She stepped forward and laid her palms softly against his chest. Then playfully shoved him back. ‘Knob off Tarquin.’
They both laughed. ‘The name’s Mike, as you well know,’ he informed her. ‘Got a little prezzie for you.’ He handed her a small plastic bag with some blue pills in. Despite working in the City he was also her main supplier of speed.
‘Cheers babe.’ Her hand closed around the bag.
Once she was back inside her drum she turned her attention to the letter. Bloody hell, as if she needed another one. But she calmed down when she saw who it was from.
A V.O. from her mum. It must’ve been hanging around in lover boy’s place for a week because it was a visiting order for tomorrow. A slow smile spread across her face. If Tommo and Errol came looking for her she’d be in the one place they’d never find her – behind bars.
Five
‘Blimey O’Reilly, mate. What have you got hidden in here – a dead body?’
One of the guys loading Kieran’s furniture into a huge storage warehouse was in a jovial mood as he huffed with the weight of the sofa.
Kieran wasn’t, but he pretended to be. ‘Yeah – one of the reasons I killed the wife was coz the bitch wouldn’t go on a diet. Stuffed her in the sofa.’
‘Like a bit of meat on the bone myself,’ chuckled the other man.
‘Yeah,’ added the first mover as his shoulders shook.
If both men only knew what was inside the sofa they wouldn’t be creasing up. Kieran knew he’d had a lucky escape during the robbery. Now he was nervy that his luck might not hold. He’d driven the van to a yard he owned in the burbs before stowing the gold away in some old furniture for a few nights. Now he’d brought the stuff to a storage unit off the M25. The guy who’d organised the raid had promised him it would only have to be there for a couple of days while he sorted out somewhere more secure. But there was no sign where that was going to be. Kieran didn’t like it. It was sloppy and he didn’t like sloppy.
One of the storage guys asked him, ‘Moving house then?’
‘Maybe.’
Kieran gazed at the bloke suspiciously. Innocent question? Or were these boys primed to ask that sort of thing and then report back to the higher-ups if they heard anything iffy? He looked around. There was CCTV everywhere. He pulled his baseball cap down lower over his eyes. He was taking a hell of a chance here.
The man kept it zipped after that and the two guys carried on loading and unloading. If the flimsy sofa or armchair came apart and tipped gold out all over the joint, he would be sunk. Kieran even thought about offering to do the work himself but he knew how odd that would appear. Instead, he lit a B&H and winced every time something was roughly handled or bashed about. He walked away ten paces. There was nothing he could do now except keep his fingers crossed.
He went into red alert mode when he heard a helicopter flying low and slow overhead. He peered hard trying to see if it had police markings down the side. He checked out the surroundings again and this time clocked a car parked awkwardly with no sign of a driver or passengers. It was quite possible the cops were tailing him already and knew he had the loot. Perhaps they were biding their time to see who he contacted and where he went before moving in.
The bastards.
‘Alright mate? We’re done.’
Kieran turned back. The container was sealed up and a forklift truck moved in to shift it to the warehouse. The helicopter disappeared over the horizon and a woman appeared, got into the parked car and drove off. Another risk taken and another risk he’d got away with.
When he started in the underworld, the top Cockney crim who’d helped him get started, and who was always ‘the guvnor’ to him, gave him a piece of advice. ‘Tell me mate – are you lucky? Do you win raffles and that? Do tasty birds bump into your motor by accident and then say yes when you ask them out? Do you get dealt flushes in card games? Because let me tell you something – you need to be a bit lucky in this line of business. And brave. Fortune favours the brave.’
Kieran Scott had already proved he was lucky and brave. Since he was little he’d been eager to show the world he was more than the smelly, neglected kid who’d grown up on The Devil. He’d charged through life on a one-way high-speed train to get to the top. He’d carved out a fearsome slice of the underworld years back, and although there would be major ructions if people took liberties, he still hadn’t managed to break into the real elite. You had to have done something daring, risky, off-the-scale legendary to earn a place in that club. To become the type of bad boy that people whispered about for donkey’s years.
The big boys would have to deal with him now, whether they liked it or not. Just thinking about his accomplishments made him puff out his chest with pride. If that bitch of a mum of his was still on this earth he’d smother her slag face right in it. She used to scream at him, her gin flavoured spit hitting him left, right and centre, roaring at him that he was a good-for-nothing heading for the rubbish heap. Then she’d viciously turn the knife by yelling at him that the only reason he’d come into this world was because the abortionist had ripped her off with cough syrup instead of the meds she’d given a whole month’s wages for. Kieran gritted his teeth. ‘Well, here I am bitch, alive and kicking, about to prove how wrong you were.’
Behind the bluster he acknowledged he had to be careful about going around playing the big geezer. As soon as his name was in the frame for the job there’d be some just waiting to work him over. That was his most pressing concern.
But he had the gold and they didn’t.
He was smart too. He knew sooner or later your luck always runs out. That was why, after years as one of London’s second-tier villains, he’d invested his winnings in legitimate businesses and property while cutting down on the dodgy stuff. If anyone else had asked him to do a job as risky as this one, he’d have turned them down flat. But this wasn’t anyone else. This was his underworld mentor, one of London’s premier guys, the one who’d given him his first leg up; and he’d promised the gig was too good to turn down.
‘I’m telling you Kieran, this is a big one. It’s a private vault and I know the place inside out. The gear I want is in a strong room there and I can build you a model of the place and send you straight to it. I’ll take care of all the paperwork afterwards and then cut you in.’
‘I dunno guvnor. That’s not really my thing anymore.’
‘Not your thing? Are you nuts? We’re talking millions here mate. And the place is so dodgy, they probably won’t even call the law.’
When Kieran had said nothing, his mentor had continued, ‘I’ll tell you what mate, I’ll come up to that club of yours and we can have a game of snooker and a snifter and I’ll do you a little presentation. It’s too good an opportunity to miss – I’d do it myself but that would give the game away.’
After their meeting, he’d agreed to put a team together and do the job.
When his container was loaded, he went into the office and collected his receipt using fake ID. He drove off in the empty van, cruising around for a while to make sure he wasn’t being followed before pulling into a layby to make a call to the guvnor. He simply said, ‘Job done.’
‘Good boy. Any problems?’
Kieran didn’t want to admit his crew had run out on him. It made him sound like an amateur. In a way he was glad. He didn’t owe the rats anything now.
‘No. It was sweet.’
‘Is the stuff stowed away?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Alright then, leave it with me and I’ll be in touch in a few days about moving it on.’
‘A few days? How long’s a few days? We need to get this gear in a secure bunker somewhere asap. You know what I mean?’
He’d struck the wrong note. There was a long silence before the guvnor said, ‘No, I don’t know what you mean. I told you a high value job like this takes a bit of sorting out. Leave it with me and I’ll tip you the wink. Now go up your club, down a couple and stop worrying. Alright?�
�
Kieran got the needle; he was being treated like a gofer. ‘Well, how about this then – I drop by your place and you put me in the picture?’
This time the delay on the other end was so long that Kieran thought the line had gone dead. When he came back on, the guvnor’s voice was raw with contempt. ‘There’s no picture to put you in. I told you from the start. Your role’s just to get in there and swipe the stuff. It’s up to me to sort out everything else. Disposing of a consignment like this is big boy’s games and, with the greatest of respect mate, it’s a bit above your pay grade, you understand? I mean, what’s the matter, don’t you trust me? Eh? I’m disappointed in you; I’ve always regarded you as a mate. I’m very, very disappointed.’
The line went properly dead.
Kieran sat back and stared out of the window. Of course he trusted the guvnor. This was still a bit rich though, him being treated like a bookie’s runner. And then he remembered something else. The wise words he’d been given on his first job.
‘Never forget, you can’t trust no one in this game. Everyone’s on the make and on the take. Anyone can have your trousers down in this line of work.’
Wise words indeed.
And they’d come from the guvnor.
Six
‘’Ere John, have you seen this?’ Dee Black yelled at her husband, who was in the kitchen.
Her dark eyes were glued to the late news on TV in the lounge of their large Essex house. She was leaning back on a sofa with an automatic footrest, wearing black leggings, a baggy T-shirt and Kors wedge sandals that showcased her black painted toenails. A box of luxury chocolates sat in her lap. ‘There’s been a massive blag near London. The cheeky beggers rammed a bulldozer through the gates of a depot and then escaped across country on motorbikes – can you believe that!’
She was a true crime addict and loved to see a gang using the route one method for nicking things: in and out, no mucking around. The initial reports on the telly had only mentioned that a sum of money had been stolen. Later, rumours circulated that the heist involved substantial takings but the police weren’t saying what was nicked. Now, a reporter standing at some distance from the smashed in gates said the law had confirmed what had really gone on. ‘Fucking hell! They’ve only made off with a load of gold bullion!’
When she got no response Dee popped another choccie in her mouth, punched the remote for the digi box to record the news and headed towards the kitchen. Her husband was making one of those health juices she had him on. She had him under a healthy lifestyle cosh, which included him taking up the two Js – jogging and juicing. He was fifty-three to her thirty-four and though the age difference hadn’t been that noticeable over the years, lately Dee thought he’d looked a bit ragged around the edges. She’d put him on a strict regime to get the pink back in his cheeks. Mind you, she’d caught him bang to rights the other day with a Big Mac, fries and strawberry shake smeared across his chops as he hid in his motor in the garage. Dee had gone ballistic and, with her finger jabbed in his startled face, had read him the riot act.
She entered the large kitchen but it was empty. She called, ‘John! Where the bloody hell are you?’
She wandered back into the hallway and briefly stopped in front of the large, framed picture of her cat, Banshee. Her poor babe had cocked up her whiskers a good year now and Dee hadn’t had the heart to replace her. Banshee had been a right madam when she wanted to be, especially when it came to sharing Dee with John, but she’d loved that cat with her whole heart. She sighed as she gazed at the fluffy puss in a tiny tiara and large pink bow. She might be long gone, but would never be forgotten.
Then Dee’s ears pricked up. She was sure she could hear John talking to someone. As far as she knew they didn’t have any visitors and their boy Nicky – her other pride and joy – was away at university. She followed John’s voice and found him whispering on his mobile in the snooker and bar room.
‘John, who you rabbiting away with?’
Startled, he twisted around so fast that if it hadn’t been for the bar propping him up he’d have fallen flat on his face. After he’d righted himself he coughed dramatically and spoke loudly into the phone. ‘Yeah mate . . . right you are. I’ll have my people onto it as soon as.’ Then he ended the call and said to Dee, ‘You alright doll?’
John might be knocking on, with his bald head, slight paunch and life-battered face, but Dee’s heart always gave a tiny hiccup of pleasure as she looked at him. She was reminded of when they’d met, all those years ago when he was the owner of the Alley Club in Soho. It might not have been love at first sight on her part but it hadn’t taken her long to realise he was the best thing to ever happen to her. He’d been a leading light of London’s underworld back then but that was all behind him now; he’d given up the life and gone legit.
And that’s what had Dee worried. Sure, John still had mates in that world but he kept his fingernails and cash clean these days, so why was he hiding next to the black-and-white photo of Henry Cooper and Muhammad Ali’s legendary ’63 heavyweight fight? With blood streaming from his eye the British boxer stood near a very young Muhammad Ali, who lay dazed on the ropes.
It was a strange thing what you noticed about people when you moved in with them. What Dee had clocked about John when he was still a known Face was that he liked to deal with serious business in private, right next to that photo. So why was he standing there now when he hadn’t been a paid-up member of that violent world for a good many years?
With determined steps she reached him and asked again, ‘Who were you talking to?’
The sudden red that stained his cheeks made her fears grow. He laid his mobile on the bar and fobbed her off with, ‘No one really. Just one of the lads from the golfing club.’
She wasn’t buying it and the knowing expression on her face told him so. She slapped her fists against her hips. ‘If you’re wetting your toe back in that business I’ll have your balls for brekkie tomorrow morning.’
He shook his head impatiently and scoffed, ‘As if!’ He leaned forward, kissed her on the lips, cupped her bum in his large hands and jerked her towards him. His breath tickled her neck as he crooned in her ear, ‘Know where I do fancy wetting my big toe—?’
He got no further as she laid her palms firmly against his chest and pushed indignantly out of his embrace. If he thought he could soft soap her with a touch up he had another think coming. She stabbed her finger at him and warned, ‘I mean it John, if those size elevens of yours are on the wonky path—’
He threw his hands in the air. ‘Alright, you’ve got me bang to rights.’ Dee felt her breath hitch with alarm. He continued, ‘I was organising a surprise slap-up dinner on a cruise down the Thames for your birthday next month. Satisfied? Now it ain’t much of a surprise anymore. That’s why I come in here, weren’t it, so you wouldn’t hear me making the arrangements.’
Dee’s face fell. She felt like a royal wanker. And then it lit up. Nothing made her squeal more than one of John’s B-day surprises. Last year he’d taken her for a fortnight to Spain to visit Uncle Frank, the man who had taken John under his wing when he was a nipper running wild in Bethnal Green. Now her suspicions had wrecked this year’s one.
She caressed his arm. ‘Aww, sorry babes. I just worry that you might miss being one of the big boys and go and do something stupid.’
‘No chance. The way I hear it it’s full of crazies now.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Why would I go back into business, I don’t need it now, do I?’
A rush of love and affection choked her up. She gave him a lingering kiss on the mouth and now it was her turn to feel up his behind.
After the kiss was finished he asked, ‘Did you want me for something?’
‘There’s only been an Ocean’s Eleven involving gold bars.’ She led him back into the lounge and hit the replay button so he could see the news report. In silence they both watched the footage of the taped-off bulldozer and its police guards outside the farmhouse where it ha
d been dumped. She was so wrapped up in the unfolding drama that she didn’t hear him slip over to the drinks cabinet and help himself to a stiff one.
Dee turned to him. ‘What’s that amount of yellow gonna be worth then?’
John thought for a long time before he sighed, ‘In the case of the boys who stole that loot, I’d say . . . absolutely fuck all.’
‘How do you figure that out?’
John walked around to his armchair and sat down, nursing his drink. ‘To get shot of a consignment like that, you need to know the right people who can get it smelted down, turned back into bars, stamped up and sold on. There’s only about a half dozen top Faces around who can do that and those tea leaves don’t know ’em.’
Dee didn’t get it. ‘How do you know they don’t?’
‘Coz I do know them and, if they were involved, I’d have heard about it. You can’t keep something like that secret. Word always leaks out. Nope, I’m afraid those numbskulls are gonna be stuck with their crates of golden goodies.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Although I suppose their old ladies might get a nice pair of 24 carat earrings out of it.’ He sipped his drink. ‘They might be able to use the gold as collateral in a drugs deal although even that’s doubtful. The law will be tearing the country apart on the hunt for them. Anyone with a brain won’t want nuthin to do with them. I admire their front of course but facts have to be faced – the mob who did that job are a bunch of idiots.’
‘What the hell’s that you’re drinking?’ Dee’s gaze zeroed in on his glass.
John looked sheepishly at it. ‘Oh, you know, just a Diet Coke . . .’
Dee sniffed. ‘Smells like a half gallon of brandy from where I’m sitting. What’s the matter with ya? The quack says you won’t be collecting the old age pension if you don’t change your diet and get some exercise, and you’re sitting there necking booze?’
Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series) Page 4
