Catch as Catch Can (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 1), Malcolm Hollingdrake [best large ereader .TXT] 📗

‘Listen!’ Sadiq told them. ‘What’s good for the south is equally as good for us boys and girls up north. If they can do it, then so can we only we’ll use a bit of bloody nous. Even if we’re out of the capital it won’t matter as we’ll move in and out of the local cities and towns. In and out, striking in different places on the same morning. Teams. My teams – efficient, cruel and brave – my band of brothers and sisters.’

He had been right too. Not only did it prove easy stealing the motorbikes, scooters and personal belongings, the team had also found it fun making the snatch. They had grown rapidly in expertise as they experienced the acute adrenaline rush as each target was stalked and attacked. They relished the punters’ expressions: that look of disbelief, the moment of paralysis as the phone or bag left their hand, the shouts and then the mad scarper, the weaving through the tiniest of gaps on roads and along the pavements where traffic lights were but blinking eyes to be ignored. The experience brought danger, it was exciting but, most importantly, it was profitable.

People had been growing cautious of two-up scooters when the riders were dressed in dark clothing. The public had seen the news and had become well aware of the capital’s modern day dangerous, and on occasion, brutal highwaymen. However, that was the capital not the north west and certainly not here in this city – the Pool as it was affectionately known. Sadiq told the group of seven that the way the southern moped gangs performed was now clichéd. No one understood what he meant when he had first announced this; they had simply nodded in agreement.

Holding a mug of herbal tea, Sadiq stared out of the window. The jasmine aroma lingered as he breathed deeply before turning to face those sitting anxiously around the dark grey table. The team served another purpose. As well as collecting, they delivered, if not on scooters, mopeds and motorbikes, then on pushbikes, preferably electric, silent, efficient and easily acquired – a modern take on the milk float. Sadiq called them his swift pedalling apothecaries, emphasising the word pedalling. It amused him. However, to many in the team, whose use of English was poor, the humour was lost.

‘The coppers here will soon follow their Met colleagues and bring in what they call Operation Venice. To you, that’s a direct physical attack on suspected muggers and that, my friends, is you. However, we will adapt quickly, like the chameleon. Now, take all of this in, not just the view. Look around you.’ He paused as they scanned the apartment and then each other. ‘I was born and brought up in Kirkdale. My mother looked after her family of five whilst my father worked for the council. It was not easy being born equidistant from the two famous football clubs. I hated football.’ He paused as if dredging the emotions back to the surface of some deep mire. ‘I could never see the point of it and when I was asked by others from the streets as to whether I was a blue nose or a red nose, Everton or fucking Liverpool, it was often my quick thinking, my wits, and the knowledge of those asking, that determined the particular answer.’ He laughed, and the faces staring at him grinned, but there was a degree of uncertainty as to why. ‘My judgement was not always accurate, and on many occasions, I came away with a red and bloodied nose. These early lessons, however, have stood me in good stead.’

He turned back to the window. Having all of this was due in part to his quick thinking, partly to self-discipline and partly to careful planning. ‘I’ve not had it easy, but I made sure I got what I wanted one way or another.’

Those sitting round the table were silent as he stared across the balcony and into the distance, deep in thought. He had found school easy and had quickly demonstrated that he was capable, outshining many of the other students. His use of language, his ability in maths and his attitude and courtesy, soon saw him furthering his education and then working as an accountant. Now, he was, by his own admission, a modern-day Bill Sykes, a controller of the gang of seven, and it was beginning to pay well. What he did not mention was the fact that the apartment was only rented and he did not control any part of that. Sadiq was simply another small link in the chain.

From the very beginning he had helped choose his accomplices with great care and he had prepared them well. Strangely, he had welcomed females into his ranks. However, it was Chelle he trusted the most. He had known her since his early teens when she seemed alone and needy and he liked her. She could ride too. First it was the BMX, then mopeds and scooters, but it was her skills riding a small motocross bike that had convinced him that she had all the necessary credentials.

He moved towards the table. ‘Let me remind you. We’re different. We’re professionals. Make sure you look like normal riders on the bike, that way we blend in. We don’t intimidate even though we’re using nicked bikes. The key to the success of this is that you’ll remember always to be courteous to other road users, let pedestrians cross. We’ll allay any fears and then we’ll strike. Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly.’

Immediately he banged the table top startling many. Chelle let out an involuntary scream, but his instant laughter brought to everyone a sudden sense of relief.

‘Remember, careful preparation and accurate execution has paid off for many months as we’ve roamed Southport, Formby, Bolton and of course, Liverpool. We shall, my friends, soon spread our wings further.’

Fetching money from a drawer he placed