like drumming fingers on the glass. I continue.
‘Because, if he doesn’t know anything and we wait for something, we are just wasting time, when I could go out there and have a little poke around myself.’
I’m not really sure what I mean by that other than hitting the streets, heading to the usual places I know of that harbors an underground element, and make a few waves in the hope that somebody knows something, however tiny. But if Manchester really is bent unto the will of the Berg, then Felix really should know something. Or at least give us an idea of which doors to knock on, which rocks to overturn. I can’t sit and wait. Inaction has never been my forte.
‘Look, Jack, the longer we leave it the more dust will settle. And the more dust that settles, the more obscure the answers become. And in that passage of time, your anger will blunt. And if you really want revenge, you can’t afford apathy. You need that fire. You need that conviction.’
‘You don’t have to worry about my fire and conviction,’ he says. That has riled him, and I know it has got his attention.
‘If you are not sure your conversation with Zoe will get that done, you need to force Felix’s hand. Illustrate to him how urgent this is.’
‘We wouldn’t get near him. The Berg are super tight and super protected, and with one of their own getting killed, they’ll have the shutters down, so to speak. I won’t get near them.’
‘How would you contact him? If the relationship between your Dad and Felix was so tight, I’d have thought the least he would do is call you!’
‘Well... we are not exactly on speaking terms. I... recently told him not to contact me again.’
The web weaves ever more complex.
‘Dare I ask why you did that? I mean, I know you want nothing to do with these people...’
This seems to poke at a fresh sore, Jack’s grimace belying the oozing of mental puss.
‘Let’s go,’ he says. ‘Take a left on the way out.’
Progress. Better. I ignite the engine and we hit the road again.
‘He... tried to recruit me. For real. A few months ago.’
As I angle the car into the flow of traffic, my brow furrows a touch. ‘How do you mean, recruit?’ I ask. Jack looks as if he is wrestling with something, but I’m unsure what. This is an interesting development however.
‘Take the next left again.’ I do, while Jack continues. ‘There was a case of cash - Berg cash - that went missing up in Edinburgh. One of the Berg, a little charmer called Leonard Freund, took something of value up to Scotland, although I’ve no idea what it was. In exchange, Leonard was given a case containing £1.25 million, but it went missing. Felix got a tip off, or I should say, that his son Michael did, that the money was on the move headed down to London, in a silver BMW. Directly between London and Edinburgh, sits Manchester, which this BMW had to pass to get where it was going. The Berg were completely stuck, they couldn’t intercept him, and I stepped in. I didn’t mean to, but they were in trouble.’
‘You helped them?’ I ask, my eyes fixed on the road. Jack sighs.
‘I saw the BMW, and I forced it off the road. Red mist seemed to descend, or something like it. I didn’t like the fact that this guy had stolen from my Dad, and I wanted to stop him. I forced him off road, and down into a ditch by the M62. The car was fucked, that beautiful Beemer all twisted up like tin-foil, and the guy inside was scrambled egg. But the case was intact on the passenger seat.’
The revelations keep coming, each new piece of information more explanatory than the last - and tantalizing. With the scale of money involved and the activities discussed, we are talking about some serious organized crime players here. Am I in the right place at the right time or what?!
I’m concerned though, and it’s a deep rooted concern that, for me, is twisted deep inside. Last time I tackled organized crime, with that snake Terry Masters, I bit off
‘Because, if he doesn’t know anything and we wait for something, we are just wasting time, when I could go out there and have a little poke around myself.’
I’m not really sure what I mean by that other than hitting the streets, heading to the usual places I know of that harbors an underground element, and make a few waves in the hope that somebody knows something, however tiny. But if Manchester really is bent unto the will of the Berg, then Felix really should know something. Or at least give us an idea of which doors to knock on, which rocks to overturn. I can’t sit and wait. Inaction has never been my forte.
‘Look, Jack, the longer we leave it the more dust will settle. And the more dust that settles, the more obscure the answers become. And in that passage of time, your anger will blunt. And if you really want revenge, you can’t afford apathy. You need that fire. You need that conviction.’
‘You don’t have to worry about my fire and conviction,’ he says. That has riled him, and I know it has got his attention.
‘If you are not sure your conversation with Zoe will get that done, you need to force Felix’s hand. Illustrate to him how urgent this is.’
‘We wouldn’t get near him. The Berg are super tight and super protected, and with one of their own getting killed, they’ll have the shutters down, so to speak. I won’t get near them.’
‘How would you contact him? If the relationship between your Dad and Felix was so tight, I’d have thought the least he would do is call you!’
‘Well... we are not exactly on speaking terms. I... recently told him not to contact me again.’
The web weaves ever more complex.
‘Dare I ask why you did that? I mean, I know you want nothing to do with these people...’
This seems to poke at a fresh sore, Jack’s grimace belying the oozing of mental puss.
‘Let’s go,’ he says. ‘Take a left on the way out.’
Progress. Better. I ignite the engine and we hit the road again.
‘He... tried to recruit me. For real. A few months ago.’
As I angle the car into the flow of traffic, my brow furrows a touch. ‘How do you mean, recruit?’ I ask. Jack looks as if he is wrestling with something, but I’m unsure what. This is an interesting development however.
‘Take the next left again.’ I do, while Jack continues. ‘There was a case of cash - Berg cash - that went missing up in Edinburgh. One of the Berg, a little charmer called Leonard Freund, took something of value up to Scotland, although I’ve no idea what it was. In exchange, Leonard was given a case containing £1.25 million, but it went missing. Felix got a tip off, or I should say, that his son Michael did, that the money was on the move headed down to London, in a silver BMW. Directly between London and Edinburgh, sits Manchester, which this BMW had to pass to get where it was going. The Berg were completely stuck, they couldn’t intercept him, and I stepped in. I didn’t mean to, but they were in trouble.’
‘You helped them?’ I ask, my eyes fixed on the road. Jack sighs.
‘I saw the BMW, and I forced it off the road. Red mist seemed to descend, or something like it. I didn’t like the fact that this guy had stolen from my Dad, and I wanted to stop him. I forced him off road, and down into a ditch by the M62. The car was fucked, that beautiful Beemer all twisted up like tin-foil, and the guy inside was scrambled egg. But the case was intact on the passenger seat.’
The revelations keep coming, each new piece of information more explanatory than the last - and tantalizing. With the scale of money involved and the activities discussed, we are talking about some serious organized crime players here. Am I in the right place at the right time or what?!
I’m concerned though, and it’s a deep rooted concern that, for me, is twisted deep inside. Last time I tackled organized crime, with that snake Terry Masters, I bit off
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