A Gangster's Grip: The Riverhill Trilogy: Book 2

by Heather Burnside

  Bite marks covered part of his torso and arms, and in other places the skin was bruised and swollen as a result of Leroy’s savage kicking. Looking at the condition he was in, Debby was amazed at how he had managed to get back to his car and drive home from Alexandra Park. The worst of the bites was one on his right arm, and when Debby had cleared away the dried up blood, she could see that the bite had punctured deep into his flesh.

  “Carl, I think you’re gonna have to go to the hospital with this one. You’re gonna need stitches.”

  “No way! As soon as they see the state of me, they’ll bring the cops in. I don’t want ’em asking questions. If Leroy finds out the cops are involved, I’m a dead man.”

  “OK, suit yourself,” she said, trying to bathe the deep wound as gently as possible. “Why did he do it? Was it the skimming?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I warned you, didn’t I?”

  “Alright, don’t start! How was I to know he’d find out?”

  “What about your legs?” she asked, when she had finished bathing his face and arms, and had wiped them with the threadbare towel. “I saw you limping when you came in.”

  “I don’t think they’re cut, but he stuck the boot in everywhere. Have a look.”

  Debby eased his legs onto the sofa, and took down his jeans so she could inspect them. She was horrified to see that they were already covered in a mass of bruises.

  “Jesus, they look sore, but there’s no cuts there. It’s a good job you had jeans on.”

  “They’re killing me! But just you wait; I’ll get the bastard back for this. Wait till Mad Trevor finds out what he’s been up to. If Leroy thinks he’ll be chuffed about him getting his gear from the Cheetham Crew, he’s got another think coming.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “I fuckin’ would. The bastard deserves it after what he’s done to me.”

  Debby hoped it was just bluster, spoken in the heat of the moment, because he was suffering the pain and humiliation of a good beating.

  When she had finished cleaning and drying his wounds, she looked for something to treat them with. She didn’t have any sterile lint or roll of adhesive strip, nor did she have any antiseptic ointment. The only thing she could find was a few small plasters adorned with cartoon characters; the type she used to pacify the kids if they grazed their knees. She placed some on the smaller cuts, but there was nothing with which to cover the larger wounds.

  “Help me up to bed,” he said.

  She struggled upstairs with him. It was too awkward to remove the rest of his clothing, especially with his arm in such a bad way. Debby therefore helped him to get onto the bed where he lay in his tee-shirt, with his arms and legs bare. He stayed there for three days, on sweat stained, bloody sheets until the pain had subsided enough for him to venture downstairs.

  During those three days, he only came out of the bedroom when Debby had taken the children out of the house to her mother’s. Debby told them that their father had had a little accident, and that they weren’t to disturb him until he was feeling a bit better.

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  Sunday 9th June 1991 – late evening

  Jenny had been in the bath when Leroy shouted upstairs that he was taking the dog for a walk. That was over two hours ago. It was the first time he had been out that day, and she wished she had taken the chance and fled while she could. She had thought about it but decided that by the time she got out of the bath, dried and dressed, then packed her stuff, he would have returned. After all, he was only taking Tyson for a walk, and that didn’t usually take long.

  She looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. Surely he wouldn’t be coming home now. He had probably bumped into someone and decided to stay out. Maybe he was at his mam’s; he might have even been with one of his other women. Having stayed at home for most of the last week or so, he was perhaps growing bored of her company and missing his other diversions.

  To hell with it. She’d get out now while she still had a chance; she didn’t know when she’d have another opportunity. That was the trouble; you never knew with Leroy. There was no pattern to his comings and goings.

  While she was in this determined frame of mind, she went into the bedroom and dug out a large suitcase, which she put on the bed and started filling. She grabbed things at random, starting with the baby equipment as well as a bit of clothing for herself. Items which she’d lovingly collected over several months, she now threw haphazardly into the case; bottles, breast pump, steriliser and bibs.

  Jenny was just grabbing a bundle of Babygros when she heard Leroy return home. Tyson’s enthusiastic barking let her know that they were in the hallway and making their way to the back of the house. With her heart racing, she slung the Babygros back into the chest of drawers. She didn’t have time to put the other things away; Leroy would hear her moving about. Reacting swiftly, she slammed the case shut and stashed it under the bed, hoping to God that he didn’t find it.

  By the time Leroy heard her moving around, and shouted up the stairs, she was ready.

  “Coming,” she shouted back.

  Two minutes later she was downstairs.

  “Hiya love, I was just going to bed when I heard you come in,” she announced, walking into the kitchen where she found Leroy cleaning blood from round Tyson’s mouth.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “He got hold of a rat and wouldn’t let go. I had a right job getting it off him.” Then, turning to address the dog, he added, “You’re a vicious little bastard when you sink your teeth into something, aren’t you mate?” As he spoke, he rubbed the top of Tyson’s head affectionately.

  Noticing the blood stains on the back of Leroy’s hand, Jenny said. “He must have had a right go at it, judging by the state of you both.”

  “Oh, he did,” Leroy laughed.

  “The poor rat,” said Jenny. “Do you need any help cleaning up, or are you alright if I go up to bed?”

  “Me and Tyson are fine.” He turned to Tyson again, stroking and rubbing the dog’s back with one hand while he cleaned around its mouth with the other, “Aren’t we Tyson? Good boy, good dog!”

  Chapter 31

  Thursday 13th June 1991 - morning

  On the fourth day, Carl made it downstairs. He was still sore, but the bruising wasn’t as bad, and the swelling to his lip had now reduced. It was his bites that were causing Debby concern. She’d done her best. First thing Monday, well, as soon as she was up, she’d dashed to the chemists and got him some witch-hazel, antiseptic cream and sterile dressings. But it was too late for the wounds. By that time the bacteria had already set to work, and the bloodstained, malodorous bedding hadn’t helped.

  The chemist had advised bathing his wounds twice a day in salty water that had been boiled and cooled, then applying the cream and dressings. Debby examined his wounds as she tried to clean them. Most of them had become infected, and were weeping puss, but it was the large bite that worried her. Its entire surface was now a green, festering mess, and she knew that Carl would need medical attention.

  “Carl, I’m ringing an ambulance,” she said. “You’ll have to go to hospital with this. It’s turning nasty.”

  It took her a while to persuade him to go to the hospital but he eventually capitulated. They agreed that he would just say he was attacked by a dog, and that he’d banged the side of his head on the ground when the dog felled him. Since the attack, the bruises had changed shape and colouration, and Debby now felt that they could put forward a convincing argument for the damage to his face having been caused by a blow to the head. As long as he kept his legs covered, she hoped the medical staff would be none the wiser, and if they did ask questions, they would just deny everything.

  As soon as Debby had dropped the children off at her mother’s house, she called for an ambulance. When they arrived at hospital, the nursing staff were amazed that they hadn’t come straightaway. Debby told them Carl was frightened of hospitals, and he had only agree
d to come now because of the infection.

  The doctor was appalled at the sight of Carl’s bites.

  “May I ask why you didn’t come to the hospital as soon as the dog attacked you?” he asked.

  Debby jumped to Carl’s defence, and repeated her story about Carl’s fear of hospitals. The doctor looked unconvinced, his distrust reflected in the narrowing of his eyes.

  “You must never leave a dog bite unattended. It’s important to have a tetanus injection as soon as possible,” he admonished.

  He then instructed a nurse to give Carl the requisite injection, and prescribed a course of antibiotics. Once he had left instructions with the nurse regarding follow up treatment, he moved onto the next patient.

  Debby was glad when he left them, but she still couldn’t settle, half suspecting that he would phone the police once he had finished his rounds. After three hours at the hospital, she was relieved when they left with Carl patched up. It had been a nerve-wracking time, but at least the doctor hadn’t brought the police in. Debby was so thankful there would be no repercussions. Now she just had to carry out the nurse’s instructions to help Carl’s wounds heal, and everything would be alright.

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  Thursday 13th June 1991 – afternoon

  Ever since Leroy had delivered the news about Winston, he had rarely left the house. The only exception had been Sunday when he’d been out for over two hours. Since then Jenny hadn’t had any other opportunity when she could have escaped. Fearing that he might discover the half-packed case under the bed, she had even unpacked it, a few items at a time.

  Although he had hung around a lot lately, his behaviour had changed following Winston’s death. In fact, it was almost as though he was his old self again. Maybe he regretted Winston’s death, or perhaps it was because he didn’t have a rival for her affections anymore. Whatever his reasons, she was just thankful that he was no longer hostile towards her.

  There was also a tiny part of her that was beginning to doubt his involvement with Winston’s death. He had been so attentive in the last few days that she somehow couldn’t reconcile this with the sort of person who would callously kill someone he had known from being a child.

  As long as he carried on this way she could cope until it was time to leave. He was bound to start going out more sooner or later. Then she would seize her chance like she’d promised Rita. Like she’d promised herself. She’d do it; she hadn’t changed her mind. No, she was just waiting for the right moment.

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  Friday 14th June 1991 – 7.20pm

  It was Debby of all people who had given Rita the tip off, and now Rita and Yansis were on their way to Longsight, with Yansis driving at lightning speed.

  Debby had been in a state when she rang to tell Rita that Carl was on his way to see Mad Trevor. He was going to tell him about Leroy buying heroin from the Cheetham Crew. It was Carl’s way of getting revenge against Leroy for giving him a beating. As they were sworn enemies of the Buckthorn Crew, Mad Trevor would be furious about Leroy’s betrayal.

  She would have been grateful to Debby for doing the right thing, if it wasn’t for the fact that Carl had been out of the house for twenty minutes before she rang her. As Rita recalled Debby’s words, her anger threatened to overwhelm her:

  ‘You need to get to Jenny’s as soon as possible to warn her. Carl’s gonna show the gang where to find Leroy. He’s already been gone about twenty minutes.’

  Twenty bloody minutes! So Debby had obviously deliberated before making the call, perhaps out of misguided loyalty towards Carl. And now Jenny was in serious danger!

  Within moments of setting off, Rita realised they had acted rashly, fuelled by impulse. They should have rung Jenny and warned her, maybe rung the police. But what would they tell them? There might not be any crime to report yet. It was too late now; if they doubled back it would waste more valuable time. Besides, what if Debby was wrong? Rita hoped she was.

  As they sped along the A6, they established a rough plan of action through their frantic discussions. They would act cautiously when they arrived. If there was any sign of Mad Trevor, or any other gang members at the house, she and Yansis would find the nearest phone box, dial 999 and wait for the police to arrive.

  They were making record time. The traffic lights were mostly in their favour, apart from one glitch. It was while they had been approaching a pelican crossing. Rita could see some teenagers messing about. Something told her they were about to press the button just for the hell of it. Sure enough, as they approached the crossing, the lights turned red although no-one wanted to cross.

  “Carry on!” shouted Rita, and Yansis shot through on red.

  Soon they arrived at the estate.

  “Cut through,” Rita urged. Taking her advice, Yansis avoided the road that snaked around the estate, saving precious minutes by mounting the curb and spurting across the grass verge. His tyres dug into the heavy mud, carving the grass and tearing away strips of soil, before crossing the pedestrian pathway and hacking across another grass verge.

  Then they plunged into a mud pool. Yansis revved the engine, ramming at the accelerator, but the wheels spun round aimlessly, the tyres slashing through the dense matter. Rita got out of the car to push. Despite her will, she wasn’t strong enough, and she cursed while the car refused to budge and a group of kids hung around laughing. She stopped and sighed, glaring at the kids until a thought occurred to her.

  “A quid each to help me get this car out of the mud.”

  Within seconds her potential adversaries became allies. Their enthusiasm was heartfelt, and together they soon had the car moving. Rita hurled some money at the kids while Yansis waited for her to get back in the car. She noticed the state of her legs in her short skirt. They were covered in mud. She tried to wipe it off but the thick, earthy mess clung to her. Wet, sticky and congealed in her hands.

  Chapter 32

  Friday 14th June 1991 – 7.12pm

  Carl had known exactly where to find Mad Trevor on a Friday evening; the Buckthorn Inn. It was fortunate that he had chosen early evening, before Trevor and the other gang members got wasted.

  “Alright? Thought I hadn’t seen you for a bit. What happened?” asked Trevor, when he saw Carl’s face.

  “I got jumped, last weekend. The bastard’s robbed me then did a runner.”

  “Looks like they’ve given you a good seeing to. Who was it? Any ideas?”

  “Dunno. They got me from behind and ran off before I could see them.”

  “Ugh,” was Mad Trevor’s response, on realising he could do nothing to exact revenge on Carl’s attackers. “Where’s Leroy, anyway?”

  Carl cursed inwardly at the implication that he had to be accompanied by Leroy, but he answered the question. “At home with his missus. He’s been keeping his head down since the OD in Longsight. But that’s not all he’s been up to.”

  All eyes were on him, and he felt the pressure of expectation. He had a moment of uncertainty; perhaps he couldn’t pull it off. But he was here now. He had to see it through. He disguised the slight quiver in his lips as he spoke.

  “I don’t like to be the one to tell you this, but there’s something I think you should know. It affects all of us.” He looked around from member to member, meeting their eyes, engendering trust. “He’s been buying H from the Cheetham Crew, and I thought you should know.”

  “You what?” asked Mad Trevor amongst a rising cacophony from the other gang members, as they made their feelings known.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “A few months.”

  “You’re fuckin’ joking!”

  Carl had sensed Mad Trevor’s initial suspicion to what he was telling him, but he then felt a shift in his mood, emphasised by his bulging eyes and the taut veins in his neck. However, Mad Trevor wasn’t fully convinced yet.

  “Hang on a minute. What the fuck would he be doing with H? I ain’t seen him selling no H for the last few
months. He’s been hanging out in the Moss, selling crack and other stuff.”

  “He’s been getting me and Winston to sell it in Longsight.” Noting Trevor’s rising temper, he added, “I didn’t want to. He made me do it. It’s been eating away at me for months, but I’ve had enough. I can’t deal with it no more. Fuck Leroy! You’ve gotta know. I owe my loyalty to the Buckthorn Crew.”

  Mad Trevor’s rapid rise from his chair told Carl that his emotive words had had an effect.

  “Come on guys, finish your drinks. Quick! I ain’t standing for this … D’you know where he lives?” he asked Carl.

  “Yeah, I can take you there if you like.”

  Carl was overjoyed. Not only would Leroy get what was coming to him, but he would be there to witness his shame and defeat.

  “Leave your car here. You can get in mine and show us the way,” ordered Mad Trevor.

  Paying no heed to the law, six of them crowded into Mad Trevor’s silver Golf GTi, with Carl sitting in the front passenger seat next to Mad Trevor. It took ten minutes to arrive at Jenny’s house. The car screeched to a halt as Mad Trevor slammed on the brakes, leaving it parked haphazardly outside Jenny’s house. He grabbed his gun from the glove compartment before getting out of the car.

  The gang’s furious knocking at the door brought a swift response. When Jenny opened the front door, they dragged her inside with them while they went in search of Leroy. One of the men had the foresight to close the door behind them, so their actions couldn’t be seen by outsiders.

  Mad Trevor stormed into the living room addressing Leroy, who was sitting in his armchair having a beer and a smoke.

  “What the fuck’s this he’s been telling me about you dealing with the Cheetham Crew?” he demanded, hauling his witness in front of Leroy.

  His aggressive action caused Tyson to get worked up, and the dog jumped at him barking fiercely.