The Destructive Hoard

First Chapter

Detective Inspector McIntyre stood facing a sea of hostile faces as he was being introduced. “We welcome Detective Inspector McIntyre who has joined us this morning to give his insight on the ‘Security Van’ investigation. He has spent a few years on the case of one of our minor suspects and since we haven’t yet gotten one lead in six weeks, we need to leave no stone unturned. I’ll let D.I. McIntyre share his thoughts.”

“Thank you for your warm welcome D.I. Harrison. I’ll get straight to the point and not beat about the bush. This robbery was done by Nick Nolan and his accomplices. It has his hallmark and that’s why you guys have been out there six weeks without one an iota of an idea who did it.”

“But Sir, we have interviewed him a number of times and he’s clean.”

“Sir, he lives in a small Council flat in a tower block. For Christ sake, how can he be such a big mobster you make him out?”

“Yes Sir, he doesn’t even own a car and his flat is nothing special!” added a plain clothes officer with frustration.

“That’s exactly the impression he likes to give. Don’t be easily fooled by appearances. He’s a sly bastard, and who needs a car in London when he’s got his own chauffeur driven black cab?”

“We checked the cab out and it’s kosher, licenses up to date and all the correct paperwork, clock and we have seen him pay his fare each time Sir!”

“Of course it’s clean. Have you looked inside? Go on, anybody looked inside the bloody black London cab? Go on, who has?”

“Now where is this leading McIntyre? I don’t want to waste my guys’ time. Our superiors require a result, like yesterday.”

“Certainly Harrison, but this felon, calling himself Mr. Bloody Nick Nolan, has got you all hook, line and sinker. Hands up anyone of you have read his profile, which I have spent a number of years compiling? Not one of you I see. Not one of you has bothered to check something on the Police computer! I’m disgusted. His face isn’t even on your picture board over there. You are all barking up the wrong tree or just barking mad.”

“Now McIntyre, less of the spittle, my lads and lasses here have been working their socks off on this case.”

“Yes Mr. McIntyre, he’s just a lowly and lonely clerk who works for his dad and with an alibi that is rock solid!”

“It’s ‘D.I McIntyre’ sonny! Let me spell it out.  Number one; his alibi is always rock solid because he plans the heist, and the disposal of the proceeds, and plans his alibi. I could go on with the “ands.” I bet you he was at the Governors meeting of his local school and don’t tell me, he arranged the bloody meeting himself. I can see by you faces you checked that one out, my foot! Just tell me! How does a young whippersnapper like him, who’s never been to school, become a Governor? Yes, don’t tell me. I can see you all know. His dad gave a big donation to the school and now young Nick is the chief fund raiser on the School Governors Board and it’s probably the best funded and equipped school in London right now, probably the whole of the effing British Isles. How did he do it? You don’t know? Well, I’ll tell you. When he was appointed Governor, he got a commitment from the Council to double anything that he raised from the locals. Since the previous incumbent had only raised a measly thousand pounds they didn’t put a limit on him. Did you know that he raised fifty bloody thousand pounds from local businesses in one week and the rate payers had to find the same?”

“Now McIntyre, stop haranguing my guys, we get the picture.”

“Sorry Harrison but I just needed to make the point and ensure that you investigate the right person and not overlook him as he wanted you to. Let’s do it this way. You guys be the defence lawyers for Nick and I’ll be the prosecution. You make the points why he hasn’t done it or just ask questions in his defence.”

“OK Sir. He works for his dad’s Loan Shark business but according to the books it’s only small time.”

“Good start. That’s where it all began. Have you checked how many clients he’s got? Over three thousand in the area! Everyone in Peckham is in hock to Nick Nolan. Do they seem worried in paying back the money? Of course not, because “the lending” is just a big front for his larger operation. Go on, tell me what it is? No? OK I’ll tell you. How can a small business like that with such a piddling small, recorded revenue, support a band of at least ten collectors. I’ll tell you. They are order takers! You need a new TV and you tell the collector. He gives you a price of, say forty quid, for a new model and you say “Great!” The collector asks how much can you pay now and you happily give him the whole sum or may be just twenty and rest on tic. A bloody Fedex, DHL or White Arrow van arrives, NEXT bloody day, with your new TV and you just sign a slip and say, “thank you,” that the service was so prompt and efficient. Steal to bloody order somewhere in the Midlands or Manchester and then have a National bloody Carrier deliver it to you on its Premium service. What could be simpler and totally fool proof. You don’t see two guys with “swag” written over their foreheads lugging an obviously stolen tele up the stairs. No, a smart guy in official uniform with paperwork and hand truck brings it to you. You can order just about anything by case load, from nappies to Scotch, all delivered to your door.”

“But a TV for forty quid doesn’t leave much in profit for Nolan.”

“No, it doesn’t but he sees it as a Social Service to his neighbourhood. This is only one of his scams.”

“But where does he get the money from to organise such a costly heist?”

“Money laundering, property and supplying businesses with illicit goods, that’s where his money comes from, but the paper trail is so well hidden a microscope wouldn’t see it!”

“But surely the money laundering racket would have been picked up?”   

“You would have thought so. Let me give you a few examples of how he does it. There are six money changing kiosks in London located in strategic places. Guess what? They will exchange your Dollars and Euros at favourable rates. This money is used to pay for drugs since the suppliers rather have foreign currency rather than old Sterling, easier for them to move it on. No, No, Nick is not directly involved with drugs. He’s too smart. He just finances the deals for others. Another example. Property! He owns a portfolio of about fifty million quid’s worth of real estate in various parts of London. The tenants pay exorbitant rents by cheque or direct debit and get “Cash Back” discounts in brown envelopes, cleanest of clean money, flowing in. You can’t pin any of this on him. It’s all fronted by a Development Company and somehow, he has a hook into the profits. If you check any of the books you won’t find a bean out of place and you may wonder how some of them survive on such lean profits.”

“Well, this is news to us but his lifestyle is so, so…..”

“In know what you mean. It’s a simple lifestyle and he works hard to look like a lowly clerk but don’t be fooled. Let me give you some simple examples. Let’s start with Mr. Big Macker.”

“He’s retired and runs a boarding house and a retirement home for folks on benefit.”

“Exactly! That’s what he wants you to believe. Thanks to Nick Nolan, Macker has changed his operating methods to be squeakier than clean. You couldn’t now pin a fly onto him but he still runs his manor with a rod of iron. What’s the area with lowest crime figures around here?”

“Peckham.”

“Correct, because Nick persuaded Big Macker to clean up his act and since all his hoodlums are on hefty payrolls they don’t go out causing havoc locally. In fact, their new role is to police the place so that you Fuzz don’t go into the area poking your noses about.”

“But Nick’s lifestyle doesn’t fit with a multi million operation?”

“On the face of it doesn’t. But Nick is quite happy and very comfortable. If you had checked out his cab, you would have found an expensive leather interior, a top of the range HiFi and it’s just for the exclusive use of Mr. Nick Bloody Nolan. He doesn’t need another car. Danny his chauffer is his minder and gofer.”

“We thought his next-door neighbour was his minder? He threatened to throw us over the balcony when we were interviewing Nolan.”

“Jimmy the Bruiser is also an unofficial, self-appointed minder, but his main job is to look after the block and keep the riff raff out. On your visit did you find anything peculiar about the place?”

“Well, it looked cleaner than most blocks we visit.”

“Sparkling clean, no graffiti, no noise, working lifts and no shit or piss out of place! That’s all thanks to Jimmy and Nick’s lifestyle requirements. I don’t think anybody bothers to lock their doors anymore. Jimmy’s wife Liz does all his housework and also for his father, six floors up, who is a recluse and has a daily delivery from Amazon of high brow books.”

“OK McIntyre, thanks for the filling in the background. But in your view how does this fit into the security van heist?”

“Right Harrison, you can now see what a clever crook you’re dealing with. In fact, you don’t know the half of what a remarkable character he is. He’s got a photographic memory so you won’t find a note or even a scrap written, associated with him. Did you know he could quote you the whole works of Shakespeare, backwards and forwards, including the page numbers and footnotes? His mind doesn’t need a calculator. He has a detailed list of all of his illicit accounts and dealings in his head, nothing written down, to leave a trail. He also advises all the big hoodlums in London on their heists. He checks their plans and corrects them for a fixed fee and then a percentage of the takings. His approved schemes always work and the money flows in.”

“What can you tell us about his involvement in our case then?”

“Oh his fingerprints and breath are all over this; immaculate planning and precise execution. I would bet he had more involvement in this than most. This is how he would have done it. Someone would have approached him with a proposal, and since he declared it was viable, he would have slept on it and then questioned the proposing party, until their heads hurt. If he approved the scheme, then an enormous, detailed plan would be drawn up with lots of preparation work and surveillance. Even inside guys planted and trained, months ahead of the job.”

“The concept was simple. Collect the huge supermarket takings at Xmas, ahead of the normal round. He probably acquired two security vans and trained up their crew, better than the originals. He knew the contact and control system that the vans used back to base and probably had his men monitor it. His only problem was to delay the real security van for a while.”

“Lorry breakdown in the high street and an impromptu demonstration about housing that screwed up the traffic for hours,” came from someone in the audience.

“Well, there you go. That gives his first van time to nip into the first supermarket and take the takings while base was sitting on its arse, being ultra busy, hoping the traffic would clear whilst they monitored their other vans. Van in a traffic jam is of low risk.  His second van in the meantime, sets off for the second supermarket for the takings ahead of the traffic jam. The first van leapfrogs and does the third supermarket and so on. They did five supermarkets until base smelt a rat, so they calmly wound up their operations, got rid of their vans and banked their takings into their system.”

“The two vans were returned to the service area of the security depot.”

“There you are, simple. The vans returned with probably only the silver and copper left in them.”

“How do you know that McIntyre? That was withheld info. Only a few people know that about the shrapnel.” 

“After clearing a purported five million, what’s a bit of loose change to these guys?”

“What’s happened to the money? We haven’t seen any of it in circulation and the hoods aren’t spending any more freely than usual. No celebration parties or any show of success or even envy.”

“That’s the sign of Nolan. No point in his book of anybody taking risks and then having the proceeds taken away from them. This was no Great Train Robbery fiasco. The cash has long gone, been split and the guys who took part have had their portions legally invested in further high return scams. Don’t even think of feeling sorry for them. Some of the money has no doubt been hoarded somewhere for future projects. The participants have been well looked after, probably sent on holiday to Spain whilst the heat dies down. It would be wise for you to check with the local Travel agents, especially for those fellows on extended holidays in Spain. You won’t pin anything on them but you can make their life uncomfortable for a while.”

“How do we pin this onto Nolan then DI McIntyre?”

“The simple answer is you wont and though I don’t like to say it, you might as well wind this investigation up now and save the Police force a fortune. Seriously, I have been attempting to do this for the last five years with no result, so all I can do is point you in the right direction and only hope you have more success. I would love to see that bastard Nolan behind bars but I doubt I will see that in the next two years before my retirement.”

“Thanks, DI McIntyre, back to work lads.”  

>I<

Chapter Two

The heavy door slammed shut behind him as he stood there blinking in the bright sunshine. His second response was to take a couple of deep breaths to taste the sweet air of freedom. The most annoying thing inside that hurt his senses was the vile smell of disinfectant mixed with human sweat and urine. He raised the sleeve of his crumpled jacket, sniffed and detected the same vile odour clinging to the fabric. He was about to remove the offending garment when he noted in his mind that he had planned to change his whole attire at the first convenient moment. Looking down at himself he knew he looked a mess. Those inside had ensured that he looked at his worst in his crumpled dirty suit, messy white shirt and scuffed shoes. He remembered that he had entered the place behind him immaculate in his grey suit, white shirt with fake gold cufflinks, matching tie and highly polished black shoes. He looked down at his scuffed shoes and imagined the guards taking great delight in scrubbing them against the rough walls. It didn’t bother him.

He looked down at his waist and noted with some satisfaction that he must have lost a couple of stone. His belt was tightened a couple of holes further in than normal and his crumpled jacket was decidedly loose. He mentally put it down to the prison food rather than exercise. He put his hand to his breast pocket to feel the only possession they had given him and that was a brown envelope stuffed with a crumpled and well used ten-pound note and a letter stating the terms of his release with instructions on contacting his parole officer. He smiled to himself thinking that this again, with his internment, was going to be a new experience. He finally looked up to check if his cab was waiting for him and instinctively checked his watch for time. It was the only possession apart from his clothes returned to him. Three o’clock he read, thinking it was rather late then realising that they had given him the watch and that the battery had run down. He was about to remove it and cast it in the gutter when a battered car screeched to a halt across the broad cobbled yard and a tall man in a tweed jacked jumped out and strode over purposefully to him.

“Hello Inspector Mackintilly, what a surprise to see you? Have you specially come to welcome me into the free world?”

“Mr. McIntyre to you sonny! I’m retired now but I’ve still come to warn you that the police files are open on you. My colleagues are still after you and the stolen money.”

“Oh dear Mr. Muckinter. Can’t get my mouth around these Scottish words. So, you haven’t come to chauffeur me home?”

“Certainly not you bastard. You bought off your release but we, they, are still going to find the rest of your money!”

“Will you excuse me Mr Ex-Inspector Muckalinty. My cab is waiting and I can’t afford to run up the clock,” he replied with a smile, as he deftly sidestepped the ex Inspector and strode quickly to the waiting cab. The Cabby had leapt out and opened the door for him.

“Pleased to see you Mr. Nolan. Sorry, I was delayed by that geezer over there who wanted a word with you in private first.”

“Don’t fret yourself Danny. Let’s just get going.”

“Where to first Mr. Nolan?” asked Danny the cabby, leaping into the driver’s seat and speeding the black cab off with a screech of tyres.

“Take me to Reggie’s first. I’m starving.”

“Sorry Reggino’s has closed down and moved out West. An Indian place has taken over. It’s good. I could take you to Don’s. He’s still operating a good eatery.”

“No, I fancy Italian. By the way what time is it? It’s OK, I can see your clock. It’s still early for lunch. Take me to some man’s shop on Oxford Street so I can get out of these mucky clothes.”    

“Sure boss. Some place swanky on Bond Street or your usual places?”

“Just the usual run of the mill place. We don’t want to stand out above the parapet, do we Danny?”

“Business as usual then Boss?”

“Yes Danny, business as usual. Whilst I’m getting fitted out Danny, book me a room at that nice place for a few hours. That place off Oxford Street. Make sure the room has a big bath. I need to scrub and soak off the dirt and grime of the last three and a half years.”

“Sure, Boss but we’ve kept your flat open and Lizzy has just spruced it up for you. Fresh flowers and the fresh coffee you like.”

“Thanks Danny but I’ll go there later, when I’ve cleaned up.”

“Right Boss, I’ll drive along gently and you just relax. Do you want some music? Dvorak or Chopin?”

“Thanks Danny. It’s like old times. Chopin please,” as he settled down in the soft leather seats of his private London cab and turned down the volume to a background tinkle of a piano. 

He closed his eyes and started musing about his past and the road that brought him here. They had lived in a run-down block of flats in Peckham. He still has a flat in the same block. His father was a small-time crook, more of a wheeler and dealer and ineffective burglar than a down right crook. He spent more time reading Chaucer, Keats and Byron than out stealing for a living. His mother had left them for a more successful thief and he could hardly remember her. He certainly had no feeling or sympathy for her. When his father was not reading, he was always dreaming up the next major bank heist or illicit money-making scheme. The nice thing was that his father always included him in these discussions and plans. These would go long into the night and Nick’s main role was to find the flaws in the grandiose schemes that never came to fruition, because of the sheer cost of setting them up. He would be too tired to go to school next morning and stayed at home, made breakfast for his father and listen to him read or recite loudly from Shakespeare, as was his want in the mornings. Nick Nolan would recite with him as he buttered thick slices of toast and made black coffee, because no one would be bothered to get the milk.

The few times his father went out to earn a crust for them, he would usually fall foul of the law, particularly in the disposal of his ill-gotten gains. A hefty fine meant that the reciting and reading went by the wayside as he would have to go out and do more stealing to pay the fine. Eventually the Magistrates got fed up of his many appearances and put him away, mainly to reduce his nuisance factor to the public. Nick would survive on his own by collecting the dole to cover his father’s ‘temporary’ unemployment and State Benefits for his fictitious wife and five children, all under the name of Dolan.

With only one mouth to feed and no books to buy, quite a sum would accumulate for his father’s return. He remembered the occasion after his fifth internment that his father came back with a grandiose scheme of becoming a big time Loan Shark. His father at least had the sense in jail, to make contact with Big Macker, the boss of the manor, who foolishly funded him some capital, expecting a high return. The lending was the easy bit. Everybody was short of ready cash in the run-down tenement blocks, but collecting it back, at whatever extortionate rate, was another matter, particularly when you had your nose stuck in a book most of the day and congratulating yourself at the potential of the scheme. All came to roost when Big Macker wanted to see some return on his investment and that is when father had to get both of us out and do the rounds, trying to exhort some cash out of people. Father was too soft, only got money when people felt sorry for him. Nick, he remembered, was different and managed to soft talk everyone into giving him something and between them they managed to raise sufficient for the first interest payment to Big Macker.

He remembered getting his father out of bed to do the next round of collection because Big Macker expected a regular return and any shortfall meant an urgent appointment at the local A&E. Together they managed better, with Nick doing the smooth talking and father trying the sympathy approach. They quickly ran into trouble with the local hoodlums who quickly smelled easy money. They were regularly accosted and relieved of their meagre takings. Nick remembered the occasion when father got severely beaten up and he then had to face Big Macker all alone, with the monies and try and get some help and protection. Big Macker was quite perturbed that his investment was at risk from the local riff raff and put out the word out that these pair of loan sharks worked for him and they were no longer troubled.

This soon got boring for father, he remembered, so he went back to reading and reciting whilst Nick was appointed Collector in Chief and did the rounds on father’s behalf. Nick remembered it as the best education that life could give. There was no need for formal school education for him, so Nick permanently opted out. When his father was put away for a longer period for some other misdemeanour, Nick had to run the whole show including the lending.

He soon found the returns on lending and collecting low, once the non payments and debts were calculated into the equation. Nick’s technique was always to be sympathetic with his client’s plight and was always a good listener. These people he found needed everyday goods rather than money so he had made a deal with fence Larry. The thieves and burglars now stole to order and delivered direct to client. Nick got the orders; Larry processed the orders and they split the profits between them. Nick’s empire had expanded and there wasn’t one person living in the area that didn’t owe Nick some money.

 He remembered having to employ an army of collectors whose main job was to collect orders and then press for some monies as a secondary issue. With the local populace getting goods at a fraction of the shop price they were more willing to cough up some of the cost price or most of it and the rest later. Nick was now legitimately “lending” monies in the form of value of the goods and it was not his concern how his clients got their goods or where they came from. He and Larry were making a fortune. Big Macker was still getting a regular payment, even though the initial loan amount had expired. Larry was carrying out his illicit trade now without even touching the goods.

“We’re here Boss,” announced the chirpy cabbie, waking Nick from his day dreaming. “Will this place do Boss? They sell everything and its fairly down market. I know you don’t like the flashy things.”

“This will do fine Benny. Pick me up in half an hour. That should be enough.”

“Hey Boss take your time. No need to hurry. Here take this mobile and call me when you’re ready.”

“Rather not Benny. You know how I hate those things.”

“It’s OK Boss. It’s clean, belongs to my brother. Just let it ring once and I’ll know.”

“OK Benny, I’ll take it. See you later.”

“Hey Boss, you have to pay real money in these places. Here Boss, take this. 1K in the envelope; thought you might need it.”

“Very thoughtful of you, glad to be back in the running. See you later Benny,” replied Nick as he let himself out of the cab and handed over a dirty tenner and uttered calmly, “Keep the change,” as the cab sped off before another fare could take it. It took longer than usual since his size had altered, but he quickly acquired two new grey, off the peg suits, six white shirts with fake gold cufflinks, three packs of socks, two pairs of black leather brogues, a tie, some underwear, a leather wallet and slim fake gold watch. As he paid the shop assistant, he phoned Benny and slipped the assistant a twenty to help him with his packages. Benny was at the kerb waiting for him, rejecting other fares. He slipped into the cab as Benny hung the suits in their suit containers in the front, loaded in the packages and quickly sped away to Nick’s hotel.

“All booked up for you Boss and it’s on the house. Manager insisted that you shouldn’t pay. The usual receipt is on the table in your room. I ordered the best coffee for you. Hope you don’t mind. Anything else you need Boss?”

“Thanks Benny. Just send one of everything up to the room. I’ll just have a quick word with Raymond before I go up.”

“Sure, thing Boss! I know the drill. Raymond will be pleased. He wondered if he could have a word in private. Here we are. The bellboy will take you to his office immediately.”

“Thanks Benny. Hey, slip me back that tenner, I can’t be seen giving you as much as twenty in this crowd.” After a quick word with the Raymond, he was shown to his room where a maid was already arranging his clothes and removing the labels.

“Hello Mr Nolan. Shall I press the shirts for you and I’ll do the trousers too? They still have creases in the fold. Oh Mr. Nolan, I have also run the bath for you and set the shaving gear out for you as you like it.”

“Thanks er, Sorry don’t know your name.”

“It’s Alice Sir.”

“Thanks Alice. Please sponge the suit down for me to get rid of the newness smell and here is something for your troubles.”

“Thank you, Sir. Most generous of you Mr. Nolan. Would you like me to pour your coffee and turn the TV on in the bathroom?”

“Thanks Alice. I think I still remember how to do that. I will ring when I need my clothes. Another thing Alice, make sure these clothes I’m leaving are disposed of in the incinerator and make sure you do it personally. That’s all thanks.”

The water was hot and a soft cushion was laid on the head end of the bath so he could wallow in the all enveloping water and continue with his daydreaming. The next episode in his career was crucial and occurred when Larry the Fence bought himself a free house, a legitimate business that started to sell bottled beers at discount rates to compete with the big brewery palaces. Well profit margins for pubs are high but nothing compared to Larry’s where most of the produce had fallen off the back of a big brewer’s cart. Nick he remembered, by this time, had gone into the creative accounting business. Taxes and local rates were paid so that the local businesses operated clean, as far as the Law could see. The next process Nick remembered was the supply of local restaurants and shops with goods at very advantageous prices. Big Macker came into his own, with arranging more ambitious raids on the wholesalers and suppliers of required articles, now that he had pre-arranged secure outlets.

He remembered that on his eighteenth birthday, moving out of his fathers flat into one below, on the first floor. His father had given up all ambitions at employment, legal or otherwise and kept his nose in his books. Being a partner, Nick was paying his father a regular stipend so that he didn’t even have to collect his dole or benefits. Nick’s flat had been decked out with all the best carpeting and furniture, all legally supported by receipts from the local second-hand furniture shop, but the actual goods had fallen off a lorry as they say. The neighbours next door were unemployed and the husband, a bruiser of a chap, who spent most of his time at Larry’s bar, until the money ran out. Then he would come home and beat up his wife. Nick ensured that his money never ran out in future and employed his wife Liz to do his housework and keep the flat in order. When the riff raff from outside started to invade and cause havoc in the block, Nick paid the bruiser husband to keep them out and gradually the life for all in the block improved.

Nick stood up and showered himself down with cool water, mainly to get rid of the smell of shampoo and soap and then called down to have his clothes brought up. A knock on the bathroom door announced that all was in order and he finished off drying his hair and stepped out to dress. All his clothes were laid out on the bed and he dressed quickly, finally putting on his cheap watch and slipping his bulging wallet and pen into his breast pocket. He admonished himself for forgetting to buy some handkerchiefs so he helped himself to a packet of paper tissues from the bedside table. He kicked his discarded clothes into a pile and left, not forgetting the receipt which was legitimate proof of payment for his stay.

“You look smart Boss!”

“Not too flamboyant I hope?”

“No, you look like a young bank clerk or office worker. Definitely not Managing Director type. No, you don’t stand out in a crowd Boss.”

“Thanks Danny. I don’t want to appear prosperous or flashy as you know.”

“Boss, Reggie wants you to have lunch there, his new Italian, in Covent Gardens. It’s doing well. He’ll be delighted if you go.”

“OK Danny. I remember hearing about it. Called it ‘Cinque Terre,’ I believe.”

“That’s right Boss.”

“Take it slowly Danny,” as he settled back in the comfortable surroundings and continued with his musing. He remembered the first time he was called to a meeting by Big Macker. All of his cronies and so-called advisers were there. Macker then asked if Nick wanted to join up with him on some of his escapades. He remembers telling him that legally, he was just a simple money lender and the authorities could not pin one illegal thing onto him. He wanted to stay that way. He remembered his cronies looking shocked and amused but Big Macker shushed them and asked him to suggest what course of action he should take.

He remembers, a mere nineteen-year-old, telling this aged villain that he should “Get more legit!” as he put it, otherwise the Met would catch up with him. He retorted, Nick remembers, that he’d been in the game too long to go “legit.” Nick simply said that an old dog can learn new tricks and followed up by telling him that he could carry on with his businesses but ensure that he doesn’t leave a trail leading back to him. Macker then said that Nolan should draw up a plan for him to consider and he remembers replying that he could do that for a fee which had his fellows spluttering again at my cheek. The best bit was when he agreed and called him “Mr. Nolan” rather than “Sonny.”

Nick remembered drawing up a ten-point plan that he explained to Macker on his own, without his hanger’s on. He asked Nick to write it all down but Nick told him he never wrote anything down that was dodgy and he shouldn’t either. Nick then offered to implement each element for him for a fixed fee of course, as an advisor, leaving no trail leading to Macker or Nick. From that point, they became partners as he adopted each scheme. Since he was very wary, Macker wanted Nick to set up a similar scheme on his own as an example to him, so Nick took the lead and then he followed in a less ambitious way. Through this, Nick ended up in property, (private and commercial,) money exchanging and money laundering operations for other less than legal organisations. He set them up with somebody else fronting the operations and took a large slice of the profits. Big Macker followed and his bruisers made sure that the front men never stepped out of line. 

Nick got Macker’s guys to give up on petty thieving and burglary locally and get into the big-time jobs on warehouses and transport. Whilst Nick was into these things big time, Big Macker was only dipping his toe. Money for Nick was rolling in, in wagon loads, whilst Big Macker’s came in by barrow loads only. Nick eventually got Macker’s operation squeaky clean so that even the Met though he had retired. His wealth, in money and bullion, was secreted in various bank safe boxes only known to Nick.

“Here we are Boss. Am afraid you have a welcome committee to greet you.”

“OK Danny, I can see. Get them inside, off the pavement and we’ll do the welcome bit inside, out of the public gaze. Just drive round the block again and get on the blower.”

“Sure thing Boss. You know Reggie, he’s a showman through and through.”

Back in the cab, after a simple meal I got Benny to take me back to my flat.

“Boss, you know about Katy, don’t you?”

“Yes Benny, I know she is seeing somebody else.”

“OK Boss, just checking. She said she would come back if you want.”

“It’s OK Benny, I think she is happy with her new teacher friend.”

“Yes, Boss and the rumour is that we hear wedding bells.”

“That’s good. Wish her well when you see her.”

“Boss, we have a surprise for you. I took the liberty to decorate your flat and spruce it up a bit. Don’t worry Boss it was done a year ago so all the newness smells have long gone. Sparky even installed one of these positive air gadgets that takes in air from the outside, filters it and pushes it out through the flat so no smelly outside air can enter. I take the can Boss if it’s not right.”

“OK, OK Benny! I’ve already heard about it and approved it. Macker couldn’t keep it a secret.”

“Oh dear, didn’t know you knew. Lizzy is going to be disappointed if it’s not a surprise.”

“I’ll be surprised Benny and will rave about it all for everybody’s sake. Now drive on while I do some thinking.”

Now when was it that Inspector McIntyre came on the scene? When we got into drug running? Or was before we did the heist on the security vans? Well, the Met appointed him and a team to investigate me and he tried to shadow me everywhere. For four years he got nowhere and then he trumped up some charges against me for a bank job with GBH. The court took a dim view and put me away for eight years. They also confiscated my bank account, which was quite small and my mansion in Hampstead which was going to be my retirement pad. That hurt. The confinement was not too bad since I could run the show from inside with less interruption and always with a bona fide alibi. McIntyre was always convinced that I was hoarding the proceeds of various robberies but he was on the wrong track. I managed to reduce my sentence by a number of years by giving up a chunk of money, offering more and with good behaviour. My sentence had been reduced to three and a half years. McIntyre was still convinced that more monies could be recovered. He’s retired now but my release was conditional on further giving up of monies.

“Hello Liz, you’re looking great,”

“Oh Mr. Nolan, you look so peaky and tired. They haven’t been feeding you well.”

“Well, that’s a fine welcome Liz? I thought you might be pleased to see me?”

“No, no Mr. Nolan. We are pleased to have you back. I only meant you don’t look as good as before.”

“That’s OK Liz, I was only having you on.”

“Come on in Mr Nolan and come on in Benny and let’s show Mr. Nolan the improvements we have made.”

“What improvements? You haven’t painted the place have you Liz. You know I can’t stand the smell of new paint.”

“Well, yes. Well, no Mr. Nolan. Come inside and see for yourself. You will like it.”

I did like it and the improvements, although a bit lavish and on the grand hotel style, made the place very comfortable. Big plasma screen TVs were hidden everywhere behind panels and an upgraded music system that followed me round to every room. I had to look delighted and was pleased with the results, especially now that I had a taste of living as a recluse, I continued to do business from my flat and having meals sent in rather than going out. Benny suffered most and spent most of the time playing drafts with Lizzy’s husband, in the sunny entrance hall, waiting for the call. My first ambition was to get even with Mr. McBurger and hatched a plan, nothing too drastic and no call for the A&E. 

I got Benny to take me to his new house which happened to be my old mansion in Hampstead. He had acquired it at a snip when it came up at auction. I had already intimated to the authorities that I had stashed away a hoard under a statue of Eros somewhere in Hampstead and hoped they were still searching. I strode up to the door and rang the bell.

“It’s you Sonny. Didn’t take you long to turn up, sniffing about. You can bugger off! This is mine now. Hoped they keep you in longer!”

“Hello Mr. McDonald, nice to see you. I was hoping that you would be looking after this former place of mine better. Looks a bit run down.”

“No business of yours now. I’m on a pension you know!”

“Well, I thought you would have found the money by now and kept the place tip top.”

“What money?”

“Haven’t they told you? I have offered up another batch of my cash squirreled away.”

“What do you mean? You’ve told them of another hiding place?”

“Yes Mr. McIntyre and I thought you might have found it by now. Goodbye Mr. McStutter. I hope our paths don’t cross,” and I left him speechless on the doorstep.

As predicted and planned, he phoned up his former colleagues at the Met who obviously told him they were looking for a statue of Eros in a garden in Hampstead. McIntyre had promptly slammed the phone down and shot into his garden knowing there was a statue there. He apparently demolished it and found a buried tin box with a note inside saying “Warmer!” This was a signal for him to dig up his garden then take up all the floorboards in the house and start digging in the basement, to no avail. An anonymous phone to the Council Offices brought the full wrath of the Engineering Department down onto him, who declared the building unsafe and in need of immediate demolition. Since the cost of repair would be too great, Mr. McIntyre was evicted.

 I was sorry for him. Well only a little!