CHAPTER SIX
"Who is it? No hold on, hold on," Sammy paused to correct himself, "Forgive me. What I mean to say is who the fuck is it?" His was a thick, rich, cockney accent.
The voice at the other end of the line was loud, deep, masculine, and very timorous.
"Eh... it's me boss."
"Oh for fuck's sake."
"Me... it's me boss, me."
"Fucking Paddies. Let me repeat myself. Who the fuck..."
"It's Thicke Sammy, Garda Thicke."
"Do not fucking interrupt me Thicke. Do not ever fucking interrupt me."
"OK, right so."
Sammy paused to compose himself.
"Go on then Thicke, what is it?"
"Well, it's Biggs Sammy. He's in trouble."
Sammy sat upright.
"Oh is he really?"
"He's gettin' desperate."
"What is it then? Gambling? Prossies? The Bookies? No, no, no, don't tell me... he's lifted evidence from the station, init? Taken home some confiscated drug money."
"Not yet he hasn't. But it's worse than that Sammy."
"No way Thicke. Stop, really, because you're hurting me. Not kiddy porn. On his laptop?"
"Worse again."
"Well, well, well. Lovely. Do fucking tell."
"It's the mortgage. He can't pay it. He's well behind on his interest only. Him and the missus bought a big house back when the overtime was piling in. Now he's down to the bare salary and the wife is out of work. He's in arrears, well, well, well into arrears. Up to his ears in arrears and you know what the banks are like these days."
"Do you know what Thicke, I do sometimes miss old London, I really do. Mortgage payments. Don't you Paddy filth ever do anything bleeding exciting?"
Thicke didn't know if he was expected to answer that or not. He chose not to.
"Go on then, how do you know he's in trouble then?"
"Well, they've started calling him at the station, you know? Not the bank but the fuckin' debt collectors. They have debt collectors onto him now. Can you believe it? Onto a Sergeant of an Garda Siochana?"
"Oh it's bloomin' disgrace, init."
"It is Sammy, it is."
"So tell me Thicke, why should I give a fuck about your Sergeant Biggs? He can't pay them, he can't pay me. He's nobody."
"He can't pay them what they want, but he could pay you. Every penny in confiscated drug money that comes into this station would go to you."
"How much is that then?"
"Well, sometimes it's nothing at all but sometimes we're talking tens of thousands at a time. You could squeeze him to hand the lot over and I can keep an eye on him."
"OK, I'm listening."
"Also the big idiot actually thinks he's a real bloody policeman. He still thinks he can take you down."
"If I go down Paddy, you go down an all, don't you forget that."
"I know that Sammy, of course I do, so here's the thing, not only do you get your hooks into him for money, you'll fucking own him."
"You know what Thicke? Sometimes you think like a real evil piece of scum. Maybe you ain't so bad after all. Wot's his mobile number then?"
"Ah Jesus Sammy, I can't give you that."
"Don't fuck around Thicke, I can't go through the same bleeding bollocks every time you pretend you can't do something for me."
"This is different Sammy."
"Let's just pretend we've had the conversation already, eh? I've threatened to reveal your kiddy fiddler porn addiction, you've begged me not to, blah, blah, fuckin' blah, init?"
"Ah Jesus Sammy."
"I have a pen in my hand Thicke. Please do not make me wait."
Thicke dutifully read off the number and the line went dead.
"Fucking cunt." he muttered as an old lady from the village entered the station to report her missing cat.
"Excuse me Garda Thicke, did you say something?"
The caller ID was blocked but Sergeant Biggs was not one to screen calls.
"Biggs." He grunted.
"Is that Sergeant Biggs of the Darklow Garda Station?"
"It is. How did you get this number?"
"A friend gave it to me. A very caring and thoughtful friend of yours."
"Who is this?"
"Look, Sergeant Biggs, I just recently heard that you is having difficulty with the mortgage, init?"
"Are you a collection agency? Is that it? Look, I've already told you that I'm making arrangements to have the debts consolidated and an offer of monthly payments will be made to you via my intermediary. I will no longer accept these calls."
"Monthly payments?"
"That's right, and we're talking in the order of hundreds here, not thousands."
"That sounds quite acceptable to me. How much are we talking about exactly?"
"It's not decided yet, but don't expect more than €350 a month at the very most."
A derisory laugh came from the telephone. Three hundred and fifty bills a month was the limit of a Garda Sergeant’s financial nightmare. This was barely enough for a quiet night in at Sammy's house and this was breaking point for Darklow's main crime fighter.
"I'm not a collection agency Sergeant Biggs. On the contrary, it's your lucky day. I am here to help you."
Biggs was momentarily confused. Then the penny dropped. The cockney accent, the offer of help at a low moment.
"Sammy the Shark."
"Well, I do prefer my actual name of Samuel Sharkey if you don't mind."
"I'm not interested."
"You can pay it off tomorrow. The whole lot, in one go. Save yourself thousands in interest payments...." Sammy didn't intend on paying anything off in one go. He would deal directly with the debt collectors himself and re-negotiate the deal as he had done on many occasions. Most of them knew him by now so he barely had to say a word. Half of the debt collection agents owed him money themselves.
"And then have you banging on my door? I don't think so."
"No banging on doors Sergeant, you are, after all, an officer of the law. You would be a tier one client on my books and a very generous grace period would be arranged for your first payments in view of your high position in local society."
The silence told Sammy all he needed to know.
"'Let's say a year, shall we? Payment free."
Biggs looked around him. He was sitting in his 2002 Ford Escort on the overcast and windswept seafront of Billstown Harbor where he had attended many a suicide scene, towing cars in from the ocean as water poured out of the engine blocks, exhausts and body work.
"Not enough? How about two years? No, no, hold on. Let's be really generous here, we'll make it three full years before there's any talk of payments and after that it'll be three hundred and fifty quid a month, no questions asked and of course, no interest. Not for my special friends, the officers of the Gardai. Never say that Samuel Sharkey don't look after members of the public service. I am very civic minded Sergeant Biggs, despite what you may have heard. My old man was a public servant and a good man he was too."
Three years debt free, mortgage free, small monthly payments thereafter, and no accumulating interest. Just the freedom to go about his duty, clearing drunks off the streets, maintaining public order, investigating break-ins and robberies. He could be the guardian of the peace again that his father and mother had been before him, as he had always dreamed of being. He looked out at the brilliant blue summer sky. It was a rare day of perfect sunshine in Ireland. Sergeant Biggs licked his lips, took a deep breath and got ready to frame his words into the phone.
"Now should you have any windfall in the meantime you could of course pay a lump sum with no fear of punitive charges Sergeant Biggs. Let's say a little money came into the station and somehow got lost."
"What are you talking about?" Biggs asked.
"No need to answer now Sergeant. You think it over and I'll call you back in a day or two."
"Wait...."
"Before I go though, one question to you. Seeing as you is the Gardai."
Mike hesitated. His stomach turning a little.
"What is it?"
"You is in charge of that investigation in Sunnyvale, init?"
"Which one do you mean?"
"Only one I've heard of. Only one that stands out anyway."
Mike chose his words carefully.
"If you mean the suspected homicide, then that has been passed on up to the Phoenix Park. I'm just a local Garda Sergeant so I wouldn't be involved in that kind of investigation. Unless someone had some information about it, then of course I would pass it on."
"Well, it was right in front of your house, init?"
Mike froze.
"'Hello? Sergeant Biggs? You still there mate?"
"What is this Sharkey? If you have information it would be in your best interests to pass it on to the Gardai at your earliest convenience."
"Who me? I ain't got no information. I was just wondering though. It must have been very traumatic for your family. It being in front of your house and all. Especially as you is having young kids and then your financial difficulties too, you know?"
"Sharkey. If you have information...."
"Sergeant Biggs, I have information alright. Now you listen to me. I can pay off your whole mortgage in one day. Do you understand me? One single day and that's it, gone. I can do it today. Right now. Do you understand me? I can make that call. You can tell the banks, the fucking banksters, the debt collectors, the whole filthy lot, tell them to go and fuck off. Do you understand?"
Mike was sweating. His standard issue policeman’s blue shirt sticking to his skin.
"As I say, I'll let you think it over for a day or two."
"Sharkey...."
The line went dead. Biggs stabbed at the phone to make a call back but the blocked number wouldn't allow it.
"Fuck it." Biggs threw the phone to the seat beside him where it bounced to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up again, making sure it wasn't damaged. There was a crack in the display.
"Fuck. It."
It would have to stay that way. The cost of a new phone wasn't something he could permit himself these days.