Shafted (12 page)

‘Bit nervous,’ Larry admitted, shivering as the cold morning air bit at his fragile body.

‘You’ll be fine once we get you inside and warm you up,’ Keeton assured him, clapping a fatherly hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, let me give you a quick tour before we kick off.’ Pulling the door open now, he waved Larry in, saying, ‘You won’t recognise the place since last time you saw it. You’d never guess it was just a front, it’s that good.’

He wasn’t wrong, Larry soon discovered when, instead of the mass of activity and cacophonous noise which had been going on all around him last time, he found himself in a fully kitted-out TV studio with the calm, hushed-air quality that was peculiar to professional recording areas.

Following Keeton out through a heavy stage door behind the set and into a long corridor, which ran the entire width of the building, Larry saw that there were several offices already in operation, and the sounds of ringing telephones, typewriters, printers and fax machines drifted out as Keeton led him past.

Stopping at the far end, Keeton pushed open a door and waved him in. Telling him that this was the mail room, he nodded towards a stack of sacks piled high in one corner, and said, ‘They’re all applications. Pity most are from ordinary folk who could probably really use a shot at the money, but you have to cast a lot of sprats to catch a mackerel, don’t you? Or, in this case,
shark
.’ Grinning now, he folded his arms and gave a proud sigh. ‘Must say, I never expected it to be this much of a hit when I put the idea to Terri. Almost makes me think a career change might be in order if I can pull something like
this
off in such a short time. I’m obviously wasting my talents, eh?’

Amused that Keeton was crediting himself for how well things were going, Larry decided not to burst his bubble by pointing out that it was more likely Larry’s involvement that had tipped the scales and persuaded people to put pen to paper. It took time to build up this kind of interest from the public, and it certainly didn’t happen for new shows – not unless the host was already a hit. And, judging by this, it was obvious to Larry that he still
was
a hit – which just proved how wrong Frank Woods had been when he’d insisted that the show was always bigger than the star. And could it be any coincidence that
Star Struck
was reportedly losing viewers? Larry didn’t think so, somehow.

Satisfied that he’d seen enough, Keeton now jerked his head for Larry to follow him through to the greenroom, telling him as they walked that they had received confirmations from most of the targets they were after.

‘We’ll probably have a few no-shows,’ he concluded, pouring two coffees from the urn and carrying them over to an empty table. ‘But I’m expecting most of them to turn up, so I’m not overly concerned about losing the odd one.’

Frowning, because it hadn’t even occurred to him that somebody might
not
turn up, Larry tore open a sachet of sugar and tipped it into his cup. He hoped to God they all
did
, though, because no criminals meant no show – putting him right back where he’d started.
Nowhere
.

Answering Larry’s unspoken fears as he poured three sachets of sugar into his own cup and stirred it, Keeton said, ‘They’ll come, or they wouldn’t have bothered replying. But even one out of ten would be a result, so, like I say, I’m not worried.’

Taking a pack of Bensons out of his cardi pocket, he passed one to Larry. Then, squinting at him across the table when they’d both lit up, he said, ‘Not about them, anyway. But there
is
one we haven’t heard back from, and I’ve got an idea I wanted to run by you.’

‘Oh?’ Intrigued by the sudden seriousness of Keeton’s tone, Larry sat back in his seat.

‘Dex Lewis,’ Keeton said, his eyes taking on a cold light at the mention of the name. ‘If I could get my hands on
him
, I’d happily let the rest of them walk. But we haven’t heard back from him since we sent him the ticket, and we sent two follow-up letters warning him that he’ll miss his big chance if he doesn’t confirm, but still nothing.’

‘He’s obviously not interested, then,’ Larry said simply, wondering why Keeton was bothered about one man if he was so convinced that the rest would come. One more or less wasn’t going to make or break the show.

‘I
want
him,’ Keeton replied darkly, the gleam in his eyes unnerving Larry. ‘And this might be my best shot at getting him, so I’m not letting it go without a fight. That’s why we’ve decided to give him the full VIP treatment – which is where
you
come in.’

Peering back at him through the smoke, Larry felt his heart rate step up a pace. Something told him he wasn’t going to like this.

‘We want you to go to Lewis’s house and schmooze him,’ Keeton explained, adding quickly, ‘but you won’t be alone, so there’s nothing to worry about. One of my men will be acting as your chauffeur, and I’ll have plenty of back-up scattered around the area, so we’ll be right on it if there’s any trouble.’

‘You
are
joking, right?’ Larry drew his head back, his brow puckering with concern. ‘He must be bad if you’re this keen to get him. So what is he? An armed robber, or something?’

‘Pardon my French, but Lewis is a cunt,’ Keeton said bluntly. ‘And the worst kind of cunt at that, because we know he’s got his nose in all sorts. But we can never pin him down. He’s either got an alibi, or he just isn’t where we think he’s going to be when we go looking for him. But I’ve had a tip-off that he’s been seen at his mother’s place recently.’

‘So why don’t you just go round there and arrest him?’

‘Not that easy,’ Keeton muttered, tapping his cigarette agitatedly on the rim of the ashtray. ‘It’s not his house for starters, so we’d have a problem getting a warrant to enter when all we’ve got to go on is hearsay. Anyway, the mother’s as bad as him, so she’d hide him down her knickers if she thought he’d fit. And even if we got in and found Lewis there he’s guaranteed to kick off and I can’t put my lads in danger, because he seriously injured a couple of them last time we pulled him – and only got fourteen months for the privilege, which is nothing for someone who’s spent half their life behind bars.’

Eyebrows creeping steadily upwards, Larry gazed at the inspector in disbelief. He didn’t want to endanger his own men, but it was all right to sacrifice Larry?

‘You don’t seriously think I’m going to agree to this, do you?’ he croaked when Keeton looked back at him expectantly. ‘Can you imagine what would happen if my face got damaged? I’d never work again.’

Assuring him that he wouldn’t be in the same danger as his men would be, Keeton said, ‘One thing you’ve got to understand about criminals . . . they might hate uniforms, but they
love
being associated with fame, ’cos they all think they’re fucking superstars already. And in their own little underworlds I suppose they are, which is why they get away with so much, because no one will dare grass them up. But if someone like
you
gets in with Lewis, he’ll be your best mate – I guarantee it.’

‘Er, I’m not sure I want a best mate like that.’ Larry gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Anyway, if he hasn’t responded to the letters, he’s obviously not interested, so I can’t see me making any difference.’

Peering at him across the table, Keeton said, ‘I honestly think you would. And I’m not just saying that because I want you to do it – I’m saying it because I know you’d walk it.’

Flattered that the inspector seemed to have such faith in him, Larry sat back in his seat and exhaled loudly. The sensible, life-preserving part of his brain was screaming at him to say an emphatic no. But, perversely, the same terror was weaving a seductive spell on the rest of his body, giving him a tingling sensation of excitement at the thought of being involved in something so dangerous. It would make for shit-hot TV if he pulled it off. And why wouldn’t he? He was Larry Logan.

Watching Larry for a good few minutes and seeing the emotions – from terror to excitement to panic – flicking through his eyes, Keeton said, ‘Look, I can see you’re not sure about this, so I’m going to lay it on the line. Truth is, if I thought it would work I’d steam into his mother’s place and take him out. But even if we got the warrant, we’d need so many men to tackle him, everyone in Manchester would know we were there before we got out of the van, and he’d be on his way to Spain before we got through the door. That’s why I need
you
.’

Stubbing out his burned-down cigarette, Larry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing that Keeton would quit staring at him.

Taking the hint, Keeton finished his coffee and slid his sleeve back to look at his watch.

‘Right, well, I’d best go and see how Terri’s getting on.’ Standing up, he looked down at Larry with a hopeful smile, saying, ‘No pressure, son, but I’d appreciate it if you’d think it over and let me know as soon as, so I can shuffle a few things around. Okay?’

‘What’s Lewis done?’ Larry asked, folding his arms defiantly to let Keeton know that he’d by no means decided yet.

Pursing his lips, Keeton looked down at him, weighing up how much he should actually reveal, given that Larry was, in effect, just an ordinary member of the public. But he needed his cooperation right now, and if that meant telling him things that he was not really entitled to know, so be it.

‘We’re after him for jumping bail on a charge of TDA at the moment,’ he said.

‘Is that all?’ Larry frowned, sure that TDA was something to do with cars. ‘Bloody hell, the way you were talking, I thought he was a drugs baron, or a mass murderer, or something.’

‘That’s all we’ve actually got on him at the moment,’ Keeton admitted. ‘Which is another reason why it’s not worth trying to get a warrant for his mum’s place, because there’s no real justification for heavy-handedness on a minor charge like that. I honestly couldn’t tell you how many more things he’s done and got away with, though – but it’s a fair bet they involved violence, because that’s the kind of guy he is. We’ve pulled him for numerous violent incidents in the past, but he must have some sort of charm hanging over him, because he always manages to get off more lightly than he deserves.’

Gazing back at him, Larry sensed that the inspector’s interest in Lewis was far more personal than professional. Keeton obviously hated the guy and would do anything to put him away – no matter who he had to sacrifice to achieve it, apparently.

‘Look, our powers have increased since the last time we had our hands on him,’ Keeton told him now. ‘And if I can just get hold of him for long enough to get a DNA sample, I’m sure it will lead us to something more serious than the TDA. You’d be doing me and the rest of Manchester a huge favour if you helped me,’ he said now, gazing down at Larry earnestly. ‘And I’d stake my reputation that you’d be in no danger. But it’s your decision, so just think it over and let me know one way or the other before it gets too late. Okay?’

Nodding, Larry’s spirits sank as he watched the inspector walk away. Keeton obviously believed that he could do this or he wouldn’t have asked him, and Larry didn’t want to disappoint him. But was wanting to please the man a good enough reason for putting himself in danger? He didn’t think so.

But then again, if Keeton was to be believed – and he seemed pretty straight to Larry – there wouldn’t
be
any danger, so would it really hurt to give it a shot? It
would
be amazing to front it out and be the one who brought this Dex Lewis person to justice.

But there wouldn’t be any cameras there to witness Larry’s heroism – so would there really be any point?

Christ, what a dilemma!

7

Nora Lewis’s eyes were narrowed to crinkly slits as she peered at her oldest friend Hilda Jones across the kitchen table. It was only eleven in the morning – hardly the most atmospheric time to have your tea leaves read. But Hilda could turn it on at the flick of a switch, so Nora had thought
What the hell?
when she’d turned up claiming to be on a strong psychic vibe. And, tearing open five of her best pyramid bags, she’d brewed a pot and downed a cup, then let Hilda loose on the dregs.

That had been over an hour ago now, and Hilda’s psychic vibe had been one big wash-out. She’d been way off the mark, so far, babbling on about horses and chariots like they were still in the flaming Middle Ages, or something. And if she didn’t start coming up with something better than this shite pretty quick, she needn’t think she was getting her tenner, because Nora had no intention of shelling out one single penny. If anything,
she
’d be charging Hilda – for all the tea she’d supped since she got here, and the two slabs of cake she’d stuffed into her fat gob.

Keeping her eye on Hilda when the doorbell rang now, Nora yelled, ‘
Molly! Get the door!
’

Upstairs, in the small bedroom she shared with her mongy little cousin Lyla, Nora’s fourteen-year-old granddaughter Molly turned the stereo up a couple of notches, increasing the pounding bass that was already rattling the teeth in Nora’s head below. She was sick to death of the lazy old bitch forever yelling at her to come do this and go do that.

‘I’ll bleedin’ swing for her one of these days,’ Nora snarled, pushing her sleeves roughly up her arms, revealing the faded blue tattoos of various men’s names which swam in and out of the wrinkled flesh. ‘Our Dex wants to take a belt to her lazy backside; lying in bed all day like a dog, and out all night doing God knows what. It’s a wonder she ain’t got ten kiddies sucking her tits off by now, it really is.’

Keeping her opinions to herself as her friend scraped her chair back and grumbled her way out of the room, Hilda waited until she was out of sight. Then she reached over and slid two cigarettes out of the pack that Nora had left on the table. Slipping one into her pocket for later, she lit the other and dangled it from her lips as she poured herself a fresh cuppa from the pot. Nora might well scoff, but Hilda knew what she’d seen, and if her friend had any sense she’d tell their Patrick to get that car shifted off the path before the coppers clocked that it was nicked. And as for that little madam upstairs, Nora would do well to get
her
down to the clinic pronto, because she
was
expecting if Hilda was any judge – and it was anyone’s guess what colour it’d be when it popped out, ’cos Hilda had it on good information that Molly Lewis liked her internationals. Horses and chariots: cars and prams. As God was Hilda’s witness, Nora Lewis had surprises of a not-so-pleasant nature hurtling her way.