She smiles up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “You have grown up.”
“Its taken all this to make me realise what I've got and I'm never letting you go again.”
She kisses him hard. “I love you.”
“I love you too, more than you'll ever know,” he replies, holding onto her for all he's worth.
Reluctantly she pulls away and picks up her bags. “It's time,” she says quietly.
She kisses him on the lips and opens the door. Before she steps through it she looks back at him and smiles. Then she is gone.
Danny sinks onto the bed with his head in his hands praying he can pull this off and that he will see his wife again.
“I will not,” shouts Dolores. “Rachel wouldn't like it and she's my gaffer, not you.”
Dolores can’t believe what she’s hearing. This idiot hasn't a clue. He might be the new head of the family but he doesn't know the first thing about running a nightclub. If they start watering down the spirits then they can kiss goodbye to their regular customers and he can't see it. However Dolores isn’t naïve enough to think it’s about the club. Terry wants rid of her and she knows she’s giving him all the excuse he needs but she can’t help herself. Terry glares at her ferociously and Dolores shuffles uncomfortably beneath his gaze but remains defiant.
“If you won't do as your told then you know what you can do,” he says nastily.
Her jaw drops open. “Are you sacking me?”
“Yeah.”
“You can't do that. Rachel's the boss, she won’t stand for it.”
“Well Rachel isn't here and when she is she'll do as I say. I'm head of the family now.”
Dolores stares back at him, unsure of what to do.
“Now get out before I throw you out,” he growls.
Dolores, knowing she is beaten, wanders round the back of the bar to collect her coat and bag, desperately trying to resist the temptation to throw a bottle at Terry's head.
“Put your coat back Dolores. You're not going anywhere.”
They all turn to see Rachel striding towards them, eyes black with anger and fixed on Terry.
“What the hell do you think you're doing Terry? You've absolutely no right to sack my staff.”
“She won’t do as she’s told.”
“And what won’t she do?”
“He wants me to start watering down the spirits,” exclaims Dolores.
Rachel glares at Terry. “And that's why she's my bar manager. She knows that would be a bloody silly thing to do.” Rachel regards him with a frown, hands on hips. “Frank never would have interfered, so why are you?” Her eyes search his for a reaction but he merely smiles.
“I'm only looking out for your interests Rach, that's all. I just wanted to save you some money.”
“Well I'm back now so you can leave us to it.”
He smiles but she detects the anger beneath the calm veneer. “As you wish.”
The two women watch him leave. When he’s gone Dolores sighs with relief. “Bloody hell Rach that was good timing. Thanks.”
“No problem and if he gives you or any of the staff any more hassle just let me know. I do the hiring and firing around here, not him.”
“Will do.” Dolores is reassured nevertheless Terry Maguire still intimidates her. “So, did you have a nice break?”
Rachel smiles thinly. “I did thanks. I even felt relaxed until I came back here.”
Frankie McVay is a tall slender man with neatly cropped ginger hair and rectangular black framed glasses. He always looks smart, thanks to his penchant for designer suits and prides himself on his appearance. Although he isn't handsome like Danny the sheer force of his personality and his wicked sense of humour make a hit with the ladies. However this doesn't last long once they discover his strange sexual predilections. His appearance belies the maniac hidden beneath and his reputation as a one hundred percent lunatic was cemented when he was only twenty years old. Some drunken idiot in a nightclub had once jokingly asked him if he was one of The Proclaimers. Frankie had pulled out a stanley knife and scalped the man there and then.
It is this man Danny is now sat across from in one of his Glasgow bars. Frankie seems pleased to see him, Frank Maguire being the only man Frankie has ever respected in his entire life. He may be a sociopath but Frankie never forgets when someone does him a favour and he considers it a matter of personal pride to always make sure he repays his debts. It is this fact guaranteeing Danny's safety.
“I was so sorry to hear about your Dad. He was the best,” says Frankie respectfully.
Danny experiences a twinge of pain but hides it well. “He was. We'll never see his like again.”
“He was one of the old school. He was respectful and in return he gained respect. Not like the young up and coming numpties. They care for nothing and nobody. Completely fucking brainless. No offence.”
Danny smiles. “None taken.”
The barman fetches their drinks on a tray, a bottle of lager for Danny and a whisky for Frankie. However he is so unnerved by Frankie's steady gaze that his hands tremble violently, causing the drinks to spill and he almost drops the tray on the floor.
“You fucking stookie,” yells Frankie, causing the poor lad to tremble even more. “Do you want your head in your hands? Is that what you want?”
“S...sorry Mr Mc…McVay. It was an accident.” Sweat breaks out on his forehead and his spiky hair seems to stand up even straighter in fright.
“Be more fucking careful in future you arsehole. This is an expensive suit.”
“I will, I promise Sir.”
Danny watches as Frankie's body relaxes and his face returns to a normal colour.
“Okay, no harm done. Now piss off and send Laura over with some more drinks. At least she won’t throw them at us.”
“Y...yes Mr Mc…Mr Mc…Mr McVay. Thank you.”
The lad practically runs away and Frankie bursts into maniacal laughter. “I love winding people up like that. He nearly shat himself, didn't he?”
Danny laughs along but doesn't really care for the joke. A young, attractive girl with long blond hair and sparkling green eyes fetches them their drinks competently and with absolutely no fear of Frankie.
“Thank you Laura,” grins Frankie, tipping her the wink. She nods and then turns her gaze on Danny, saving her best smile for him but he hardly notices her. She walks away disappointed.
“She likes you,” smiles Frankie. “You're honoured. I've been after that piece for months but nothing. She obviously likes them tall, dark and handsome.”
“Thanks Frankie but no thanks. I'm taken.”
Frankie frowns. “Funny, I heard you'd had a big row with your missus.”
Danny then explains the entire situation, which takes him a good hour, so complicated is his tale. However Frankie is as sharp as a knife and quickly cottons on so explanations are kept to a minimum.
“Jesus Christ,” he sighs once Danny has finished his tale. His astonishment turns to anger. “And that bastard Terry killed Frank?”
“I've no proof but I'm pretty certain, yes.”
“Do you want me to do him for you? I've got a new axe I'm itching to try out.”
“I appreciate the offer but I'd rather have that pleasure myself.”
“Fair enough. So where do I come into this? Surely this is family business?”
“Lord Davenport.”
Frankie goes stock still and his eyes roll back in his head, so acute is his rage. His breathing quickens and his hands grip the tabletop hard. For a moment Danny is alarmed, assuming he is suffering some kind of stroke. Fortunately Frankie's breathing returns to normal but his eyes are so filled with malevolence that it takes all Danny‘s self control not to recoil.
“I'm listening,” says Frankie, his voice barely a whisper.
It's the morning of the fifteenth of April. Rachel wakes bleary eyed and fuzzy-headed. She's barely slept all night, her dreams disturbed by terrifying images of blood and death. S
he gets up just as dawn breaks, opens the curtains and watches the sun rise, cradling a cup of tea, which is all her churning stomach is willing to take. If all goes according to plan then tonight she will have her husband back. She draws in a deep breath at the thought. Christ she's missed him. The nights have been the hardest, lying alone in their huge bed, thinking of him, wanting him. She glances at the clock. Six fifteen am. Time to get ready.
Danny too has hardly slept. He’s been up and dressed for hours, going over and over the plan in his mind. Inside he’s as nervous as hell but on the outside he appears relaxed and calm. He prays everything goes smoothly because he is so tired of the charade, he just wants to go home but he has to wait for a phone call from Frankie McVay before he can do anything and the waiting is torture. He takes a photo of Rachel out of his wallet and smiles at it fondly. It had been taken on their honeymoon and is one of his favourite pictures of her. She looks phenomenal in a turquoise bikini and sarong, her hair cascading over her shoulders. Their trip to Italy is like a beacon of hope and he’s looking forward to spending some quality time with her after their long separation.
After dressing and half-heartedly carrying out some chores, Rachel glances at the clock and is dismayed to see it's only quarter to eleven. She sighs, wondering how to fill the remaining hours. After a moment’s indecision she grabs her car keys and decides to hit the shops. She wanders through the shopping centre in a daze browsing at shoes, clothes and DVD's without really looking at anything. She buys a top that she doesn't particularly like and a CD she already has.
Her mobile rings and she snatches it out of her bag. She is almost disappointed to hear Mikey's voice on the other end.
“Hi Rach. What you up to?”
“Just a bit of shopping.”
“Oh.”
She hears the hesitation in his voice. “Is something wrong?”
He sighs. “It's Terry again.”
“What's he done now?”
“Can you come round to Martina's Bar?”
“Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks Rach. See you soon.”
Hanging up, she hurries to her car and is at Martina's Bar in no time. She enters to find the place deserted, except for Mikey sat at the bar downing vodka shots.
“Mikey, what's wrong?”
It isn't like Mikey to drink heavily so early in the day. He looks up at her wearily and she is shocked by his appearance. All the boyishness has left him and he suddenly looks much older. He downs another shot.
“For God's sake Mikey, what is it?”
“It's Terry. He's brought Jake back.”
“Back? Into the family you mean?”
He nods, refills his glass and knocks that back too. She snatches the bottle off him and hides it behind the bar.
“Hey I need that,” he protests.
“No you don't. You need to be sober and lucid.” She hands him a glass of water instead. “Now, what exactly did Terry say?”
She is trying her best to maintain her calm. As yet she has no idea whether Jake's return has any impact on Danny's plans but she is determined to find out, even if she has to dunk Mikey in a bath of ice cold water to sober him up.
“He said Jake is going to take over running the cabs and the pub.”
“But those are Alex's businesses. I don't think he'll be too happy.”
“I dunno. I've not seen Alex for a while.”
Rachel pauses. Come to think of it, neither has she. “Why would he take a nutter like that on?”
Mikey stares at her with bloodshot eyes. “Frank took me on when he thought I was a nutter.”
There is nothing Rachel can say to that. She glances at her watch again. It's three o'clock. The job should be underway soon. Her stomach flutters with nerves and her heartbeat quickens. She tries not to let her emotions show.
“Terry came in here parading Jake about and laughing at me. I'm telling you Rach, he's lost it. All the power's gone to his head.”
“Where's Alex and why hasn't he stood up to Terry? It doesn't make sense.”
“Dunno. Last I saw him was here a week ago when you were away.”
She glances at her watch again. Barely sixty seconds have elapsed but it feels like a lifetime.
“Am I keeping you from something? Why do you keep looking at your watch?”
“Oh, no reason,” she replies absently, her mind whirling. She is worried, very worried. She makes a decision. Grabbing her car keys she heads for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Alex. You stay here, I'll be back soon.”
“What if Terry comes back?”
“He won’t,” she replies confidently, knowing he is going to be busy for the next few hours. “And stay off the booze,” she calls over her shoulder, tugging her mobile out of her jacket pocket as she leaves. Danny needs to know about Jake.
Mikey slumps dejectedly on his stool, staring at the tempting array of bottles behind the bar. But he is determined to resist.
CHAPTER 31
Lord Davenport is edgy. He sits in a huge comfy armchair at his gentleman's club gazing out of the window, knocking back G & T's steadily. He's in way over his head and he’s finally realised it. At first the stately home robberies had been a good way of earning some extra cash to help him out of the massive gaping financial hole he’d found himself in but now they are too risky and Terry just won’t listen. He's gone mad since his brother died, mad on power and he thinks himself invincible. Well Terry is just setting himself up for a fall. Normally Davenport wouldn't give a shit either way but if Terry falls then he will bring him down with him. But nothing he says seems to permeate Terry’s addled brain. It's the drugs, he’s sure of it. Terry has been using all sorts lately and he’s becoming increasingly unstable. It’s only a matter of time before he’s arrested, which could well be today, given that he’s at this very moment preparing to turn over another house. On top of all that, Davenport has another meeting with The Coalition in fifteen minutes. His nerves are stretched to the limit and he wishes he’d never got involved with it all in the first place. He silently curses his greed as he knocks back his fourth G & T. The problem is he loves to gamble; horses, roulette, poker, anything. Gambling had been the destruction of his father and now it is his undoing too. Once this robbery is done with today he is going to tell Terry he's out, he can find some other mug. He is well aware he will be putting his life in danger but he has to do something, he can't go on like this anymore. He dabs away the sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief, gets to his feet and leaves for his meeting with The Coalition, which he is really not in the mood for.
As Lord Davenport clambers into a taxi he fails to notice the two men sat in the silver Mercedes watching him from across the road.
The moment Frankie sees Davenport his eyes roll back in his head again and he grinds his teeth mercilessly. Danny watches him with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. He's never seen anger affect someone so physically before.
“The fucker,” hisses Frankie, caressing the axe he holds on his lap wrapped in a blue carrier bag. “I can't wait to try this wee beauty out on him.”
Once he knew Davenport was involved Frankie drove down to Manchester like a demon. He said Lord Davenport is the only reason he would ever set foot in England.
Danny starts the engine as the taxi pulls away and they follow at a discreet distance. They drive for ten minutes then watch as the taxi pulls up outside an empty shop in the rougher end of the city.
“What the hell's he doing here?” says Frankie, squinting through the window. “Maybe its one of those vice dens for the upper classes, you know where you can get whipped and beaten and humiliated in lower class squalor.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” replies Danny.
Davenport is the last to arrive and the other three figures are annoyed.
“You're late,” snaps May.
“Sorry I had some business to attend to,” he replies feebly.
May wafts her hand in front of her face in disgust. “At the gin factory it would appear.”
He ignores the comment and sits down, looking very sorry for himself.
“As I was saying,” says Benton, “this war is going to blow up big style now. Danny's back and causing a lot of trouble for all the Maguires, his own wife included.”
As he talks Davenport sighs inwardly and shakes his head, a snigger escaping his lips. These idiots don't have a clue.
“Do you find something amusing?” says Jeremy.
The sweat pours off Davenport and his face is bright pink. He laughs out loud, takes a hip flask out of his pocket and pours the contents down his throat.
“You're wasting your time. You can't stop them. You sit here in the dark plotting, thinking you can change the world and you can't. All you're doing is getting more people killed. That’s all you’ve achieved and you’re too stupid to see that you’re just as bad as the criminals you’re trying to stop. You make me sick.”
“You don’t like it you know what you can do,” snarls Benton as the other two stare at him in surprise.
“Fine by me,” huffs Davenport clambering to his feet and swaying unsteadily.
“Sit down.”
The tone of May’s voice is so authoritative that Davenport obeys instantly and without question. He drops back into his chair with a heavy thud. Unfortunately the chair tips backwards and he falls head over heels, landing painfully on the bare wood floor. They all watch in silence as he staggers to his feet, wiping the dust from his jacket and coughing loudly as he attempts to get his breath back. Benton rights his chair for him and shoves him roughly back in his seat with a big hand.
“Please continue Superintendent,” says May graciously.
“All this is going to lead to some massive confrontation within the family. It can’t continue like this for much longer. Mark my words, there’ll be more deaths before this is over.”
Davenport cradles his head in his hands. “More death, more death,” he murmurs drunkenly. He can’t help feeling that one of these deaths is going to be his own.
Dividing Line Page 33
