Dishonour Read online

  Freddie was pacing. If he was honest, he was shitting himself. Almost literally. Thankfully they hadn’t been on lock up and he’d been able to use the lags’ toilets off the recreational room. He was losing it. For him to be nervous was unheard of. But then, he supposed he had a lot riding on it. In fact, he had everything fucking riding on it. He had to make this work. He was worried about Eddie’s contact; never before had he put his trust in a person he didn’t know. He hadn’t even let a stranger look after his bleeding rottweilers, let alone himself. Fuck. He had to stop this worrying. It wasn’t helping him at all.

  He turned and saw Eddie on the other side of the room and he nodded an acknowledgement. A few feet away was Martin Warner, looking as if he was standing in a police line-up after committing the Great Train Robbery. He was a bleeding chump. The look on his face made him look more than shifty. Even from across the room with less than perfect eyesight, Freddie could see him standing in his cheap blue suit, tiny droplets of sweat on his forehead. Now what the fuck was Warner doing? Oh God, he was waving and calling him over. For fuck’s sake, he’d told him not to do anything out of character, and calling him over was just that. Freddie couldn’t just ignore him because no doubt the man would only bring more attention to him if he did.

  Talking through his teeth so no one could lip read what he was saying, Freddie angrily spoke to Martin Warner. ‘What’s the matter with you? Do you want to get us nicked before we even get out of here? I told you not to speak to me.’

  ‘It was just, I …’ Warner stopped to dab his damp forehead.

  ‘Pull your fucking self together, Marty. You look like you’ve thrown a bucket of water all over yourself.’

  Warner was clearly in a panic. What Freddie really wanted to do was ram his fist down his whiny little throat. The man was a pussy. It wouldn’t surprise him if he burst into tears. Warner spoke to Freddie, far too loudly for his liking.

  ‘I’ve been thinking. I’m not sure if I can do this. What happens if we get caught? What will happen to my family then? Listen Thompson, let’s call this off and then say nothing about it.’

  Freddie was holding it in, but he felt he wanted to burst. This man was already messing things up. Still speaking through gritted teeth, Freddie narrowed his eyes.

  ‘I swear to God Marty, if you don’t want me to order my men to fuck you and your whole family up, then you need to get a fucking grip. The only way you’re going to back out on this is in a body bag. All you have to do is stay there and say nothing. Once it starts, you know exactly what you have to do.’

  The sweat now started to pour off Warner’s forehead. ‘Just repeat the plans for me; I’m not sure I can remember everything.’

  Jesus, it was like he was dealing with a child, and people were starting to notice that he, Freddie Thompson, was talking to a screw. ‘No, Marty. I ain’t standing here any more. If you value your family in any way, I’m sure even you will remember. Okay?’

  ‘Motherfucker!’ a lag shouted at the top of his voice on the other side of the room, followed closely by a loud bang. It was starting to kick off. Freddie looked over to see one of the prisoners in a headlock over near the pool table. The lag screamed as a prison-made weapon was used on his face and a razor blade attached to a comb slashed the man’s cheek. Blood spurted everywhere, covering the green felt of the pool table.

  Freddie knew it was a signal for the other prisoners to join in. A cracking of wood was heard as the cue stick was broken across a knee, leaving a lethal jagged edge. Fists and feet were flailing. Ten, twenty, fifty men started to jump in; battering one another with pent-up anger and excitement. The prison alarms were going off and Freddie heard the running of feet before he saw the back-up officers charging along the corridor.

  It was chaos and Freddie could hardly see through the throng of men. He was searching for Eddie. Then he saw him, down on the floor, his face covered in blood as a lag booted him in the face. He saw the lag grab Eddie’s arm, twisting it round at the shoulder until it popped out of the socket.

  ‘Fucking hell! Me arm! Fucking hell!’ Eddie rolled around on the floor in excruciating pain, unable to stand as the shock hit his body.

  Freddie stood back in the entrance of his cell, watching the prison officers haul the men off each other. Cell doors slammed and security gates shut. Some men continued to shout as they were dragged back into their cells or towards the isolation block. A few minutes later, the only people who were left in the recreational room were the prison officers and Eddie, who was still shouting in agony. As Freddie’s cell door was slammed, he smiled to himself. Eddie had done well.

  ‘It’s broken.’

  ‘Well give the man a medal, of course it bleedin’ is.’ Eddie grimaced through the pain of his dislocated shoulder and his broken arm as he spoke to the medics. Freddie had sorted out the attacks with one of the other lags, but Eddie hadn’t known who it was going to be until he actually got pounced on.

  ‘The element of surprise is what’s needed, kid.’ Freddie had said to him. And it certainly had been a surprise when the biggest, hardest, craziest lag had nailed him to the floor, kicking the shit out of him, before clean snapping his arm.

  It was typical Freddie to choose the terminator – the nickname everyone called him on the wing – to batter him senseless. The geezer was serving life for a triple murder. Asked why he’d killed the three strangers during a bank job, his only defence had been, ‘because I felt like it.’ No doubt using the terminator, when there were so many other lags to choose from, would’ve appealed to Freddie’s sense of humour. And Eddie would bet any money Freddie would rib him about it later.

  They’d given him painkillers, but the pain was still shooting through Eddie’s body.

  ‘You really need an injection Davidson, until you’re taken to hospital. A couple of paracetamol won’t do the trick.’

  Eddie shook his head. He had to be straight-thinking, not hazed-up with shit. Yes, he was in agony, but if it meant getting out of this crap hole, then he would’ve happily had his other arm broken.

  ‘Fuck me, watch what you’re doing Governor.’ Eddie recoiled back, trying to protect his arm as Deputy Governor, Martin Warner stumbled into the medical room, bringing a couple of prison screws with him and banging Eddie’s arm in the process.

  Eddie looked at Warner. Jesus what was wrong with the man? All he had to do was keep a low profile and act natural. Yet here he was with his face pallid, waxy and wet with sweat. He looked like he was going to pass out. Fuck. He was the one with the broken arm, yet Warner looked like he was the one who’d been injured.

  Eddie watched as Warner went to the tap, splashing his face with water, as the medics looked on, concerned.

  ‘Are you alright Sir?’

  ‘I’m fine; I think I ate something dodgy for supper last night.’

  ‘I can give you …’

  ‘I said I’m fine!’ Warner shouted loudly at the medic – who was taken aback by the sudden outburst – before apologising profusely. ‘Sorry … sorry. I’m sorry.’

  Eddie’s heart was racing. The man was clearly losing it. Catching Warner’s eye, Eddie gave him a warning stare. All eyes were on the governor as he dabbed his face with a handkerchief. Eddie saw one of the medics smirk to his colleague as they watched Warner’s hands visibly shaking.

  ‘Thought I’d let you know Davidson, I’ve spoken to the depot and there are no vans free to take you to the hospital at the moment. But clearly you need to go. So what I suggest is, you wait for the van which will be taking Freddie Thompson on a compassionate visit, then I’ll have you dropped off. By the time you’re finished, there’ll be a van available to bring you back. Any problems in the meantime, let your wing officer know. You can take him back to his cell.’

  Eddie stared at the deputy. If he were any more wooden, the man would’ve turned into a tree.

  Freddie couldn’t see anything through the van windows so he didn’t know where they were, but by his reckoning the van should
be sprung within the next half-hour. The driver would be taking the long route, where there were no cars, no cameras and where his men were waiting in ambush. Exhaling hard to calm himself, Freddie put his head in his hands. All he could do now was wait.

  The van came to a screeching halt, sending both Freddie and Eddie forward. Freddie heard his friend scream out in pain. A second later the sides of the van were being banged. The screws sitting with Freddie struggled to get up, then yelled to the driver. ‘Radio in, radio in, there’s a raid.’ A shot was heard. Then another. Then there was the cranking open of steel as the back door of the van was forced open. Five men in balaclavas appeared, holding sawn-off shot guns and bellowing at the top of their voices. ‘Get down, get down. Put your hands on your head.’ Without hesitation, the prison officers went down on the floor of the van. The youngest officer knelt as he pleaded for his life. ‘Please, I’ve got a wife and kids mate.’

  ‘Yeah, so have fucking I, now do I look like I give a shit? Keep your mouth shut or I’ll blow your fucking head off.’ The man took the butt of his gun, smashing it into the face of the officer who fell unconscious with the sound of crunching bone and cartilage. The other officers said nothing, but the steel butt was smashed on the tops of their heads, sending the last screw forward to smash his chin on the steel edge of the partition. He dropped down with a sickening bang, biting off the tip of his tongue as he went.

  ‘Round the corner, drive the fucking van off the road.’ Freddie barked his orders at the driver, who immediately sped to the lay-by.

  Once down the isolated lay-by, Freddie was frantic to escape the van. ‘Quick, get me fucking out of here.’ Quicker than searching and struggling with keys, one of Freddie’s men brought out his silencer from his back pocket. As Freddie held his hands up, he shot the middle of his handcuffs, then did the same for Eddie, whose ankles were chained instead due to his arm.

  Rushing out of the van, Eddie spoke. ‘I’m getting out of here now. Thanks Freddie, and good luck mate. Hope I’ll see you again.’

  Freddie was surprised to find he was suddenly emotional and heard his voice betraying his feelings. ‘You’re going to be all right Ed? You know to get in touch with Johno if you need anything. Money. Shelter. Anything.’ He paused. ‘And Eddie, cheers. I couldn’t have done it without your help. Oh, and hey, watch that arm.’ Grinning, Freddie tapped Eddie hard on his dislocated shoulder, laughing as he cried out in pain.

  Freddie ran round to the driver. ‘Get out.’

  Not arguing, the man got out of the van, nervously staring at Freddie as he spoke. ‘Eddie told you what was going to happen now. You know I’ll have to get one of my men to knock you about before we go.’

  The driver nodded. Freddie tapped him on his back in thanks then watched him close his eyes as Johno began to batter him senseless. It was good to be out.

  24

  Freddie was pumped. The adrenalin rushed through his body as he hid on the back seat of the second getaway car. He couldn’t believe it. He was free. There was still a long way to go before he could properly relax, but it’d been surprisingly easy. As easy as getting a shag from a whore.

  It’d been a couple of hours now. A good distance had been put between him and the break out, and it would take some time before the prison realised what had happened. The van had a tracking device but Johno, whose many skills included safe-breaking, had disarmed it without any problems.

  The screws and the driver had all been left stripped down, unconscious and handcuffed to each other, as well as being chained to the van. So there was no chance of them calling for help.

  The only person who might have raised the alarm would’ve been Martin Warner, after the realisation of what he’d done had sunk in. But if he had been going to do that, Freddie doubted he would now. Not after the little visit paid to him late last night. A lit petrol bottle, to do a small amount of damage through his letterbox, was probably all the reminder he’d needed not to do anything silly today. Freddie smiled to himself, undoubtedly that’s what had made Warner look so anxious this morning.

  ‘How long till we get there?’ Freddie spoke to Bobby. He was the cousin of Johno and another man who’d been in his firm for a long time. He’d done a lot of driving for him and had never fucked up once. It was good to have people around him who he could trust.

  ‘About another two hours. We’re making good time, boss.’

  So far nothing had been reported on the radio, so hopefully it was a good sign. Even when the prison did realise, it’d still take them some time before they actually located the van. It was parked down in a country lay-by and according to the reccy his men had done, no one went there.

  It was a touch. Great they were making good time. It was important for his men to get back to their usual routines and places. Johno would probably be back in Soho by now, and once Bobby had dropped him off he could easily get back to the Midlands before he was missed. Then the last leg was down to Tasha, and apart from her morning routine when she went to see Ray-Ray, she had no structure to her day as such. It was all going nicely to plan. Lying back on the floor of the car, Freddie allowed himself to breathe a small sigh of relief.

  Tasha looked at her watch. She still had plenty of time until she had to meet Freddie, but she was feeling anxious. She didn’t want to go and pick up the car too early. If she did, she knew she’d wind herself up to the point of panic. What she needed to do was distract herself. She couldn’t wait in the hotel, in case the van had already been found. After what had happened to Ray-Ray the police knew where she was staying; she’d had to tell them in case they’d needed to contact her in connection to the attack. So it wouldn’t be long until they came to talk. Perhaps they were even there now, watching the hotel, wanting her to lead them to Freddie. Putting not only him in the frame, but Tasha as well.

  She was pleased she was well away from the hotel. In an hour or so she’d make her way to the car, and from there drive to Ilkley. It was only sixteen miles out from Bradford but the vastness of the moors made it feel a world away. It was an ideal place to meet Freddie.

  She and Ray-Ray had gone up there when they’d first come to Bradford, deciding to try to embrace the move from London, to learn to love the differences, not hate them. But they’d failed miserably. And even now when she thought about it, it made her chuckle.

  One look at Rombald’s Moor was all it took. The ruggedness, the expanse, the sheer enormity of it had them looking at each other, immediately turning back to do some late-night shopping in Bradford. They were from Soho. Born and bred in London. There were a lot of things the Thompson family did and were known for, but the countryside just wasn’t one of them.

  Tasha looked at her Rolex. She’d had enough of sitting in the cafe. There was no shade and the Indian summer sun was beating down on her. The last thing she needed right now was a headache. Paying her bill and leaving a generous tip, she walked slowly through the back streets of Bradford, thinking how surreal the peace was. In a matter of a couple of hours, life would never be the same again for any of them.

  As much as she was pissed with Freddie, she didn’t want any harm to come to him. With every cell in her body she hoped nothing would go wrong, but then, why would it? Freddie might not be the best husband, but he certainly was one of the best faces. If anyone could get away with this, he could.

  Stopping dead, Tasha suddenly realised where she was standing outside. A thought came to her. This may be the only chance she got. Then the only thing she had to worry about was her family. It didn’t need to take more than five minutes, but it certainly would give her peace of mind. Bracing herself, with a determined look on her face, Tasha marched towards the block of flats. Once and for all she was going to tell him it was over. Perhaps then, Arnold would get the message.

  The stairwell smelt the same. Arnold had told her most days, sometimes twice a day, he’d clean the stairs. She’d found that odd but had said nothing. And Tasha supposed the smell of cheap bleach was better than the smell
of piss. The place was so sterile and drained of any personality, almost depressingly so, it was hard to imagine why anyone would want to live here. But she could see why Arnold would like it. Clean, simple and unassuming.

  She sighed as she came to Arnold’s landing. She guessed the reason she hadn’t returned his calls was because there was a part of her hoping she wouldn’t have to be the bad guy, that Arnie would’ve either quickly disappeared or phoned to tell her he’d met someone else. And she would’ve been pleased for him. At least one of them could’ve been happy.

  But neither had happened; Arnie hadn’t gone anywhere, nor had he met anyone else. So the only fair thing to do was tell him to his face it was over. Give him the watered-down version of why it couldn’t continue. Christ, even the idea of telling him made her feel rotten. She still cared and didn’t want to hurt him, but it was essential for both their sakes, especially now Freddie was out.

  ‘Hello there. Izzy isn’t it?’

  Tasha stopped knocking for a moment to look at the man who’d sidled up next to her. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Your name. It’s Izzy, isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m certain.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Bleeding hell, don’t you think I’d know my own name?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I know I sound ridiculous. It’s just I could’ve sworn Arnold said your name was Izzy. In fact I’d put my life on it.’

  Tasha gave him a tight smile. His face looked familiar but she couldn’t place it. Seeing the puzzlement on her face, the man, slightly disappointed that he hadn’t been remembered, gave Tasha the prompt she needed. ‘I sang ‘Happy Birthday’ with you? I’m his next-door neighbour.’

  Tasha gazed at the man. She remembered him now, and he looked as lecherous and as oily as he had done the last time.