TOMEROS

MARCH 2014

Zeb Masalis flicked through yesterdays CCTV. His ‘girls’ were doing brisk business, and judging by the calibre of the vehicles parked outside their abodes, their clients were pretty well heeled too. He smiled contentedly. Although now only a fraction of his business he still regarded his ‘girls’ as his backbone to success.

He frowned. Someone was lurking in the shadows, only just in shot of the camera.

‘No, surely not!’ He flicked back and slow-forwarded the film, stopped and enlarged the picture. ‘It is! What’s Sean Boyle doing hanging round Paula’s flat?’ Zeb muttered to himself. Paula had been so badly beaten a couple of weeks ago that she was still not able to work.′Crafty bastard! You know there’s a camera somewhere,′ Zeb continued to watch. ‘Yes, you’ve found it. Well done!’ Zeb chuckled as he watched Sean suddenly duck out of sight. ‘Now why are you there? I told you to stay away.’ he muttered thoughtfully to himself.

Now well into his sixties, and still unmarried, Zeb was conscious that his staff were circling like vultures waiting to grab the reins of his little Empire. They were going to have to wait.

A brief knock at the door heralded the very Sean Boyle, ‘Head of Staff Relations’. Zeb had a very small executive staff, Sean, who oversaw discipline; Greg Dawkes looked after the clubs and Ab Hughes, his oldest and most trusted friend and ex Met.

‘Come in Sean,’ Zeb waved convivially to a chair in the corner. ‘Sit. Not a lot for you this morning.’ He let the CCTV pictures run on for a few moments, just long enough for Sean to recognise Paulas place. Zeb watched him, not a flicker of emotion passed the Irishman’s rugged face. Zeb switched off the large wall monitor.

‘Ab tells me Rosa has a new client. Some junior diplomat. Obviously thinks he won’t be recognised in Manchester.’

Sean laughed laconically.

‘Good for Rosa, do you want me to...’

‘No. Not yet. She knows what to do and I shall get the photographs here.’ Zeb interrupted, he didn’t want the man frightened off before there were some good incriminating photographs.

‘See she gets a little perk and an extra 100 in her next pay.’ Zeb paused before continuing.

‘Now. Gamil!’ his voice hardened as he confronted Sean.

‘Yeh Boss.’ Sean interrupted in a heavy Irish brogue. ’He’s been told. ‘t wont happen again, I promise you.’

’Quite right. It won’t happen again. I want him off ‘discipline’ immediately. In the last two years he’s put three of my girls in hospital.′ Zeb continued quickly, not allowing Sean to speak in the defense of his best and most trusted ‘heavy’. ‘I know he cleaned out that Leb mob well; rather too well. Repercussions of that final night nearly cost Rick his life. He won’t work again either. That’s an unnecessary pull on my pocket. I have to house him for the rest of his life.’

Sean tried to interrupt, but Zeb was angry, not just because of Gamil, he was increasingly distrustful of Sean and was still working out how he could be trapped.

‘I’ve always run my girls on trust and respect. They’re adequately supplied in whatever highs they want and I expect a good return from them. Yes, sometimes punishments are required, but never to the extent that they cannot work.’ Zeb glared at Sean. ‘Gamil does no more punishments. Is that clear?’

‘Yes Boss, but that leaves us a man short until I can recruit a replacement.’ Sean replied slowly. He needed Gamil, he was far more than a thug to Sean, good eyes and ears, that’s why Sean had worked hard to entice him from London where they had both worked together.

‘I’ve already seen to that myself’ Zeb replied firmly. ‘Malc Howell. He’s on the floor downstairs. Very quiet. Does what he’s told. Ab tells me he’s done three and a half years for GBH but was an exemplary prisoner and has been clean for 4 years. Now he has his licence he’ll be careful. He won’t want to go inside again.’

‘I know who you mean. He won’t be interested.’ Sean said firmly.

‘Oh yes he is, I’ve already had Ab recruit him. He has an invalid mother. Bit of extra cash will be useful. As I said, he will be very careful. He won’t want to lose his licence.’

‘Well, I’ll give a try,’ Sean sensed a shift in Zebs attitude. He was going to have to back off for a while.

‘Yes you will,’ replied Zeb firmly and not without pleasure. He had made the man uncomfortable. That normally impassive face was now flushed under a mop of thick slightly greying dark auburn hair. ’Had Ab dug deep enough into this man?′ he wondered. ‘Two years and I trust him even less than the day he arrived. Exactly why did he leave an apparently successful Cell in Ireland and surface eight months later in London?’

‘Now. Jan Li, she’s getting troublesome. I want her gently warned. Send Malc.’ He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, his fat bejeweled hands cupped across his chubby cheeks, deep in thought. ‘She’s been very good for the Club, very loyal,’ he stressed the word ‘loyal’. ‘I’m very grateful to her for that’ he thought for a few more moments, ‘a warning Sean, a very gentle warning. You understand?’

‘Yes Boss.’

‘And you better put another man inside too. She’s getting extra stuff from somewhere, and its not from me.’

Zeb quickly changed the subject.

‘Anything going on in Tyneside?’

’All’s quiet Boss. The Dorian’s due to dock next week. We’re expecting a good shipment then. I’ll be going across for that’

‘Is that really necessary? Surely Doug Harpap can handle it?’

Sean shook his head wisely,

‘Its a big one. I need Doug with me. There’s two couriers coming. Better with the two of us.’

‘Cancel my trip to Newcastle and there’ll be all sorts of repercussions. Normy’s getting cold feet. I need to deal with him personally.’ Sean was inwardly squirming. ‘Was Boss doing this as punishment for Paula, or did he know? Better back off for a while.’ he thought. ‘So, another few months wait? I can be patient. Be worth it eventually.’

Zeb nodded his approval.

‘I want you here, Doug runs Newcastle well, he has his own people, but if its a double shipment and he’s expecting you to be there. OK. you better go this time, but Doug better organise more of his people in future.’ Zeb had made his point, ‘Just so you know whose boss.’ He drummed his podgy fingers on his desk, a sure sign he was thinking.

He looked Sean up and down in disgust. The man was a mess. Admittedly he was on duty last night until gone two.

′den échei kanéna sevasmó?′ Zeb cursed quietly to himself. ‘He could at least have worn clean clothes’

Zeb sat immaculate in a light grey suit framing his maroon patterned silk shirt. Very dapper in contrast to his staff member sporting stained jeans a grubby looking flanneled shirt and a not too clean navy Guernsey.

‘There’s casual and there’s casual! Definitely no respect. I will have to teach him a lesson. See how he likes it.’

‘The Casino purchase is nearly complete. I am sending Usaid to Blackpool next week to install CCTV in the Casino itself, not just outside. When you get back from Newcastle I want you in Blackpool to train the bouncers. Ab is working through the possibles already.’

‘I’d sooner take people I know,’ grumbled Sean.

‘The Globe will attract a different clientele, Top quality doormen, not your thugs.’ Zeb almost snarled. ‘This club will be luxury, catering for the rich and famous. That will be reflected from the street upwards.’

Sean nodded

‘Yes Boss, You’ll need someone to man the control room 24/7 too?’ he asked as casually as he could,

‘No need, CCTV will stream straight back here.’ Zeb added darkly. ‘Eventually I will be controlling all my interests from here.’

Surveillance, oh yes. Rather more sophistication would be required to keep tabs on the darker transactions Zeb had in mind. Transactions of only he would be aware. Zeb looked up at Sean. Big burly and belligerent, that’s the impression his Staff Officer gave, but there were chinks of cunning and greed Zeb had already spotted.

′Was the Irishman getting greedy? Two years with Tomeros. How honest and loyal was he?

‘Anything wrong Boss’ Sean asked quietly.

‘No.’ Zeb continued pensively. ‘Times are changing Sean. I still need my men on the ground; they’re a deterrent, But I can see far more from the camera. I’m still not convinced we’ve seen the last of the Lebs at The Faraway, and even if we have, someone else will take their place.’ he smiled benevolently at Sean, but got no response. Zeb picked up the video controller and wagged it in Sean’s direction. ‘Perhaps you ought to join me one evening observing the floor downstairs.’

Sean almost panicked.

‘Downstairs? Cameras already in The Faraway? News to him.’

Zeb was waiting for his reaction.

‘Keep your cool, he’s testing. Better do a quick check on my way out’

Sean flashed a false smile, trying to turn on a bit of charm.

‘Ah Boss, you can’t beat the eyes and ears on the floor.’ Sean stressed the ‘ears’. ‘Its what you overhear that keeps the organisation running sweetly.’

‘Enough for today Sean,’ Zeb had said enough to start the boy sweating. ‘Too busy to argue today.’ he dismissed Sean with a nod.

Today was a special day for Zeb. He needed to celebrate, as he had for the past forty odd years. Today was his 66th birthday; could there ever be a better way to celebrate than to clinch The Globe deal to add a flagship casino to the portfolio of Tomeros? He walked across the room to the cocktail cabinet and carefully selected a small bottle almost hidden in the corner. He helped himself to a glass of zivania, popping in a large ice cube. This was his favorite tipple, shipped in especially for him from Cyprus. He gently carried his booty back to the desk together with a small ornate box containing half almonds.

He raised his glass “Sas chairetό ti mitéra” and took a large slurp, raised his glass again “Sas chairetό patéra”, this time draining the glass. Having toasted his parents, an annual ritual on his birthday, he refilled his glass, and sat down again surveying his life and his empire. He leaned back in the soft red leather swivel chair and smiled contentedly. Deep in thought he absentmindedly fingered the almonds before consuming them. What would his parents would make of him now he had money and status? He shook his head sadly. As a child he’d watched helplessly as they worked themselves into early graves, subservient to the racketeers, permanently terrified of the chip shop being torched.

Eleven had been the turning point in his life. Mother died, and father was working twice as hard trying to hide his grief. Zeb decided that he would not cow down to anyone. His first attempts brought shame on him, he stole sweets to sell at school but soon he began to suss out how to make real money. He mused, shaking his head, his fat cheeks creasing towards the dark eyes hidden under thick grey eyebrows.

It wasn’t difficult to identify the pushers outside his school gates and he propositioned them. For a cut he would take the stuff in; LSD and purple hearts mainly, but increasingly he peddled whatever was available. By the time he left school he was already seeing the fruits of his labour.

‘I think you would be proud of me now.’ Zeb rose to get himself another glass of zivania. ‘Last one’ he raised his glass at the photograph on the wall opposite his desk. Two very young people, thin, poorly dressed, standing in an olive grove on their wedding day.

He was a lucky man; No, luck had nothing to do with it. Everything he possessed was the result of hard work and bargaining. After he left school he worked the streets with pills and powder. It wasn’t difficult to pick out the street girls. In those days many had nowhere to go, sleeping rough during the day. Some of them were his customers. They often asked him for heroin rather than pills or coke. That was a step too far for him. He’d seen the results of heroin when he was still in school. He befriended two of the girls, giving them discounts so they’d come back, then he suggested he could find them somewhere safe to work rather than the punters cars. That was the beginning of his Empire. With his father dead, he sold the chip shop and installed the girls; HIS girls, in a couple of modest bed-sits. He never looked back.