Crooks - A London Gangsters Tale | COMPLETED

Chapter Eight

In a febrile situation like this one, where neither party fully understood the scope of the other's ambition, it was essential to exercise a degree of caution. That was Mikhail Popov's approach, anyway. His initial instinct was to destroy that foolish note, which never should have been written in the first place, and then go on with his life as before. But before doing that, he took the opportunity to watch a replay of the press conference on his computer. He saw Wayne Carter looking brave and stoic – a martyr – and ensuring that Ronnie Vincent looked like a fool and a brute in the process.

Frankly, events like this one typically bored Mikhail to tears. He had never shown any interest in pleasing the court of public opinion. But there was something about this press conference that felt a little different. Something about the way Wayne Carter carried himself; his confidence in front of the cameras. It took a moment for Mikhail to realise what it was: Wayne had nothing to lose. At least, the boy had obviously convinced himself he had nothing to lose. Hence the soul-baring, combined with the cynicism of his shameless embrace with Vincent.

But Mikhail was wise, even if Wayne Carter was not. He understood that everyone had something to lose.

So Mikhail picked up the telephone on his desk and dialled the number.

*

It was the number of a burner phone which Wayne had bought for just this purpose. Wayne sat in his bedroom at home, the phone on the desk, staring at it. Willing it to ring. And when it finally did, he nearly had a heart attack and almost dropped it in his haste. But he forced himself to stop for a moment, to take a breath, and to gather himself.

"Mr. Popov."

"Mr. Carter. You wanted to speak with me?"

"Glad to hear you got my message."

"Yes. Ronnie Vincent may not be good for much, but he makes an admirable delivery boy. Now – there is something you wanted to discuss with me, Mr. Carter?"

Wayne hadn't really thought this far ahead. He knew what he wanted, but he didn't know how to broach the subject. Particularly when Popov was being so matter of fact about it.

"It seems to me that we are bound by a common enemy, Wayne said. It took Mikhail a moment to realise what Wayne meant. When he did, the realisation felt remarkably fruitful. But he would need to proceed with caution.

"I suppose that your father acted... somewhat rashly," he said slowly.

"He didn't act. That was the problem."

Mikhail smiled. Semantics. "Alright. You asked me to call you, and I have called you. What would you like to discuss?"

"It's about Mile End. First off, let me say I'm not blaming you for what happened."

"Good."

"But I still feel a bit... hard done by. I'm sure you can understand that."

Mikhail conceded that he could.

"Now, I'm a doer," Wayne said. "I've got to be doing things or else I'll go mad. And now my dad's getting in the way of what I want to do."

"Which is?"

Wayne took a deep breath. "It was to play for the Mile End first team. That was all I ever wanted. And now that's not going to happen. So I've got no choice but to make alternative arrangements."

"It was an unfortunate thing that happened to you."

"Yes. It was," Wayne said bitterly. "But I'm ready to make the best of it."

"That is commendable. But I have to ask, what does it have to do with me?"

Wayne was ready for this question. "It seems to me that our goals are actually pretty in synch, if you know what I mean."