The Dons Of Warrington

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The Dons Of Warrington - book excerpt

Chapter 1

Detective Constable Tim Shelley inconspicuously parks his black BMW M5 in a dimly lit, private car park in the centre of Manchester. He opens the driver’s side door and places a steady right foot on the tarmac. He makes sure to scour the area first before taking his left foot out of the car, just in case.

He is a man of average height and looks young for his age. His hair is still a dark shade of brown, but is encroached by a few strands of silver bristles at the side of his head. He has a serious face that never seems to break into a smile, unless he’s around his loved ones, and he carries with him an air of respect.

He locks the car as he strides towards the small Italian restaurant, Fonty’s, on the corner of Princess Street. Its grand-looking, cream marble staircase invites you in with its whispers of elegance. As he approaches, the front doors swing open and the smell of freshly baked garlic bread spills out onto the streets outside. He takes a deep breath; his mouth begins to water.

“Hello, Mr Shelley,” announces a tall, gentle-looking man who has dark features, but completely lacks hair on his head and face and probably on the rest of his body, too, thinks Tim. “If you’d like to come with me, I’ll show you to your table.” He holds out his arm and smiles, welcoming Shelley in.

Shelley trails behind the man, taking notice of the hordes of customers who are chatting rapidly, and eating even quicker. There’s something about Italian restaurants that make them louder than any other cuisine, Shelley thinks to himself.

They reach an empty, red velvet booth and the waiter beckons Shelley to sit. He takes another look around the restaurant before stiffly sitting down on the soft-cushioned bench.

The man smiles. “Can I get you a drink, a menu?”

“I’ll have a water… and maybe some of that garlic bread, please,” Shelley requests, unable to resist his temptations and hunger.

The man smiles more brightly now. “Excellent choice, sir. Our garlic bread is the best in the city.” With that, he spins around to fetch Shelley’s order.

Shelley can’t help but feel on edge. The meeting was set up in a friendly manner, but there’s always the possibility that the Mafia are just coaxing him into their territory to get rid of him quietly and without witnesses. Thankfully, he decided to bring his gun with him tonight.

The waiter returns with a glass of water and a plate of garlic bread. He carefully places them onto the table, then leans in closer to Shelley.

“My name is Calvino. My father, Don Fontana, will be with you shortly.” He says this without expression, straightens up, and continues to serve other customers.

Shelley begins to shift in his seat now, but is comforted by the fact that the meeting will take place in the midst of a bustling restaurant. He takes a gulp of cold water and picks at the edges of his garlic bread. It’s as delectable as he had imagined.

As Shelley is demolishing his first slice of garlic bread, the staff door swings open casually, and a short, broad-shouldered old man emerges, wearing a stylish pinstripe suit. For a man of his age, he has a thick head of salt and pepper hair, combed into a stylish sweep across his forehead. He has a little curly moustache, like Poirot, that makes his face look even more handsome. It is clear to Shelley that this is The Don. There is a shield of intimidation surrounding the man. The waiting staff rush to look busy and avoid even glancing in his direction.

“Mr Shelley, how wonderful to see you!” He extends his hand for Shelley to shake.

Tim stands up to greet him, taking his hand firmly. “Mr Fontana,” he says bluntly, making sure to hold defiant eye contact.

“What do you think of the garlic bread, it’s delicious, no?” The handsome old man smiles as he sits down on the opposite side of the booth.

“Yes, it’s very nice.”

“Do you mind if I have a piece myself?” Don Fontana asks, with raised eyebrows.

“Go for it.” Shelley waves dismissively, grabbing a slice for himself as well.

Don Fontana takes a hefty bite out of the bread. “Mmm, fantastico.” He kisses his fingers. “So… Mr. Shelley, you wanted to talk with me about something.”

“Yes. It’s about the Baulsack family,” Shelley explains.

Don Fontana licks the melted cheese off of his thumb and throws his arms up in disgust. “Ugh! Those barbarians. I condemn the day they arrived in this city, bringing with them their vile behaviour and unsolicited violence. Did you know they killed my cousin’s son? He was no trouble to them; he had just started university.”

“I’m aware of that, yes. How come you didn’t retaliate?” Shelley quizzes.

“We are not usually violent, Detective. My cousin just wanted to move on with his life, and his remaining family, they went back to Italy. Those Germans on the other hand, they love violence.”

“I know. I’m trying to eradicate them from the country, but, as you probably know, the other detectives are receiving bribes from the family and won’t help me. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

Don Fontana’s eyes light up and he leans a little closer to Shelley over the table. “You want my help?” He smiles.

“Yes. Nothing much, I just need you to tell me where I can find Helmut Baulsack. It’s a win-win for us both. I get to do my job and keep people safe and you get to put your family’s killer behind bars.”

Don Fontana lets out a little laugh, raspy from chain-smoking. “You won’t find Helmut here. He is still operating in Germany. The man you’re looking for is his brother, Holdis.”

“Holdis Baulsack… Is that a real name?” Shelley asks.

“None of them sound like real names, they’re ridiculous!” Don Fontana lets out a hearty laugh.

Shelley smirks slightly, too. “So where can I find him?”

“I will write down an address. That is where he lives, you should find him there. Excuse me while I retrieve the information for you.” He stands up from the table in a slow and intimidating manner, nods gently to Shelley and strolls back through the staff door.

Shelley continues to eat the rest of the now slightly cold garlic bread on the plate as he looks around at the customers. He wishes he could bring his own family here for dinner one night, but that’s too dangerous.

Don Fontana reappears, this time holding a small piece of paper in his hand. Shelley rises from his chair, ready to leave after receiving the tiny scrap of hope.

“Here you are, my friend.” They shake hands and Don Fontana deposits the note into Shelley’s hand.

“Thank you, Mr Fontana.”

“Please, call me Don.” He smiles. “We’re friends now.”

He nods. “Pleasure doing business with you, Don.”

***

“You’re home late,” Karen says to her husband.

“I was just finishing up on a lead. I think I’ve got them.”

“The Germans?” She spins around from the sink to look at him.

He lets out a small sigh. “Well, not all of them, but it’s a start.”

“That’s great. Well done, honey.” She smiles and kisses him on the cheek. “You smell of garlic. Have you had your tea?”

“Erm, yeah. I got something from the canteen at work, thank you, darling.” He kisses her cheek this time.

“The girls are outside.” She smiles at him and wanders back into the kitchen.

Shelley walks out of the back door and spots his daughters smoking and chatting on the swing bench. He doesn’t like them smoking, but even Shelley himself cannot fight the urge.

“Hey, girls. How are you both?” he asks, sitting on the small wicker stool next to the garden table.

“Good, thanks!” they both chirp,

“How are you?” Sonya asks him.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” He sighs. “Could do with one of those, though.” He points to their cigarettes.

Alice slides the pack across the table to him. He puts one in his mouth and looks cross-eyed at the end while he lights it, breathing it in as it burns.

“What did you do at work today?” Alice quizzes.

“Nothing new really, you know I’m not supposed to discuss it with you. I made a lot of progress on it today, though.”

“Well, that’s good then. One step closer to having your very own Baulsack!” Sonya jokes and they all laugh.

“You know he’s got a brother, Holdis?” Shelley tells them, waiting for them to pick up on the funny side.

“Holdis Baulsack?” The girls burst into laughter. “That can’t be a real name!”

“That’s what I said!” Shelley joins in.

“His parents mustn’t have liked him,” Alice reckons.

“At least they didn’t call him Sonya.” Sonya rolls her eyes; she’s always hated her own name.

“What – Sonya Baulsack? Ha-ha,” Alice teases.

“You’ve got a lovely name!” Shelley tries not to laugh. “What’s wrong with Sonya?”

Her face is deadpan. “Everything.”

Alice nods. “She’s got a point. Right, I’m off to bed.” She pushes herself up from the bench.

“Me too.” Sonya joins her.

They both give their father a hug and a kiss before re-entering the house. They carry out the same ritual with their mother, and head upstairs to bed.