Revenge (The Cardigan Estate Book 1)

by Emmy Ellis

  “Whatever you reckon’s best.”

  “We’ll go to yours. I can’t face Mum at the moment.” She got up.

  Jonathan followed suit and watched her fold the blanket. “She doesn’t know then?”

  “No,” came the bland reply.

  Fuck me, can my life get any worse?

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Leona had been on edge for days. She walked down the hallway to get the post from the mat, her guts going over. Another letter. The fear at what it contained was always the same. Clutching at the bundle, she went to her kitchen table.

  She slowly took out the usual folded white paper, hardened and uneven from dried glue. Laid it out and read the four words, sick to her stomach. The message seemed more sinister and menacing than the other two.

  JUSTICE WILL BE DONE

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Cardigan stared at The Brothers. “Right, you all know what to do, and if there are any cockups, it’s my head on the bleedin’ line if they’re planning to do me over. So, it’s in your best interests to look after me, isn’t it, because if I’m gone, you don’t get as much wages unless you find someone else like me who wants you on their payroll.”

  He was trying to lighten the gloomy atmosphere by saying it all jovial, and if he were honest, he was feeling more than uneasy about today’s meeting with Findley. It’d been made clear that Rook wouldn’t be attending and Findley just wanted to hand over the poker money and be on his way. But Cardigan knew otherwise, not just from the gossip rife in the pubs, but by using his common sense. Findley would try to do him over, while worrying where Cardigan’s men were in their efforts to do him over first.

  “We know what to do, guv, don’t you worry,” Sam said.

  “George, Greg, all set?” Cardigan asked.

  “Yes, Ron,” the twins said together, creepy as eff.

  He nodded. “Right then, let’s go.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Debbie had a ball of emotion in the pit of her stomach. It was the Christmas-morning feeling but not, more intense and nothing to do with being excited. Dread? She wasn’t sure, but with Cardigan letting her know they were closer to getting Mickey, she put it down to that.

  She’d signed the papers, and The Angel now belonged to her. Surreal that she could now claim all the profits—from the boozer and the parlour—instead of taking a wage from Cardigan. The Angel was always packed to the gills, didn’t matter which night of the week it was, and she’d soon learnt that the grand a week she used to get had gone up significantly.

  Debbie had passed on some of her good fortune by lowering the room rents for the girls by one hundred quid a month, something Shirley would’ve approved of. She’d also upped Lisa’s wages, giving her another five hundred a month. Everyone was happy.

  Except Debbie. If this feeling didn’t pass soon, she’d go off on one.

  She phoned Cardigan. There was something she had to say before he embarked on what he’d said he’d do regarding Mickey. If something happened to Cardigan and she hadn’t told him how she felt, she’d have another load of guilt piled on her shoulders.

  “All right, Treacle. Bit busy at the minute, if you catch my drift.”

  “It’s today?”

  “Yep.”

  So that’s what the dread was all about. “Okay, I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

  He laughed. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  He does? “Oh.”

  His chuckle sounded kind, not derisive. “I need to go. See you soon.”

  The line went dead.

  She just had to sit tight and hope the same didn’t happen to Cardigan, too.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  “Are you sure you’ve got everything sorted?” Mickey asked, “because I reckon Cardigan’ll know what you’re up to. He’ll think of everything.” He was well uneasy.

  Harry smiled wryly. “He’s got dosh on the brain. He won’t even think I won’t turn up and be sighting him from over the bloody road. The minute he turns up, I’ll have the bastard.”

  “Are you sure the gun’ll work properly?” Mickey felt helpless. He’d be stuck at their hideout, unable to see or hear what was going on. Unable to do a damn thing to help.

  Harry straightened his shoulders. “I told you, I’ve tried it out in the garden with tin cans. It goes like a ruddy dream. He’ll be a goner. One pop, and he’s mine.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “I hate him, d’you know that?”

  Mickey nodded. “You’ve told me often enough. Just go and do it and come straight back here after. I’m the one stuck in here while you’re doing the job, and it’ll be a long wait, I can tell you.” He stuck his bottom lip out.

  “Just sit tight. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Mickey leant forward in his chair and held out his hand. Harry shook it, and Mickey clasped his free hand over their other two and squeezed. This may be the last time he saw his friend, and, after all, Harry was doing this for him. He was sticking up for him like no one ever had.

  “Good luck, mate,” Mickey said, getting a bit choked up.

  Harry ruffled Mickey’s hair and grinned. “Thanks, pal, but I assure you, I won’t need it.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Rebecca kneaded bread dough on the worktop and mulled over her suspicions about her daughter. She hadn’t seemed well of late. Mothers could always tell these things. If her she was proved correct, it would throw things into confusion. With Jonathan in mind, she wondered how he’d get out of this one. If only his business wasn’t on the line—his life, what with Cardigan being such a thug. Leona had a lot to answer for.

  Rebecca slapped the dough, and the doorbell sounded.

  Jonathan stood on the step.

  “Oh! Come in. Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I could do with one all right.” He followed Rebecca into the kitchen and sat on one of the chairs. “I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Gracie’ll go mad if she finds out I’ve told you, but I’ll go spare if I don’t talk to someone. She’s pregnant.”

  “I knew it. Don’t worry about me saying anything; it’s up to her to tell me. What are you both planning to do? You especially?”

  Jonathan sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We’re taking time out to think about it. If I wasn’t married to that bloody Leona…”

  “I know, love. How does Gracie feel at the moment?”

  “She’s not sure if she wants to be a mother just yet, and she thinks I feel the same way about being a father. If only she knew the real reasons why I’m a bit fucked-up at the news.”

  “She won’t find out, though, we’ll make sure of that.” Rebecca didn’t want her carefully laid plans to go wrong.

  “She’s on about getting rid of it.”

  “What? Oh.”

  “But in the circumstances—”

  “Isn’t there any way you could get shot of Leona? I tell you, that woman will be the death of me.”

  “You and me both. I hate her.” He rubbed his cheeks. “I’ve thought and thought about it ever since Gracie dropped her bombshell, but I can’t come up with anything.” He paused for a moment. “Right, I could just get an annulment because of us not consummating our marriage, that’s grounds enough, but Cardigan’ll be after me then. I reckon he’d kill me, and that’s no exaggeration.” He shuddered. “I’ll lose my business, so that means I’d have married Leona for no reason. I don’t know what to do or who to turn to.”

  “Well, you’ve turned to me, and you know I won’t tell, don’t you?”

  Jonathan nodded.

  Rebecca couldn’t allow this to go wrong. Not after all the effort she’d put in. There must be something she could do.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Harry was using a room in a ground-floor flat, loaned to him by a mate he could trust. He’d chosen it because of the ease he’d have in escaping once he’d fired the gun. His car was parked to the rear, th
e door unlocked, and he had the keys ready in his pocket for a quick getaway. His plan was perfect. Nothing could possibly go wrong. The scene was set, and Cardigan would be arriving over the road any minute.

  Scenarios went through Harry’s mind. Sam would stop the car and, as instructed, Cardigan had been told to get out alone. He’d suspect something was up once Harry didn’t show, and he wouldn’t put it past him to wear a bulletproof vest.

  But there were other fatal places to shoot.

  On the other hand, Cardigan might not get out, even though this had been expressly asked for, but Harry had that covered as well. He’d just shoot the big git through the car window, and if that didn’t work, he’d pull the trigger and send a spray of bullets over there. Sam would unfortunately cop it, too. It didn’t matter to Harry, and as long as Cardigan got killed, he’d have obtained his objective.

  The Brothers were bound to be close by, so the exit from the back of the tower block would be ideal. The twins would be busy running across the road to where the shots had been fired and waste valuable time searching the various flats to look for shooter.

  Twats, the pair of them.

  His palms grew sweaty. His shot would meet its mark, he was certain of that. Even if he got caught, which he reckoned was highly unlikely, it wouldn’t matter. Cardigan would be dead, and everyone who ran scared of him could rest easy. Harry chuckled at the thought of people within The Cardigan Estate letting out their collective breaths.

  The time had come to stop laughing. Cardigan’s car drew up opposite the tower block, on the other side of the road from Harry’s position. Beyond that, a field. He checked the business end of the gun wouldn’t be clocked. It rested on the windowsill of the partially open window.

  His heart beat faster. Cardigan did as he’d requested and got out of the car. Alone, only the top half of him visible—he’d shielded himself behind his vehicle, the wanker. Sam sat in the driver’s seat, the engine still running.

  Harry looked through the gun’s sight and aimed at Cardigan’s forehead. Dead centre. Cardigan stood amazingly still, as if he really thought Harry might be turning up. He slowly pulled the trigger back, the target and aim in perfect line with one another.

  Cardigan bent down to Sam’s open window to talk to him.

  “Shit!” Harry let out his breath and positioned himself again, strained to hear what the big man was saying.

  “I’ll give him one more minute, and if the little turd hasn’t turned up by then, I’m going. And then I’ll find him and kill him my bloody self.”

  Cardigan stood tall and stared straight over at Harry. The beefy fucker went to open his mouth to speak to Sam, but Harry pulled the trigger right back.

  “Who’re you calling a little turd?” he spat.

  Cardigan went down, and if he wasn’t dead, he soon would be. He’d hit him in the middle of his forehead. Supreme shot.

  Sam got out of the car, stooped, and disappeared behind it.

  Harry made his way calmly out of the flat, shoving his gun into its holdall. He walked towards his car.

  Sam’s shout reached him.

  “George, Greg, Cardigan’s down. Where the hell are you? He’s killed him.”

  In his car, Harry smirked. He turned the engine over and muttered, “I don’t give a shit where the twins are. I’m home and bloody dry.” He eased away and drove in the direction of the hideout—where he’d be staying for some time.

  “I think you will give a shit where we are when you realise we’re sitting in the back of your fucking car,” George said, close, too close.

  Harry jumped, his hands flying off the steering wheel. The car veered, and as he righted it, he said, “Shit! What the bloody hell are you two doing in here?”

  “Never you mind. Now drive,” Greg ordered.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  “Where am I bloody going?” Harry said, his voice calm but his insides in turmoil.

  “We’re going for a little ride, and then we’ll have a bit of a chat.” George sounded at his most menacing.

  Cold metal touched Harry’s neck, and he almost shit himself. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Greg’s revolver looked small in the hardman’s hand.

  “Shut up now,” Greg said, “and keep going. Turn right down there, and then the next two lefts.”

  Harry’s heart beat in overdrive, and blood pulsed through his neck vein. He took the instructed turnings, knowing he’d find himself at his and Mickey’s garage.

  “Park the car in front of the garage, turn off the engine, and give the keys to me,” George barked.

  Harry lost no time in complying—the gun pressed harder.

  “Right, what’ve you been playing at?” George asked. “We gather you’ve been a naughty boy.”

  “I killed Cardigan,” Harry blurted, then with courage said, “And I don’t care what you do to me. I’ve rid the place of a scumbag. If you think about it, I’ve done you two a bloody favour. Anyway, if you cared about your boss, you’d have gone to Sam when he called you.” He turned to look at his captors.

  Greg took the gun away, and Harry rubbed his neck. Greg glanced at George, who seemed to be considering what Harry had said.

  George sniffed. “I think I’ll pretend I didn’t hear the cheek in your voice. For the life of me I don’t know why, but I agree with you. What d’you you think, Greg?”

  “You know what I think of Cardigan.”

  “Get out of the bloody car, Fartarse,” George said mildly.

  All three exited Harry’s small runabout. With the thaw in George’s manner, Harry had no urgency to escape the twins but resolved to see it through should they attack him. He’d done what he’d promised Mickey he’d do, and his only worry was that Mickey would fear the worst if he didn’t get back to the hideout soon.

  The Brothers stood side by side facing him, and, miraculously, George held out his hand. Wary, Harry held his out, ready to shake George’s but on his guard in case George yanked his arm out of its socket. George just pumped his hand up and down and then slapped him jovially on his back.

  George laughed, Greg joining him.

  “What’s so bleedin’ funny?” Harry asked. “Come on, what the bloody hell are we laughing at?”

  Greg sobered. “We’re laughing because…we’d planned to kill Cardigan ourselves, but once we saw your car parked out the back of the flats… Cardigan was convinced you’d show with the money and sent us off to hide, ready to ambush you when you thought you were safe.”

  George smiled wide. “That’s a classic, that is. We go to kill Cardigan, and you do the job for us. How did you do it, because he was wearing a vest?”

  “I thought he would be, so I shot him in the head.” Harry puffed out his chest.

  George and Greg looked at one another.

  Greg said, “He got what he deserved. He’s had it coming for years. Good fucking riddance, that’s all I can say. We can take over now.”

  George looked happier than he had in years. “Here, you couldn’t give us a lift home, could you? I don’t fancy walking.”

  “Yeah, all right,” Harry said.

  They got back in the car.

  Something was off. Harry said, “Tell me, what was all the gun and attitude about with me if you wanted to do him over yourself?”

  Greg smiled. “George was pissed off you’d beat us to it, that’s all, but at the end of the day, the main objective was Cardigan getting done.”

  “On second thoughts,” George said as Harry headed towards the twins’ house, “take us to the flats where we left our van.”

  Harry turned the car round, cursing himself for not seeing it there earlier.

  George looked out of the window. “If Cardigan’s anything like I think he is, he’d have given Sam instructions to call the dodgy doctor if he’d suspected he was going to be hit. He wouldn’t want his mate to get any gyp from this sort of thing. The doctor’ll sort it all out. The coppers won’t even be looking for a murderer. You’re safe, mate.” He pat
ted Findley’s shoulder. “But Sam might be out on the rampage after all this lot’s cleared up. Just watch out, that’s my advice.”

  “Sam? Out on the rampage? Don’t make me laugh,” Greg said.

  “Maybe he’ll sod off altogether, then Findley here can go about his business without any worries.”

  “That’d be nice.” Harry pulled the car up next to the twins’ van and glanced about. No one around here would grass him up should there be a report of gunfire. They all knew to keep quiet.

  “Thanks for the lift,” Greg said.

  “That’s all right.”

  Harry watched The Brothers get into their battered old van and drive away. Not being able to resist, he left his car and walked round the side of the tower block, fully expecting to see police cars and an ambulance with lights flashing on the other side of the road. No flashing lights. No emergency service vehicles. Cardigan’s car was gone. George had been right. Sam would have taken Cardigan to a bent doctor.

  Harry squinted. All he saw as proof someone had been shot to death was the blood that had dripped over the kerb and into the pavement. Sam hadn’t sorted out the mess yet then.

  “Slacker.” Harry made his way back to his car, ready for the drive to the safe house.

  The only thing that bothered him was why The Brothers hadn’t asked about Mickey. Maybe with Cardigan dead, they wouldn’t be after him now.

  Harry could only hope.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Hearing the gunshot and seeing Cardigan fall would haunt Sam for the rest of his days. Cardigan had slumped down on the pavement, and Sam wedged himself out and bent down to his boss and friend.

  Cardigan had landed on his side. A pool of crimson seeped along the tarmac. Sam had shaken him then rolled him onto his back. His staring, lifeless eyes looked vacantly at him, and the hole in his forehead had dribbled blood. The back of his head was missing, some brains and whatnot on the grass beside the path.