Free CALL MAMA by Terry H. Watson

computer was way out of date and if he wanted to attend further conferences, he would have to purchase a more up-to-date machine. This for George spelt disaster. He would either have to abandon his plans to set up in business or somehow or other get his hands on some cash. He joined some others from his conference for a drink at the bar and when they left to have dinner, he stayed for a few more drinks before heading off to wander the streets to clear his head.
    He found himself outside a bar in a none too salubrious part of the city and was enticed in by the smell of alcohol and the sound of raucous laughter. His drunken rant was overheard by a fellow drinker, a well-dressed man who listened to his rambling conversation about the injustice of life and encouraged him to continue with his sorry tale, plying him with more drink.
    To Barclay Ellis-Jones’ team of rogue money lenders, further evil criminals found a niche. Alfred Wysoki was a violent, gun-carrying criminal who had spent time in Cook County correction boot camp, re-offending some years later, resulting in a mandatory three-year prison sentence. It was there he befriended Barclay Ellis-Jones, imprisoned for four years for embezzlement. Barclay Ellis-Jones had already served most of his first year sentence when Alf, as he called himself, shared his cell and his life. A third cellmate was Les Soubry. The three compared criminal history, outdoing one another with their tales of bravado. They contrived a get rich quick scheme for their release and made the decision to move east to the Big Apple, which suited Alf who wanted a fresh, albeit corrupt start. Alf was proud of his criminal past. He had several facial scars and with his broken nose and staring eyes fronted an air of foul, menacing superiority, confident that no one would mess with him.
    â€œThere ain’t nothing mechanical I can’t mess with and crack; safes are a walkover, and as for autos or engines of any kind I can fix or fiddle whatever’s required. I’m ace!” boasted the crook.
    Freed from incarceration, Barclay Ellis-Jones dropped his middle name, calling himself Barclay Jones and saw himself as
Mr. Barclay Jones, Money
Lender of Repute
. He was an expert at changing his accent, becoming a polite, well-spoken Englishman or a southern gent, changing from his west coast accent to east coast and on occasion resorting to his native east London cockney accent, all of which made witness identification of him a difficult task. He travelled to New York and rented a small basic apartment in the Bronx.
    Alf joined him some time later and the pair began their illicit money-lending business and searched for vulnerable or needy customers, mainly from poorer areas of the city where poverty was rife, people wide open to tempting loan offers from the suave, polite-talking Englishman offering sympathy and ready cash to free them from their misery. Later, Les, released from prison and living nearby, joined in their shady business. Barclay Jones, having hidden thousands of dollars from previous crimes, funded the illegal scheme.
    â€œI’ll recoup my money in no time at all,” he told Alf as he laid the ground rules. “Maximum of $2,000, easy repayments, what they can afford, starting $5 or $10 weekly, to get them hooked. We draw up paperwork, they will be so out of it when they sign, they won’t know the rate of interest we charge. Give them a few months’ respite before calling round for repayments. I don’t want you turning up with the cash at the bars. How about we use crazy Les to do the donkey work?”
    â€œHe ain’t so crazy. I had many conversations with him in the prison library. He’s a qualified pilot and an engineer. A really clever dude. Got into trouble drinking on duty, did drugs, got himself dismissed and jailed. Used to fly all types of planes, from big commercial to private ones. Told me he once flew some VIPs to the White