Sir Ben paced up and down the lounge, seething. He paid the carers to arrive at 8 a.m. sharp when he needed them here all day and, time and again, they treated that as a ‘from’ rather than a ‘by’ time.
He’d let it get to 8.15 a.m., then he’d give the agency a rocket and their final warning. As his watch ticked to 8.11 a.m., the gate buzzer sounded and, seeing the Totalcare-liveried Peugeot waiting, he buzzed it through. On its tail was a white and turquoise Toyota Avensis with Brighthelm Taxis emblazoned on the side.
Sir Ben cursed as he dashed for the front door, determined that the driver of the first car didn’t meet the second. He gave the taxi driver the international signal for ‘I’ll be five minutes’, and ushered the carer in. The mid-fifties woman, who looked like she’d lived twice her years and skipped more than the odd meal on the way, couldn’t stop apologising, blaming traffic, her grandchildren and a host of other excuses Ben couldn’t give two shits about. ‘I’ll be back about five. Call me if you need anything,’ he said as he strode out of the door, shouting, ‘Bye Mum,’ almost as an afterthought.
He slammed the door and was in the back of the cab in seconds. ‘Jesus, 124Tony. There was a time when people actually turned up on time.’
‘You said 8.15 a.m. so that makes me four minutes early by my watch,’ the driver replied with disdain.
‘Not you mate, that bloody care agency. I can’t remember the last time they were actually punctual.’
‘Give them a break, Ben. Not everyone’s as reliable as we are.’ Sir Ben caught Tony’s eyes twinkling in the rear-view mirror. Tony Evans was one of those characters who defined Brighton’s blue-collar elite. As well as owning the city’s biggest taxi company, Brighthelm, outright, he also had controlling stakes in most of his rivals’ firms, and ran a multimillion-pound commercial cleaning and environmental services company plus three late-night restaurants. His control over the door supervisors at the major Brighton clubs was hazier, certainly nothing Companies House could confirm, but it was an open secret that he pulled all their strings. To the ill-informed he easily passed as a humble workaholic, grafting to make ends meet, rather than the ruthless truth.
‘Are you sure we’re safe to talk in here? That CCTV camera is making me nervous.’
Tony pulled out onto the busy road, weaved through the lanes then turned right towards the A27 bypass. ‘Don’t let appearances deceive you, nothing in here is what it seems. Great cover, eh?’
‘What, swanning about in an eye-smarting cab with your company’s name and number plastered on the side? Hardly under the radar.’
‘You’re kidding aren’t you? How many Brighthelm taxis do you see on an average day?’ Tony darted out on the roundabout and off at the second exit, which would take them to Worthing.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Well have a look.’
It was then that he realised almost every other car seemed to be identical in shape and colour to the one he was in, and they all had either Brighthelm Taxi or one of Tony’s rivals’ names on the side. ‘Oh, I see.’
‘Yep, no one notices us. Unless we cut you up, that is. Perfect, eh?’ 125
Sir Ben grunted in grudging agreement. ‘Where are we headed?’
‘I thought we’d look like we were going to your office, but I’ll find some traffic jams to give us some time.’
‘Fine. Listen, I haven’t thanked you properly for sorting out our problem so promptly on Saturday.’
Tony met Sir Ben’s eyes in the mirror. They both knew this was the only place they could speak of what had happened after the football.
‘I’d like to say it was no problem, Ben, but I’d never lie to you.’
‘What, getting the gun?’
‘No, that wasn’t the problem. You try getting hold of a sniper who can embed himself in a hedge then shoot straight with an hour’s notice. Not to mention two cyclists happy to ride in the firing line.’
‘That’s what I pay you for.’
‘Talking of which …’ said Tony, as he glared in the mirror.
‘It’s on its way. Listen, obviously the weekend’s events have highlighted some chinks in our armour.’
‘I thought something must be up when you suddenly wanted your main man and an undercover cop slotted.’
‘I’m not worried about Challenor, but I was sloppy trusting him in the first place.’
Tony didn’t answer, but trundled along the inside lane as they entered Southwick Tunnel.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘’Course I did, I just don’t know what you want me to say. I could have told you years ago that he was a liability. A gob on a stick, that one.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘You never asked,’ said Tony as he eased his speed in reply to the sea of red lights illuminating the near distance.
‘Fair point. Look, I need someone with more business acumen to run that side of things. Someone who understands strategy, is discreet but has the wherewithal to do what’s needed, no questions asked.’
Tony stared ahead. ‘Are you kidding? Listen, I don’t want to offend you 126but I’m not exactly scrabbling round for work at the moment. Anyway, I’m not even sure what it is you’re doing. I mean I know what you do, but why?’
‘Well I haven’t got a business plan I can share if that’s what you mean, but it’s really simple. Like it or not, we all profit from the city being the drugs capital of the UK.’
‘Former.’
‘Exactly, and don’t tell me you’ve not felt the pinch of us losing that crown – and I don’t mean just by you creaming off the street dealers. It’s the goods and services a drug problem relies on. Substitute drugs, hostels, treatment services, cleaning and of course the tourism pound of being a party city.’
‘Is this about this Synthopate you’re trialling?’
‘Yes, but it’s not just Respite Pharmaceuticals who’ll benefit if we get the licence to produce, it’s the whole city. Wider, even. The UK.’
‘But I thought it was supposed to get people off drugs. Isn’t that just going to accelerate the pinch you’re on about?’
The traffic ground to a halt as they emerged into daylight, only to be met with yet another stretch of carriageway improvement works.
‘That’s the beauty of it. It’s a massive sticking plaster. A fucking expensive one to develop but a sticking plaster nonetheless. It’s never going to cure anyone, they’ll just get addicted to that instead, so in effect we get to print our own money. The more heroin there is on the street, the more addicts who’ll need treatment and the more people on a lifetime prescription of Synthopate. But the police seem to think it’s in everyone’s interests to cure addiction, dry up the demand and stop the flow of drugs in, just to save a few pitiful lives. That can’t happen.’
‘How do I come into this? I don’t like getting my hands dirty you know.’
The traffic lights at Shoreham Airport turned green, although you wouldn’t know it as the logjam remained stubbornly stuck.
‘I wouldn’t expect you to. I’ve got people in place who can provide 127muscle, those who can access the users, I’ve even got someone at Whitehall pulling strings – but I need someone to oversee it all and, as I say, have the capability to come down hard on whoever gets in our way.’
‘While you sit back and watch.’
‘I’m the main investor. I’ve put millions into the trial and if it doesn’t succeed I’ll lose everything.’
‘What’s in it for me?’
Sir Ben named a fee which was twice what he’d paid Challenor, but he knew to attract someone with Tony’s contacts and influence, he needed to talk big numbers.
The traffic thinned and Tony didn’t answer for a good minute, which seemed like ten.
‘Here are the conditions.’
Sir Ben punched his thigh in glee. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘I get full control. You can say what you need to achieve but you leave it entirely up to me how I go about that. No arguments and no questions. Oh, and no red lines. If someone needs taking out, I’m free to make that happen. I don’t mess about, Ben, but in return you’ll be isolated from all the mucky business. You can honestly claim innocence. But there must be total trust. You breach that and, well, you’ve seen what I can make happen and I’m not entirely sure how your dear old mum will cope on her own, are you?’