot of Manchester, if covert international business and quick getaways are your sort of thing.
‘So, Felix has a warehouse down there by the Lowry, and a residence up there just by the main waterside properties. It’s that one with the tall windows, just away from all the others.’ Jack points, and I follow his finger from a medium-sized blue warehouse, nothing more than a big corrugated iron box with a jetty, and a beautiful looking piece of property that could only really be described as palatial. Floor to ceiling windows are correct, but they are from the very floor of the property to the very ceiling of the second floor, a wooden clad waterside retreat of the highest order. A joke about crime paying threatens to be cracked, but I choose against it.
‘It’s perfect’, I say. ‘You can see everything from there.’
‘That’s right,’ Jack says. ‘Including us.’ And with that, Jack waves at Tricky’s house, in a rather jovial manner. He follows it up by standing for a couple of seconds with outstretched arms, his features imploring recognition. ‘Like you say - we get his attention’, he adds.
I’m growing increasingly wary. If this group, the Berg, really are apex predators in Manchester’s grimy criminal ecosystem, prodding a wounded animal at this time when they have just lost one of their own is perhaps not the best thing to do. But Jack seems to think he’s a little untouchable as far as Felix is concerned. I hope he is right, and in fairness to him, he’s not been too wrong so far.
In situations where friction is imminent, planning and control are the two elements that prevent haphazard escalation and things getting out of hand. The events of the morning have spiraled, but only in terms of information. I feel an urge to expand on intel, and start at least formulating a line of inquiry. The prospect of action is looming ever closer, but it resembles more of a distant heady fog than an ordered staccato timeframe. I know I’m good at thinking on my feet, but there is no substitute for information. If this is the way for Jack to get it, then that’s fine. But there are a shitload of variables to this one. And waving at a crime-lord’s house does not sit atop the pile as the shrewdest thing to do.
I sit on the bonnet of the Lexus, and wait. Jack lowers his arms and sits next to me, our eyes fixed on the house across the water, our ears filled with the soft hush of breeze and the shriek of gulls.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask, but I stop him from answering. ‘That’s not really for you to answer, more that I just want you to take your feelings into account. Don’t get carried away. Front and centre, you want a name. If Felix has one, take it. Then let’s plan the next move accordingly. I am no good to you if you fizz off on your own, flying off the handle. If you get a name, we get our heads together, and we build something with a beginning, middle and end, with multiple entrances, exits and contingencies. If we need to act with urgency, then we’ll take that as it comes. Do you understand that?’
‘OK’ Jack replies.
But something else is bothering me. Even though I feel as if I want to help Jack, that somehow our journeys are interconnected, I’m still not sure why he asked me. I feel that my concern is worth attacking straight on, because while I am here and will happily attend to some garbage-removal on behalf of this poor city, Jack seems like he’s got enough bottle to step out on his own here.
‘Jack, your... ability, if that’s what you want to call it, or your... tenacity, should you prefer that, has seen an
‘Another big bonus’, says Jack, as he turns and points high to the sky over Old Trafford, at a plane that is banking right to change course. ‘Incredible, near immediate access to Manchester Airport.’
I can certainly see the appeal of this particular spot of Manchester, if covert international business and quick getaways are your sort of thing.
‘So, Felix has a warehouse down there by the Lowry, and a residence up there just by the main waterside properties. It’s that one with the tall windows, just away from all the others.’ Jack points, and I follow his finger from a medium-sized blue warehouse, nothing more than a big corrugated iron box with a jetty, and a beautiful looking piece of property that could only really be described as palatial. Floor to ceiling windows are correct, but they are from the very floor of the property to the very ceiling of the second floor, a wooden clad waterside retreat of the highest order. A joke about crime paying threatens to be cracked, but I choose against it.
‘It’s perfect’, I say. ‘You can see everything from there.’
‘That’s right,’ Jack says. ‘Including us.’ And with that, Jack waves at Tricky’s house, in a rather jovial manner. He follows it up by standing for a couple of seconds with outstretched arms, his features imploring recognition. ‘Like you say - we get his attention’, he adds.
I’m growing increasingly wary. If this group, the Berg, really are apex predators in Manchester’s grimy criminal ecosystem, prodding a wounded animal at this time when they have just lost one of their own is perhaps not the best thing to do. But Jack seems to think he’s a little untouchable as far as Felix is concerned. I hope he is right, and in fairness to him, he’s not been too wrong so far.
In situations where friction is imminent, planning and control are the two elements that prevent haphazard escalation and things getting out of hand. The events of the morning have spiraled, but only in terms of information. I feel an urge to expand on intel, and start at least formulating a line of inquiry. The prospect of action is looming ever closer, but it resembles more of a distant heady fog than an ordered staccato timeframe. I know I’m good at thinking on my feet, but there is no substitute for information. If this is the way for Jack to get it, then that’s fine. But there are a shitload of variables to this one. And waving at a crime-lord’s house does not sit atop the pile as the shrewdest thing to do.
I sit on the bonnet of the Lexus, and wait. Jack lowers his arms and sits next to me, our eyes fixed on the house across the water, our ears filled with the soft hush of breeze and the shriek of gulls.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask, but I stop him from answering. ‘That’s not really for you to answer, more that I just want you to take your feelings into account. Don’t get carried away. Front and centre, you want a name. If Felix has one, take it. Then let’s plan the next move accordingly. I am no good to you if you fizz off on your own, flying off the handle. If you get a name, we get our heads together, and we build something with a beginning, middle and end, with multiple entrances, exits and contingencies. If we need to act with urgency, then we’ll take that as it comes. Do you understand that?’
‘OK’ Jack replies.
But something else is bothering me. Even though I feel as if I want to help Jack, that somehow our journeys are interconnected, I’m still not sure why he asked me. I feel that my concern is worth attacking straight on, because while I am here and will happily attend to some garbage-removal on behalf of this poor city, Jack seems like he’s got enough bottle to step out on his own here.
‘Jack, your... ability, if that’s what you want to call it, or your... tenacity, should you prefer that, has seen an
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