by Martina Cole
Bertie was getting worried. He couldn’t track down anyone of note on his payroll. He realised after the second phone call that they had been poached. All the minions were available, but the real deals, the hard men they relied on to administer their commands, were nowhere to be found. At first he had refused to believe it, hadn’t wanted to doubt that he had their loyalty. Now, though, it was an absolute certainty and he felt the unfamiliar feeling of dread lying in his stomach like lead.
Kevin wasn’t as surprised as Bertie; he knew that everyone had their price, and that no one was really a hundred per cent loyal – not in their game anyway. Everyone wanted to play for the winning side – that was human nature. But he was a bit fucked off that it had been done so easily and so sneakily. Neither he nor Bertie had even sniffed anything untoward going on, so that showed it was well planned and had been well executed. It also told him that they were on a losing streak. They had one chance to rectify this situation, and that was by taking out Jonny P once and for all. This was no longer just about revenge, it was about absolute survival, and that put a completely different complexion on things. This was now a fight to the death. And it was going to get dirty, very dirty indeed.
Kevin looked at Bertie Warner and he could see the fear and the disbelief in his eyes. Bertie had always believed that their blokes were sound, were unwavering in their loyalty.
‘He’s done us up like kippers, Bertie. We have to accept that. But if I’m going down, then I’m taking something of Parker’s with me.’
Bertie had never seen Kevin Bryant look so human in his life, and that worried him. For the first time in living memory he could see emotion on the big man’s face. But it was his friend’s words that really chilled him. He knew that Kevin, like himself, was not going out without a fight, and that was something he could understand.
‘I’m right behind you.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘Thanks for coming home with me, Cynth. I know it’s silly but I get nervous here by meself.’
Cynthia didn’t answer her sister. Instead she busied herself making a pot of tea. She wanted to be seen to be the administering angel when her brother-in-law arrived home. She wished she knew what was going on, but she knew better than to ask too much about it. If she played her cards right, she could at least start to get back into the family and their way of life.
That Celeste was this anxious told her that something big was going down. For the first time that night she wondered if her James was involved. She hoped so – whatever it was would be a big earn. All this worry wasn’t for a lousy couple of quid, of that much she was sure. Her quick brain worked out that it had to be about taking something from someone – that was the only way a true Face could go forward in life. It was how you spread your workforce and made sure everyone was getting a nice earn.
Cynthia was a born criminal. She had the innate cunning needed for the job, and she also had the hard core inside her that was necessary when the time came to take out those who had outlived their usefulness. She didn’t know that, but her instincts were nearly always spot on. Except when she was blinded by jealousy – then her instincts risked being overpowered by revenge. She had a taste for revenge, she had since a small child. In a man these would have been traits that could have taken her to the top of her game; in a woman they were seen as a weakness. Men in her world believed that women were ruled by their hormones, and they could never respect a creature that had no real will of their own – it was as simple as that. Yet Cynthia knew she was ten times more intelligent than most of the men in her orbit, especially her ignoramus of a father, and that imbecile of a husband she had tied herself to.
As she looked round her sister’s home, saw the luxury and the expense, she could once more kick herself metaphorically in the head. This could have been hers, this could have been her life. This should have been her life. Because, all that apart, Jonny Parker was the only man to ever ring her bells. When he had taken her she had finally felt whole, poor James couldn’t compete with that. No man could compete with that. She had chosen respectability and where had that got her?
She had imagined herself presiding over dinner parties, where her James, not Jimmy, James, would bring his minions, and she would patronise them while stunning them with her food and her witty repartee. Instead she had chosen a man who couldn’t decide whether to wear a tie without a fucking twelve-day postmortem on the subject.
She closed her eyes in anger and frustration. She hated her life so much, and the fact she had been the instigator of her own downfall was doubly frustrating.
Cynthia took the teapot to the table, and looked at her little sister. She was all eyes, all big blue eyes and anxiety. Even in her anger she felt a stirring of pity for her. ‘He’ll be OK, Celeste, stop worrying.’
‘It’s three in the morning and not even a phone call.’
Cynthia sat down and sighed heavily. ‘James does this all the time. It’s the nature of the game, nightclubs are called nightclubs because they are open at night!’
Celeste smiled then. But she was still guarded, not saying anything that might give the game away. But Cynthia acted as though she didn’t care about any of that and was once more the solicitous sister.
‘Shall I make you a bit of toast? You need to eat, love.’
Celeste shook her head. ‘I couldn’t, Cynth, thanks.’
‘How about a biscuit? You always had a sweet tooth.’
Celeste stood up abruptly. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’ Her sister’s panic was spreading to her now.
‘That noise, there’s someone outside.’
‘You stay here, Celeste, and don’t move.’
Cynthia walked silently from the big kitchen and checked all the downstairs rooms. As she looked out of the front-room window, she saw a large man walking towards the front door. Running back to the kitchen, she said to her sister in a whisper, ‘Get down to the cellar. Don’t argue, just go.’
‘What’s going on, Cynth?’
After dragging her sister none too gently, Cynthia pushed her into the back kitchen and, opening the cellar door, forced her inside. Following her, she bolted the door and groped around in the gloom till they reached the bottom of the steps, where they crouched as quietly as they could. It was almost pitch black, the only light coming from under the door above them.
‘Is there a torch anywhere in here?’ Celeste was clearly terrified now. Shaking her gently, Cynthia whispered, ‘For fuck’s sake, Celeste, is there a torch in here?’
Celeste walked unsteadily to a row of shelves and took down a small hand torch. Giving it to her sister, she waited like a young child to be told what to do next.
Turning on the torch, Cynthia looked around the unfamiliar space and, seeing a door that was obviously once the coal hole, she went towards it and made sure it was secure.
By now they could hear people walking around above them. It wasn’t Jonny that was for sure – they could hear the doors being wrenched open upstairs, and they both realised that whoever it was wasn’t visiting for any kind of social reason.
‘What’s going on, Cynth?’
Celeste’s voice was rising and Cynthia went to her and said quietly but forcefully, ‘Shut up, Celeste. Whoever it is mustn’t know we are here, OK?’ But even in the weak torch light Cynthia could see the hysteria rising in her sister’s eyes and marvelled once more at how such a fucking coward could ever be enough for Jonny. She hugged her to her tightly saying in a soothing voice, ‘Calm down, Celeste, we’ll sort this out. Now, has Jonny any weapons hidden down here?’
Celeste was shaking so badly she could barely talk. ‘I . . . I don’t know . . . Probably . . .’
Cynthia looked around the large room and, spotting a large steel trunk, she went over to it. There was a large padlock protecting the contents. She sighed heavily. Looking round again, she grasped a large spanner from one of the shelves and attempted to break the chain with it. It was a fruitless exercise and the noise would alert them as
to their whereabouts, but she tried anyway.
She could hear the men at the cellar door now, and she knew that the still-warm teapot would tell them that they might still be in the house somewhere. And now they knew where. She guessed they had come through the French doors in the lounge; they wouldn’t risk the neighbours hearing them kicking in the front or back doors.
The cellar door was another thing altogether though. It was well inside the house, and they were now kicking at the lock with a ferocity that told her they would be through at any moment.
Celeste was crying openly – she wasn’t even attempting to be quiet any more. Terror had taken her over and Cynthia knew that if they were to get out of this it would be down to her. Panic rising inside her, she gave the locked box one last wrench and, even though it didn’t open, she saw that if she lifted the lid there was a four-inch gap – just wide enough to get her hand inside. She did that and, feeling around, she gripped the first thing that came to hand. A few seconds later she was holding a small calibre gun. Whether it was loaded she had no idea, but in her blind panic she pulled the safety back and then, leaving her sister crying in fear, she walked deliberately behind the stairway.
She was shaking herself now, she felt as if she was going to pass out. She took a few deep breaths and, when the cellar door finally crashed open, she waited for the visitors to come down the stairs.
The man was like the anti-Christ. His anger was so consuming he looked willing to rip them limb from limb with his bare hands.
Emerging from the stairway silently, Cynthia pointed the gun at the back of his huge head and fired.
He dropped to his knees, and she felt the bile rising inside her as she saw the gaping hole that was left after his skull and brains had been ripped open.
Twenty seconds later she heard a muttered ‘Fucking hell’, followed by the sound of the other man leaving the house as quickly as possible. She went over and looked down at the man’s body. He wasn’t quite dead yet and, kneeling down beside him, she removed the heavy shotgun from his reach. Then, pointing the gun once more at his head, she pulled the trigger again.
That was when Celeste started to scream.
Going to her sister, Cynthia slapped her as hard as she could across the face. Seeing that the girl was calmer, she walked her slowly up the stairs back into the kitchen. Then, the gun still in her hands, she closed the now-open front door before pouring both herself and her sister large brandies. She gulped hers and made sure her sister did the same. Next, she walked out into the hallway and, picking up the telephone, she rang around until she located James, only telling him that she was at Jonny’s house and that Celeste needed her husband as soon as physically possible.
Then she sat at the kitchen table and waited, all the time talking calmly to her little sister and assuring her that everything was going to be all right. She wasn’t sure she believed any of that herself, but she knew it was all she could do until the men arrived.
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘I still can’t believe it.’ That much was evident in Jack Callahan’s voice.
‘Your daughter shot Kevin Bryant in self-defence, and she saved our Celly’s life by all accounts.’ Mary Callahan’s voice choked up as she once more relived her daughter’s close escape from death. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Kevin had been going to take out Celeste to get back at Jonny P. A few of the more sceptical said he might have only used her as a hostage, but Mary strongly suspected his plan was always to wipe her baby out like a little boy would stamp on an ant. ‘Well, you better believe it, she’s the fucking hero of the hour by all accounts, and our Celly won’t have a word said against her.’
Jack Callahan could hear the fear in his wife’s voice and decided to keep his opinion to himself; she might be stunned by Cynthia’s actions but he wasn’t. She was like a bloke in a lot of respects, oh, not in her womanly body, but in her mind. There was something missing in his elder daughter, and he knew that, as hypocritical as it was, had she been a boy he would have been proud of her. Males could be like his Cynth and it would be seen as strength, in a woman it was seen as suspicious.
His daughter a murderer! Because that’s what she was. She had waited behind the cellar steps and done Bryant from behind, using her sister as bait. That was the action of a man, that was a cold-blooded reaction. If she had had a lump of pipe instead she would have hammered his head in, he was sure. That his daughter had knelt down and finished the fucker off, was so distasteful to him he felt a moment’s sickness in his belly. She was a fucking strange cove and no mistaking. ‘How does Jonny feel about all this?’ he asked curiously.
‘Pretty much the same as everyone else.’
Mary was as amazed as her husband about the turn of events. In fairness, Cynthia had saved the day; if it wasn’t for her the chances were Celeste would be dead now and the thought upset Mary so much she had to swallow down the urge to cry.
The mess had been cleaned up at the house by all accounts, but Celeste still refused to go back there. Well, she could understand that – what she couldn’t understand was why Celeste was staying with Cynthia and not with her? They were like Siamese twins nowadays – where Cynthia went, Celly followed.
Jonny Parker was too wise to do anything about that just yet; he knew that Celeste needed time to get over what had happened to her. Plus, Mary guessed shrewdly, he would be grateful to have Celly off his hands while he cleaned up the mess he had caused by his greediness. For once Mary agreed with her husband. This was something that should have been avoided at all costs. It had left a bad taste in a lot of people’s mouths.
Kevin Bryant might not have been liked, but he had been respected. It was only the fact that he had gone after a defenceless woman that had stopped the other crime bosses in London from retaliating on his behalf. She bet they were watching their backs now. They would need to and all; Jonny had half the Smoke at his disposal. Kevin Bryant was dead and his business partner Bertie Warner had disappeared completely. She suspected they were sharing the same grave somewhere and she hoped they would rot in hell for what they had tried to do to her poor daughter. Bastards, the pair of them. No one went after wives or kiddies – it was the unwritten law.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘No one has seen him, Jonny, it’s like he dropped off the face of the earth.’
‘What about his wife and kids?’
‘House is empty, hardly even any clothes packed. I’ve got people keeping an eye out in Spain and Portugal but, in reality, he could be fucking anywhere.’
Detective Inspector Jones was as bent as a nine-bob note, and he knew that he was expected to give his main benefactor Jonny Parker something substantial for the money he was paid on a weekly basis, but there was nothing. It was the gospel truth – he had not been able to locate the man, or his family.
‘Bertie would have a fallback plan, he probably had passports, et cetera waiting for just such an eventuality. All we can do is wait and see if anyone recognises him, or he commits a crime somewhere and we get wind of it. As I say, Jonny, he could be anywhere. South America, maybe? They would welcome the cunt with open arms – look at Biggsy.’
Jonny Parker knew the truth of this, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted Bertie Warner’s balls for this outrage and he wanted them now. If there was one thing he knew, it was not good practice to let Bertie have a swerve on this. It would make Jonny look weak and it also meant that someone was out there and they would have him and his family in their sights. It made him uneasy, even though he knew they were well protected. He had made the mistake of assuming his family was out of bounds, and he would never make that mistake again. Celeste was in bits, and why wouldn’t she be? After what she had seen, he was surprised she wasn’t in a nut-house.
But it was Cynthia who had amazed him the most. She had taken out Kevin Bryant and, from what he could gather, she had knelt down and finished the job. Either way, she had fucking scared Warner off – he must have thought they were waiting down
there for him and wasn’t prepared to take the chance of a bullet in his own bonce. None of it seemed to have affected Cynthia that much, she seemed a bit unnerved but that was about it. As he had looked at her comforting his wife, it had crossed his mind that she would have been a worthy mate for him, and he had hated himself for that thought even as he had acknowledged the truth of it. She was like a modern-day Boudicca, all hair and fiery sexuality. He was ashamed at how she had affected him, because he knew she was a two-faced, conniving whore, but somehow that just made her seem more intriguing.
Celeste was like a ghost of her former self; he had taken her to a doctor in Harley Street who was known to keep a closed shop, but all he had said was that she was suffering from shock. Well, Jonny could have fucking told the doctor that much, and he wouldn’t have charged five grand. But the doctor had given her some happy pills and some sleeping tablets – both of which Jonny could have purchased in any pub in London for a millionth of the price – and sent them on their way. Still, Jonny felt better for having done something for her.
It was Cynthia who was on his mind, though – and the fact that she had taken Bryant out in such an audacious way. She had shown her mettle and, even though she had been an outcast over her last carry-on, she was now number one in everyone’s books. She had more than redeemed herself; she had killed someone, and not just anyone either – she had killed the man who had been going after his wife, after Jonny P’s wife, and that counted for a lot in their world. She had been a ruthless and efficient killing machine and for some strange reason that turned him right on. He liked a bit of fire in a woman, and she had it in abundance. Cynthia was a stroppy mare, she was arrogant, and she was dangerous. All those things in a man would have been great, but in a female they were a worry. Females bled every month, they lived on their emotions, and they were as unreliable as a bent Filth, so what was the attraction suddenly?
