Wasteland Page #3

of diversionary tactics.

- You can't seem to counter 'em.

- Diversionary tactics?

There's a lofty title.

Nothing like giving it credence.

The money's coming in and you can't seem to counter it.

All right, I'm listening. Why don't you tell

me about Steven Roper's diversionary tactics?

You're a detective inspector.

I'm sure you're familiar with them.

I'm old, forgetful.

Why don't you jog me memory?

OK. Step 1.

The controlling influence of fear.

If you have built a consortium

of commission-based contraband vendors,

you run the risk

of being name-dropped to the police

if those in your charge be faced with incarceration.

Also there are those who may wish

to make money on your behalf

and then forget to pay their dues,

of which examples must be made.

While there are guns,

their use brings unwanted police attention.

This being the case, the sensible criminal

maintains a fearsome reputation

with good old-fashioned hard graft.

Step 2. Evading detection.

Though the clandestine art of surveillance

exemplified by the police

owes little to the techniques employed

by government agents in acts of espionage,

their constant presence

stills requires creative vigilance.

The trick is to keep the gear moving from place to place

so that even if the law tracks its whereabouts,

it's long gone before they can do anything about it.

Of course, police incompetence can't take all the blame.

The drug squad must be short-staffed,

what with all the traffic violations

requiring the manpower.

Step 3. Building a case

for citizen harassment.

You lot like nothing more than to have

someone else do your job for you,

which is why you are such big fans

of the telephone tip-off.

If the drug squad receive a call from a concerned citizen

giving details of a drug cache

at a residence in a problem area,

they will generally act on the information.

Police!

Of course, the trick is to make

the anonymous phone call yourself

after you have made sure there is nothing

even resembling an aspirin on the property,

so you can laugh as you watch the boys in blue sweat

as they tear apart your house to no avail.

Where's your f***ing warrant?

It's f***ing bollocks.

When they finally call off the search,

your house will be in such a state

as to warrant a generous compensation payment

from the taxpayer,

amid claims that your reputation

has been unfairly tainted.

Repeat this procedure four times

over a 12-month period

and rest assured even the fire brigade

wouldn't dare enter your property

if the whole f***ing street were ablaze.

Step 4. Throw the dog a bone.

This is where I come in.

The drug squad needs to fill a certain quota

of arrests and seized quantities

to prove it's keeping the streets of England

as clean as the Armitage Shanks in Buckingham Palace.

By the same token, the criminal needs the drug squad

to have the inclination to continue

helping them perpetrate Step 3,

so every now and then

a big chimp will stitch up a little monkey.

I'm the monkey.

Steven Roper was the big chimp.

In this particular example

of the successful execution of Step 4,

I came home from a night on the piss

to find my flat had been broken into.

A quick look round told me two things.

One, there were no burglars in the flat.

Two, the stupid f***ers hadn't

stolen anything even when they had been.

I didn't see what were coming.

In my defence, I were f***ing rat-arsed.

It being January, I was also cold, so I closed the door.

Police! Put the phone down!

Acting on an anonymous tip-off,

your boys came flying into the house

armed with a search warrant.

It took them about 30 seconds to find the 200g of heroin

I had so cleverly hidden

underneath the TV guide on the desk.

It took the jury even less time

to find me guilty of the charge,

as the only evidence to back up my claim

that someone had broken into the flat

and planted the drugs

had been destroyed by the police battering ram.

No further interest were taken into my plight.

Well, there is certainly authenticity

to what you're saying.

If you're familiar with the methods,

why don't you do something?

Because they work, like you said.

I've got to wonder how a decent,

upstanding citizen like yourself

understands the intricacies

of small-time drug trafficking.

- It's not rocket science.

- No, it's easy money. That's why you do it.

I'm not getting the year back either way.

Just trying to paint a better picture.

Fair enough. Go on.

Where was I?

I don't give a f*** what he won't give me.

He owes me for a f***ing year

and he'll pay me for that year.

You were never an idiot, Harvey,

so I'll assume there's some logic here.

Yeah, there is.

Got their heads up their arse, mate,

so they can stay low on the radar.

I never had much to say to any other inmates.

That doesn't mean my ear wasn't constantly

bent on the favourite of prison pastimes.

Believe me, if these clowns knew

the half of it, I'd be doing 20 easy.

Giving it the big I am.

Their problem is, they forget who you are.

They think you're old, think you're a joke.

In prison, it's all you hear night and day.

It gets so you have to learn to block it out.

Soon stopped smiling when he saw the f***ing

sawn-off. Soon lost his heart as well.

Although I don't think they care

if you're listening anyway.

I drop off all over the north,

and even the biggest twats

from the smallest two-rip town

would have a wedge the size of your mother's arse.

This one guy from this filthy nowhere estate over yonder,

the Rise, I think they call it.

Of course, you prick up your ears

when you get wind of something interesting.

I'd drop a key off to this twat called Steve

first Monday of every month.

Flash bastard would open this big green safe

and he'd take the cash from a pile that high

like it was pocket change,

pass it over with a wink and a "f*** you" smile.

Now, he always had

a four-strong team around him,

but you pull the right tool at the right time

and you can liberate the c*nt

of the safe's belongings, smart as you like.

Great.

Roper keeps his money in a safe.

He lives in that office since he got into security.

He'd notice us popping in trying to hacksaw it open.

Safe can't be in his office.

The Scouser said he used

a meat delivery van as his cover,

so he'd only drop at suitable places,

restaurants or big pubs that serve food.

Now, the only place round here

that fits this description is the Rise Club.

OK, well, the club makes sense as a dropping point,

but why would Roper leave his money

in there, not in his own office?

- He doesn't own the club.

- Albert's in his pocket.

And it puts some distance between him and his

money in case he ever gets his collar felt.

I suppose his firm looks after the club,

so he thinks it's safe there as in his own office.

Even more so.

According to this bloke, the safe's

in a basement office with no windows,

one entrance and the door's secured like a bank vault.

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