For two months, Davy and Ghashide worked together as Davy memorised every detail of the operation. How they laundered the money was a unique part of the operation.
"Cash is the key to our business," said Ghashide. "The dealers pay us in cash, but the banks always question large deposits. In the beginning, we had a problem, hundreds of thousands of pounds and nowhere to keep it safe. But the Association's accountant had a brainstorm and purchased thirty out-of-date launderettes in and around London. It took a ton of money to refurbish and fit new equipment. The next step was to create our new company, Wash and Go. With a legitimate business to operate, a staff member paid the profits and a prearranged sum into the firm's bank account." He chuckled as he said, "We even paid the tax on it."
Ghashide had an attentive audience in Davy and enjoyed reiterating how successful he had become. If some over-zealous tax inspector decided to check their operation, the Association had infiltrated the local tax office. The upshot being, they could cover their tracks. They were a company that made a profit and provided the local community with a helpful cheap service.
The business entangled Davy more. One morning he woke early, washed, shaved, drove to Ghashide's place and waited outside. He watched the man he despised sit next to him.
"Where to?"
"Nine Elms. Make for the gasometers. You can't miss them."
It took over an hour to reach the area. Davy drove within the speed limit. Being stopped by the police for speeding could make life difficult. As they passed Battersea Park, Ghashide directed him towards Brixton. After a few miles, they turned left at the next junction.
"Keep driving until you can see a large red building. Follow the signs, turn into the car park and stop."
Twenty minutes later, Davy parked at the front of the large building.
"You'll find this interesting," said Ghashide as he exited the car and walked towards a small door to the right of a large shuttered entrance.
Davy followed, his eyes scanning the silver plaque on the wall, Wash and Go Laundry Services. Once inside, the noise became deafening. In every conceivable space, washing machines, air-driven presses and dryers operated. He noted Ghashide was nodding to a man sitting in a small office who watched a bank of monitors. They strolled to another closed door at the far end of the building. Ghashide pressed a code into the security lock, opened the door and beckoned Davy to follow. Once through, it closed automatically.
Davy observed that the space was windowless, and three large steel containers, the sort used on container ships, occupied much of the floor space. A man dressed in a white coverall appeared from one of the containers.
He welcomed Ghashide and guided them to the first container. Here, six young girls mixed and prepared substances while one man shifted heavy boxes into the next section.
"So, what do you think?" asked Ghashide.
"Impressive."
Ghashide explained how his team mixed and packaged the drugs ready for distribution and sale for half an hour.
"What about security?"
"Cameras, six surveillance cameras and an alarm system designed for us courtesy of the Metropolitan Police. It covers the exterior of the building. Dr Kemal controls the girls. They are Bulgarian, bought and paid for."
"How can that be?"
"We pay the parents a sum of money so they can feed their family, and you own them. Where can they go? They have no money, barely speak English. Dr Kemal tells them they can earn their freedom working in a brothel. Their lives are of no importance. As a bonus, we allow them a daily fix, but we sell them to pimps if they become dependent. Druggies are not reliable."
