Where The Art Is

One Thursday morning, as Barney was getting dressed, his mobile phone rang. It was the boss, Malcolm Hardcastle.

‘Morning mate.’ Barney said.

‘You need to get round here right now.’ Malcolm barked.

‘Sure. What’s up?’

‘I’ve been robbed.’ Mal said.

‘I’m on my way.’ Barney said, and hung-up.

Paul Barrington, known by everyone as Barney, had worked for Malcolm Hardcastle for almost a decade. Hardcastle portrayed himself as a successful local businessman, but anyone who knew anything, knew that the term was interchangeable with terms like gangster and villain and crime boss. Mind you, as far as His Majesty’s Tax office was concerned, Barney was a site manager at one of Malcolm’s many enterprises. Barney’s actual duties tended to involve doing what was necessary to ensure the smooth running of the Hardcastle criminal empire. Again, the press would use terms like henchman and gangland associate, but the way Barney and his circle saw it, they were businessmen, that was all. They would do whatever it took to make a few quid. 

There were rules in their world, and if you broke those rules, you paid the price. Admittedly their world could be literally cut-throat, but everyone involved knew what they were getting into, and knew the repercussions of stepping out of line.

Ten minutes later Barney pulled up outside the large house in the suburbs. A few of the members of the firm hung around the open double doors, smoking cigarettes and talking. Barney shook their hands and asked what was going on. 

‘There was a break-in last night. Mal woke up this morning to find the place had been trashed.’

‘Did they get away with much?’ Barney asked.

‘Yeah, they grabbed anything that could be worth a few quid. The thing Mal’s most bothered about is an original Vincent Van Gogh painting.’

‘He should ring the police.’ Said Barney with a grin. 

The lads burst out laughing at the thought of a man like Mal phoning the police. The last thing a character like Mal would want is police attention, regardless of who had committed the crime on this particular occasion. 

‘If he did that,’ Dave replied, ‘they might return the stuff to whoever Mal nicked it off in the first place.’

Barney forced a serious expression on his face and headed inside to see the boss. He found Mal pacing the living room, sipping a mug of tea. 

‘Can you believe this, Barney?’ Mal asked, shaking his head. ‘Who do people think they are?’

‘It’s an absolutely liberty, Mal. We’ll get to the bottom of this.’

‘Yes,’ Mal insisted, ‘yes, we will. I want questions asked of everybody. The cleaning company, the dog walker, the window cleaner. Anyone who’s here regularly. I want them grilled until we know who did it.’

‘I’ll also put the word out to the local fences, anyone who moves anything dodgy. I’ll let it be known that anyone handling these particular stolen goods will be for the high-jump, but that there’s a reward for intel on who’s behind it.’ Barney said.

Mal handed Barney a scribbled list of paper, detailing exactly what had been stolen.

‘Get this list circulating, mate.’

Barney studied the list. It was quite the inventory. This was like when the French Crown Jewels were stolen, or the Great Train Robbery. This heist was big. There was the jewellery, the watches, his girlfriend’s designer hand-bags. At the top of the list was the gold-framed painting.

‘I want the Vincent painting, above all else. You got that?’

Barney nodded.

Barney knew one thing, whoever had had the audacity to steal from a man like Malcolm was in a lot of trouble. Over the next few days, Barney and the rest of the firm focused their attention on the task at hand. All of the associates were on the case, this was the underworld equivalent of a police man-hunt, except in the world that Barney moved in, they still had the death penalty.

Word went out across gangland, throughout the city and the wider North-West. Whoever had robbed the Hardcastle place was as good as dead already. It was just a matter of when Barney and his associates caught up with them. And if anyone got involved with the loot, they would get caught in the crossfire. 

Barney made lots of calls himself, he called people who knew people. The word would be spread. Mal Hardcastle had been robbed and heads would roll. Let it be understood, there would be repercussions. Anyone with information would be rewarded, and anyone involved, or found withholding information, would be dealt with.

In the weeks that followed, the investigation went on. Anyone suspected of knowing anything, were ‘persuaded’ into co-operating. The persuasion would take the form of violence, either actual or suggested, and the person being questioned would be reminded just what would happen if they were not forthcoming with the details required. Questions were asked, and repeated with force. It was only a matter of time before someone gave up the names of the people behind the robbery. The criminal world was built on reputation, of who you were, and what you were capable of. People talked, words, even whispers, spread. There were no secrets in the world Barney moved in. 

Somebody knew something. It was just down to putting the squeeze on the right person.

Finally, just before midnight one Friday evening, they were given a name. The robbery had been the work of one guy. A man called Billy Gerald. Billy was an opportunist, a scally, a chancer. Barney had suspected something like this. Billy was young and new to the criminal life. He had clearly seen Mal’s nice house and decided to rob the place, regardless of the repercussions. He hadn’t stopped to think if the owner of the house was somebody in their world, somebody who could demand the ultimate retribution. Barney was quite sure it was the last mistake he would ever make.

Billy had a storage unit on the outskirts of the city-centre. While the lads had grabbed Billy, Barney drove Mal, heading straight over to the storage unit. On the journey over, Mal was quiet. That was a bad sign. There was one thing worse than Mal threatening and cursing, and saying he was going to kill someone, and that was when Mal was quiet. When he ranted and raved, he would often get his anger out of his system, before calming down and not quite reaping the havoc he had been mouthing off about. But when Mal was quiet, that meant someone was in trouble. 

Mal was out of the car and crossing the dark carpark before Barney had switched the engine off.

Mal charged down the corridors, his angry footsteps echoing as he went. Barney walked alongside. They found two of the firm waiting in front of an open storage unit, like sentries on duty. They mumbled good evening. Mal nodded in reply. 

The storage unit was crammed with loot, all of it stolen, and most of it belonging to Mal. Some of Mal’s men dragged a young man into the unit. He wore grey tracksuit bottoms, and an Oasis t-shirt. He was battered and bruised and had tears in his eyes. Billy Gerald. 

Billy gasped at the sight of Malcolm Hardcastle standing in front of him. Mal’s eyes burned with anger. Billy knew how much trouble he was in. He knew that the odds were, he wouldn’t be leaving the storage unit alive.

‘I had no idea it was your place, honestly. I just saw the fancy big house. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known, I swear.’ Billy said.

Barney rummaged around the stolen items. There was all sorts here, designer watches and handbags. But there was no sign of the original Van Gogh painting. Barney had an idea of what he was looking for. Van Gogh, that was all sunflowers and starry nights, right? There was nothing like that. 

‘Where’s the rest of it?’ Barney asked.

‘This is it, I swear. I robbed the gaff but when I heard it was Mal’s place, I stashed it all here until the heat died down. I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘Where’s the painting?’ Barney asked.

Barney reached for his pistol. He was about to aim it at the robber, to demand an answer, when Billy pointed. 

‘This was the only painting.’ Billy said. ‘I thought the frame might be worth something.’

Billy reached and grabbed what appeared to be a children’s painting in an ornate gold frame. It looked like something a school kid would bring home to their parents. Barney shook his head, pointing his pistol at Billy.

‘I don’t know what stunt you are trying to pull, mate, but that’s not an original Van Gogh.’

‘That is it! That’s the painting!’ Malcolm said.

Mal took the framed picture from Billy and stared at it, tears in his eyes.

‘I’m no art expert, boss, but that’s not an original Van Gogh.’ Barney said.

‘Who said anything about a Van Gogh? Someone has their wires crossed. This painting is by my son, my Vincent. He used to love to paint and draw when he was a kid. He used to leave me these paintings.’ Mal studied the painting with a far-away look in his eye.

‘This was one of the last paintings he did for me.’ Mal said.

Barney was shocked. He’d heard that Mal had been married at some point in the past, there was talk of a son, of a family, in the distant past. These days Mal had a string of girlfriends and the only thing Mal was serious about was the business. 

Mal turned to Billy, pointing a finger at him.

‘If you take so much as a tea-spoon from me in future, they’ll be fishing you out of the Manchester Ship Canal, you hear me?’ 

Billy nodded, still in shock that there would be no further repercussions. If Mal Hardcastle caught you stealing, you were sure to pay with your life. Was he really going to get away with it? This was unprecedented, completely unheard of.

Mal turned to Barney and the others.

‘Come on, let’s get this lot packed up.’ Mal said.

Like the dodgiest removal company, the guys set about clearing the unit, packing all of the items into crates and stashing the crates in the cars waiting outside. Billy, unsure what to do with himself, hovered around, shifting awkwardly, wanting to be anywhere but here, wanting to be away from the danger once and for all.

They were just clearing the last few items and were about to leave when Mal grabbed a Rolex watch from one of the crates. He tossed it to the robber. Billy caught the watch and gave him a puzzled look.

‘What’s this?’ Billy asked.

‘A reminder, from me to you.’ Mal said.

Billy grinned and slipped the expensive watch onto his wrist.

‘A reminder of what?’ Billy asked, admiring the expensive time-piece.

‘That’s the hand I’ll cut off first if you ever cross me again.’ Mal said.

The smile faded from Billy’s face.

As Barney drove Mal home, he still couldn’t get his head around what had just happened. In the years he’d known Mal, people had paid with their lives for less than robbing the house of the gang boss. And yet tonight, for some reason, Mal had been in a forgiving mood. Barney had never seen such emotion from Mal.

‘I thought we’d have more of a mess to clean up tonight.’ Barney said.

Barney glanced away from the road in front, to his boss. Mal stared out the window, saying nothing for a long moment. 

‘I got back what was taken from me. The kid has been warned. We’re done.’ Mal said finally. 

‘All this was about the painting?’ Barney asked.

‘As I said, that was one of the last paintings my boy, Vincent, did for me.’ 

‘What happened to Vincent?’ Barney asked.

Mal gave Barney a look, like he’d asked such a ridiculous question. 

‘The same thing that happens to any of us, he grew up.’

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom