Chapter twenty-five
St. Katharines and Wapping, London
Damon
The Top Wash Launderette is located underneath a tall apartment block in inner city London.
The homes of the residents above climb to at least twenty stories.
Each apartment has a balcony, and clean washing hangs over the rails of most.
On the pavement beside the shop lies a broken washing line with t-shirts and jeans still pegged to it, obviously a victim of the high winds earlier today.
The area is well shaded due to every street being lined with similar high-rise buildings.
Thousands of people must live in this small square footage of London, and the place is surprisingly quiet on a weekday afternoon.
Every so often, someone walks past me sitting in my inconspicuous Ford Focus.
I’m parked on the street adjoining the launderette; my position allows me a view of the entrance.
The others are due any minute, but I decided to come early to survey the area and give myself time to think.
Luke informed Hunter that the collection team he’s part of had been allocated the job of attending the launderette this evening to collect payment—or dispense justice.
The family who own the business have maxed both their lending limit and the time allowed to make payment.
After a little digging, I was able to ascertain that the owners’ surname is Clarke.
They’re an elderly couple in their seventies, and their granddaughter, who is nineteen, lives with them in the apartment above the shop.
It’s their dependent’s addiction to cocaine that has pushed them into this debt.
Stephanie Clarke is the only daughter of her parents, both of whom are deceased due to a fatal fall while on vacation in Spain.
It’s thought an argument broke out between the couple near a cliff edge; after an altercation, both fell over into the ocean.
The impact on the rocks below was believed to kill them instantly.
Their death meant Stephanie moved to live with her grandparents at the age of sixteen.
Mr. and Mrs. Clarke have had never-ending trouble since Stephanie came to live with them.
Various reports from social workers concluded that although her grandparents were providing safe accommodations, Stephanie’s behavior became gradually worse over the past three years.
Her acting out started with skipping school and minor shoplifting offenses, but more recently she has been arrested for possession of cocaine for personal use.
She’s currently on bail awaiting trial. Her list of convictions includes theft of cash from the launderette.
My assumption would be that this was to pay for her drug habit.
The launderette business itself is in high levels of debt to both the HMRC for unpaid taxes and to their suppliers.
Whatever happens today, there’s no doubt that this business is going under.
The added pressure from Moreno to pay makes me suspect he’s aware of the situation; according to Luke, he plans to visit today along with the collection team.
He wants to leave no doubt in his debtors’ minds that their time to pay is up.
My gut tells me that he’ll take the opportunity to make an example of this family, to show his other clients what can happen when payments aren’t made.
Roger Brenton frustratingly manages to keep his hands clean.
Our intelligence suggests he could be at the top of the money laundering chain, but we have no concrete evidence to prove it.
He and Moreno have been difficult to connect beyond the use of an office Brenton’s company owns to transfer funds once each week.
This task has continued on schedule. Each Friday, Moreno attends the remote working office and transfers the payment to Bermuda. Brenton's company rents him the office space. This was the sole connection up to now, until Russell of all people came through with new information earlier today.
***
My phone rang this morning at six o’clock. I’d extracted myself from being wrapped around Emma to find it on my bedside table. The loud ringtone echoed around the room, but Emma merely stuck her fingers in her ears and screwed her eyes closed tighter. I scrambled from the bed and answered the call.
“I have information,” Russell said bluntly before I could speak.
“Good morning to you too,” I replied, my tone dry.
“Brenton is connected to Moreno’s new restaurant. He’s invested.”
“What? Are you serious? I can’t imagine he would be as transparent,” I countered, disbelieving.
“We share accountants, would you believe,” he continued, “and I had a meeting with him last night. It is amazing how chatty someone can become once you ply them with whiskey and women. He was brimming with excitement about Moreno’s new eatery—let’s just say he likes food as much as he likes numbers.
”
“That’s fortunate. And when is this new venture due to open?” I asked.
“January,” he replied.
“Any idea why it’s taking so long to open?”
“The place is being fully refurbished. From what the accountant said, they are spending a small fortune on the place. The chef coming to run the kitchen has been poached from a five-star resort in Dubai. Moreno is throwing money around, and we both know it won’t be his.
Now we know exactly who is holding the purse strings.”
“So, they open in January? What date?” I say, trying to get him focused back on what he knows, not his opinions.
“It’s December really,” he says, “New Year’s Eve. A massive opening party is being planned. Everyone of importance to Brenton in London will be invited. And if I get my way, I’d love to help them bring in 2023 with a bang. It will be something to look forward to.”
“It’s good to have something that connects them,” I say, almost to myself. I’m relieved that we potentially have a link on paper between Moreno and Brenton.
“That it is, McKinney. And now we have a connection to the chain of command of who killed Connie. Every single one of them will pay. We will take the bastards out one by one.”
***
Connor opening the passenger door of my car brings me back to my present situation, sitting outside the launderette. He climbs into the seat beside me and slams the door closed.
“Anything happening?” he asks.
“Nothing, just a few people loading laundry. Where is everyone?”
“Russell, Hunter, and Greyson are at the gym. They’ll be here in twenty minutes. Harrison has been delayed at the office with a client; I doubt he’ll be here.” Connor chuckles under his breath. “He is very upset at missing his first stakeout.”
“Not exactly a stakeout,” I say. “But I suppose for a guy used to wearing a five thousand dollar suit every day and talking in riddles, this is exciting. Sitting in a back street in London watching people wash their underwear.”
“I think Harrison fancies himself as the next Liam Neeson. You know, the man that fights crime. Steals from the rich to give to the poor and all that shit.”
“Is that not Robin Hood?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“Who cares, I just want to get home to a beer tonight. Hunter is very excited about the possibility of hand-to-hand combat.” I roll my eyes at him. “Russell too. Greyson, well, he’ll do as he’s told.”
“Greyson will mop up Hunter’s mess you mean?”
“That too,” he agrees.
As we speak, I keep my gaze focused on the launderette.
The sun has started to descend, and night is falling across the city.
I watch as the elderly gentleman serving customers walks to the front door of the store.
He has a long pole in his hand which he uses to reach up and pull the metal door shutter down halfway.
The purpose of our visit this evening is surveillance primarily, to add faces to our hit list.
To populate the bastard database with names of all those involved with Samson Moreno and Roger Brenton.
If we can save a few innocent lives in the process or protect someone from harm, that will be a bonus.
Just then, a van pulls up opposite the launderette; I recognize Luke sitting in the passenger seat.
A large man is in the driver’s seat; he steps out and walks around to the door at the side.
After sliding it open, three men all dressed in black step out onto the pavement.
The five men stand together in a circle, and they each pull on a balaclava.
“Message Hunter,” I tell Connor. “They need to be here, now.”
A moment later, a large dark jeep pulls up behind the van. Moreno appears from the rear of the car and joins the group of men. He glances around but seems completely comfortable standing in the middle of the city with five men with their faces covered. It is obvious that events are moving fast.
The group of men disband; three of them walk across the road in the direction of the launderette, while Moreno and the others walk to the rear doors of the van out of our line of sight. The group of three duck under the half-closed shutter and disappear into the store.
Connor’s phone pings, alerting him to a message.
“Put that on silent,” I mutter, and he flicks the button on the side. “Who is it?”
“Hunter. They’re here. Just around the corner.”
“We need to move,” I tell him. “I’ll go and try to see what’s happening.”
“No.” He places a hand on my arm. “Moreno may recognize you. I’ll go.” He shrugs out of his suit jacket, then turns around and grabs a shopping bag that was lying empty on my backseat. He stuffs the jacket inside. “I need to get this laundered,” he says, holding up the bag.
“Keep your phone on so I can hear what’s happening.” I call his mobile and the phones connect to each other, then he places it in his pocket. “Don’t be a hero,” I warn him. “We all want out of here alive.”
“Noted.” He climbs out of my car, then saunters toward the launderette.
I watch him cross the road, duck under the shutter and disappear inside.
My phone is only a jumble of noises from the rustling in Connor’s pocket.
It is not until he stops walking that voices become obvious.
Just then, three of my car doors open, and Hunter, Greyson, and Russell climb in.
“What is my idiot brother doing?” Russell growls, his eyes focused on the direction Connor walked.