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29th March 2014
The more Tommy Cole thought about it the less it made sense and he’d thought about it a lot. He just couldn’t see Tony MacMahon walking away from his ‘empire’ despite what he’d said. No, it was bollocks. If Tony thought he was going to swan off to Spain then pull his strings from afar, he was fucking off his head. Tommy wanted it all. He’d worked for it. It hadn’t been Tony dirtying his hands with the killings, it had been him. Ok, he’d enjoyed it, but that wasn’t the point. Enough was enough.
He’d been genuinely shocked at the news of Tony’s death. Yes, he’d seen it coming, but only because he’d been planning it. Mainly, it was because he’d thought it was the start of a takeover by one of the other Liverpool crime gangs. Until then he hadn’t thought any of them had the balls to do it. In the days following, he’d discovered none of them had. They’d been quick to let him know it was nothing to do with them and they were keen to keep it ‘business as usual’. He’d no problems with that. Whoever it’d been, they’d done him a favour.
As usual in these cases, for two weeks the Police had been all over them. Nothing was getting done, but he could feel their enthusiasm fading away. It was time to start afresh. In a perfect world, he’d have given it a bit longer, but the arrangements had been made well before Tony got himself shot.
The drugs were coming in tomorrow night and he had to be there to oversee things, to make sure he wasn’t being ripped off; he hadn’t dealt with these particular people before. They’d been vouched for by others with whom he had done business but it was best to be certain. He was a ‘hands on’ sort of guy and always had been, not like Tony who’d liked to keep a respectable distance.
Then there was Sackville. He had to ‘speak’ to him. He wanted the rest of Tony’s assets and Sackville was the key. The problem was the little shit had disappeared. At first, he thought he may have thrown his hand in with the Police, but then dismissed it, partly because he’d deliberately left him alone; send him the false message all was well and there was nothing to fear.
He’d had someone visit Sackville’s house just over a week after the shooting. The neighbour told his man Sackville and his mother had gone to Spain for three weeks following the death of a close friend. Apparently, it’d been the mother’s idea. She’d thought it would help them get over it. Well, it might take Rupert and the old crone three weeks to get over it, but he was well over it already. Some people were so weak.
Just to be sure, Tommy’s contact at JLA checked the passenger lists. Rupert and Necia Sackville were listed for both an outgoing and a return flight. He could have done without the delay, but he’d get a grip of Rupert ‘La-di-dah’ fucking Sackville soon enough.
But now he was off to Alnwick: a nice secluded beach nearby, just off the main road, close to where the River Aln met the sea. Tomorrow night he would be there to supervise the crew receiving drugs which would make him a very rich man. It’d been Tony’s plan and he saw no reason to change it. Alfie Kehoe could wait.