East End Trouble

by Dani Oakley

  Henry drummed the two fingers of his disfigured hand on the dining table. He was feeling impatient, and he didn’t like being kept in the dark any more than Red-haired Freddie. The difference was Henry didn’t make a song and dance about it. There wasn’t any point.

  “You don’t think it’s a setup, do you?” Red-haired Freddie asked. “I mean, we don’t even know how many of Carter’s men are going to turn up. We could be outnumbered.”

  Henry let Freddie mutter on and on and wished he could tune him out.

  People reacted differently when they were nervous. You had people like Red-haired Freddie, who rabbited on and on, finding comfort in talking constantly. Henry was different. He liked silence.

  The way he looked at it was, they had a job to do, and it was as simple as that.

  * * *

  Bernadette Shaw, known to everyone in the locality as Bernie, was having a terrible night. She’d only been at work for an hour or so when some idiot vomited all over the men’s toilets. In Bernie’s opinion, if a man couldn’t hold his drink, he shouldn’t be allowed so much as a sip.

  Then there was the fact she was working with Clara tonight, the barmaid who was about as much use as a chocolate teapot. The dozy mare was pretty to look at, all tits and teeth, but it took her five minutes to serve just one customer.

  Of course, the landlord loved her, the dirty old pervert.

  Bernie was good at her job. She took pride in being quick and efficient. It might not take a genius to work behind a bar, but working next to someone like Clara reminded her just how much she was undervalued.

  The landlord, being a typical man, thought the only qualification a barmaid needed was a pretty face and a large pair of breasts.

  That was all well and good when they only had a few customers, but when the pub started to fill up and got busier, the customers weren’t quite so happy to wait for their beer. Thanks to Clara’s inability to do her job, Bernadette had been running around like a headless chicken all night and her feet were killing her.

  She couldn’t wait to get home, kick off her shoes and get back to her kids.

  She had just handed Mick his change when there was a loud crash at the other end of the bar. She turned around to seek Clara had managed to drop a pint glass full of beer all over the floor.

  As Bernie made her way over, Clara leant down and began to try to pick up the shards of the glass with her bare hands. She definitely wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box. A split second later, Clara cursed and cradled her hand. She’d cut it on the glass. No surprise there, Bernie thought.

  Bernie rolled her eyes and handed Clara a bar towel, and the girl wrapped it round her fingers to stop blood dripping on the floor. “Go and clean it up in the ladies,” Bernie said.

  As Clara walked out from the bar, Bernie turned her attention back to the customers. Old Bob waved at her from the other end of the bar and shouted out he was dying of thirst.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute,” Bernie said.

  Bernie was bending over behind the bar, mopping up the mess, when she heard the first gunshot.

  Chapter 16

  Charlie Williams was sweating. He was absolutely furious. He’d known deep down in his gut that Gary Carter couldn’t be trusted.

  Dave had specifically told them that they were not to use violence tonight. But Gary obviously thought he knew better. As soon as they had burst through the doors, Gary held his gun in the air, laughed like a madman and started firing at the ceiling.

  The lights went out immediately, and the pub was full of shouting and screaming and people trying to run for safety.

  It was chaos.

  The Old Bill would be here in no time. It was a right royal cock-up.

  Charlie looked around, desperately trying to make sense of what was going on. His ears were ringing from the gunshots, and it was so difficult to see in the dark. He tried to make his way towards the bar but tripped on an overturned table and went flying.

  As he scrambled to his feet, the only person he could make out clearly was Gary Carter, who was standing a few feet away grinning like a madman. Charlie would have liked to smack the smirk off his face. Gary might be Dave Carter’s brother, but the man was an idiot.

  Charlie was so distracted by Gary and the punters running around that he didn’t even see the other men burst into the bar until it was too late.

  In a split second, Charlie noticed the smile dropped from Gary’s face.

  Gary held up his gun in front of him and tried to fire again, but nothing happened. The stupid bastard had used up all his bullets shooting out the lights.

  Charlie raised his gun, but he couldn’t fire. He couldn’t see who was who and the last thing he wanted was to shoot some poor bugger who had nothing to do with the Morton and Carter feud.

  All of a sudden, Charlie was tackled from behind, and he went tumbling over. He hit his head hard on a wooden chair leg. His gun went flying and came to a stop underneath a table a few feet away.

  Charlie shuffled forward on his hands and knees and tried to dive for the gun. But he was too late.

  He heard the crack of another gunshot and felt a searing pain shoot up his leg.

  It was pandemonium in the bar now. People were screaming and jumping over him. One person actually trod on his back in their panic to get away.

  Charlie turned his head and saw Gary. This time, he was by the door. Charlie reached out to him and shouted, “Help me. I’ve been shot.”

  Gary looked down at him. He blinked and hesitated for a moment and then he legged it out of the door, leaving Charlie sprawled out on the floor.

  Charlie knew he was on his own now. He had no idea where Brian had gone, but he had likely followed Gary’s example and done a runner. Charlie put a shaking hand on his thigh, and when he lifted it up, he moaned in terror. Even in the dark, he could see that his fingers were covered with blood.

  His head swam, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he passed out. All of a sudden, he saw Red-haired Freddie looming over him, his face only inches from Charlie’s.

  A single thought worked its way through Charlie’s jumbled mind – how had they known?

  Charlie heard a voice above him. “Did you see Gary Carter? The big girl’s blouse scarpered. Haha, the big brave Gary Carter, don’t make me laugh.”

  * * *

  When Charlie regained consciousness, it was still dark, and it took him a minute to realise he was outside. The night was cold, and he shivered convulsively. He was lying on something, but he couldn’t quite work out what it is. It smelled terrible, though. Like rotting fish.

  The bastards had dumped him and left him here to bleed out in a deserted alleyway.

  It took all the effort he could muster to push himself up into a sitting position, and as the floor seemed to shift beneath him, he realised he was lying on a pile of rubbish. He looked around wildly, trying to gain some idea of where he was.

  His leg was throbbing, and his trousers were soaked with blood. Each time he moved, the pain in his leg was close to unbearable.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but it was still dark, and against all odds, he was still alive. He reached into his shirt and held his gold crucifix between his thumb and forefinger. He thanked God he was still breathing.

  But he wouldn’t be for long if he stayed here. He needed to get help, and to do that, he needed to reach somewhere more populated than this stinking alleyway.

  His arms and legs were shaking as he struggled to a standing position, and his leg screamed in pain as he put weight on it. He looked up and down the alley to try and work out which way to go. It looked like the alley ran along the back of a row of restaurants. In the distance, he could hear the murmur of people’s voices and the muffled sound of some sort of music.

  Charlie decided to head for the source of the noise. That would be his best chance of getting help. He staggered along the alley, which seem never-ending, and when he finally walked out onto the main road, he had to sto
p and lean against a brick wall to catch his breath.

  He was so close now. He could see the illuminated front of an Italian restaurant. He could make out the candles and white and red chequered tablecloths. If he could just get closer…

  He staggered on. He let out a shaky breath when he reached the large glass windows at the front of the restaurant and put his palm flat against the glass before banging on it loudly.

  All the faces in the restaurant turned to look at him, but everything seemed to swim before his eyes. At that moment, Charlie’s legs gave way under him, and he fell to the ground.

  Chapter 17

  Kathleen Diamond knocked on Linda’s front door, and Linda’s mother answered.

  “Hello, Mrs. Simpson. Is Linda at home, please?”

  Linda’s mother was the image of her daughter. She smiled at Kathleen, and her chubby cheeks dimpled.

  Kathleen tried to smile back, but it wasn’t easy. She felt like crying. Mrs. Simpson put a hand on Kathleen’s arm. “We are just about to sit down for dinner, dear, are you all right? Why don’t you come in and have a bit to eat, eh? You look practically dead on your feet. Have they been working you too hard at Bevels?”

  Kathleen felt trapped. She couldn’t imagine eating anything in her current state, but she didn’t want to raise anyone’s suspicions, least of all Linda’s parents. So she followed Mrs. Simpson through into the hot kitchen and sat down beside Linda at the large kitchen table.

  Linda’s eyes widened as she saw her friend. She hadn’t been expecting Kathleen’s visit.

  Mr. Simpson was a tall, thin, reserved man, who listened to his wife and children chatter on without adding to the conversation himself. Linda’s younger brother Christopher took after his father in looks, but as he gabbled on like his mother and sister, Kathleen wished he took after his father in personality too.

  It was torture sitting through dinner with Linda’s family when all she really wanted to do was confide in her friend and talk things over in private. Instead, they had to talk about mundane things like the weather and the new girl who’d started at Bevels last week.

  Linda’s mother piled Kathleen’s plate full of steak and kidney pudding, carrots and cabbage. Kathleen did her best to make some headway into the huge portion, but every mouthful seemed to get stuck in her throat.

  When Linda accepted a second serving of the steak and kidney pudding, Kathleen shot her friend an angry look.

  What was Linda playing at?

  Finally, Linda sat back from the table and put her knife and fork together. “Is it okay if I do the dishes later, Mum? I want to go and show Kathleen the new record I bought last week.”

  Linda’s mother pursed her lips, and for a moment, Kathleen thought she was going to say no, but after a moment, she nodded her head. “All right, Christopher can do the dishes tonight.”

  Christopher, Linda’s twelve-year-old brother, did not like that idea much at all. “That’s not fair. I did them last night.”

  “I’ll do them tomorrow and the night after,” Linda promised her brother and then stood up before her mother could change her mind.

  Kathleen thanked the Simpsons for dinner and followed Linda upstairs.

  As soon as they’d reached Linda’s bedroom, Linda shut the door and looked up at Kathleen.

  “Well, did you get the result?” Linda asked.

  Kathleen nodded sadly. “Yes, I’m pregnant. What am I going to do, Linda? My mum is going to kill me.”

  Now that she had actually told someone the news, it was like a dam had opened, and Kathleen began to sob.

  Linda put an arm around her friend. “Don’t cry, Kath. We’ll sort something out. Things will work out in the end.”

  * * *

  When Charlie Williams woke up in the hospital, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

  A gorgeous nurse, with strawberry blonde curls, who looked just like an angel, leaned over him, holding a thermometer.

  He grinned up at her. “Hello, sweetheart.”

  A smile twitched on the nurses’ mouth.

  “Ah, I see you’re finally awake,” she said. “No, don’t try and sit up. You’ll feel very weak for a while. I’m just going to go and find the ward sister and tell her you’re back with us.”

  As she walked away, Charlie admired the view. Perhaps things weren’t so bad after all. He shifted in bed, and then wished he hadn’t. A sharp pain shot up his leg and made it feel like it was on fire.

  The sunlight streaming in through the large windows at the end of the ward told Charlie he’d made it through the night.

  “So, what are you in for?” a voice asked.

  Charlie turned and saw the man in the bed next to him had spoken and was looking at him curiously.

  What should Charlie say? He needed to make up a good story and fast. Although, he could hardly pretend he hadn’t been shot. No doubt, the doctors would have found the bullet embedded in his leg.

  He decided to test a story on the patient next to him.

  “I got shot,” Charlie said. “Some nasty piece of work cornered me in an alley.”

  The old man’s eyes widened. And then he nodded as if he’d expected as much. “It doesn’t surprise me. The country is going to the dogs,” he said. “I blame the immigrants. Was it an immigrant who shot you?”

  Charlie shook his head. “It was dark. Couldn’t see.”

  “You poor bastard. You were lucky they just got you in the leg.”

  Charlie nodded, but he didn’t feel particularly lucky. Especially knowing that those bastards, Red-haired Freddie and Henry the Hand, had dumped him on a pile of rubbish and left him to die.

  “I’m in for my prostate,” the man said. “Been giving me gyp for years, it has.”

  Charlie nodded absent-mindedly. His mind was still on his own problems.

  “Gave me the fright of my life when the doctor stuck a finger up me bum. I nearly had a heart attack. I thought he was a wooly woofter, but then he told me that’s the way they have to check it these days. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I told him if it stops me needing a jimmy every five minutes, he could carry on.”

  Charlie let the man’s voice drone on as he focused on what he would have to do next. He needed to get out of there as soon as possible. He bloody hated hospitals. They smelt funny.

  Charlie smiled as he saw the pretty nurse walking back towards him. He supposed there were some benefits to being in the hospital.

  Maybe his luck was in, and he’d get a sponge bath later. Unfortunately for Charlie, the nurse didn’t mention anything about a sponge bath. Instead, she delivered some bad news.

  “The police are here. If you feel strong enough, they’d like to talk to you about what happened.”

  Charlie thought about pretending he wasn’t strong enough, but then perhaps that might make him look guilty. Also, he would prefer just to get it over with. In his experience, it was best to get it all done and dusted as fast as possible. The Old Bill were probably just going through the motions anyway.

  “Absolutely,” Charlie said. “Anything to help catch the person who did this.” Charlie almost smiled. He should have had a career on the stage. He’d almost convinced himself he was an indignant victim of a mugging.

  After a moment, a policeman entered the ward and took a seat in the chair beside Charlie’s bed. He had a long face and a tightly pinched mouth. His forehead was creased with lines from perpetual frowning.

  “I’m Inspector Peel. I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Williams. Perhaps we can begin with you telling me what you were doing last night?”

  That got Charlie’s back up straightaway. He was the innocent victim in all this. Why did it matter what he’d been doing last night?

  “I was heading to a restaurant,” Charlie said. “I thought I’d take a quick shortcut through the alley, but when I did, I saw a man with a gun and he shot me in the leg.”

  Charlie waited to see the reaction on the policeman’s face. Would he fall for it?
But Inspector Peel’s face remained impassive.

  “Did you have a reservation at the restaurant.”

  Charlie blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. “Well, no, but I thought I might get lucky and score a table.”

  “So you’re telling me this was a mugging?”

  Charlie resisted the temptation to say something sarcastic. He was the bleeding copper. Did he always expect the victims to spell things out and do his job for him?

  “Yes,” Charlie said nodding. “That’s right he was a mugger.”

  “It was very odd that he didn’t take your wallet then, wasn’t it, sir?”

  Charlie paused. He would have to be more careful. This bloke wasn’t as dumb as he looked.

  “Well, I think it was an attempted mugging. I wouldn’t hand over my wallet, that’s when he shot me. I think he panicked after the gun went off. He disappeared.”

  “So, you were shot in the alley behind Giuseppe’s restaurant?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.” He couldn’t remember what the restaurant had been called. Funnily enough, he’d had other things on his mind last night.

  The policeman pulled a pencil from his pocket and wrote something in his notebook. Charlie couldn’t quite make it out.

  “It’s strange then, isn’t it?” Inspector Peel raised an eyebrow.

  Charlie frowned. “What’s strange?”

  It was too hot in the hospital. The sweat was running off him. Charlie pushed back the bedsheets.

  “The fact that nobody heard a gunshot. There are numerous restaurants along that road, and nobody heard a thing. I find that very strange.”

  Charlie didn’t like where this was heading. He was being treated like a suspect, not a victim.

  “So,” the policeman said. “Were you going to eat alone at the restaurant?”

  Inspector Peel was trying to find holes in the story, and Charlie had to admit it did look a bit strange that he was going to a fancy Italian restaurant to eat on his own.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie leaned forward and beckoned for the policeman to move closer. “I wanted to try my luck with one of the waitresses. She was a right looker.” He winked. “Know what I mean?”