by Martina Cole
Davey stepped towards Stephen but Donna pulled him away roughly.
‘You’re dirty-minded, do you know that, Stephen? Well, wait until I tell Georgio that you’re hiding knocked-off stuff on the premises. Let’s see what he has to say about that!’
Stephen laughed contemptuously. ‘Oh piss off, for Christ’s sake, you stupid tart. You’re getting on my nerves.’
Davey’s voice was low as he spoke again.
‘I told you not to talk to her like that, Stephen. Now take note of what I’m saying because I’m beginning to lose my temper.’
Donna saw the subtle shifting in Stephen’s face and realised that he was frightened of Davey, of what Davey might do.
‘Leave it, Davey,’ she told him. ‘I can look after myself.’
Stephen stared into her face. It was white now, her eyes glittering with temper and also, he realised with a lift of his spirits, with fear, a veiled fear. This excited him. He liked frightening her.
‘You make me laugh, Donna, do you know that?’ he said spitefully. ‘You swan around in your expensive suits and your handmade shoes, and you drive around in your flash car, and it was my brother who gave it all to you - the house, the lot. Without him you’d have been stuck in a fucking semi, rattling around in it on your own because any other man would have dumped you quick smart when you couldn’t produce a child. My brother raised you when he married you and you could never see it. You looked down your nose at my mum, at my dad, at all of us - you stuck up fucking bitch!’
Donna’s eyes stared in shock as she listened to what he was saying. She watched him push Davey aside and storm round to get into the van. Wheelspinning the Transit, he screeched out on to the road and disappeared.
Donna put her fingers to her mouth as if warding off the sickness inside her stomach.
Davey looked at her haunted face and felt the familiar protectiveness well up inside him. She didn’t deserve that, she didn’t deserve any of what Georgio and his family were laying at her door. Donna was a woman to aspire to, if only that prat Georgio had realised it.
‘Come inside, love,’ he said into the stillness. ‘He’s a ponce, Stephen, always was. Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking hypocrite.’
Donna looked at Davey and wiped a dry tongue across even dryer lips.
‘He hates me and yet I never knew it before.’
In a rare flash of insight Davey shook his head gently.
‘He don’t hate you, Donna, he wants you. He always did. That’s the crux of the problem.’
Picking up the last two boxes from the ground, he carried them back into the office. Donna followed him, crushed under the weight of everything that had happened in the last few minutes.
‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’
Placing the boxes by the door, he went into the little kitchenette. Donna heard the water being turned on and the clatter of crockery. Pulling up the flap of the box nearest her, she looked inside. Her heart sank. It was full of three-inch floppy discs. She had taken all that flak over a few floppy discs.
Picking one up, she stared at it in wonderment. As Davey popped his head round the door she slipped the offending article into her pocket.
‘Don’t worry, Donna, he don’t mean the half of it.’
She took a deep breath and said in her strongest voice, ‘I don’t want this place used for stolen property ever again, and I mean that, Davey. We’ve too much to lose if we get caught out, especially with the insurance people crawling all over us. They’re already suspicious because I insured this place up to the hilt just before the ram raid. So think about it in the future. Your livelihood and Carol’s and the kids’ depends on this place.’
Davey nodded, then went back to finish making the coffee.
The prison wing was quiet. Timmy’s death had affected them all in one way or another.
As they trooped from their cells for their morning shower, the general mood in A Wing was subdued. Even the Wing’s joker Benjamin Dawes was quiet. The two new inmates showered side by side. Georgio watched them as they chatted quietly to each other, relishing the knowledge that he would soon smash their world wide open.
The prospect eased his grief over Timmy. Sadie was still being supplied with Valium to calm her nerves. Even the screws were saddened by her abject misery over Timmy, bringing her cups of tea and cigarettes, never forgetting for one moment that she was the property of Donald Lewis and until he dumped her she was to be afforded a measure of respect.
Georgio washed himself absentmindedly. Timmy’s large lumbering presence was more of a loss than he’d ever have suspected. His death had brought home to Georgio just what a precarious position he himself was in. He knew in his heart that at a whim of Lewis’s he could die in the same way, and Lewis would never be brought to book over it. Nor would he lose any sleep either. To Donald Lewis, people were as expendable as elastic bands or condoms. You used them, then threw them away. It was a frightening thought.
Tying his towel around his waist, Georgio walked from the showers. As he reached his cell a new screw was standing by his window. Sadie was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where’s Sadie?’
The man smiled pleasantly. ‘The quack wanted to see her. Shut the door, Brunos, and shove in the wedge, we need to talk.’
Georgio stared at him for a few long moments, sizing up whether he should listen to him or throw him out. Lewis wasn’t above setting him up and Georgio was aware of it.
The screw seemed to read his mind. He shut the door himself, forcing the wedge into place with his booted foot.
‘My name’s McNamara and I’m assigned to you from today. I work for Alan Cox. You’re in deep shit, mate, and my advice is to listen to me carefully. I am going to be bringing you in messages, regular messages. The first one is this: Cox and Anthony Calder want you to know they are both extremely annoyed at the setup with O’Neil and Carvello. If anything like that happens again, they’ll pull and leave you to it.
‘Cox also says that if you so much as hint at anything untoward between him and D, he’ll leave you high and dry. I’ll be back with more news soon.’
As he walked towards the door, McNamara looked over his shoulder and said, ‘Oh by the way, Lewis is back in four days. Made a miraculous recovery by all accounts, but his stitches will hinder him for a while. Losing a kidney takes it out of you, like. But his brain’s back on track - as I expect you’ve already guessed. Be seeing you.’
Alone once again, Georgio sat on his bunk and felt the anger welling up inside him. He needed Calder and he needed Cox, but once he was out he could do what he liked. He hung on to that thought to stop himself from screaming out loud. Four days and Lewis was back . . . it was like a death knell in his mind. Four days until everything was back to square one: watching his back, watching his words, and watching Lewis and his henchmen. He had to see Davey Jackson and soon. Whether his dear little wife liked it or not, she’d have to forego a visit, and Georgio admitted to himself that after her little performance in Scotland, he wasn’t sorry about it.
At that moment, Sadie walked into the cell and lay down on the bottom bunk. ‘Fucking doctors, what do they know? Gave me another AIDs test. I’d already told them I was clean. I’ve had regular checks since the late eighties. I mean, in my game you have to, don’t you?’
Georgio nodded.
‘Cheer up, Georgio, it could be worse. You could be dead. Especially with Lewis around.’
‘Bollocks to Lewis, Sadie. He’s the least of my problems at the moment. In fact, if he opens his big mouth I’ll rip his stitches out, see how he likes that one.’
Sadie closed her eyes and said quietly, ‘Alan Cox is a lot of things, Georgio, but he ain’t a philanderer. Your wife’s safer with him than anyone else. Paddy needs a kick up the arse for telling you different.’
‘Nah.’ Georgio shook his head. ‘She came out of his flat, Sadie, with her overnight bag and wet hair. Don’t tell me she was in there having a shower for fun, love. Even
I ain’t that fucking stupid!’
Sadie sat up and grinned. ‘Really? Then why all this performance? Speaking as a woman, which I am you know, in me own way, I think she’s as sweet as a nut. I mean, let’s face it. If she was shunting Alan Cox, why would she be fighting hammer and tongs to get you out? Maybe she needed a shower to liven her up after a night on the road from Liverpool. Don’t fall into the trap of a lot of lifers: your old woman’s on the outside and there’s nothing you can do to her there except have her harmed. Is that what you want to do, then? Send someone round to smash her face in? I’ve known plenty of blokes who have done that and regretted it, mate. Deeply regretted it. She’s all you’ve got going for you at the moment if you could only see it. Men always think they own their wives, and that’s their fatal mistake.
‘She could have had a shower for a whole host of reasons, but no, you have to think of the most obvious one of all - she was in there shagging with him. According to Paddy they were in and out in an hour, then she picked up her car and drove home. She was probably asleep for a good part of the journey back, for crying out loud. So she had a shower, changed her clothes and shot off. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing yourself because I know you would.’
Georgio shook his head. ‘She’s my fucking wife. I wanted her to help me out of here; I thought I could trust her. But like most women, once I was off the scene she was out and about. It’s as simple as that, Sadie, and nothing you or anyone else says can make me think any different. Alan Cox knows the rules. You don’t invite your mate’s wife into your home, you just don’t do it. He thinks he has me where he wants me. Well, he don’t, and neither does she.’
Sadie closed her eyes and lay back down.
‘You’ve got what’s known as prison paranoia. A lot of blokes get it. It’s caused by being banged up and thinking too much. You’ll start distrusting your own brothers soon, when they give her a lift down here. You’ll be convinced she’d changed towards you, that she’s distant, and you’ll automatically assume it’s because she’s being serviced by someone else.
‘But it’s not because of that, Georgio. It’s because every time she visits it’ll become harder and harder to talk to you. You’ll always be listening for her to say something incriminating, something you can pounce on, and eventually she’ll lose patience and you’ll be convinced you’ve been proved right. When in effect she’ll dump you because it’s all too much like hard work. That’s when she’ll meet someone else, mate, someone who tells her all the things you should be telling her only you’re too stubborn and too ignorant to bother. Because you sit here day in and day out imagining her on the job with every Tom, Dick and Harry. You’re a fool, Georgio. A twenty-two-carat fool.’
Georgio listened to his little friend with shock. Never had Sadie spoken to him like this.
‘What makes you such an authority then?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll tell you what makes me such an authority. I’ve spent the best part of my life banged up, mate, and I’ve seen many men like you. Straight men, gay men, you name it. Murderers, arsonists, blaggers. Even fucking rapists. Once you’re banged up, you’re out of life. Life for you is four walls and the brutality of whoever is bigger and harder than you. The wife or girlfriend, on the other hand, who has committed no other crime than that of loving or marrying you, gets the brunt of your feelings. You channel all your energies into trying to make out they’re also betraying you . . . when the only person who betrayed you was yourself! By getting banged up, you fucked up. It’s as simple as that.’
Georgio listened to Sadie and although a small part of his mind acknowledged the truth of what she was saying, another part dismissed it all.
Wet hair and an overnight bag was heady stuff to a man in prison. Especially when the news was delivered with the maximum of innuendo.
Paddy had given Georgio the bullets, and he was about to fire them.
Nick Carvello looked over the boat and nodded. It was a small motorised fishing vessel that looked well-used and serviceable. In fact it had a powerful engine on board and also a well-stocked bar, a comfortable bed, and a highfrequency radio. It could gather dangerous speeds, but was small enough to lose quickly if necessary. He nodded again to the man cleaning out the interior.
‘I want this fully operational by Sunday latest and then I want it moved away from here and put in the safest boathouse we have. I don’t want anyone remembering it was ever here, OK?’
The young man nodded, his face obscured by the thick knitted hat he was wearing.
Nick looked the boat over again, then, pleased with himself, he dialled Anthony Calder’s number on his mobile phone.
‘Hello. We’re all operational here and ready to go whenever you want the jump. I’m ready as well, OK?’
He placed the mobile in the pocket. Turning once more to the younger man he said conversationally, ‘Could you stock up with some decent food, tinned stuff of course, and also a good bottle of claret. Oh, and a litre bottle of Glenmorangie; my client favours that whisky. Then I want you to do another favour. I want you to find Little Dicky for me, and tell him I need to have a word - it’s urgent. Do you think you could remember all that?’
The youth faced him and smiled. ‘I can.’
Nick squirmed in imitation of a bimbo. ‘So manly, so strong. Give us a kiss!’
The youth stood up straight and grinned. ‘You’d get a big shock if I said yes, Nick.’
Nick’s face dropped for a second in mock sadness. Then in his own voice he said, ‘You bet your life I would. But not half as big a shock as your old woman when I told her.’
They both laughed in easy camaraderie.
Jonnie H. listened intently to what was being said to him. He deliberately didn’t look towards his wife; he would soon garner her thoughts. Annie was never backward in coming forward. Once people realised that she was the real negotiator they were first shocked and then pleasantly surprised at her acumen.
Danny McAnulty was a small stocky man with a thick Glaswegian accent. His brother Cyril, a name that had made his mother proud and himself violent, sat quietly as he negotiated on their behalf. A third brother, Iain, would abide by whatever they decided for him. Danny knew that this jump would be lucrative and also quick - the kind of work he enjoyed. They would be down south overnight and back in bed before the Old Bill started pulling files. It was perfect work. But he knew that Jonnie H., although a fair man and well-respected all over the UK, was also a shrewdie - or, more to the point, his old woman was.
‘We think we need at least seven grand each for the day’s work. We’re putting ourselves on the line—’
Annie interrupted. ‘It’ll be two hours’ work. All you have to do is to be waiting at the chop. Nothing else. You will not be involved in the jump itself. I’m offering you five grand each and that’s that.’
Danny shook his head and Cyril followed suit as they all knew he would.
‘With respect, Mrs H., we will be the most important people there. It will be us who takes the jumper to his final destination . . .’
Annie interrupted again. ‘No, you won’t. You will drive him only a few miles, then you will be out of the ballgame. Five grand each and that’s it.’
Danny looked at the heavily pregnant woman and sighed. ‘Eight.’
Annie grinned. ‘Seven.’
‘Done.’
Jonnie H. grinned too as Danny shook hands with Annie. ‘I’ll let you know the dates nearer at hand. It’ll be within the next few weeks. The car will be supplied as will your clothes for the actual going to work. All you have to do is keep out of fights and we’ll all be on the go before you know it.’
‘Nice doing business with you both.’
Annie smiled and showed them to the door. As she walked back into the front room, Jonnie laughed at her.
‘You’re a girl! You know we’d earmarked ten grand apiece.’
‘And that’s exactly what Calder will think they’re getting. We deserve to make a fe
w quid on this one. Actually I was out to offer eight. Men, eh? You never value yourselves highly enough. Leave it to a mere woman to rip you off!’
She placed a hand across her swollen belly. ‘This baby had better get a move on, Jonnie. Once this blag’s over we’ll be at the hundred grand mark.’
He grinned. ‘I’ve already seen a smallholding in Wales. Thirty-seven grand. That’ll leave us plenty to live on, with just the occasional bit of work. I want to get the kids out of this slum.’
Annie raised her eyebrows and said seriously, ‘But will we ever get the slums out of the kids, eh?’
Jonnie shook his head. ‘That, my love, remains to be seen.’
Annie settled herself on the leather settee and picked up her knitting. ‘You’d better let Calder and Alan know the score. We’re ready for the off. At least, as ready as we’ll ever be.’
Jonnie nodded. ‘I’ll ring them now.’
As Annie began to knit the small bootees, she said over her shoulder, ‘By the way, stick the kettle on while you’re out there. I could murder a cup of tea.’
Jonnie H. chuckled as he dialled Alan’s number. Only his Annie could have ever made him so happy. She was phenomenal. His father had said to him years before in a joking way: ‘Marry a whore, son, she can’t sink no lower.’
Well, his father had been right in a lot of respects. When you were a whore at Kings Cross, the only place for you was up, or into the ground itself. Annie wanted to go up and she had taken him with her.
For that he would always be grateful.
Jamesie stroked the Rottweiler bitch’s head and spoke to her soothingly.
‘There, my little darling, out it comes. There’s a good girl. There’s a beauty if ever I saw one.’
