drugs outside, the dealers just buy another lump of steel and move to another flat. The cops can try taking the place by storm, but by the time they batter their way through all that steel you can guarantee that anything illegal will have been flushed down the toilet or thrown over the balcony.
‘The cops’ third option is to video the dealers, but all you can ever film is hands passing stuff back and forward through a letterbox. As long as there’s always two or three dealers inside, it’s impossible for the cops to prove who was actually selling the drugs. The dealers all blame each other and the case gets laughed out of court.’
‘Sounds neat,’ James nodded.
‘It’s tried and tested,’ Sasha said. ‘Hard fronts are used everywhere, from Brazilian slums to Siberian ghettos.’
‘So what use is this surveillance to you?’ James asked.
Sasha smiled. ‘A dickie bird tells me the joint is also being used for some major heroin deals. If I’m gonna get my mitts on that gear, I need to know what makes them open the front door.’
‘Gotcha,’ James said. ‘Every dealer’s got to bring the groceries home once in a while.’
‘Or carry a big pile of cash out.’ Sasha grinned. ‘You’re a smart boy, James.’
But James didn’t want to seem too eager. ‘You know, thirty a day isn’t a lot if you’re planning to rip off a major drug dealer.’
Sasha bristled. ‘I look after my crew, James old son. If you do a good job I’ll see you get a cut, but don’t go expecting fortunes in week one.’
James nodded, but Sasha had jumped off his stool and was dashing towards the French windows along the front of the clubhouse.
‘What the hell’s that noise?’ Sasha asked, as he stared out into the dark.
30. YELLOW
Michael thumped his masked head on the roof of the Range Rover as it veered off-road and ploughed through a low hedge. With a Slasher Boy squished up on either side, machetes resting in their laps, it was a scary moment.
This was as wrong as something could get and Michael was shitting himself. He looked behind and saw two more cars ploughing through the hedge. The fourth was a little Nissan laden with five thugs, and it ended up wedged on a split tree trunk with its front wheels spinning helplessly in mid air.
Colin Wragg accelerated over the grass towards an under-twelves game, as Major Dee pointed his Skorpion out of the passenger side window. The compact machine gun was a short-range weapon, designed for close-quarter work like spraying bullets up a staircase when you’re clearing a building. But people don’t know that kind of stuff. All anyone knew was the sound of gunfire and the orange flashes around the muzzle.
The under-twelves scattered; mums on the touchline screamed. Only the referee stood still, hands on hips and whistle in mouth, until he figured that blowing wasn’t going to stop the four-tonne Range Rover ploughing towards him and he began to run.
Whilst the big 4x4 had been used to batter its way on to the pitches, the Mitsubishi Evo behind it had better acceleration. As the ref scrambled away, the yellow car swerved and went after him. The ref looked desperately back over his shoulder as the powerful car closed down and smashed into his legs.
‘Did you see that,’ the man sitting next to Michael in the Range Rover shouted jubilantly, as the referee flew over the bonnet of the Evo and did a full 360-degree flip before slamming down in the mud. The Evo made a slight course correction before the driver floored the accelerator, aiming for boys in shorts and mums heading for the protection of a wooded area nearby.
Meantime the Range Rover and the Jeep Cherokee running behind it threw up mud as Colin ploughed on towards the first team.
‘We’re going for the clubhouse,’ Dee said. ‘Victor, get the stuff outta the back.’
Glass chinked as the dude sitting beside Michael grabbed bottles from behind the rear seat. They were filled with petrol and had pieces of rag stuffed in the necks.
‘Line me up for a shot at the clubhouse,’ Dee ordered, as the first-team players scattered.
Most of the first-teamers turned a blind eye to their club chairman being a major villain. But turning a blind eye becomes hard when six guys with knives and bats jump out of a Jeep and start chasing after you.
Fortunately, most of the first-teamers were fitter than their masked pursuants and their studs gave them better traction