Lock Man shifted his arse on the wooden bench. The side of his temple pulsed the more he ate through his thoughts. He had built up his life with great care over the years. He had put distance between himself and the daily operation of his little empire. People were in place to do the heavy lifting, to take the strain.
He slapped his hand against his forehead and wiped a film of sweat away. He tried to picture which of the fucking muppets had managed to shoot dead a garda and a little girl, and land another garda in a coma.
The frosted glass door swung back. In stepped Slammer. The bench creaked as he sat. The heavy squint in Slammer’s eyes meant Lock Man could never read much from them. He studied the crevices and lumps in the man’s big head. He knew him long enough to sense he was feeling the strain from the heavy lifting.
‘Talk,’ Lock Man said, as calmly as he could.
‘Jobs, Shop and Maggot were pulled over.’
‘Maggot. What the fuck was that headbanger doing there?’ Lock Man uttered, the pieces of the how-the-fuck jigsaw rapidly assembling in his brain. ‘Bet ya that fucking prick caused this.’
Slammer nodded. ‘Shop said he let him come along only because he had been wrecking his head to go.’
‘Stupid cunt,’ Lock Man said. ‘Anyways, what the fuck happened?’
‘Shop said this copper was nosy, asking loads of questions, but he and Jobs reckoned she would have left them go. But Maggot got itchy and pulled a gun, one he had on him.’
Lock Man shook his head and cursed the new generation of gobshite gangsters.
‘Shop said he had the car in gear when he knocked off the engine – cos the copper had told him to – and the car jumped. That’s when the shot went off.’
‘Fucking abortion this,’ Lock Man said, the pulsing in his head going techno. ‘How did they get out?’
‘In the artic we had on standby. Gave instructions to Jobs by text. The Romanian lads had the ramps out and they drove right up into the container. They were gone in minutes.’
‘Dosser’s Field?’
Slammer nodded. ‘I was there, waiting for them. On my way down I texted Dosser to go to work.’
‘Talk me through how ya cleaned up.’
Lock Man knew the wiser thing might be ignorance on his part, to leave it to Slammer. But he needed to know everything. His brain wouldn’t give him rest until he digested every detail and was satisfied of a clean repair job.
‘The truck came and Shop reversed the car down the ramps onto some industrial sheeting Dosser put out. I squared with the Romanians and told them to head for the border and the ferry to Scotland. The lads fell out of the car, gasping with the heat and dehydration and all. I had my hands by my side, a T-shirt on, to let them think I didn’t have a piece. I had me nephew up on the balcony on the second floor. He took Maggot and Jobs out as they were half-sprawled on the sheeting. I went over to Shop, who was shaking like a lump of jelly. He told me what happened. I got Shop to get the mobiles off the two lads, Maggot’s Glock, and his own mobile and put them into a bag. They’ve been smashed up and scattered. I had Shop put the two lads back in the car.’
Lock Man smiled. Even though this was a shitstorm, he knew Slammer had taken care of this, down to a T.
‘I got Shop to take the firepower out of the boot.’
Good man. I don’t want to be losing that arsenal, after forking out for it.
‘Disposal?’
‘I told Shop to ease the car out and head for the JCB. I walked beside the car all the way. The spot is by the woods, where no one can see. He pulled up by the section Dosser had just finished excavating. I plugged Shop as he sat in the car.’
Lock Man sniffed, impressed as fuck.
‘The JCB tipped the car in and banged it down flat. And filled in the soil.’
Slammer ended his story.
No sign of Slammer playing the fucking hero, thought Lock Man. Just did what he’s an expert at.
‘Slam, if I had more of youse, I wouldn’t need an army of muppets.’
Slammer tilted his head in acknowledgement. ‘Dosser even sprayed grass seed over the patch. It being the growing season and all.’
At that, Slammer allowed himself a rare smile.
Lock Man couldn’t help but laugh. But the paranoia kept scratching the side of his head.
‘Any CCTV that could have picked up the artic at the shops?’
‘No,’ Slammer said. ‘I done a scour of that area day before. It was clear.’
‘That leaves any fucking camera footage of the car and any eyewitnesses.’
‘If they can ID one of the lads, they’ll know they’re ours, yeah, but they won’t find them or the Glock or the phone now, so they won’t have evidence linking this to us.’
Lock Man gave his belly a slap, the sweat spitting out in an arc. The techno in his head had eased to a dull throb. ‘Right, we need to be extra fucking careful. They’ll be watching us and pulling us over wherever we go. Give them nothing to hang on us. So tell Ghost to lay off resupplying the crews and put Cracko on a tight lead. We have to expect that the Provos will seek advantage in this, but we’ll have to wait till things die down. In the meanwhile, we stay visible, act as normal. Don’t give the filth any reason to suspect we’re behind this.’
He looked at Slammer and flung another layer of sweat off his forehead.
‘We’ve been around long enough, Slam, to know the avalanche of shit this will mean if they get the slightest bit of evidence linking us to it. The filth will make it their life mission to nail us, now or in the future. That Tyrell fucker, for one, won’t let this go. He’ll be like a dog digging for a bone. And now he has his little bitch too.’