A Second Chance Ch. 02

"Where's fuckin' Alexi going!" I heard the shout from Ronnie, "Dave, Alexi's just driven off like greased weasel shit, what the fuck?!"

"Craig must be here, where's Craig's car?" said Gregg's slightly nervous tones.

"Dunno..."

"Well fuckin' call Alexi then, you ain't got that radio for decoration!" shouted back Gregg.

"Male number two at the patio doors... looks like Hawkes..." said a calm voice, then the radio started to shout,

"Alexi! Alexi? Where the fuck you going? Get back here, you spineless communist cunt!"

"Where's yer fuckin' boyfriend BITCH!" shouted Gregg, "He fucks yah, but don't fuckin' care about yah? Does he? DOES HE BITCH!?" his nervous tension was increasing, "that's the only reason he lets you stay here love, so he can fuck yah. P'raps I should have fucked you as well, p'raps I might, once I've sorted out this CUNT!" There was a pause, "Where the fuck IS HE, and WHERE'S KENNY!"

"Craig?" said the policeman, obviously watching my face, "a phone call to Callie please - in..." I got my phone ready, "five, four, three..." he held up two fingers then one, and I pressed the 'call' button.

Suddenly I could hear her distinctive ring tone but coming from the police radios, and a raised male voice, and I watched as Callie put her phone to her ear.

"Fuckin' answer it!" the voice whined, sounding like Gregg, "fuckin' answer it bitch! Don't say any'fing to give us away!"

"Hello? Craig?" She was crying now and staring over her shoulder at whoever had run to the window.

"Baby..." I said thinking hard on what to say, "I've left the office, and I'm driving over to Charlotte's place, thought I'd have a chat with you, cheer you up, while I'm driving."

As I did this, the policeman whispered to me,

"We can see both of the bad guys; she's got the phone to her ear, when I tell you, get her down on the floor..."

"So, are you cuddling Bear yet, Honey?" I said and could see that she was but could only hear a whimper, I looked at the policeman and he was counting down again before mouthing 'now!' "Get on the floor Baby," I shouted, "get down NOW!" I watched her on the screen as threw herself down as ordered.

I could hear the shouts coming from the house over the radios, 'Armed Police!', 'get your hands up!', 'Hands where I can see them, NOW!' were all shouted, and I could hear Callie's deep breathing, then a quiet, calming, 'it's OK Callie, come with us honey, we're good, come with us now, we got you, you're safe now'.

I took a deep breath as the phone disconnected.

Putting the phone in my pocket, I followed Justin out and towards my gateway and the number of uniformed policemen and women now there.

"Stay back here out of the way while we take Gregg and his other fucking trained monkey out in one of our trucks Craig," said Justin, "no need to let those twats know how much of a part you played in this yet."

I walked across to Callie's car, and it looked OK, and I walked around the house to get to the basement entrance from the other side of the house.

I stepped down, seeing both sidelocks with the keys in them. I stepped through the gap and down into my large basement and saw the police entry team had gone very carefully, and still no damage. I climbed up the few steps into the wedged open cupboard door.

Into the kitchen I saw that the two intruders hadn't been anywhere near as careful with my home and contents. The fridge had been opened and most of my beer had been drunk, my snack foods had been eaten and the wrappings thrown about in a deliberate and contemptuous disregard.

I pulled the kitchen door closed, and the noise suggested that Big Dave Gregg and Ronnie were being brought out. I felt my eyes sting, and it wasn't because of any emotion. I learned that Ronnie had received a face-full of CS gas when he carried on fighting, even after the handcuffs were attached.

I peaked out through a gap in the door, stopping to turn on the kettle to make tea. Robotically, I got down a couple of mugs, then figured there were probably twenty police officers out there, how could I make a brew for just me and Callie. I put them back and switched it off.

As the noise moved away, I stepped out into the hallway and Callie ran from the female firearms officer that was hugging her. I pulled her into my arms,

"It's OK Baby, you're safe now, I've got you, and I'm never going to let you go." She subsided into my arms.

"Oh Craig! I knew you'd come for me."

It was time for more hugs and reassurance, and soon Justin was there.

"Justin, if it's OK I'm going to take Callie and her daughter to a hotel tonight, can you contact me and let me know when you've finished, and I'll get the cleaners in."

"No problem," he said, "I've got your number and I'll call you tomorrow and let you know. We'll still need a chat and to take a couple of statements, so don't leave the country."

I took Callie upstairs to her room and grabbed PJ's and a few days clothes for her, Emmie and me, and toothbrushes and deodorants. We walked downstairs and jumping into her CRV, all silently.

I drove across town to Charlotte's place and found Emmie and Bonnie still sat on their sofa, watching 'Cars'.

"Christ, Cal," said Charlotte as she opened her front door, "you look terrible!" She grabbed her and hugged her.

Into her kitchen we explained what had happened, but without too much detail.

Although we had breached her six o'clock pick-up rule by a good hour, Charlotte was brilliant and made us both tea, while Emmie sat on her Mummy's lap. Mummy just hugged her, like she had with her daughter's favourite Bear, safe in the child seat in the car outside.

"How about Emmie stays here tonight, you guys look like you could do with a night on your own, to recover I mean!" said Charlotte, watching both of us, and our evident closeness.

"We'll be fine," said Callie, stepping in and hugging me, "we'll check in to the Premier Inn, Charlie honestly, but thanks again mate."

I'd already booked a room for us, and at a little after eight we were in the hotel restaurant, Callie and I both starving, Emmie not so much, eating burgers and fries, followed up with tall ice cream sundaes again.

Our hunger abated, we went up to our room, and while Callie had a shower, I put tiny, sleepy Emmie to bed with Bear, in the small single next to the window and she was asleep in moments.

Callie emerged a while later, wearing her Berlin vest nightdress and looking gorgeous.

"That's so much better," she said towelling her hair dry. She sat down, picking up the mug of tea I'd made her.

"Sorry Baby," I said.

"What?"

"All of that shit today, that was me..." I picked up my mug, "If I'd just fucked him off and got someone else to re-do the houses..."

"NO!" she said, "putting her mug down with a clunk, "No fucking way!" she hissed checking Emmie was still asleep, "That bastard was screwing you over, had been screwing your sister over, was screwing me over; the man was a criminal and would have gotten taken down at some point." She put her hands to my face, "I'm glad your efforts took the bastard down; no, I'm glad WE took him down!"

I slipped an arm around her.

"Thanks Baby," I said.

She lay down and sipped at her mug,

"I got your hints," she said with a smile, "I TOTALLY knew something was going on; Bonnie and Emmie watching Thomas? Seriously?" She looked across at her sleeping daughter, snuggled up so cosily with Bear, "Thomas is for BOYS Mummy!" she hissed.

"It had to be that obvious Baby, you had to know that I was talking rubbish and that something was going on."

"And the two Maureen's!" she chuckled, "what was the whole 'pick up Bear' thing?"

"CCTV," I said, "Diana had it installed when she first refurbed the place, I'd completely forgotten about it. It covers the whole of the outside, and there's a camera in the hallway and it could pick up Bear, so Justin the Policeman wanted you where he could see you before they came in screaming and guns blazing through the basement door."

"I guessed that was how they came in," she said, finishing her tea and putting down her mug, and rolled closer to me, "So, CCTV!" she smiled at me, "did you spy on me walking around your place naked, when you were abroad?"

"No," I snapped back desperately, "like I said, I'd completely forgotten about it until the Police wanted to see the outside, then I remembered it and uploading the app."

"I was joking Craig," she said, putting a hand to my chest, "you know I like you watching me naked, don't you?"

"I did kind of hope," I said.

"You can watch me naked when you like," pushed her full boobs into my arm, "I glad you've asked me to sleep in your bed, I much prefer sleeping naked too."

I tugged at the side of her Berlin nightdress,

"So..."

"Special occasion, special nightdress;" she leaned forward and kissed me, "when Cairngorm was still nice and warm and Emmie was younger, I walked around naked all the time, then she started to grow up I had to dress up."

"Well, don't feel you have to dress up for me," I said.

"It's nice to have someone to get naked for," we kissed and cuddled, held back from any other activities by the almost five-year-old not five feet away from us.

We woke up in lazy time the next morning, showered, then headed down for breakfast. I had a phone call from Policeman Justin to say we could now have the place back, even recommending a cleaning company, but he was kind enough to say that it really didn't need it PHYSICALLY, but I pointed out that I'd rather it was done before Callie and Emmie went back there.

I rang the company in question, asked that they do a heavy clean of the ground floor (Callie confirmed that our two visitors hadn't gone upstairs) and after a credit card payment over the phone, they collected the keys from the departing police and set to. As we walked around the town centre that afternoon, I had a phone call to say all had been done, and they'd even taken the rubbish away.

We went back, and all was well; we hadn't really discussed what had happened with tiny Emmie, so she was straight back, and watching Disney.

Callie made coffee for both of us and came in with two mugs.

"Emmie?" she said.

"Yeah," said the girl, barely able to drag her eyes from the TV screen.

"Would you like to move to a new bedroom?"

"I like MY bedroom," she said defensively.

"Ah, but this one's bigger," I said, and extended a hand, "come and have a look." I paused the movie.

Upstairs, I showed her the new room, which she had seen but had never really ventured into, she looked at the bookshelves and the books, picking out a few she liked the colour of.

"Look at the view Emmie," said Callie sitting on the built-in window seat, pointing down to the garden and greenhouses spread below.

"Can I really?" she said with that big, and totally irresistible grin of hers.

"Yeah really-really, especially for you Emmie," I said.

"But Mummy would be on her own upstairs," she had a look of concern and a bit of a pout.

"Well," I said, "Perhaps Mummy could move into my room, it's very big."

Callie stared at me, her mouth hanging open for a moment.

But that was enough.

"OK then!"

Callie smiled.

"Emmie?" said Callie, "Are you still OK living at Craig's house?"

"Yeah!" she said excitedly, "It's big and it's warm, and has Disney!"

We both laughed, and hugged and kissed, Emmie didn't seem to mind.

We moved her things down and I could see the delight in Callie's face as we hung her daughter's tiny clothes in the big wardrobes and laid out the rest in the large chests of drawers my big sister had purchased. Next, we put up her pictures, set up her easel, and did all the silly things that made it HER room.

That was that; while Callie announced that we were now going to move her things down into my room, Emmie was far too busy arranging, then re-arranging, her collection of soft toys on the seat in the bay window (because not all of them would be able to see out), except for Bear of course, who was either with her or on her bed.

Life carried on, and it was if that horrible Friday afternoon had never really happened. We made our police statements on the Monday morning, and there was some minor press coverage, especially when the arrest and remanding in custody of Kenny, Ronnie and prominent local businessman David Gregg and his partner was announced, followed by Cllr Swift and a 'senior council manager' were helping police with their enquiries.

From a recommendation of my boss, I found a local builder and asked that they give me a quote for the repairs to Cairngorm Avenue. It seemed quite reasonable so I set them to work. On the advice of my solicitor and the police, I refunded my Evergreen tenant for what he had paid out for in repairs and redecoration.

Finally, it was Cromwell Road where the taxi company ran from. It had emptied almost overnight, with many of the drivers scared by the arrest of 'Alexi', and the Police, Border Force and HM Revenue and Customs all arriving at once.

Alexi, a big and wide-grinned Lithuanian lad, who had 'just been following orders', was given his passport back and released with a warning. As the youngest, biggest, most naïve and easily led, perhaps easily intimidated, he'd been told to keep the entrance blocked until my distinctive Land Rover Discovery appeared, and he was to drive around the block in Kenny's girlfriends car, then back across the drive to stop me leaving, because 'Boss Dave' had told him the 'bad man that lived there owed him lots of money'.

The place he'd considered his English home needed some work, purely because what had once been a charming, large and very well decorated, semi-detached, suburban town house, now looked, smelled, and felt somewhere between a tatty office, a garage and a Warsaw Pact barrack block.

Local residents were delighted when the police arrived. The next day all the Skoda mini cabs were impounded, removed from the drive, the front and back garden, from the road outside, and outside of another four or five properties in the area. Peace and tranquillity returned to Cromwell Road.

'AaaDeeGee Cars' really had been a 24-hour operation with the drivers, all eastern European lads between 18 and 24, had slept there, three, sometimes four to a bedroom and in the way of submariners, had 'hot-bunked' via a quite intricate rota system, all crafted in Gregg's own distinctive handwriting. This was far from ideal, and Border Force found information suggesting that up to 22 men had lived there 24/7-365, in a house with three toilets, one bath, one shower, and one kitchen.

The police report into the affair was detailed, long and quite scary.

No stranger to money, David Iain Gregg's first real business was as a loan shark, lending money to people that couldn't pay it back at outrageously inflated interest rates.

Through one of his victims, he was introduced to Petra Parsons, and the attraction was instant and mutual, but the thuggery of him and his two cohorts became too well know. As the police and the local Trading Standards Department started to home in on him, Petra helped him move from finance into 'property management'; he insisted that he'd done DIY in his house, and it couldn't be that difficult.

He'd made a very good start, and his jolly banter and competitive pricing scale had the money rolling in, and it was good all the time he didn't actually have any repairs to make, but the income was negligible, so he started to charge for repairs he hadn't done, which was way more lucrative.

He could talk the talk but didn't actually know one end of a crosscut saw from a rawl plug, and some very basic repairs were made that he did get away with, but it was at this point that his trained monkeys messed up a small repair at Cairngorm Avenue and ended up doing more damage than they repaired, having watched entirely the wrong YouTube video.

He struck gold shortly after that, taking four licensed and plated cars from a young lad that had still owed him money, he started to run a small taxi company that specialised in airport trips, and this was much easier and quite lucrative. He decided that a few more cars would make even more money, he was bored with buildings anyway.

So AaaDeeGee cars was born, (the three A's added to ensure they always came up first in any alphabetical list) and operated from a rather ramshackle container in his builders' yard. He learned the business from a mate that had managed another local taxi company and was amazed at the large gaps that were available to the committed professional.

The nature of the area he covered meant that many of his prospective passengers paid in cash, which spiked his interest. But the drivers now, they were all local men that had families to feed and bills to pay, that was certainly no way to run a ballroom. He looked around for the single lads, but the rates were well known in the area, and far too high to meet his personal profit margin.

So he contacted a mate who used to gang-master eastern European young people for seasonal fruit picking and he used his contacts to bring in exactly what was wanted. Young, reasonable English speakers, who were reasonably simple, with their own national driving licences. Once found, they were promised everything, and employed on short, unsigned and often only spoken 'contracts'.

They were told that before the big salaries could be paid, they had to pay back the costs for their travel to the UK, 'training and administration', their food and rent, their uniforms, and it was taken directly from their wages, and new boys like 'Alexi' were paid slightly less than £1.75 an hour for a twelve-hour day for the first three, four or five months, with even the longest serving getting just under a £3, driving a car that could earn anything up to £100 an hour on a busy day, more at nights and weekends.

The drivers were initially encouraged, latterly threatened to work harder, drive faster, and literally cut corners to reduce outgoings, and at first the turnover of staff was quite significant.

For the second tranche of drivers though, it was almost impossible to just leave and go home because Gregg had their passports, and they would have to go through Kenny or Ronnie to get them.

They tried to save or send money home as the gang-masters had promised, but there really wasn't enough after they spent a tiny bit on themselves on things like soap and deodorant. If they did ask about going home, they'd be told they hadn't made enough money to pay back what Gregg had allegedly spent on them.

As soon as they'd built up too many points on their licences for the insurance company, or even had police records, Gregg would send them home, without the special bonus he'd promised; after all, he was having to send them home because of their driving misfortunes -- how could they deserve a bonus.

The cash rolled in.

It was collected each evening by Ronnie or Kenny when they changed shifts, having run the office each day with a group of 'safe' women they both knew, most of them on benefits, their new jobs top secret.

The drivers would be given their pittance pay, and 'off of the books' as far as income tax was concerned, only a few of the older drivers were 'official' and paying their dues.

Petrol would be bought using cash, log sheets for trips tended to be rather hit and miss affairs, and often only written out at the end of the day and many of the cash-only trips not featuring at all.

When the HMRC calculated the mileage from the cars themselves it was found that they had covered hundreds of thousands of miles while declaring less than a quarter of it.

Because of his ridiculously low overheads, Gregg managed to put some of the older, more established taxi companies out of business, and 'cleaned up' locally. With twenty cars of his own plus a few 'loaners' he was making thousands of pounds an hour while paying out peanuts.