His dad, Rhys, seemed to act like his mum’s illness was just a massive pain in the arse for him. He huffed and rolled his eyes behind her back. The army had given him compassionate leave but he spent his time in the pub. He was a prick and the boy hated him.
CRACK.
The boy caught Mallory with a right hook straight on the jawbone. He must have hit him hard because his knuckles hurt like hell. Mallory clutched his face and then kicked him in the shin. The pain seared up his leg. The boy didn’t care. His dad had beaten him a few times when he was drunk. He knew how to hide that he was hurt.
Launching himself forward, the boy grabbed Mallory and bundled him to the ground. He sat on top of him, pinning him to the tarmac. Jabbing him on the nose with his fist, the boy saw blood trickle from Mallory’s nostril. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he killed Mallory. He was a wanker with posh parents. They went on foreign holidays and had a nice car. Mallory’s dad, Kev, helped to train the school rugby team and was always laughing and joking with the boys. Everyone liked Kev.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ a voice thundered over them.
The boy glanced up to see the new Headteacher, Mr Williams. He had only been there since September and was rarely seen out of his office.
Feeling no fear, the boy was looking forward to getting into trouble. Anything to change the way he was feeling. He looked down again and punched Mallory in the mouth.
‘That’s enough!’ Mr Williams yelled as he pulled the boy to his feet. ‘Stand there!’
The boy stood to one side trying to close his shirt where Mallory had ripped it open. He felt the knot on his tie which had been pulled tight in the scuffle.
Mr Williams’ eyes narrowed as he glared at Mallory who was wiping blood from his nose. ‘Steven. I’m really surprised at you!’
Of course the new Head already knew Steven Mallory’s name! He and Kev Mallory were probably friends. That’s how it worked.
‘I didn’t start it, sir,’ Mallory whined.
‘I don’t care who started it.’ Mr Williams looked at the boy. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Nick, sir,’ the boy said with a defiant glare.
‘Nick what?’ Mr Williams enquired.
‘Nick Evans,’ the boy said.
‘My office. Both of you. Now!’
CHAPTER 1
Croxteth Park, Liverpool L12
31st December 1999
Curtis Blake sat in the back of the BMW with his brother Shaun. Now aged eighteen, Curtis had his jet black hair shaved close to the bone like ‘our kid’s’. His face was olive skinned, handsome and chiselled, his eyes blue and piercing. His aunts always commented on his long eyelashes and how he was ‘...going to break some hearts’. He had a scar just above his left eyebrow from a knife fight when he was fourteen.
Despite all his bravado, Curtis could feel the tension growing in his stomach. Tonight was a big night – they had to get it right. If he was honest, he was terrified. Maybe he should have had a drink or a line? Shaun said they had to stay sharp or they’d get hurt.
In the front of the car were their mates, John ‘Sparrow’ Carragher and Steven ‘Chuck’ Armstrong. As a fledgling gang, they were gaining a reputation for violence, drugs and crime. Watching The Abbey pub as the New Year Millennium party got into the swing of things, the gang were waiting to make their move. Even from where they were, the reverberating sound of the bass was loud. Curtis could see it was pissing Shaun off. He just wanted to get on with it. But that was Shaun. A hothead. No patience for anything. Curtis didn’t want Shaun to know how scared he actually was. It was important that he gained his older brother’s respect tonight.
On the nearby estates, the Curtis brothers, Sparrow, and Chuck were now referred to as the Croxteth Park Boyz, but Curtis Blake wasn’t happy about this notoriety. Even though he was glad they had a reputation, Curtis was also savvy enough to want to keep under the radar of both the police and the larger, more established gangs in Liverpool. That’s what the other faces round there didn’t understand. They were all about giving it ‘the big I am’. They bragged about what they did – they were flash, mouthy and bloody stupid. They swaggered around like God’s fucking gift, but that got them noticed. And getting noticed got you into jail or dead. It had only been a month since Wayne ‘Fat Boy’ Kay was found in Bootle with two bullets in his head. Kay, only seventeen, had got into a road rage incident with two men in their fifties. When challenged, Kay waved a knife around, said the two men didn’t know who they were messing with and he would come and kill their kids. The men were part of the Keane family, an Irish gang that went back to the fifties. Two days later, Kay was dead.
Having made a decent amount of money in the last year, Shaun had bought a small house over in Croxteth close to the West Derby golf course. It was a good place to keep a low profile and living in Toxteth seemed to be causing them endless problems. Their mother, Doreen, who was in and out of rehab for alcohol and drugs, lived in a small annexe at the back of the house. Shaun didn’t trust her with the keys to the main part of the house. If she relapsed and went on a bender, she’d end up selling everything in therefor coke or smack.
‘Mum all right?’ Curtis asked, breaking the growing tension in the car. His nerves were making him feel sick.
‘Sound. Forty ciggies and a box of Roses,’ Shaun said.
‘Living the fuckin’ dream, eh?’ Curtis said, but his mind was still on the night ahead.
Shaun smiled and said, ‘Uncle Ray’s gonna pop in tonight, so she’ll be made up.’
‘And he can keep her off the ale,’ Curtis added. Their mum was in her late thirties, but she looked ten years older.
The noise from The Abbey pub seemed to have gone up in volume. Checking his watch, Curtis saw it was eleven. Only an hour to a new millennium. But that wasn’t of any interest to them. Something else was going to kick off that night.
Curtis and his brother were angry that a well-known Yardie gang from Toxteth, the Hill Street Posse, had taken over the pub and, more importantly, the dealing of drugs in there. This was Croxteth for fuck’s sake! They were on Curtis’ turf so they had to make a stand. But Duane Miller, who was their leader, had a terrifying reputation. He had once stabbed and burnt the wife of a rival who ripped him off in a drug deal.
‘Where’s Little Jack?’ Curtis asked, trying to distract himself. ‘Little’ Jack Gibson was Shaun and Curtis’ cousin. He was an innocent looking ten year old ‘runner’ whose job it was to act as a lookout when they were dealing drugs. Most of the time he carried a football under his arm to complete the look of total innocence. Tonight, ‘Little Jack’ was going to be far less conspicuous lurking around The Abbey than any of them.
Shaun looked down at the burner phone. ‘Text from Little Jack. Duane Miller arrived thirty minutes ago.’
Shaun looked at his younger brother and then at Sparrow and Chuck. ‘Time to go, lads.’
Curtis could feel it in the pit of his stomach as the adrenaline began to pump through his veins. There was no going back. And he didn’t want to lose face in front of them.
Shaun slapped Curtis’ cheek playfully, ‘Eh, don’t worry lad. This has gotta be done, you know that.’
The four men got out of the car in silence. They were already wearing black gloves and carried baseball bats. Curtis pulled on his black knitted balaclava and jogged to the side of the pub with the others. The noise was deafening – music, shouting and laughter.
Little Jack came out from behind one of the huge bins and wandered over. Curtis could see he was looking scared.
‘Nice one, Jack,’ Sparrow said, clapping him on the back.
Curtis watched as Shaun leant over and looked at Jack. ‘Don’t worry there, my little mate. They’re not gonna know what fuckin’ hit them.’
Reaching into his pocket, Shaun pulled out a CS gas grenade and handed it to Little Jack. They had been through the plan that morning. Jack was going to get into the pub by saying that his mother was in there a
nd it was an emergency. When he got close to the bar, he was going to pull the pin, drop the grenade on the floor and walk out. If the bouncers asked, he couldn’t find her. Twenty seconds later, all mayhem would ensue.
Little Jack nodded, took the grenade and disappeared around the corner. Curtis took a deep breath and held it for a moment. This was it.
They stood in silence waiting.
The next minute seemed to last an eternity, and all Curtis could hear was the banging of his pulse in his ear drum.
Suddenly there were the screams of women from inside. Little Jack appeared, gave them a nod and scarpered.
There were more screams. Shouts of men yelling to ‘Get out!’. The crash of glasses smashing and furniture being overturned in the panic to get out of the pub.
‘Here we go, lads,’ Shaun said as the four balaclavared men appeared from the side of the pub. ‘Show time.’
‘Happy fucking millennium, you cunts,’ Curtis yelled, taking his bat and getting ready to get stuck in. Something had clicked inside him. If he was going to get hurt or killed, he was going to go down swinging – not as a coward.
People were staggering out of the pub, coughing, squinting and rubbing their faces. The CS gas came drifting out of the doors and windows. Women sat on the curb crying with their arms around each other. The biggest party of the century had been ruined.
A black youth came at them wielding a knife, ‘Come on then, blud. You tha big man, eh?’
Curtis stepped forward with no warning, swung the bat and hit the youth in the temple with a loud THWACK. ‘Fuck off back to Toxteth, you prick!’
The youth crumpled to the floor semi-conscious and then lay still.
Suddenly, Duane Miller came forward pointing a handgun at Curtis. Miller was enormous, shaven headed, and as he spoke, the light caught his two gold teeth. ‘You fuck up me party? Eh? Now I’m gonna fuck you up, bwoy!’
Miller came forward a few more steps, then stopped and gave Curtis a sarcastic smile.
Oh shit! This is it!
Curtis held his breath. Miller was going to kill him right there and then. There was nothing he could do.
CRACK! CRACK!
Curtis jumped at the explosive sound of a gun. He ducked down as he waited to feel the sharp pain of a bullet entering his body.
Nothing.
What’s going on?
Instead, Miller stumbled and fell to the pavement just in front of where Curtis was standing.
For a moment, Curtis thought Miller had tripped. Then he saw the blood seeping out of a dark hole just above Miller’s ear. He was dead.
Glancing left, Curtis saw that Shaun was holding a handgun in his gloved hand. He didn’t even know that Shaun owned a Beretta.
Thank fuck for that! He just saved my life!
‘Come on, let’s get out of here!’ Sparrow yelled.
Curtis watched as Shaun stood defiantly, pointed the gun into the air above the partygoers and fired three more shots.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
‘Now fuck off back to Toxteth. Cos if you come to Croxteth again, I will shoot the fucking lot of you!’ Shaun yelled, before turning and jogging over to the car where Curtis was waiting for him.
‘Happy New Year, lad,’ Shaun said, patting Curtis on the shoulder as they slammed the car doors.
The car pulled away with a screech of tyres.
Llancastell, North Wales
31st December 1999
Nick, now aged eighteen, was dressed in a smart shirt and jeans. His right eye was swollen from playing rugby the day before. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was gone eleven and The Refuge, a bar in the middle of Llancastell, was bouncing. The DJ was playing ‘Turnaround’ by Phats and Small and everybody was singing and dancing. Nick’s mate Robbo was handing pints in plastic glasses back from the bar. It was three deep and there was barely any room to move. Laura, Nick’s girlfriend, pinched his bum from behind and Nick reached behind and gave her hand a playful squeeze.
Jesus, it’s boiling in here.
Nick took a pint of cider from Robbo and just about managed to turn and pass it to her. Laura said something but Nick couldn’t hear. The music was thumping.
Turning to the bar, Robbo handed two pints of lager back to Nick. ‘I got you two otherwise you’ll be back here in five minutes,’ Robbo yelled.
He was right. Nick had a reputation of being a ‘beer monster’ and he loved it. His rugby mates would marvel at his ability to sink a pint in three seconds by opening his throat. It was his party trick.
Laura gestured and they made their way to a table where some of their friends were sitting. It was still noisy and busy. Nick’s friend Huw had overdone it and was now asleep.
‘You all right?’ Laura asked, looking at Nick.
‘Yeah. It’s the new millennium,’ Nick replied before singing along to the music. Laura didn’t like it when he drank too much. He had wet the bed at her parent’s house about three months ago and had promised to calm down on the drinking. But tonight was New Year’s Eve and a new millennium so all bets were off.
At that moment, a thick set bloke with a shaved head bumped into Nick, spilling both his pints.
Nick looked round, fully expecting the man to apologise. He just glared at Nick as if daring him to say something before walking away.
Great. That’s just what I need.
‘Prick!’ Nick said under his breath, feeling a mixture of fear and anger.
‘Just leave it,’ Laura said as she smiled at him.
‘He’s probably on drugs,’ Nick said. Nick hated anything to do with drugs. They were dirty and dangerous.
Nick put what was left of the pints down on the table as Laura leaned up and kissed him full on the lips.
‘What was that for?’ Nick asked, raising his eyebrow.
Laura shrugged and they danced for a moment, Nick taking her hand and twirling her around. Robbo came past with a tray of shots and handed them out.
Laura drank the shot and pulled a face as she closed her eyes. Nick laughed at her as she grinned.
God, she really is beautiful, Nick thought.
The DJ put on ‘Red Alert’ by Basement Jaxx. Nick pulled Laura closer to him.
‘You sorted out next year?’ Nick asked.
Laura was in Year 13 and planned to go to university.
‘Liverpool. They do a brilliant Marketing degree,’ Laura said.
Nick nodded, but there was part of him that didn’t want to think about Laura going, even though it was months away.
Suddenly, someone’s shoulder hit Nick in the back. It sent him and Laura flying and their drinks ended up all over them and the floor.
Spinning in fury, Nick saw the shaven headed man walking away. He knew he’d done it deliberately.
‘Oi! Twat!’ Nick shouted at him. It was loud enough for others to turn around.
It had been just what the man was waiting for. He turned and took two steps back towards Nick.
‘You talking to me?’ the man growled.
‘What the fuck d’you think you’re doing?’ Nick said, feeling his heart pounding.
Laura took his arm, ‘Nick, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just leave it.’
‘You wanna listen to what your slag said 0r you’re gonna get hurt,’ the man said as his body started to tense.
For a moment, something told Nick to walk away and lose face. It didn’t matter.
But then the red mist descended.
No one calls my girlfriend a slag, you cunt! Nick thought as he began to lose control.
Nick took two steps forward before taking a swing at the man’s head. He missed. Suddenly they were grappling and wrestling each other. Nick felt the buttons of his shirt rip. He put his arm around the man’s throat but was thrown to the ground.
A moment later, Nick and the man spilled out of the bar, wrestling and throwing punches. They fell onto the pavement. The man kicked Nick in the head but he managed to get up. He was feeling dizzy.
‘
Leave him alone!’ Laura screamed.
People were crowding around.
The man turned to face Nick, who had blood coming from a cut on his lip. Reaching to the floor, the man picked up a glass beer bottle, smashed it in half and then pointed the jagged glass at Nick.
‘First I’m gonna stick this in your throat and kill you,’ the man yelled and then pointed at Laura. ‘Then I’m gonna kill that bitch.’
Nick could feel his anger being over taken by utter fear. He wasn’t going to win a fight against a man holding a broken bottle. He looked at Laura.
‘Just go, Laura,’ Nick said. He wanted her out of any danger.
‘No, I’m not going anywhere without you,’ Laura said.
Suddenly, from nowhere, two male uniformed police arrived and very slowly approached the man with the bottle.
‘Put down the bottle,’ the older officer said very calmly.
Nick breathed a huge sigh of relief – Thank God for that!
‘Fuck off,’ the man shouted.
‘Put it down,’ the officer said in a sterner voice.
The man with the bottle walked towards them, ‘Come on then!’
Nick watched as the officer stood his ground and took out his CS spray. ‘I want you to stay where you are, put down the bottle and calm down.’
The man stopped and took a few steps backwards, ‘Fucking pigs.’ The man pointed to Nick. ‘That cunt started it.’
‘We can find out what happened when you put the bottle down,’ the younger officer explained.
‘You can’t fucking arrest me. It’s New Year’s Eve and my wife’s in there!’ the man said, pacing around.
Nick could see that the man was starting to calm down.
‘We can sort all this out and we can go and get your wife, when you put the bottle down,’ the officer said.
The man’s body language had now changed. His shoulders had dropped, his arms had relaxed and he had stopped pacing.
‘Come on, mate. Put the bottle down or you’re going to ruin the night for everyone you came out with,’ the younger officer said.
Nick looked in surprise as the man lobbed the bottle away and shook his head. In that moment, the two officers moved in and handcuffed him.
The Curtis Blake Killings Page 2
