Trust Me (Trust Me, Find Me 1)
The tide was far out, and the flat bank of rippled sand stretched before them as they wandered on together, leaving a faint trail of footprints between the lugworm casts.
It was almost early evening by the time they got back to the pub by the car park. Even though it was out of season, the place was crowded.
Ravenous, they ordered crab from the specials board.
Sion checked his phone. There was a message in.
Rising from the table as she came back from the toilets, Sion excused himself.
“I need to make a quick call. Work. I won’t be long.”
Claire shrugged and got her camera out, flicking through the shots she’d taken while she waited for their food.
She looked up as he disappeared outside. He’d come across as a little cocky at first, but he was actually quite shy. Quiet, even. If anything, a little closed off. She liked him. That mystery about him was part of the attraction. Hidden depths she wanted to explore.
But, one doubt niggled her. Who was he on the phone to?
She hoped it wasn’t another woman.
Sion came back to the table.
“Everything alright?”
The food had just arrived, and she began to wonder if she’d made a wise choice, tackling a crab shell on a first date.
“Yeah. I’m off on a job next week.”
“Where to?”
“Wrexham.”
“That’s not too far, a couple of hours, tops.”
“I’ll be gone for about a week.”
He studied her face. Was that a flicker of disappointment?
“I’ve enjoyed today.”
Her lips curved as she took a sip of her gin and tonic.
“Me too.”
“When I come back, d’ya wanna do this again?”
Her eyes caught his before she shyly looked away.
“Yes. Okay.”
CHAPTER 18
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He’d packed his gear into the Volvo and was all set to go.
The mark, this time, was Welsh. From Irish’s email, it was clear that he was a dealer who’d started shopping around, using other suppliers.
He was certainly offering exotic lines to the good people of Wrexham. Lemon drops, chocolate balls; the gear this guy was offering hourly by text sounded more like sweets than drugs.
But, that was the point. And he had kids running them straight to the punters in a classic county lines operation. Delivery within thirty minutes.
Sion had arranged a meet with him. The mark was offering to show him samples, and if he liked them, he’d said, they’d then discuss supply, price and routes to market.
They’d be having weekly targets and sales reports next. Since when had drug dealing gotten so professional?
At least, the venue they’d arranged to meet at was what he expected. A rough-looking boozer near the football ground. It’d be match day, so there’d be a crowd around them.
That might be perfect for a meeting about drugs, but it was riskier for him. It meant that he had to be swift and subtle. And kill at close range.
He couldn’t risk bringing a gun with him into the busy pub. So, that meant a fatal knife wound would be best. It wouldn’t be out of keeping, either. Random stabbings between fans were not unknown in the local football derby. But knife wounds were messy, and he was a sniper.
From his training, he knew there were two options.
The first was to stab him in the kidneys. Pinpoint accuracy and jabs like a sewing machine to get him to bleed out and die. Not easy to do unnoticed in a crowded bar.
No, the second option was best. A stab wound to the back of the neck at the base of the skull. He’d spring him from behind and deliver one hard, accurate stab upwards, severing the brain stem.
He cast his mind back to his training. It required speed and power.
And a specialist knife.
He searched through one of the reinforced cases until he found the misericorde. Its French name meant ‘act of mercy.’ He removed it from its sheath. Fifteen centimetres of thin stainless steel, designed to deliver death wounds. The triangular blade had three edges, sharpened for precision piercing and penetration.
He packed it into his tubular travel bag, along with a semi-automatic, bullets, rope, some plastic ties and a few other essential items that no discerning contract killer would be without.
It was midday by the time Sion strolled over to the farmhouse to find Jac. He hadn’t seen his friend in days, and he didn’t want to leave a note. Even Jess was spending her nights in the dog kennels at the farm.
He found his friend in the lambing shed, holding a new-born lamb. Clearing the birthing hood off its face, he put it back with its mother.
“If it’s alright with you, I won’t shake your hand.”
Sion looked at his friend.
“You look knackered, mate.”
“Delivered ten sets of twins and two sets of triplets this weekend.”
Sion grinned.
“That must be it. I’ve got a job on. I’ll be away for a bit. Not, that you’d notice I’m gone.”
Jac climbed out of the pen.
“Been a bit busy, mate.”
“Sure. But… If you do ever decide… like… to be here on a more full-time basis... to be closer to the lambing shed, an’ all... d’you think Annie’d rent the cottage to me? I wouldn’t mind sticking around for a while longer.”
“I’ll ask her. But, I don’t want to push it. Things are good between us, right now.”
“I can see that,” Sion smirked, knocking Jac’s shoulder.
Driving from the cottage, Sion swung by The Cross Keys. The car park was busy, and it looked like they had a fair few customers in for lunch.
As he opened the door, he saw Claire behind the bar, serving a large round of drinks. Kevin passed him carrying two plates of food out.
There was something about that guy that set Sion on edge. Call it a sixth sense, but Kevin reminded him of some of the semi-feral survivors he’d grown up with in care.
“Wanna drink?” Claire asked, grabbing a glass.
“No, I’m off to Wrexham. Should be back Sunday, if you’d like to go out somewhere?”
“Sounds good. I’ll book it off. They got wifi where you’re staying?”
Sion nodded.
“Perhaps, we could talk later, then?”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
He wasn’t sure what was happening between them, but he couldn’t wait to get back.
Before he left the pub, he fired off a message to his NCA contact about this new Scouser job that had come in from Irish.
He wasn’t sure if they’d be interested in such a small fish in a provincial pond like Wrexham, but the message would cover his arse if he got arrested.
???
Irish sat opposite his kid brother Tony in the visitor’s centre. Up above them, he noticed the damp ringed patches on the ancient polystyrene roof tiles. The paint was bubbling and peeling up in the far corner by the grilled high windows. This was a shitty prison to be on remand in. Old, damp and bleak.
“How yer doin’, our kid?”
He gave his younger brother a smile. Trying to cheer him up.
Tony looked away.
The Brief said he was looking at ten years. Intent to supply and dealing. On account of who his brother was, no doubt. Not that they could ever touch Irish. Connor O'Dwyer was far too smart for that.
“Has Britney not been to see you?”
Tony blinked. She hadn’t
“How’s she doin’?”
“Gone back to her mum’s.”
The police had seized all of his brother’s assets. The cars. The apartment. Even his designer gear.
Tony’s heavily pregnant girlfriend scarpered the morning of the raid with his Rolexes stashed in her bra. Or so she’d bragged to her mates, that night in the pub.
Britney would never wait for his brother. He’d guarantee that now.
 
; But, when the baby came, he’d make damn sure that kid would always know who their real dad was. If, indeed, it was Tony’s. Cheap tart, that she was.
“How you getting’ on fixin’ that leak?”
“The job’s in the pipeline, and I’ve arranged for delivery. Very soon.”
He couldn’t say more. Not here. But, Tony understood what he meant.
And Irish was very much looking forward to his forthcoming visit to the abattoir. And to making his next little piggy, the hired hitman, bleed out and scream.
???
“We should’ve done this ages ago,” Claire mumbles into the towel as she stretches face down on the bench beside me.
“Totally.”
My back is being deliciously massaged, the tension in my neck disappearing with every touch.
Claire found a discount code offer on a spa in a local hotel, after we’d got talking a few evenings before. We formulated our escape plan, there and then.
After the massage, we relax in the sauna, and then dip ourselves into the fierce bubbles of the jacuzzi.
“I definitely could get used to this.”
I close my eyes, enjoying the waters fizzing around me.
“If I get any more relaxed, I’ll be asleep.”
“You up at night a lot with the lambs?”
“Yip. How do people cope with babies? This is killing me.”
“So, it’s official now, is it? You and Jac?”
“I guess.”
“Thank God for that.”
We’ve not spent a night away from each other yet. In fact, with lambing now in full swing we’ve been pretty much together twenty-four seven. He’s not complained so far, but it is nice to have some girl time.
Claire dips down into the water to cover her shoulders.
“I’m not being funny, Annie, but it’s been brewing since school. You two took your time, that’s all I’m saying.”
I grin and put it back on her.
“But, what is far more interesting is what’s brewing now.”
She throws me a look.
“Meaning?”
“You and Sion? And don’t start telling me nothing’s goin’ on, ‘cos I don’t believe you.”
“Nothing, is about right. Honestly! We’ve been out once. For a walk. That’s it.”
“Jac says he goes to the pub every night, so he can see you.”
“So he can get on the wifi, more like.”
“Don’t be daft, he's definitely interested.”