into somebody that has already succeeded. Let’s tell him we want some of his profit. Tell him that if he doesn’t agree we’ll ruin him anyway, and hurt him and his kin into the bargain. It’s a no-brainer, a sure-fire winner.
Ashley felt sick to the core… knew exactly how the poor kid’s story would end.
“Father called his number from the business card. Told Mr Graham he’d like to talk. He arrived suited up the following day and they agreed on a figure amounting to a few hundred pounds a month.” Rafi sighed.
“Father figured it was a fair price to pay.”
“So what went wrong?” Matthewson enquired.
Rafi sighed, glared at Matthewson then turned back to face Ashley.
“What happened?” asked Ashley, already knowing what the answer would be.
“The payments, Mr Clarke. Everything skipped along just fine. But then after a few months Mr Graham pushed up the payments. He doubled them overnight. Within two months he’d increased them again and Father just couldn’t afford it.”
Rafi wiped at a tear in the corner of his eye.
“He missed a payment. Mr Graham visited the shop and Father told him that their arrangement was finished. It was too expensive. Father said Mr Graham just laughed. Mr Graham said he’d be back begging for his security services within the week.” “That’s what he called it? A security service?” Rafi acknowledged Matthewson’s remark but with a look of hostility.
“That’s what his business card said, Mr Clarke: William Graham, Security Consultant .”
Matthewson got up from the table.”I think you’ve said enough, Mr Patel. DC Clarke gets the picture. I really —” Rafi ignored him.
“Within two hours our shop in Byker had been petrol bombed. That evening two of our shops were burgled. They left disgusting, filthy messages on the counters.”
“I’m calling this discussion to a close, DC Clarke.” Matthewson stood up, gathered up some papers and made as if getting ready to leave.
Rafi Patel looked up from his chair, glared at his solicitor with a look of disgust.
“You’re fired, Mr Matthewson. I don’t want you to represent me anymore.”
The solicitor froze, open-mouthed, for once speechless.
“You’re as bad as him. You and your firm represent him, you run after him like little sewer rats. Every time he picks the phone up, you look out your running shoes.”
Ashley spoke. “I’m not surprised, he’s one of their best customers, Rafi. If it’s not Billy Graham in the dock it’s one of his little lackeys.”
Rafi nodded. “And when you do represent us, Matthewson, you try to make sure we distance ourselves from him. Only this time he’s screwed up, big time. And still you wanted me to say he was only the driver and didn’t supply us with the drugs. Only when you found out it was his car and he was the driver and his prints were all over the bags did it eventually sink in. He screwed up, Mr Matthewson; even you can’t help him this time.”
He took another drag on his cigarette, inhaled deeply.
“But don’t worry, this is off the record. Tell Mr Graham he’s safe on the protection racket charges at least. My guess is he’ll get enough time anyway without me risking my life.”
He turned back to face Ashley. “As much as I’d love to add a few more years onto his sentence I can’t put my family at risk. His network is big and dangerous and Mr Graham would still send out his orders from his prison cell.”
Ashley looked into the eyes of the prisoner: a mixture of fear, and yet determination.
Rafi Patel turned to his solicitor.
“Didn’t you hear me, Mr Matthewson? I said you’re sacked so please leave me.”
The solicitor remained, motionless.
Ashley spoke. “The door is the brown wooden thing in the wall, Mr Matthewson.”
Matthewson rose to his feet, annoyed, defeated, bitter at the injection of humour by the policeman. His best client had screwed up and this time he couldn’t help him, couldn’t fight his corner,
Ashley felt sick to the core… knew exactly how the poor kid’s story would end.
“Father called his number from the business card. Told Mr Graham he’d like to talk. He arrived suited up the following day and they agreed on a figure amounting to a few hundred pounds a month.” Rafi sighed.
“Father figured it was a fair price to pay.”
“So what went wrong?” Matthewson enquired.
Rafi sighed, glared at Matthewson then turned back to face Ashley.
“What happened?” asked Ashley, already knowing what the answer would be.
“The payments, Mr Clarke. Everything skipped along just fine. But then after a few months Mr Graham pushed up the payments. He doubled them overnight. Within two months he’d increased them again and Father just couldn’t afford it.”
Rafi wiped at a tear in the corner of his eye.
“He missed a payment. Mr Graham visited the shop and Father told him that their arrangement was finished. It was too expensive. Father said Mr Graham just laughed. Mr Graham said he’d be back begging for his security services within the week.” “That’s what he called it? A security service?” Rafi acknowledged Matthewson’s remark but with a look of hostility.
“That’s what his business card said, Mr Clarke: William Graham, Security Consultant .”
Matthewson got up from the table.”I think you’ve said enough, Mr Patel. DC Clarke gets the picture. I really —” Rafi ignored him.
“Within two hours our shop in Byker had been petrol bombed. That evening two of our shops were burgled. They left disgusting, filthy messages on the counters.”
“I’m calling this discussion to a close, DC Clarke.” Matthewson stood up, gathered up some papers and made as if getting ready to leave.
Rafi Patel looked up from his chair, glared at his solicitor with a look of disgust.
“You’re fired, Mr Matthewson. I don’t want you to represent me anymore.”
The solicitor froze, open-mouthed, for once speechless.
“You’re as bad as him. You and your firm represent him, you run after him like little sewer rats. Every time he picks the phone up, you look out your running shoes.”
Ashley spoke. “I’m not surprised, he’s one of their best customers, Rafi. If it’s not Billy Graham in the dock it’s one of his little lackeys.”
Rafi nodded. “And when you do represent us, Matthewson, you try to make sure we distance ourselves from him. Only this time he’s screwed up, big time. And still you wanted me to say he was only the driver and didn’t supply us with the drugs. Only when you found out it was his car and he was the driver and his prints were all over the bags did it eventually sink in. He screwed up, Mr Matthewson; even you can’t help him this time.”
He took another drag on his cigarette, inhaled deeply.
“But don’t worry, this is off the record. Tell Mr Graham he’s safe on the protection racket charges at least. My guess is he’ll get enough time anyway without me risking my life.”
He turned back to face Ashley. “As much as I’d love to add a few more years onto his sentence I can’t put my family at risk. His network is big and dangerous and Mr Graham would still send out his orders from his prison cell.”
Ashley looked into the eyes of the prisoner: a mixture of fear, and yet determination.
Rafi Patel turned to his solicitor.
“Didn’t you hear me, Mr Matthewson? I said you’re sacked so please leave me.”
The solicitor remained, motionless.
Ashley spoke. “The door is the brown wooden thing in the wall, Mr Matthewson.”
Matthewson rose to his feet, annoyed, defeated, bitter at the injection of humour by the policeman. His best client had screwed up and this time he couldn’t help him, couldn’t fight his corner,
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