Bad Blood

by Kelleher, Casey

  Terry was a bloody coward. The O’Sheas knew it, she knew it, even Terry bloody knew it.

  Still, someone had to deal with these two.

  So, of course, as per usual, just like everything else, it was left to Kelly to deal with them.

  Micky and Jimmy O’Shea had properly shafted them. That was the way they played the game. Kelly knew that now. She’d been so desperate at the time that she hadn’t looked properly at the bigger picture.

  She and Terry had only borrowed a few grand to start off with. The O’Sheas had been their last port of call; unable to get credit anywhere else, they were in so much debt that they had no choice but to approach Southwark’s most infamous loan sharks. Of course, Micky and Jimmy had been only too glad to help them out.

  Friendly, polite, Kelly had thought that maybe she’d heard wrong regarding the rumours about the two brothers. They couldn’t have been more charming if they had tried. Even when Terry had been short with the first instalment, they generously offered to top the loan up, without Kelly even needing to ask. They had been so helpful. Kelly should have realised right then and there what they were playing at. Instead she’d been so grateful at being able to pay off their debts, put food in the cupboards and to finally get the kids new school uniforms instead of the raggy hand-me-downs they’d both been wearing – castoffs from one of the neighbour’s kids – that she hadn’t realised until it was too late; that was how they got you.

  It had all sounded so simple, so easy.

  Of course, it had all been part of their ploy. It was how they sucked people like her and Terry in. The O’Sheas were only making sure that they stuck them with even more debt. Borrowing way more than they could afford, they couldn’t make the repayments.

  The two brothers had said that they hated to incur late fees, and extra penalties to the unpaid debt, but that they’d been left with no choice.

  They’d both played right into the O’Shea brothers’ dirty, greedy hands.

  The original three-grand debt they’d incurred had somehow very rapidly turned into one of ten grand, and that was when Kelly had realised that the O’Sheas had her and Terry right where they wanted them. Buried up to their necks.

  The two brothers had turned nasty very quickly. They were bullies. Turning up at all sorts of times, day and night, it was all just a game to them. Kelly was at her wits’ end trying to cope under the strain of it all. They could only afford to pay them three hundred pounds a month, but even that was a large chunk of Terry’s wages and it was not only crippling them financially, but it was also proving to be getting them nowhere, and fast.

  At this rate they were going to be stuck with the O’Sheas turning up on their doorstep and threatening them forever.

  ‘Terry gets paid tomorrow night. I promise, as soon as we have it, it’s yours.’ Shooting Terry a dirty look as she spoke, Kelly was fuming with her husband. Terry needed to man the fuck up.

  Seeing his wife’s face flash with anger, Terry cleared his throat and finally spoke up. ‘Two days, max, and I promise, I’ll have your money.’

  Micky shook his head. Looking around the lounge he was stood in, it was clear that these two didn’t have a pot to piss in. He couldn’t even remove anything of any value from the property; these two had fuck all worth taking. Their house looked like a dump; they lived in squalor. The carpet was filthy dirty, and Micky could see bits of dried food that had been mashed into the fibres, along with what looked like bits of trodden-in crayon. There were no fancy stereo systems, no game consoles, but that wasn’t the O’Sheas’ problem. Like other people in this area they were living on the breadline, sponging off the system for help while working on the sly to make ends meet. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. These were the type of people that the O’Sheas counted on. Desperate people like these two who had no choice but to borrow from them, and no backup from anyone worth worrying about when they couldn’t afford to pay the money back. It was dog-eat-dog out there, and the O’Sheas were hungry for a bite.

  ‘Two more days is a bit of a pain in the arse for us, as it happens. Time is money and all that.’

  Then, staring at his brother, Micky raised his eyes questioningly to upstairs. ‘Think we need to seek out a bit of insurance for tonight, don’t you, Jimmy?’

  Jimmy nodded. He knew exactly what his brother was hinting at. They needed to put the shits up these two fuckers, else they’d keep getting fobbed off. Jimmy didn’t have time for any more of that shit.

  As the younger of the two brothers, Jimmy may have been the shorter of the two, all by a good few inches, but what Jimmy lacked in height he more than made up for in bulk and temper. His body was ripped; his muscles were so inflated he looked like he’d had a bicycle pump shoved up his arse. He was good looking too, the complete opposite to Micky. Rake thin and lanky, Micky had suffered for years with severe acne, and his skin was puckered and scarred.

  Looks were the only ways that the two men differed, though. Personality-wise, they were two of the same. Sharing the same volcanic temperament, and zero tolerance for bullshit – it was why they worked so well together.

  Jimmy looked at Micky, who nodded in agreement. Micky was right, these two had been coming out with excuses left, right and centre. They needed a warning.

  ‘You, come with me.’ Indicating towards the stairs, Jimmy instructed Kelly to go ahead of him. ‘Keep that fucker down here.’

  Micky nodded and smiled.

  Jimmy was a ruthless little bastard when he wanted to be, and these two needed to be taught an important lesson. No matter how skint they were, they owed them money. They needed to pay up.

  ‘Please, no,’ Kelly cried. The kids were upstairs, and after seeing the looks that the two brothers exchanged, she was petrified of what Jimmy might do to her. They’d never tried anything like this before, but then, she guessed she had been pushing her luck by not keeping up to date with the repayments lately. Maybe she really had pushed them too far.

  ‘No fucking way.’ Terry finally spoke up, as he lurched forward in pure panic, trying to stop Jimmy as he forcibly grabbed hold of Kelly by her arm and marched her out of the room.

  Scared, Terry felt out of his depth now. He had two monsters standing in his house.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Grabbing Terry by his throat, Micky threw him up against the wall. Pinned up against it, Terry could feel Micky’s bony fingers digging into his windpipe as he squeezed. Micky was strong. Too strong for Terry. Even at almost fourteen stone, Terry could feel his feet dangling several inches above the floor.

  Spluttering, Terry desperately struggled for breath.

  Micky, seeing the man’s face turn puce, smiled. He finally let him go, throwing him across the room as he did.

  Grinning, Micky stared at him. ‘Let’s hope your wife don’t play so hard to get.’

  Yanking Kelly into the bedroom, Jimmy flung her down violently onto the bed. Whacking her head off the headboard, Kelly scampered backwards to get away.

  ‘Please, my kids are in the next room,’ Kelly begged now. Huddled in the corner with her knees drawn up in front of her to protect herself, she was wearing one of those cheap velour imitation tracksuits that you could buy down at the local market. Juicy Couture knockoffs that were becoming mandatory uniform with skanks living on benefits in Southwark.

  Turning his nose up in disgust at her, Jimmy walked around the room.

  The room stank worse than the rest of the house. No wonder it reeked, he thought, as he took in the dirty bed sheets, tinged with yellow stains.

  Stepping over piles of dirty clothes and underwear, he couldn’t believe that people actually lived like this. Like dirty fucking animals. No-one was too poor to clean. There was just no excuse for it. These people were just pure lazy.

  Pulling out the drawers and rooting through the wardrobes, Jimmy ransacked the room, throwing all the contents everyw
here as he went, as if he was searching for something.

  Though finding anything in this shit pit would be a challenge even for him.

  He was working himself up into a rage, dragging all the clothes from the cupboards, and as he leant down, Kelly could see the large protruding vein throbbing on the side of his forehead. He looked like a man possessed. She had no idea what he thought he might find, but she also had no intention of asking either.

  She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  Sweeping the top of the dressing table with his arm, Jimmy sent her basket of make-up flying to the floor.

  There was nothing up here but junk.

  Prising open the dressing table drawer, he wasn’t holding out much hope of finding anything as he continued to search through all the crap that was shoved inside.

  Then he found something. Stuffed right at the back, almost as if it was hidden, Jimmy pulled out the small white jewellery box.

  Bingo.

  Opening it, he fingered the antique gold brooch delicately in his hand. The chances of the vibrant green gem that sat so prominently in its centre being a real emerald were slim to anorexic, he thought, considering the household he had found it in. But when he took a closer look he thought it was actually a genuine piece. The markings on the gold were a good indication of that, and if it was real then he was sure that he’d get a few grand for it at least. Though he wouldn’t tell this bitch that.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.

  Kelly shrugged. She didn’t want to tell Jimmy that the brooch had belonged to her late mum. It was the only thing she had of hers; Jimmy would love that, wouldn’t he? Taking away her last treasured possession to teach her a lesson.

  ‘Just from one of the stalls over at Brick Lane Market. Only paid a couple of quid for it. Just junk, really,’ Kelly lied, hoping that he’d fall for her yarn, and put it back in the box. No matter how desperate times had got, Kelly had never once even considered trading her mother’s jewellery in. She’d even stuffed the box at the back of the dresser, under the rest of the junk, thinking that the O’Sheas would probably dismiss it as nothing.

  She could tell that Jimmy didn’t believe her. Instead, he held it up to the light inspecting it more closely. Squinting, he eyed the markings on the back of the brooch by the clasp: eighteen carats. The brooch didn’t look like junk, and he could tell by Kelly’s stony face that she was lying. Kelly was the type who knew the price of everything and the value of nothing.

  Throwing the empty box down on the floor with the rest of the crap, he shoved the piece of jewellery into his pocket.

  ‘Please, don’t take it.’ Suddenly realising that he was going to take it anyway, Kelly begged now. If Jimmy took it, she’d never get it back. She had no choice but to try to plead with him. ‘It was my mum’s; it’s all I have left of her. Please . . .’ Kelly had found it down behind her mum’s dresser the day after she’d found out that her mother had died. She hadn’t told a soul that she’d taken it. Brooches weren’t exactly the fashion anymore, but something about it had made Kelly want to keep it, though she never recalled her mother wearing it. Still, it was beautiful, just like her mum had been, and the little trinket was the only thing that Kelly wanted to remember her by.

  Watching as Jimmy turned towards her, for a second she thought that maybe he was considering giving it back, but as she watched him roam her body with his eyes, then lurch forward towards her, leaning on the bed, Kelly’s eyes widened in horror. As he leapt across to where she was sitting, Kelly rapidly tried to propel herself away from him, but Jimmy was too strong. Grabbing her by the leg he pulled her roughly across the bed, back towards him.

  ‘No, please don’t. Please don’t do this . . .’ Kelly screamed as she felt Jimmy manhandling her; his grip was strong and she couldn’t shake him off.

  Hoisting her up, Jimmy snatched at her hands. Grasping them tightly, he wrenched both her wedding and engagement rings off her finger in one swift, rough movement, snapping Kelly’s finger back as he did so.

  Kelly screamed in pain as the bone cracked.

  He’d broken her finger.

  Standing up, Jimmy laughed at Kelly in disgust. ‘What? You didn’t seriously think I was going to rape you, did you? Leave it out! Have you seen the fucking state of yourself? I’d have to be fucking desperate.’

  Jimmy reckoned that Kelly couldn’t have been more than early twenties, but overweight, and reeking of stale body odour, the girl was a fat lazy slob. He might be a ruthless bastard, but sex to him was all about pleasure, and fucking Kelly would have been about as pleasurable as sticking his cock in a rusty blender.

  Kelly and her husband were both scum as far as he was concerned. Popping out kids when they clearly couldn’t afford them, and borrowing money that they couldn’t pay back, without thinking about the consequences.

  They both seemed to be set on learning the hard way.

  Well, so be it. Jimmy was happy to dish out their education.

  Tapping his pocket, triumphant that he’d at least salvaged something from tonight’s visit, Jimmy stood and gave the girl a final warning stare. ‘Two days, and if you ain’t got our money by then, I’m going to break your husband’s legs and burn this fucking house down to the ground. Do you fucking understand?’

  Jimmy’s cold eyes glistened as he spoke. Nodding, Kelly gulped down the sob in the back of her throat.

  She was under no illusions that Jimmy O’Shea meant every word.

  Chapter Three

  Molly Walters was having a bitch of a day. Not only had Heaven called in sick at the last minute with a tummy bug that was doing the rounds, and royally left her in the shit, but this new girl Shanece was getting right on her tits. The boss had insisted that everything must go smoothly today, but he hadn’t factored in lumping her with this brain-dead bimbo.

  Molly normally recruited the girls, but there was always the odd exception, especially if her boss Raymond Marks set his eyes on what he deemed as hot pussy while he was out on his travels. That was exactly what she suspected had happened here.

  Raymond was as predictable as men come. Shanece looked exactly his type, too. A walking, talking sex doll with the IQ of a goldfish. The girl was easy on the eye and even easier on the brain cells, and Molly would put money on the fact that Raymond would have been in his element with that combination. At least until he’d put his dick back in his pants.

  Molly had seen all sorts of girls come through these doors over the years, but this one was so plastic that Molly was surprised the girl didn’t have a tag on the back of her neck saying ‘Made in Taiwan’. Not only did she have the standard huge breast implants and heavily injected trout pout that Raymond went for, but she also had fake eyelashes, a bright orange fake tan, and bright red fake talon nails. In fact, looking at the girl closely like she was now, it would have actually been quicker for her to list the bits that weren’t fake. Raymond must have taken one look at Shanece grinding around a pole in some dingy little bar somewhere and thought nothing of poaching her for himself. Without so much as a second thought, it seemed.

  She’d put her wages on the fact that he had probably completely sidelined any kind of interview, and just gone straight in for the oral examination. For quality control purposes, of course. Raymond was always professional like that.

  Already bored with the girl, he’d done what he always did and palmed her off here for Molly to deal with. The girl was clueless as to Raymond’s way of thinking. Oblivious that Raymond had only wanted her for a quick fuck, and now he was done he was going to get her to pull him in some serious money with the punters, the dappy cow was probably still under the illusion that she was the current flavour of the month. Some girls were always the same. Raymond told them they were special, and they fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. If Shanece hadn’t been so annoying Molly might have almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

 
‘I was only gone for twenty minutes, Shanece. How have you managed to double book the diary already? Look. Mr. Sanders and Mr. Dobbs are both due in now at the same time, and it’s physically impossible. There are no girls available, and as good as you think you are in the sack, sweetie, you’ve only been blessed with one fanny. So that leaves us with a problem. And I haven’t got any numbers to call them back on, so it’s going to be me that deals with them when they both show up.’

  Shanece continued to chew her gum loudly as she stared blankly at the computer screen in front of her, trying to figure out how she’d managed to make yet another double booking. ‘Oh yeah. I’m not very good with all this “technology” stuff. All these columns in the diary send me into a right tizz. I thought Jasmine or Dahlia were free. Look, it says here that they are both booked in with the same guy. Isn’t that a mistake too then?’

  ‘No. There’s no mistake. The girls are both booked in for the “Double Delight” package with Mr. Curtis at two o’clock. It’s been prearranged especially. But you’re right, Shanece, it must have been very confusing for you. Especially as that booking was written in capital letters and highlighted in bloody bold font.’

  ‘Yeah, it should be clearer.’ Shanece smiled, Molly’s sarcasm totally lost on her.

  Molly was beyond pissed off. Raymond would go nuts if she messed things up now at the last hurdle.

  She didn’t have a clue what her boss was up to, but all she did know was that she had gone above and beyond her normal madam duties with this punter.

  And now, finally, after weeks of trying to set it all up, Mr. Curtis was on his way to the parlour for some serious VIP treatment. Raymond wanted the client to be treated like royalty from the moment he arrived; he wanted the girls to make him feel so comfortable that he forgot he was in a brothel. He wanted Mr. Curtis to think he was some kind of a sex god so that he would lose his inhibitions and really get into the whole experience. And other than Molly arranging Raymond to come here and personally suck the guy’s dick himself, she’d pulled out all the stops, overcompensating by giving him her two best girls. If Jasmine and Dahlia didn’t ‘do it’ for him, then the guy would have to be either gay or dead.