Day of Reckoning

Blake told them everything, including all that Katherine had relayed to them on the videotape. Afterwards, they all sat silent for a moment. ‘From my point of view, the arms-dealing with the IRA, the Brendan Murphy business, that’s the worst,’ said Ferguson, shaking his head. ‘And the Beirut connection, working for Saddam. We’ve got to do something about that.’ He turned to Hannah. ‘What are your thoughts, Superintendent?’

‘That Fox has problems. He’s skimmed money from the Commission, he’s fiddling from the London casino, the Colosseum. Beirut and Ireland are desperate attempts to make cash.’

‘And those hits with the Jago brothers are even more desperate,’ Dillon said.

‘Do you know them?’ Ferguson asked.

‘No, but I’m sure Harry Salter does.’

‘Salter?’

Hannah said, ‘You know him, sir. A London gangster and smuggler. Owns a pub at Wapping called the Dark Man.’

‘Ah, I remember now,’ Ferguson said.

‘He’s into warehouse developments by the Thames, also running booze and cigarettes from Europe.’

‘But no drugs and no prostitution,’ Dillon reminded her.

‘Yes, an old-fashioned gangster. How very nice. He only shoots his rivals when absolutely necessary.’

Dillon shrugged. ‘Well, they shouldn’t have become gangsters then. I’m sure he’ll help us with the Jago brothers and with Fox, though. He has a good team – his nephew Billy Salter, Joe Baxter, Sam Hall.’

‘Dillon, these people are real villains,’ Hannah said.

‘Compared to Jack Fox, they’re sweetness and light.’ And then Dillon smiled. ‘Except that if you push them hard, they’ll be Fox’s worst nightmare.’

There was a pause. Ferguson said, ‘Yes, well, we’ll see. We’ll talk about it more on the way back to London.’

Dillon said, ‘Not me, Brigadier. I haven’t had a vacation in two years. I think it’s about time I took one.’

Ferguson said, ‘Sean, you’re not getting into one of your moods, are you?’

‘Now, do I look that kind of fella, Brigadier?’ He kissed Hannah on the cheek. ‘Off you go. I’ll see you in London. I’ll drive back with Blake.’

She frowned. ‘Now, look, Sean…’

‘Just do it,’ he said, turned and walked towards Blake Johnson’s limousine.

Driving back to Manhattan, Dillon closed the sliding window partition.

‘I take it we’re going to take Jack Fox to the cleaners.’

‘You say we.’

‘Don’t mess with me, Blake. If you’re in, I’m in, for more reasons than we need to state.’

‘Nobody should die like she did, Sean. Can you imagine? A dark, rainy night on the waterfront? Forced into taking that massive overdose?’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll see Fox in hell, and don’t talk to me about the law and all that kind of crap. I’m going to take him down in whatever way I have to, so my advice to you is to stay out of it.’

Dillon pulled open the panel and said to the driver, ‘Pull over for five minutes and pass the umbrella.’

The man did as he was told, and Dillon got out and opened the huge golfing umbrella as Blake joined him. They stood by the wall and looked out at the East River. Dillon lit a cigarette.

‘Listen, Blake, you’re one of life’s good guys, and Jack Fox is one of life’s bad guys.’

‘And you, Sean, what are you?’

Dillon turned, his eyes blank, face wiped of all emotion. ‘Oh, I’m his worst nightmare, Blake. I was engaged in what I saw as war for twenty-five years with the Brits and the IRA. Fox and his fucking Mafia think they’re big stuff. Well, let me tell you something. They wouldn’t last five minutes in Belfast.’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘We take this animal out, only we do it my way. It’s too easy to shoot him on the street. I want this to be slow and painful. We destroy his miserable little empire bit by bit, until he has nothing left. And then we destroy him.’

Blake smiled slowly. ‘Now, that I would like. Where do we begin?’

‘Well, according to Katherine, there’s this place called Hadley’s Depository in Brooklyn where they process cheap liquor.’

‘So?’

‘So let’s take it out.’

‘You mean that?’

‘Sure. Just the two of us.’

Blake’s face was pale with excitement. ‘You really mean this?’

‘It’s a start, me old son.’

‘Then you’re on, by God.’

Hadley’s Depository was beside a pier close to Clark Street on the river in Brooklyn. It was eleven o’clock that night, black rods of March rain falling, as Dillon and Blake drove up in an old Ford panel truck and parked at the side of the road.

They stood by a wall and Dillon lit a cigarette as they looked the place over. ‘This shouldn’t be hard,’ he said. ‘You, me, and no one else. An in-and-out job.’

‘There’s just one thing, Sean. I don’t want any victims here.’

‘No problem. If there’s a night shift, we leave it. If there’s just security, we’ll handle them. There’ll be only one victim here, Blake: Jack Fox and his income from the booze business.’ He laughed and hit Blake on the shoulder. ‘Hey, trust me. It’ll work.’

The following day, Blake went through files and accessed city and police records to find out everything he could about the Hadley Depository. When he saw Dillon for lunch at a small Italian family restaurant, he was quite strong again, probably because he had an end in view.

‘It’s funny, but this place has no record. Not even a hint with the police.’

‘So Fox is a clever bastard. Do you have any details on how it operates?’

‘I know the security firm who handles it. Two men guard the place. On the other hand, since the warehouse is not what it seems to be, who knows? They could have a night shift.’

‘We’ll see.’ Dillon smiled, looking like the Devil himself. ‘No waiting, Blake. We go in and stiff the place. Give Fox something to think about.’