Sleaford Noir 1 by Morris Kenyon (the best books of all time .txt) 📕

All that's left now is some earthworks in a field together with a moat and a section of rubbled wall. At one end of the field is a copse of trees and bushes. And that's that. Over the centuries, the locals probably had it away with the castle's masonry to improve their cottages. It's funny to think that what was once so important is now barely a third rate tourist attraction.

I pulled up opposite the site's entrance. As I expected, the metal barrier was padlocked, but a moment later I'd picked the lock with my L pry and swung the gate open. Turning the Jeep Cherokee onto the castle fields, I drove along the rough track and parked near the ruined wall. Perfect. Only one way in and out. No way could Wheelan sneak in some of his hoods to blindside me. My captives stirred themselves and sat up straighter. They knew they were nearly through. Stepping out of the Cherokee, I called Wheelan a second time.

"Changed my mind, Wheelan, it's Sleaford Castle."

Wheelan made some crack about how it was my privilege to change my mind at short notice but underneath I could tell the man wasn't happy about the change. But I was, which was what mattered.

Keeping an eye on the only entrance, I stood and waited. A train thundered by to the south of the castle fields – a long tube of light and sound fracturing the night's darkness. It took longer than I expected for Wheelan to show. So I guessed he had set up a little 'meet and greet' party at the Bass Maltings. It's what I would have done in his place after all. Then a large off-road 4x4 turned up the dirt track leading to Sleaford Castle. The car flashed its lights the once. I got behind the Cherokee's wheel and flashed my lights in reply.

"You two. Time to go. Out now," I told them. I opened their doors and helped them both out. Mulhearn slightly hunched over, groaning to himself. The man must be absolutely desperate by now. The chill air wouldn't help his bladder any. Taking a Swiss army knife, I knelt and cut the duct tape binding their ankles.

"Walk," I told them, giving the pair a gentle shove in the right direction. They took slow hesitant steps, little more than a cautious shuffle as their hands were still bound behind them and their eyes taped shut. Strangely, it was the schoolgirl Alexa who seemed bolder than Mulhearn. Alexa stumbled over a tussock of rough grass and I caught her arm, steadying her. When we were about fifty yards from Wheelan's Mercedes M-class 4x4, I commanded that they stop. My captives did so and stood trembling slightly in the ever present wind. Alexa's skirt rustling around her knees.

Taking out Alexa's mobile, I called Wheelan again. No-one had yet got out of the Mercedes-Benz and I couldn't see inside the vehicle.

"We're here, Wheelan. Let's get this over with." As I spoke to Wheelan I heard Claire McTeague's voice carrying on in the background. Pleading and begging. It sounded like the woman wasn't happy about going home.

"Come on Wheelan. I haven't got all night," I reminded him.

The Mercedes door opened. I saw Wheelan's six foot two bulk as he crossed his headlight's beams and opened the passenger door. Despite the cold, Wheelan wore only a skinny rib tee shirt, the better to show off his muscles. He leaned in and gently helped Claire McTeague out. The woman was warmly dressed in a velour tracksuit, hoodie and wore white trainers. He spoke to her and then both started forwards towards my group.

Immediately, I called Wheelan again. Even at that distance I heard his ringtone. Wheelan answered.

"Only Claire McTeague, Wheelan. You know the drill – they meet half way and then keep walking. Remember, I hold all the aces here. Do you need me to spell it out? I'm armed and whacking your daughter, your lover and your second is less than nothing to me. Got that?"

Wheelan got that loud and clear. To be honest, I didn't need to remind him but I just wanted it crystal to everyone. Poor Alexa shuddered and sunk her head into her shoulders as if she could feel the 9mm Parabellum blasting through her body, punching through her insides and sending her into eternity. Mulhearn groaned.

Stepping forward, I pulled off the tape covering Alexa's eyes so she could guide Mulhearn. Her false lashes came with it and she cried out. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light and she focussed on her father's M-class. Wheelan waved to her.

"You two can go now," I said giving them another push. "Good luck."

As soon as they started walking, Wheelan nudged Claire McTeague. With a backward look at her lover, the woman started forward.

So far, so good. Nice and easy. No dramas.

My phone rang. Wheelan. I took the call. "Please, Hennessy," he started. I hated hearing the man beg. "Please, it doesn't have to be like this. Claire doesn't love McTeague no more – its me she wants. You must understand how she feels. Listen, one last chance, throw your hand in with me and I'll make you my second instead..." I laughed at this point. It was pathetic. "... my partner then. Equal shares. You and me, Hennessy, together. We're both younger than McTeague. He's yesterday's man, always going on about the club scene of the Eighties and Nineties. Battling the old Scouser gangs. What does he know about the future? Outsourcing..."

I wasn't even tempted. McTeague had seen challengers like Wheelan come and go. Like an old oak, he'd stayed the course.

"Listen Wheelan. I'll give you one tip. Wait for McTeague to calm down and then make him an offer." I finished the call. That was good advice. It wasn't my business but I reckoned once McTeague had lived with a woman who no longer loved him for a few months, he'd be open to a trade for her.

By now, the three had met in the middle of the castle field. Claire McTeague spoke to Mulhearn, who nodded a couple of times before they crossed paths and then Claire was coming towards me. She walked slowly, carefully over the uneven ground. I looked over the field. When she was only a few yards away from her father's M-class, Alexa forgot caution and ran forwards into her father's arms and he enfolded her in a bear hug. A touching sight.

Claire McTeague was almost up to me by now. I nodded politely and opened up the Cherokee's passenger door for her like any good chauffeur should.

"Are you carrying?" I asked her before she got in.

I didn't think she was as Claire was out of the life except for the good things men like McTeague and Wheelan were prepared to lavish on her in order that they could have her draped over their arm. I couldn't see the attraction myself.

Claire shook her head and sniffed. Her eyes were red and watery. Whether from the cold or crying I neither knew nor cared. I patted her down anyway but the woman was clean.

"In," I said. Before she sat down I showed her Mulhearn's bottle of Halothane and told her I'd have no problem with using it on her if that's what she wanted.

Again, Claire shook her head, her carefully coiffured hair remaining in place.

"You win Hennessy; you and McTeague. But it's wrong what you're doing."

One sentence in and already I couldn't take any more of this drivel so I tuned into Lincs FM for something loud from the charts and drove over the bumpy field and then along the track. We passed Wheelan, who was still cuddling Alexa; and Mulhearn who was pissing like a horse, before rejoining Castle Fields road and then onto the B1517.

We were leaving Sleaford on the A15 before I allowed myself to relax. Claire was going home. She sat quietly, apart from the occasional sniffle. Her hands rested in her lap. I'm not telling you which direction we headed nor how far I drove as the Serious Organised Crime Agency might find that information of use.

Of course, it all kicked off big time.

Although McTeague still had the far bigger empire, Wheelan wasn't without resources and a couple of other capos sided with him, especially the Norfolk Farm Boys, hoping to pick over the remnants of McTeague's empire after the older man went down. And maybe they also genuinely knew what it was like to lose a woman they loved and had some sympathy for Wheelan.

Although in the case of the Norfolk boys, that woman would have been one of their close relations. A very close relation. You know what I mean by that. However, the general consensus was that although Wheelan was out of order for taking Claire without asking; McTeague was bang out of order for taking her back by force. Strange how men's minds work.

Unless you're a hermit on the Outer Hebrides or Scilly Isles or somewhere you'll have seen on the News or read in the papers about what happened next. The gang war made headline news; police Chief Constables were dragged blinking before the TV cameras and there were even questions asked in the House of Commons about the crime wave sweeping eastern England. The topic dominated one Question Time on Radio 4 with solutions ranging from the usual 'bring back the rope' from the right wing Tory rent-a-quote member of parliament to the even more predictable hand-wringing 'they are all victims of poor upbringing' liberalism of some pinko quangocrat.

With my skill set I was much in demand. You remember that tourist from Ottawa who was stabbed to death by a mugger in a hoodie thirty seconds after leaving East Midlands Airport's arrivals hall as he waited for a taxi? There was a lot of fuss made at the time about how dangerous Britain was becoming? Visitors not even making it out of a provincial airport before being killed in our increasingly violent country? That was no mugger. And that was no ordinary tourist but a top dollar hit-man flown in to whack McTeague.

The owner of a string of lap-dancing clubs throughout South Yorkshire – that's right. The man who went down in a hail of bullets from a converted Mac-10 'spray-'n'-pray' machine-pistol as he crossed the pavement from his club to his waiting limo one rainy night? There were two people in black leathers on a stolen Yamaha R6 superbike. The pillion rider shredding the club owner like a Swiss cheese before the bike zoomed off into the night. The bike was later found burned out a mile away. But the driver and the shooter still haven't been found. Nor will they ever be.

That club owner shouldn't have thought he could get away with joining forces with Wheelan by bringing some Canadian hit-man in on his new friend's behalf. He'd probably still be alive and enjoying the nightly strip shows to this day.

Then there's the two Kosovan so-called asylum seekers deep underground in Sherwood Forest. Two hard-man chancers in leather jackets who thought they could muscle in and take over whilst the East Midlands went up in smoke. No, wait. They haven't been found yet. And I hope they never will be. You mess with one Kosovan Albanian and you mess with them all. No way do I want their brothers, cousins, uncles, nephews, in-laws and out-laws all after me in one of their unending vendettas.

Of course, this couldn't spin on out of control for ever. The top brass at Lincolnshire Police must have been leaned on by some of the high mandarins at the Home Office to get this sorted before the red top press started another moral panic about Britain's crime rate which would cost