by Martina Cole
Angus guessed he was getting a bollocking, and he knew that it was his fault. He had put himself and his needs before business, and that was something his mother couldn’t and wouldn’t accept. Angus could just imagine what was being said and had the sense to look contrite.
‘Change of plan. The meet with Roger Matthews is over. Your mum and Gabriel want us to join them at Mohammad’s scrapyard in North London. She sounds well pissed off.’
Angus didn’t even bother to answer. As usual, there wasn’t really anything he could say. But he was intrigued as to why they were meeting there, because his old school friend’s yard wasn’t somewhere she would normally frequent.
Roy answered his unspoken question. ‘If we are meeting her there then it’s serious, so get your fucking head around that.’
They were both quiet for the rest of the journey.
Chapter Seventy-four
Mohammad Baqri was a handsome lad, and he knew it.
He was tall, well dressed, and he liked to spend money. He was also shrewd and had a degree in Engineering from Bristol University. His father had made sure of that; he was a believer in education for education’s sake. Not something that his sons felt particularly excited about – but he knew better than them how they felt about his plans for them, and it grieved him more than his sons actually realised.
Mohammad thought the world of Diana Davis. After all, without this woman, he wouldn’t have the life he lived. His father was a good man, but he was also steeped in the old ways. It had taken him a long time to understand that his sons were not going to toe the company line and do what he said, without question.
They were Londoners, born and bred, and they had no intention of dressing like fucking peasants and bowing and scraping for the rest of their lives. They were grown men and they had not been brought up as assiduously as their father. It didn’t help that their father had the family contacts in Afghanistan that guaranteed the purest drugs in Europe, which Mohammad now supplied. They all loved him, but they had fought him, and eventually they had won.
Diana Davis owned half of this scrapyard, and they had a good business partnership in as much as Mohammad gave her money on a regular basis and she left him to get on with it. If she wanted a meeting here then he was more than happy to oblige. After all, it was her investment that had made his father come around. His father wanted to buy her out but she had always refused, and he would love her to his dying day for that alone. He worked with his father, but not for him, and that suited him right down to the ground.
He heard a car pull into his yard, and he smiled as he went to open the door of the Portakabin. He was looking forward to seeing Diana; she was always so interesting and a lot of fun. He had been great friends with Angus since they were kids, but he couldn’t help wondering what was bringing them here this night. He wasn’t a fool – it had to be something serious, and something that they wanted to keep private. Well, that was fine by him, as he was more than willing to keep out of it all.
He was standing in the doorway of the Portakabin, waiting to greet Diana, when he saw the first man get out of the Range Rover. He noticed the sawn-off shotgun in the man’s hands just as two other men descended from the car, one of whom he recognised as his old friend Mehmet Aksoy.
All he could think was fuck, fuck, fuck!
Chapter Seventy-five
Angus and Roy pulled up to the scrapyard, both annoyed to see that the gates were closed.
Angus got out of the BMW angrily. ‘Really? What the actual fuck!’
He was not in the mood for aggravation, and this was a red rag to a bull. He saw Mohammad wave at them and, when he opened the gates by hand, Angus walked into the yard rather than get back into the car.
‘You having a fucking laugh, mate? What’s with the closed gates? We were expected.’
It was a large premises, and Angus walked up to the Portakabins on his dignity as Roy parked the car up. He saw that his mother’s car was already there, and he sighed in annoyance. As he turned, he was astonished to see his mother standing there with a face like thunder – and what looked suspiciously like blood all over her rather expensive outfit.
‘I fucking blame you for this, you lazy little sod!’
Angus took a few seconds to assimilate exactly what he was seeing. There was a large man with a seriously battered face sitting hunched in an office chair; another body was on the floor with its head blown off; and a third man was smoking a Turkish cigarette and drinking a large whiskey. He recognised the whiskey drinker as Mehmet Aksoy, a boy he and Mohammad had gone to school with, and who was part of the Turkish criminal system. He often had a drink with him if he came to one of the clubs; he was a decent bloke. Angus looked around him – he had no idea what had happened.
‘What was it, Angus? Another brainless blonde with pretend tits and cheap shoes?’
That his mother had hit the nail on the head wasn’t lost on either Angus or Roy.
Roy just hoped Angus didn’t try and justify his actions by bringing up the library card. That really would put the icing on this particular fucking cake! Trouble was, he wouldn’t put that past him – Angus could be crass at times.
Gabriel stepped in then, much to the relief of Mohammad and Mehmet.
‘These fuckers came here to take out you and your mother! If it wasn’t for young Mehmet here, and Mohammad’s quick thinking, they would have managed it, because we walked into a fucking trap.’
Angus didn’t say anything. He judged, at this time, he was better off keeping his own counsel until he had all the facts. But he could feel the anger welling up inside him, as the enormity of what he was hearing was finally hitting home. It didn’t help that his mother was rattled – that wasn’t something you saw every day. He could suddenly see the lines around her eyes and mouth; she was white underneath her carefully applied make-up, and he felt a sudden rush of love for her.
He roared in anger then. ‘I hold my hand up, I was being a cunt. But I tell you this now, Mother, I will hunt these bastards down like fucking dogs. Planning to shoot my mother, were they? I’ll rip their fucking nuts off and watch them eat them—’
Diana held her hand up for silence and, for once, her son complied. She could see that he was finally getting the seriousness of the situation, but she wasn’t in the mood for these dramatics. Next thing, he would be pontificating on his word of the fucking day.
‘Mohammad, tell him what happened.’
Mohammad was also drinking a large whiskey. Looking at Angus, he said angrily, ‘I had left the gates open. I should have known better, of course. The Range Rover came in, and three men got out. I had assumed it was you or your mum, but then I saw the sawn-off fucking shotgun too. Nothing like maximum damage! Anyway, I shut the office door and went out to the back where, as luck would have it, I have a Kalashnikov I won off a Russian bloke at poker.
‘Anyway, I heard a shot and then I heard Mehmet here shout, “Get your arse out here, I need help!” Though, in fairness, he didn’t. He had already taken out gunman number one with his own piece, smashed the fuck out of gunman number two, and was smiling as I opened the door. Tell them what you said, it did make me laugh.’
Mehmet grinned. ‘I said, “Fuck me, Mohammad, what a fucking day!”’
Now they all laughed. It broke the ice, and levelled out the atmosphere.
Angus looked at him and said quietly, ‘Who are these wankers, and how were you roped in?’
Mehmet shrugged. ‘I was told this morning to go with these two. The dead one is Iqbal Erdogan, a complete fucking wannabe, and him sitting there is my cousin Kamal. He isn’t to be harmed, bless him, he just did what he was told. This was all paid for by a Turkish geezer who thinks that he’s some kind of fucking gangster, Yusuf Yildiz. I went along with it, for obvious reasons, but I tell you all now, Yildiz is a mad fucker, and that has got him as far as it has. He thinks he’s some kind of criminal mastermind – and then he had the gall to recruit my lot to do his dirty work.’
&nb
sp; Diana listened intently once more to what was being said; that was her speciality: listening. She was aware that he had not deviated from his earlier story.
‘And where can we find this paragon of virtue?’
Mohammad grinned. ‘That’s the funny thing. He is, as we speak, in bed with his unofficial boyfriend at a flat he owns not ten minutes from here. Thanks to Mehmet, he thinks the job’s done and life is good.’ He swallowed down the last of his whiskey as he added, ‘And I’m coming with you, OK? What a fucking liberty! They were going to fucking shoot me and all. Look at the aggravation they have caused me. I’ve got to get rid of the dead boy and torch my own fucking Portakabin. Then I have the aggravation of replacing everything. Oh, I want first fucking stab at this ponce.’
Diana laughed then at his absolute outrage, and she said cheerfully, ‘And that you shall have, darling.’
Chapter Seventy-six
Yusuf Yildiz was pleased with himself; he felt that he had really brought off a coup. He was determined to prove to the world that he had the makings of a great man. His mother had drummed into him since birth that he was special, and he believed that, with every ounce of his being.
He wasn’t cut out for the everyday life that afflicted so many of his friends. He did Friday Mosque, of course. That was a given, especially where his father and mother were concerned, but that was as far as it went. He had embraced a hedonistic lifestyle; if you wanted something, you went out and you took it. Well, he was certainly doing that – even his preference for handsome young men with blond hair and blue eyes had ceased to worry him.
His mother had found out and she had not said a word, except that he had to marry a good Turkish girl and keep his pastimes private. As she had explained, he wasn’t the first, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. That actually made a lot of sense to him.
He wasn’t sure about his father. But then he knew as long as he was earning, his father didn’t give a shit. He had the impression that his father didn’t really like him. He saw him as a deviant, he called him a kibar – and he didn’t mean it in the polite sense either. He saw his son as less than human, but he couldn’t change the fact that he was his fucking son. And, because of that, he was what the English called lumbered.
Well, that suited Yusuf. He couldn’t stand the old fart anyway. He treated his mother abominably – he had tarts coming out of his ears, and he didn’t even bother to hide them from her. He knew it broke her heart, and he could understand that. From an early age, she had cried as she told him about loving a man who treated her so badly. Her husband and her children were all she cared about, and that was why he revered her so much; she was everything to him.
He looked at his latest beau, a seventeen-year-old boy from Hackney called Alan, who had everything he required. He was small, thin and he had copious amounts of curly hair, and beautiful azure eyes. He was very effeminate, but that was what Yusuf liked; he wanted a boy to know who was the actual man in this relationship. And once he was finished with him, he would pay him handsomely and go on to the next one.
It was a business arrangement, nothing more. He liked this Alan though – he was a fun guy, and he had a quick brain. He just might last longer than the others. Only time would tell.
When the door to the flat opened, he assumed it was his minder, Raoul, coming in for a marathon piss. So when his bedroom door was slammed open and he saw the angry face of Angus Davis and his henchmen, he knew that his life was about to take a definite turn for the worse.
Little Alan’s petrified shriek didn’t help matters either.
Chapter Seventy-seven
Angus Junior and Sean were happy and relaxed, swimming in their pool, while their mother watched them closely from her lounge chair.
Because they had done everything required – schoolwork for Angus and reading for Sean – she was quite happy to let them have this time in the pool. She explained even at this early age that they had to earn treats like this. As she was forever telling them: no one got anything for nothing.
Lorna watched her sons contentedly. She loved to see them laughing and smiling, it made her feel that she was doing a good job. That was really the difficult part of raising children: the constant fear that you were doing something wrong. She hoped fervently that they would not join the family business, and she would do everything in her power to try and make sure that didn’t happen. She was determined to give her boys an alternative. Educate them, and show them that there was a different way of earning a crust, if they knuckled down and grafted for it.
She was pregnant again, and she couldn’t wait to tell Angus. She hoped for a girl this time, because she really wanted a daughter, especially after two sons. She already had a name picked out. She could see her now – a girl to dress up and take shopping.
She allowed herself these little fantasies because they cheered her up, and she hoped they were the precursor to her dreams actually happening. She knew that Angus secretly wanted a girl too. A smaller version of her, he said, another perfect lady for his perfect home. She loved it when he said things like that; it made her feel special and wanted and needed. Considering his track record with other women, she thought he owed her that much at least.
She felt the black cloud begin to settle on her, the heaviness when the idea of Angus with other women came into her brain, and the anger began to rise. She pushed the negative thoughts away. She didn’t want them ruining an otherwise perfect afternoon. She reached for her pills, sipped her iced tea and carried on listening to the boys as they splashed around, and eventually their laughter soothed her once more and all was right with her world again.
Chapter Seventy-eight
Yusuf Yildiz knew that he was fucked. Big time.
He was absolutely gutted. But there wasn’t a lot that he could do about any of it. He assumed his minder was either dead or incapacitated. So much for that fucker and his bragging that he was harder than a wrestler’s jockstrap!
He couldn’t believe that he had been rumbled. That really fucking stung! He had been convinced that in one fell swoop he could take out that piece of shit Angus Davis and his mother, and not only gain a reputation overnight but also take over the numerous business opportunities that his actions would leave open to him. He could kick himself now, of course, but then hindsight was a fucking wonderful thing.
He watched as Alan scrambled from the bed, naked, and in tears. The boy knew that this wasn’t a social call obviously. He felt a fleeting sorrow for Alan, because he knew that there was no way he was going to be allowed to walk away from this, and he was genuinely sorry for that.
When Angus shot the boy in the face, the blood sprayed all around the room. Yusuf could feel the fine droplets that hit his face and could taste the boy’s blood on his lips. He felt sick. The fear was taking over now, but he was determined to die a good death.
Diana was watching him silently, with that fucking Rasta who seemed permanently glued to her hip. He saw Roy watching nonplussed too. When he saw Mohammad holding a large machete, he knew that Alan had been given a merciful death, which was something that was obviously not on the cards for him.
It took a lot to hold him down, because fear can really give added strength, and he wasn’t a weakling by any stretch of the imagination. It was a long and dirty job, but it got much easier once Yusuf had bled out.
Angus knew that it wasn’t easy to decapitate someone, but it had to be done. His head would be delivered to his family home as a warning to anyone in his tribe who might even think about retaliation.
Diana had a feeling Yusuf’s father would be silently thanking them; they weren’t exactly close by all accounts. It was his mother she felt sorry for. Everyone knew she thought the sun, the moon and the stars emerged from Yusuf’s arsehole on a daily basis. She sighed, then looked distastefully at Angus, who was covered in blood.
Sometimes, she thought, he enjoyed this part of the game a little bit too much.
Chapter Seventy-nine
Although An
gus had changed his clothes and showered at the offices in Soho, he still stood under the hot shower at home for a good ten minutes. The smell of blood lingered in his nostrils and he breathed the hot water in so he could get rid of any residue.
Blood was a fucker – a little went a long way – and there had been lots of it. He wasn’t unduly bothered about what had happened. As far as he was concerned, the fucker had asked for it and he had been given it. End of. You didn’t fight a Tonka truck with a Matchbox mini, that was the point.
He dried himself off, and nearly went through to the bedroom in a towel, before he remembered how funny Lorna could be about things like that. He quickly put the towel into the washing basket, and pulled on the dressing gown the boys at one of the clubs had given him for Christmas. It was deep blue and had ‘Rocky the Italian Stallion’ written across the back. Italian Stallion was a porn film that Sylvester Stallone had made in his youth, but of course his wife didn’t know that – otherwise, nothing to do with him would be allowed on the premises. She had her standards all right.
He sat on the bed beside her. He loved this room; it was all subdued colours, and really calming. She had poured him a large brandy and she smiled coyly as she handed it to him. She was drinking sparkling water, but that didn’t surprise him. She wasn’t a drinker – another one of her virtues, as far as he was concerned.
‘I have some news for you, Angus.’
He looked deep into her beautiful eyes, and he just knew what she was going to tell him, and they both laughed delightedly.
‘Oh, darling, another baby? Oh, I’m so made up! It has to be a girl, this time, I just know it.’
He kissed her, long and hard. She could feel the love emanating from him, and she knew that she was a lucky woman in so many ways. Whatever he was, whatever he did, she believed that he loved her with every ounce of his being. She felt enveloped in his adoration and that feeling was worth the world to her.
