The Minder.

Three potential novels under way at present. This is part of the most recent project– only 30,000 words so far – and the most personal. There are more aspects of my former life here than I’ve ever previously contemplated including as the basis of a novel. Perhaps it’s a little too personal and will amount to nothing more than ‘therapy.’ Always assuming I feel the need for therapy, which isn’t likely!

The man standing in my way held out a meaty hand and rumbled a warning. ‘That’s far enough.’

A keloid scar, like a writhing snake, stood out above his right eyebrow. I wondered at the fate of the man who’d administered the wound. Accidents, walking into doors or otherwise, could be ruled out. Accidents didn’t play a significant part in this man’s life. As far as the gene pool was concerned, he was paddling around in the shallow end. Wearing water wings. Primitive in many ways, yet perfectly suited to the task in hand.

The waste-land over which I’d walked was strewn with the carcases of dead cars, fridges, washing machines, already picked over by the local vultures and now abandoned. If disposal costs money, dump it, seemed to be the motto. The lower walls of the tower blocks were scrawled with graffiti, but this unlikely setting was the epicentre of a drugs empire presided over by a man whose ruthlessness was legendary.

The first floor landing was his place of business, the second door along was firmly closed and guarded by the man who’d told me to stay put and await an invitation to proceed to the door.

The man keeping me waiting his master’s pleasure was the last line of defence; the only barrier standing between me and the Target. He’d be right alongside the Big Man most of the time.

In the inner circle.

Exactly where I needed to be.

I ruminated on the prospect of a sudden and unexpected vacancy becoming available. For that to happen, the man standing in front of me would have to take early retirement.

From what I’d already learnt, the Target wasn’t a man likely to be impressed by Sunday School attendance prizes. He had a violent past and retained control over his vast empire by the judicious use of overwhelming force. The Minder with the scarred face epitomised the regime.

The personality I’d taken pains to cultivate over the past few months wouldn’t have scored highly at Charm School, but I’d managed to convince the people whose opinion mattered. More of the same could yet see me moving alongside the Target, privy to his actions and future plans. The opportunity was too good to miss. The bruiser who was barring my way, arms folded and scowl firmly in place had to be persuaded to move aside.

He was a big man. Shaven headed, half a head taller than myself and much heavier added up to an intimidating package while the scar tissue and flattened nose suggested he was no stranger to the art of combat. To get the job of looking after the Big Man he’d obviously won most of those battles, but also revealed a fair amount of collateral damage along the way.

He was ignoring me so I had ample opportunity to appraise him at leisure. Intelligence wouldn’t have been an integral element of the job description, but what he lacked in sagacity he made up for in sheer bulk. That massive domed head was an obvious weapon; one butt from that and any fight would be at an end. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his jacket and the dangling hands were twice the size of mine. Getting up close wasn’t an option. If he got those arms around me he’d crush me like a grape.

Hit first. Hit hard. Hit fast and rely on speed and manoeuvrability, that would be the plan. Try and end it before he was even aware he was being attacked.  As a plan, it was okay. The alternative scenario was grim.

I was relying heavily on him not expecting to be attacked. Why should he? I’d only thought of the idea myself in the past two minutes. It could all go wrong. Even if I managed to put this behemoth out of action, there was the chance that his boss, the Target, would be exceedingly pissed off at his chief enforcer being put out of action. Many people had pissed off the Target over the years. It wasn’t difficult. They’d all learned, the hard way, that forgive and forget were alien concepts.

I shook my head. I was getting ahead of myself. I’d worry about the next step if or when it happened.

This meeting had required organisation and patience. In the drugs trade, suspicion was paramount. Friendship and trust counted for nothing. Profit was the Holy Grail, screened by numerous levels of security. The men at the top of the pyramid were very wealthy. They’d become wealthy by taking chances; retained their wealth by being uber-cautious. The Target was no exception. He’d agreed to see me only because he suspected I had something to offer him. I had to live up to that or our relationship would be very short-lived.

I also had to hope he’d accepted my cover story. Many man-hours went into building a legend; the best brains available applied their efforts to a single purpose – allowing me to act out a personality that fitted the needs of the moment.

I took a deep breath. Maintain focus and stay calm. Use that assertive energy that’s built up over the past hour or two.

I had no weapons; nothing with a hard edge, apart from a solid pair of shoes. The landing was narrow – about four feet wide – with a low wall overlooking the wasteland on one side and solid brick on the other.

It wasn’t ideal.

I’d have preferred more room to manoeuvre, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. I wandered across to the outside wall, about three feet high, and peered over. The Minder ignored me. He had his job to do and it involved little more than standing four-square in front of the door.

‘Fuck off,’ I shouted at the empty space below me. ‘Get away from the motor.’ There was a black Audi with dark glass windows parked  at the edge of the tarmac which was out-of-place in these surroundings. The man guarding the door stirred, moved forward a pace.

‘Bloody kids,’ I said, still looking downwards. ‘That’ll need a trip to the body shop, or the scrap-yard if they carry on doing that.’

‘Eh?’ The Minder took two quick steps forward, leaning over the parapet in sudden alarm. I moved to one side, took a firm grip on the collar of his jacket, and heaved downwards. The sound of his nose breaking as his face met the lip of the wall was all the encouragement I needed. I hooked my foot around his ankles and pulled backwards. As his legs went from under him, his head struck the front wall and he moaned through his shattered teeth. I took one quick step forward and kicked him solidly in the face, then repeated the action, the heavy leather welt jerking his head backwards. One of the many benefits of handmade brogues.

He lay still, snorting in outrage but without showing any inclination to retaliate. Behind me the door swung open.

‘What’s going on?’ The questioner had taken in the scene at a glance and his enquiry was almost casual. A slim man, sharply dressed, about my own age.

‘Don’t ask me,’ I said. ‘I’m here for a meeting. Found him lying around on the job.’ I nudged the blood-smeared figure on the concrete with the tip of my toe, shot my cuffs and turned to face the man in the doorway.

He said nothing, but motioned me forward, stepping to one side as I reached the door. I walked past him, into a dark hallway and heard the door close behind me. Three steps more and I walked into a gloomy room, curtains drawn, and three men lounging on leather chairs. Behind a smoked glass table, dressed in black, a fourth man stood to greet my arrival. He was short, well below average height, yet the air of command was immediately evident.

The slim man who’d followed me inside walked past me. ‘Ted’s having a lie down,’ he said. ‘Hospital job, by the looks of it.’

The small man nodded. ‘Get shut of him, then tidy up,’ he said. The slim man nodded, motioned at one of seated men and they left the room together.

‘Ted’s been with me a long time. Hard case too. Very reliable, he is.’

‘Not any more,’ I said. I was breathing easily, without any signs of strain and was unmarked. Apart from a few specks of blood on my right shoe and what appeared to be a tooth embedded in the front edge of the leather sole.

‘No. Apparently not. You’d better sit down.’

I moved towards the chair vacated by the man who’d gone out to deal with the stricken Ted.

‘You two can go and give them a hand,’ the man in black said. ‘Oh, and I don’t ever want to see Ted again. Okay?’

They stood in unison, walked towards the hall. One turned, a questioning look on his face.

‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not Ted and I imagine my guest isn’t here on a suicide mission.’

I grinned and shook my head as the pair left the room and I was finally alone with the Target.