CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
North End met without cocaine on the table for the first time in decades.
Nobody knew what to put on the table instead.
Sam brought biscuits.
Owen brought beer.
Pete brought himself despite medical advice, which he considered sufficient contribution.
The burned clubhouse was still unusable, so they met at the tyre warehouse again.
Rain came through the same section of roof.
Callum had moved the folding table six feet to the left.
Progress.
Drew stood at one end wearing the temporary president patch someone had found in a drawer.
He hated it.
That was probably useful.
Eleven patched members attended in person.
Three joined by phone.
Two did not answer Drew's message.
One had already sent a photograph of his cut in a bin with the words FUCK THIS CLEAN LIVING SHIT.
Drew respected the clarity.
Owen stood to his right.
Sam to his left.
Pete sat because everyone had threatened to hospitalise him again if he stood.
Leah was not there.
Drew had asked her not to come.
Not because she was police.
Because this decision had to belong to the men who had helped build the problem.
He put Richard's letter on the table.
Then Mick Pike's recovered ledger copy.
Then a photograph of Terry Pike in handcuffs.
Nobody spoke.
Drew said, "Routes are closed."
A man from Beverley immediately shook his head.
"Temporary?"
"No."
Silence.
"Coke's done. Pills are done. Protection is done. Stolen cars are done. Guns are done. We stop moving other people's shit and pretending the patch makes it respectable."
Someone at the back laughed.
"And we live on tyre fitting?"
"Some of you could try employment."
That did not help.
Owen smiled into his beer.
The Beverley man said, "North End was built on the route."
Drew tapped Richard's letter.
"No. North End was built before the route. Route came after. Then everyone started acting like the money was the club."
Pete spoke from his chair.
"He's right."
Every head turned.
Pete sighed.
"I hate it too. Mick started the club with six lads, three bikes that worked and one that only started downhill. First year we made fuck all except noise."
Sam looked at him.
"You also robbed petrol stations."
"Different economy."
"Still crime."
"Don't become a historian if you're going to be judgemental."
Drew held up a hand.
"This isn't redemption. Police still have files. Some of us are still going to court. North End doesn't become clean because I say a sentence in a tyre shed."
He looked around the table.
"It becomes something else because we stop adding new victims."
The York member folded his arms.
"What pays for the clubhouse?"
"Legal businesses."
"Which ones?"
Drew pointed at Sam.
"Transport."
Sam blinked.
"We have three trucks."
"Two. Renn's men ruined one."
"Excellent business plan."
"Owen has the repair unit. Callum's uncle wants out of his MOT place. Pete owns half a storage yard he has been pretending doesn't exist since his divorce."
Pete looked offended.
"Who told you?"
"Your ex-wife."
"Traitor."
"She's not in the club."
"Still."
Drew continued.
"We combine what is legal. We sell what isn't. Anyone with drug debt to North End gets one message: finished. Nobody collects. Nobody threatens. Nobody makes an example."
The Beverley man stared at him.
"You know how much money you're throwing away?"
"Yes."
"Then you're an idiot."
"Probably."
The man removed his cut.
He placed it on the table.
"I'm out."
Drew nodded.
"Okay."
That surprised him.
"That's it?"
"You want a beating?"
"No."
"Then this worked well."
The man stared at him.
Then left.
Two more followed within five minutes.
One shouted.
One did not.
The door closed behind them.
Eight remained in the room.
Two on phones.
Drew looked at the smaller club.
It felt better.
Owen said, "What about Redmile?"
"Denny called this morning. Rigg's remanded. Half Redmile wants revenge. Half wants the route Terry promised them. Denny wants neither."
Sam raised an eyebrow.
"And you trust him?"
"No."
"Excellent."
"I believe him about being tired of funerals."
Pete nodded.
"Age gets you eventually."
"You're sixty-one."
"Exactly. Ancient."
Drew looked around.
"North End doesn't go to war with Redmile. If they cross us, we deal with what happens. We don't cross them. Hull is not territory. It's a city. We do not own it."
That sentence made Owen look at him.
Drew knew why.
Gareth had used the word ours for years.
Our roads.
Our pubs.
Our docks.
Our girls sometimes, which Drew had hated most.
Ownership disguised as identity.
Drew said, "Amy asked me something yesterday."
Owen's face changed.
"What?"
"Whether North End can exist without making everyone around it pay for North End existing."
Pete whistled.
"She's cheerful."
"She has reasons."
Owen looked at the table.
Drew continued.
"I told her I didn't know. So we're going to find out."
Sam leaned back.
"Vote?"
"Two votes. First: routes stay closed permanently."
Hands went up.
Not all immediately.
Enough.
Then the phone screens.
Passed.
Drew breathed out.
"Second: president."
Owen looked at him.
"Thought you were temporary."
"I am."
Sam groaned.
"Don't make this dramatic."
"Wasn't planning to."
Drew removed the president patch.
Put it on the table.
"Someone else can have it."
Nobody moved.
Pete looked around.
"Compelling campaign."
Sam said, "Drew."
"No."
Owen said, "Why?"
Drew looked at Richard's letter.
"Because I don't want it."
Owen laughed.
"That's why you should keep it."
"Gareth wanted it. Look how that went."
"Exactly."
Sam pointed at the patch.
"You just shut the route, let three members walk without getting hospitalised, told Redmile we don't own Hull and gave away half the club's income. Nobody who wanted that chair would do any of those things."
Drew looked at him.
"That is not an argument."
"It is here."
Pete raised his good hand.
"I nominate Miserable."
Drew stared at him.
"My name is Drew."
"Not in minutes."
Callum laughed from the wall.
Drew pointed at him.
"Prospects don't vote."
"Wasn't voting. Just enjoying democracy."
Owen put his hand on the table.
"Drew."
Sam followed.
Then the others.
Drew looked at the hands.
He thought of Richard.
The chair is wood.
The men matter.
He picked up the patch.
"Six months."
Owen smiled.
"Sure."
"Six."
"Absolutely."
"I hate all of you."
Pete said, "First presidential speech. Moving."
Drew put the patch back on.
Outside, engines sounded.
Conversation died across the room.
Old reflexes.
Drew walked to the shutter.
Two Redmile bikes stopped outside.
Denny Cross removed his helmet.
The second rider was a woman Drew recognised from Rigg's funeral crew.
Denny looked at the open shutter.
"Meeting finished?"
"Depends."
Denny held up a plastic carrier bag.
"Brought your cuts back from Goole."
Sam looked at Drew.
"Neighbourly."
Denny stepped inside.
Nobody offered him a chair.
He put the bag on the table.
Two North End cuts.
Cleaned.
Folded.
Pete looked impressed.
"Your mum do laundry?"
Denny ignored him.
He looked at Drew's president patch.
"Permanent?"
"Six months."
Owen coughed.
Denny smiled.
"Right."
He put a folded map on the table.
Drew did not touch it.
"What's that?"
"Nothing illegal. Relax."
"That sentence usually works."
"Rigg kept a list of Redmile stash garages. Police will find most because I'm sending it through a solicitor this afternoon. One belongs to a lad who was with Terry at Spurn. He ran before the arrests."
Drew looked at him.
"You want us to find him."
"No. I want you to know he may come looking for someone to blame."
"Who?"
Denny looked around the room.
"Everybody."
Owen's hand curled against the table.
Drew pushed the map back.
"Give it to Calder."
Denny blinked.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"You don't want the address?"
"No."
Denny stared at him for several seconds.
Then laughed.
"This is going to be fucking strange."
"Apparently."
Denny picked up the map.
"Redmile's done with the route too."
Pete made a doubtful noise.
Denny looked at him.
"Not because we're good people. Because every route we've touched this month has contained police, hostages or explosives. Business case is weak."
Drew nodded.
"Works for me."
Denny held out his hand.
No treaty.
No brotherhood.
No fantasy that two clubs with dead men between them had suddenly become friends.
A ceasefire.
Drew shook it.
Denny left five minutes later.
Owen watched the bikes disappear.
"Dad would hate this."
Drew looked at him.
"Good."
Owen smiled.
For the first time in days, the room laughed without anyone bleeding.