Howard Linskey - The Drop

‘No,’ said Finney, ‘I’m going to break your legs, both of them. I don’t think a wanker like you deserves to be a footballer.’

Our man groaned in protest as Finney picked him up and dumped him hard onto the floor. He rolled over onto his back and pushed against the carpet with his feet, scuttling backwards across it until he was pressed against the wall.

‘Don’t go crawling away from me you dirty junkie.’ Finney told him. He raised his boot high above the guy’s leg.

‘Which leg first then?’

‘No, no please, not my legs.’

‘The right one or the left?’

‘Do you even know which one’s which?’ I asked Golden Boots.

‘No, no, don’t.’

‘What are you on eh? Fifty, sixty grand a week? Got to be. Tell me, tell me now!’ ordered Finney.

‘Sixty,’ he managed to say without taking his eye off the massive boot that was hovering over those famous legs. Amazing, three million quid a year to a scumbag like this. If he wasn’t playing football he would be the one selling the coke. ‘How many cars have you got?’ asked Finney.

‘What?’

‘How many?’ Finney ordered him, ‘go on, tell me!’

‘F… Four. No five, five!’

‘See he can’t even remember,’ Finney went to stamp on his leg again and the bloke screamed like a nine-year-old girl. Finney stopped.

‘What are they then?’

‘Eh?’

‘Tell me what you got, those five cars. Name them or I’ll break your arms too. You won’t even be able to wipe your own arse.’

‘A Maserati,’ he squealed, terrified now, ‘a Ferrari Enzo… a… a… ’

Finney raised his leg again, ‘a what?’

‘A Lamborghini Gallardo, a BMW X5 and… and… a Bentley Continental.’

‘That figures,’ I said, ‘break his legs Finney, he deserves it for the Baby Bentley alone.’

‘No! Please!’

Finney raised his foot once more, ‘disgusting,’ he said again and he brought his boot down as hard as he could.

The girl squealed, the footballer screamed. Finney’s boot slammed into the wooden flooring between the bloke’s knees. The Bentley-driving tosser screamed again and hid his eyes behind his hands. When he finally realised he was unharmed he barely dared to peer out from behind them.

Finney wasn’t through lecturing him, ‘when Bobby Robson was captain of England he didn’t even have a car! Now get out of here and take that minging slag with you.’

‘Tell anyone about this and we’ll make sure your piss is the most tested in the country,’ I told him, ‘and my friend here will definitely come back and break both those precious legs.’

Finney let him get up, the WAG followed him sharpish and they both headed for the door.

‘Just a minute,’ hissed Finney as they reached it and they both froze, ‘come here.’ Golden Boots reluctantly walked back over to face Finney, ‘you haven’t said thank you.’

‘Eh?’

‘For teaching you a valuable lesson,’ the Premiership’s finest just stared at him like a frightened rabbit, ‘well go on then, say it.’

There was a sizeable pause while he tried to find the words, ‘Thank you.’ His voice was a high pitched squeak.

‘What for?’

Another pause.

‘For teaching me a valuable lesson.’

Finney nodded, giving them permission to leave. As Golden Boots walked out of the door, I told him, ‘welcome to the real Premier League.’

When they were gone, Billy said, ‘Jesus lads, he was my biggest earner.’

‘Tough,’ I told him, ‘sit down. I want a word.’

Finney was clearly still troubled by the footballer’s behaviour. ‘You know who that was, don’t you?’ he asked me.

‘Yep,’

He shook his head like the world had gone completely mad. ‘Can you imagine Alan Shearer behaving like that?’

‘No,’ I said truthfully, ‘I can’t.’

I got Finney to search Billy’s flat while we went over the story of Cartwright and the Russian one more time. It didn’t take Finney long before he came out of the bedroom carrying a large holdall. It contained around three kilos of coke.

‘Oh shit,’ said Billy.

‘No wonder you can afford this place Billy,’ I said, ‘there’s got to be fifty grand’s worth there. Now, how did you come by that?’

Billy was evasive at first, for all of about two seconds, until Finney picked him off the ground by his neck and pressed him hard against the wall. I watched his feet kicking a few inches from the floor and let him gasp for breath for a moment before I told Finney to loosen his grip and let him drop to the ground, where he lay choking.

‘Now then Billy,’ I told him, ‘we know you didn’t tell me the whole truth about Cartwright so explain it all to me now or I walk out of this door and leave Finney to finish you off. I’m in too much shit to waste any more time on you. You’ve got one chance.’

‘I don’t know nothing about it,’ the words were strangled in his mangled throat.

‘I’ll leave you to it then Finney,’ I said.

‘Right,’ he said matter-of-factly and he started to roll up his sleeves while Billy looked on horrified.

‘Make sure it’s not quick.’ I said and walked away. I’d almost reached the door.

‘Wait!’ cried Billy, ‘wait, wait, I’ll tell you.’

We had to make the silly bastard a mug of tea to calm him down. He had to grip it in both hands he was shaking so much. At first he was so scared all we could get out of him was apologies.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was only trying to…’

‘What have you done Billy?’ I asked him, ‘you’d best tell us and I’ll see what I can do for you. It’s the only way. If you don’t tell us Finney’s going to kill you anyway aren’t you?’

Finney nodded, ‘definitely.’

‘It wasn’t much, honest,’ he assured me, ‘we was just trying to do a little on the side. A bit of business, that’s all, tax free, you know. I always pay my way with Bobby but this was a chance to do something just for me.’

‘And Cartwright,’

‘And him too.’

‘With this Russian?’

‘Yeah, how’d you know that?’ and he gave me a look like I was Mystic Meg or something.

‘Did you introduce him to the Russian or did he bring him on board?’

‘No he was Cartwright’s man. I don’t know how they met, honest I don’t. He brought him down the pub to see me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve known Cartwright for ages and I trust him… I mean as much as you can trust people in our game… he’s not greedy you know.’

‘Not like you, you mean?’

‘I was just trying to put a bit aside. I don’t want to be doing this all my life do I?’

‘What was the plan for the coke?’

‘I’d told Geordie ages ago that I could sell a bit more than normal if only I could get a supply from somewhere else.’

‘Someone other than Bobby?’

‘Well, yeah. I told him we could split the proceeds if he could find me someone reliable.’

‘Who were you going to sell to?’

‘That dopey fucker you just scared off. All his mates are on it. Half the Premier League runs on white powder. You’d be amazed at who’s doing it. They can’t get a buzz from nothing else. They’ve got women on tap, gambling’s pointless ‘cos they’re all millionaires by the time they’re twenty, drugs is the only thing that excites them. They all want to be gangsters.’

‘That’s funny, most of the gangsters I know want to be footballers.’ I said.

‘Too right,’ said Finney.

‘Anyway, the bloke’s a tool right enough but he’s minted and he wants a couple of kilos a time so he can show it off at parties, you know, he wants to be Charlie Big Potatoes. Plus he doesn’t know anything about it does he? We can cut it and pass off any old shite as the purest Bolivian and he’s none the wiser. He pays over the odds because he can and he don’t care. He doesn’t know what a pint of milk costs so he’s not going to know how much a kilo of coke is. There was going to be a big mark-up, very big. Cartwright said he could get the coke off the Russian and he’d pay him. My bit was disposing of it to my football contacts.’