Page 65 of Savage Reckoning

“Kick him out of there and send him on his way. We don’t need unnecessary casualties.”

The pathetic old lush needs to be shifted to a safe distance before we can go in and lay the explosives. And as we have half a dozen targets to hit tonight, we have no time to mess about.

Rome mutters to the man closest to him, who ambles over to nudge the rough sleeper with his boot. There’s some sort of conversation, one-sided, but the old guy drags himself up off the pavement and gathers his belongings together before shuffling off down the street, three battered carrier bags on each arm.

“Wait.” I catch the tramp up and shove a fifty-pound note in the tattered pocket of the loose overcoat he’s wearing. “For your trouble,” I tell him. Maybe it’ll be enough to get him a proper bed for the night.

He mumbles something which might be thanks and continues on his way.

It takes just a few moments to force the rear door open. I enter with three of the men. We’ve had eyes on these premises, and the other couple of dozen similar betting shops owned by the Archer so-called corporation, for several nights now. We know they are not in the habit of leaving a night watchman on guard, presumably because they think these shitholes aren’t worth protecting. Who’d want to break in here? These are simply places to relieve miserable fucks of their hard-earned cash, none of which is ever left on the premises overnight.

Losing one shop would be a nuisance, but Archer would just rent somewhere else. Losing all of them at one go is a blow. And, like Jack said, it will make a statement. Archer won’t know what hit him.

I have four more teams just like this one who will be attending every single shop owned by Archer within the space of the next two hours. The explosives will be laid, the detonators primed to go off at the exact same time.

At three-thirty precisely, it all goes BANG.

We leave this place and pile back in the cars to move on to the next. I check in with Nico who’s heading up one of the other teams.

“Got two set up, boss. Four to go.”

“Good. Keep me posted.” I hang up and repeat the process with the other three teams.

Rome does the honours at the next shop, and I take the lead again with the third. It’s depressing how similar they all are. They are all blessed with the same dingy shade of brown exterior paintwork and a crudely designed sign outside proclaiming ‘Archer’s Gambling’. Inside, they offer a row of wall-mounted television screens to enable the punters to watch their week’s wages falling at the first, and a few scrappy tables to stand and lean on. The only seating is behind the counter, shielded by toughened glass. Stubby pencils are scattered on the tabletops, among the circular beer stains and discarded vending cups.

“Does no one ever clean these places?” one of the men with me wonders.

It’s a rhetorical question. None of us feels obliged to answer.

It’s going up to three by the time we exit the sixth property on our list. Rome drives, and we make our way back to the rendezvous point, a twenty-four-hour multi-storey car park. Nico’s team is there ahead of us, already waiting on the rooftop level. The others all show up within the next five minutes and report that all has gone as planned. Twenty-four betting shops scattered across east and south London are primed and ready.

I phone Tony. “We’re all set. You?”

“Aaron’s inside the warehouse. There was some firepower in there, but it’s been dealt with. He’s just finishing off now.”

“And the scrapyard?”

“That’s a bit more interesting. There were just a few guards here, half asleep, so we got inside with no trouble. There was time for a good look round.”

“Okay. What does he keep there?”

“Well, he did have a missile launcher, as we knew. Not to mention a dozen crates of Russian guns and the ammo to go with them.”

“You don’t say. And none of it guarded?”

“The man’s a half-wit. Seemed rude not to, so we loaded up a pair of Transit vans he had parked up in the yard. They’re on their way north even as we speak.”

“Nice work. How much longer do you need in there?”

“We’re done. On our way back to the van now.”

I check my watch. Three twenty-one. “Okay. We’re all at the car park. We’ll watch the fireworks from here, then move out. We’ll see you back at our warehouse.”

Jack set up a temporary headquarters in a disused warehouse close to the helicopter crash site. We still have men and equipment there, so it’s as good a place as any to base our operations.

“Sure.” Tony hangs up.

I wander over to join Rome who is leaning on the wall marking the perimeter of the upper deck of the car park, his steady gaze fixed on the surrounding skyscape.

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