The Jade Garden (The Barrington Patch Book 2)

by Emmy Ellis

  Jason dropped the head and stepped back to study his handiwork for a bit. Not bad if he did say so himself. He turned to go to the sink again but stopped short. The envelope he’d dropped into the bin at Greggs earlier sat on the top of the tall fridge beside a two-litre bottle of Coke and a large bag of chilli heatwave Doritos.

  “I’ll have that little lot, thanks.”

  He washed the knife, slid it in his pocket. Put the drink, crisps, and money onto a Sainsbury’s carrier bag he found on the floor, then emptied the washing machine and added the clothes to his haul. He walked over and inspected Brett’s trainers. What a div, he hadn’t cleaned them. Blood spotted the fronts. Jason found another carrier under the sink and put the footwear inside.

  At the back door, giving Brett the once-over, he smiled at the state of the bloke. “You messed with the wrong man, pal.”

  He strode round the house switching all the lights off then, back in the kitchen, snapped the curtain across. Dust billowed, and Jason held back a cough, opening the door and stepping outside. No way would he leave via the front, not with Brett screaming not long ago. Anyone could be out there, alerted by the noise, waiting for him to emerge.

  Climbing over a fence wasn’t something he’d done for years, but he vaulted it, bags swaying, and landed in a ginnel that separated the back gardens in the row. He searched his mind for the layout of the area and stalked to the right, ending up at the alley he’d gone down earlier. In the next street, he got in his car, dumped the bags in the passenger footwell, and checked all the houses. No one seemed to be about, so he drove away, pleased with his work.

  He’d be known as a force to be reckoned with soon when he called the shots. Until then, he’d keep his extra-curricular activities to himself, reliving them at night, Jack Daniel’s with ice and some of Richie’s coke stash for company.

  Life would be everything he wanted.

  Eventually.

  Chapter Three

  Li Jun stood at the back door of the Jade kitchen and observed his family working as if nothing had happened. Noodles flying, woks shaken so rice flew up in an arc, chicken sizzling. Yenay had calmed an irate woman who was annoyed about being left outside, the front door locked. She’d made out the gas range wasn’t working, but all was well now. The customer had walked off with her free chicken curry for the inconvenience, smiling brightly.

  So this was how life had eventually panned out, and he’d known it would from the second he’d agreed to work for Lenny. You acted a part, played it well, and the public were none the wiser. Inside, though, he hated what he did, what his family did, and wished he could run the takeaway without the added extras.

  He couldn’t. No getting away from it, he was stuck here. He could go back to China, but what of his sons, his wife, his other relations? They’d all built a life here, and for the younger generation, the north of England was all they’d ever known, his sons born on these shores. How could he expect them to transport their worlds elsewhere due to bad results on the back of a decision he’d made years ago? Because that was what they’d have to do if Li Jun decided to pack this in. If they remained in the UK, Cassie and her people would find them. Force them to continue at the Jade.

  Or face death.

  He’d like to think Cassie wasn’t as hot on imposing the rules as Lenny had been, but since she’d taken over, she’d more than proved she had a ‘screw loose’, as Dequan put it. Li Jun privately thought the contents of her whole toolbox rattled around, but he’d never say so. Never utter anything like that out loud to anyone but his kin.

  She’d been on the phone out in the yard and came into the kitchen, jerking her head to let him know she needed to talk to him, leading the way into the office. He could hardly tell her not to—her mother, the elegant Francis, owned the takeaway now, but really, all belonged to Cassie, she was the one running things.

  He sat at the desk. “We are a chef short. I need to be out there helping if it gets busy.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  He thought about events prior to the nasty person coming in. “It seems odd to me.”

  “What does?”

  “That we did not have any customers for a while before the man arrived. Could it be people were warned off?”

  “Hmm. Told to come back later?”

  “Exactly.” He sighed. “We are always busy.”

  “I’m looking for more than one person then.” She went to the unplugged fridge in the corner and opened the door. Inspected the contents, brushing a finger along the front of a shelf. “If customers were warned either end of the street, the masked man can’t be in two places at once.” She clenched her jaw. “I need to know exactly what happened tonight. Every little detail you can remember.”

  Li Jun closed his eyes, and the slicing action of the machete pranced about in his mind. He winced and snapped his eyes open. What would he see in his dreams, his nightmares? Would he ever get tonight out of his head?

  Li Jun tidied a stack of business cards then wiped down the counter, the cloth skimming over the open menus he’d placed beneath the glass top.

  A customer, Graham Knowles, sat in the takeaway, reading a menu pamphlet as so many did while they waited for their order. Li Jun often wondered whether they wished they’d chosen something else once they spied the images of the food on offer, maybe telling themselves, “Next time, I’ll have that next time. Didn’t know they did duck in black bean sauce. Always thought it was just orange.”

  Li Jun prided himself on being different, providing unusual options.

  He glanced through the cutout in the wall. Jiang stood closest to the back door chopping onions into petals for the curries, Tai beside him doing a good job of slicing the slab of char sui, the red edges vibrant from food colouring. Li Jun made his own marinade, none of that rubbish in a plastic tub for him. He’d been taught to create meals from scratch as a child and had brought his knowledge to the UK. Taught his family, too.

  Dequan and Yenay, busy in front of the double-wide hob, cooked the large order for Graham. Two lots of chicken chow mein, four chicken curries, one beef. Three char sui fried rice, one egg fried. Three spare ribs. On top of that, prawn crackers, sesame toast, and umpteen fat spring rolls. A party, so Graham had said, and once his food was cooked, he was nipping along the road to The Shoppe Pudding that stayed open late. A birthday cake awaited him, and a couple of cheesecakes, one of them a New York, apparently, on account of a guest not liking strawberry, the ‘awkward bastard’.

  Tai stopped his slicing and helped with packaging the food, and in no time, the order was placed in a cardboard box and balanced on the ledge of the cutout.

  “Number three,” Li Jun said out of habit, despite only Graham being there.

  The man rose, placed his plastic yellow card with a large black marker-penned ‘3’ on it, and took the box. He said his thanks and goodbye, plus, “See you next week for the usual.”

  So he hadn’t been tempted by other choices on the menu then. No black bean duck for this one. Graham lived alone and always had a beef curry with egg fried rice. Li Jun had found that people stuck to what they liked for the most part, not daring to venture into the realm of new tastes once they’d discovered their ‘usual’. He knew most customer’s favourites off by heart.

  Graham left, the door sucking shut, and placed the food on the passenger seat of his car directly outside. He walked along to The Shoppe Pudding, and Li Jun smiled. It would be Jiang’s birthday soon, and they’d have a family feast. Maybe he’d buy himself a cake from down the road, too.

  Li Jun watched the street for a moment, snatching the chance for a rest while it was quiet. A row of houses stood opposite, their roofs hidden by the enveloping darkness, the red-brick facades on display from lights shining through windows where the curtains hadn’t been drawn yet. Inhabitants lounged watching telly, their big screens flickering with scene changes, and one lady walked across her bedroom and closed the blind. Cars flashed by, others slowing for the driver to fin
d a parking space, maybe to visit The Shoppe Pudding, The Donny, or the laundrette along the way.

  Someone over the road, as dark as the shadows between the lampposts, hung about beside a tall hedge at the bottom of a front garden. Li Jun paid them no mind. Oftentimes, people waited for busses there, shielded from the wind by that hedge, only stepping out to the kerb, hand raised and flapping, once their transport came to a wheezing, smoker-like stop.

  Bored, Li Jun turned to chat to his family through the cutout.

  “Quiet night,” he said in Mandarin.

  “It’ll be too busy once everyone leaves The Donny.” Dequan scooped up the onion petals and dropped them in a metal bowl. “Always is.”

  “Strange, when we offer more than food.” Li Jun frowned. By now, loads of ‘scallies’, as Tai referred to them, would have been in for a portion of chips with a side of weed. Odd that the takeaway wasn’t bustling.

  The bell over the front door jangled, and Li Jun pasted on a smile, spinning to greet the customer. Someone stood there all in black, a balaclava covering their face, their body slim and delicate. Was it a woman? He’d been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he’d gone in with Lenny, and he supposed they were trying their luck now Cassie ran the Barrington. His stomach muscles spasmed, and he slowly reached out beneath the counter for his gun, one Lenny had given him so long ago.

  It wasn’t there.

  God, he’d forgotten to get it out of the safe.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his voice steady even though he was afraid.

  Why hadn’t his family seen this person through the cutout? Were they so busy they hadn’t looked this way?

  The visitor brought a machete out from behind their back. “What I’d like is a beef curry and a portion of egg fried rice, but there’s something else I want more.”

  A man. Young, going by the tone.

  Li Jun racked his brains. Had he heard that voice before, or was he imagining it, hoping he had so he could identify him? Whatever, he couldn’t place it at the minute—and couldn’t afford to think about it. The man snicked the lock down and approached the counter.

  “Where’s the fridge?” he asked.

  Ah. So he was here for the drugs if he knew about that.

  How, though? Who would have told him? Li Jun didn’t know how many of Cassie’s lot were aware. It could be any of them—it certainly wouldn’t be his family.

  In a split second, he weighed up his options: let the man take the goods or fight him? The machete was a problem, a big one, but if he called out to his sons, they’d pick up a meat cleaver and do some damage themselves. But he didn’t want to put them in any danger. On the other hand, if he allowed the man to have access to the fridge, he might find himself dead by Cassie’s hand for letting the goods be stolen.

  “I said, where’s the fucking fridge?” The man waggled the machete about, his eyes wide in the balaclava holes, his lips trembling.

  He was afraid?

  Was anyone in the houses opposite watching this, calling the police?

  “Come with me.” Li Jun opened the hatch.

  The man held the machete out, pointing the tip at Li Jun, and came through to stand behind the counter. “What about that lot in there?” He cocked his head in the direction of the cutout, indicating the family.

  Li Jun didn’t dare take his attention from this horrible person. “They will not do anything, not when you have a weapon.”

  “Good. I don’t want no bother, just the drugs. I’m doing as I’m told, right? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “How will you carry it?”

  The would-be thief paused, looked at the ceiling as if thinking about whether he’d even brought a bag with him. The larder fridge was packed—he’d need an extra-large holdall and a lot of strength to cart that much away.

  Unless someone was waiting out there in the dark. Maybe the shadow-shape by the hedge? Or had that been this man?

  “Shit,” the lad whispered.

  Li Jun took that moment to punch him in the stomach, and as the would-be thief bent over in pain, he kneed him in the face.

  He pushed through into the kitchen, shouting in Mandarin, “Get out! Get out the back!”

  Everyone stared at him for a fragment of time then obeyed. His family tumbled into the yard, the door flying inwards so hard it hit one of the steel storage units, and plastic food containers teetered, threatening to fall off. A heavy pot clanged onto the floor in front of Li Jun, rolling to wedge the door open. He ran outside, heart clattering, skin clammy. By the light coming from the kitchen, he spotted Tai struggling to undo the padlock on the rear gate, the key always left in there.

  “Climb over the fence,” Li Jun shouted. “Get away.”

  He planned to see his people to safety then deal with the man, face death by machete if he had to. His wife, Nuwa, was upstairs in the flat, and he couldn’t let the bastard get to her. He turned at the swoosh of the door behind the counter opening. The man staggered towards him, eyes narrowed with spite, a bruise blooming beneath one of them.

  “The fucking fridge,” he growled out.

  He stepped outside, going for Li Jun, waving the machete around.

  Jiang darted between Li Jun and the intruder. “Get away from my uncle.”

  The blade, arced from left to right, sliced into Jiang’s neck. He stared in shock for a suspended, drawn-out second, then collapsed to the ground, a hand up at his gaping throat. He fell, his head wobbling where so much had been cut, its anchor all but gone. The thud upon landing seemed so loud, so wicked.

  “Fuck. Fuck.” The man flung the machete aside, and it skidded along the ground, coming to rest at the edge of the lit patch of flagstones, blade on display, the handle in the darkness.

  Yenay screamed and rushed to Jiang, going down on her knees, slapping her hand over the wound to stem the flow. Their unwanted guest shot forward, barging into Dequan and Tai, a hand on each of their chests, pushing them with some strength considering he was so wiry. Li Jun’s sons righted themselves as the horrible person vaulted the fence, and they moved to go after him.

  “No,” Li Jun said, his heart heavy at the sight of his dear nephew dead on the flagstones. “No. There has been enough bloodshed tonight. Let him go. Cassie Grafton can deal with this. It is her job, not ours. We signed to sell, to protect the drugs, not go after a madman. We do not get paid enough for that.”

  He took his work phone out and brought the screen alive. Kicked the pot away so the door closed. He didn’t want any customers peering in, seeing Jiang like this, and calling the police.

  He couldn’t recall the code word he was supposed to use for a life-or-death situation—or was he supposed to phone her for that?—so chose one he remembered, sending it to his new boss: Problem.

  Then, by the light of his torch app, he watched his sons and Yenay crying for Jiang, holding back tears himself. He would cry later, in private, and only after the man had been caught.

  “So you thought you recognised his voice,” Cassie stated.

  Li Jun nodded, tired now he’d relived that dreadful experience. “I… It is there, his name, on the tip of my tongue.”

  “As soon as you remember it, let me know. A phone call, no matter the time of night. I don’t want his name in a text.” She leant against the fridge she’d not long closed and folded her arms. “We have a leak.”

  She wasn’t telling Li Jun anything he didn’t know. “My family, they would not be the ones passing information. They all keep quiet. We do not want to go to prison.”

  Cassie nodded. “I wouldn’t suspect any of you. You’ve kept your mouths shut for years.”

  Li Jun managed a smile, glad she didn’t think they’d given out confidential information. “And I heard how you have been putting your mark on the Barrington. I do not fancy barbed wire in my face. None of us do. We also do not want to meet that Marlene lady.”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t.” She pushed off the fridge and opened the door a
tad to peer into the kitchen. “Your family are like me. Working as usual, no matter what.”

  “Lenny expected it of us, and now you do, too.”

  “Unfortunately, you’ll have to grieve in your own time.” She closed the door. “If the takeaway’s shut, it’ll bring questions. Ones we don’t need. I appreciate you all carrying on.”

  He didn’t remind her they had no choice, that doing as they were told was part of the deal. But if he wasn’t mistaken, he sensed sincerity there, that she was sorry they wouldn’t be able to act any differently. It could have been a trick of the eye, though. He didn’t know her new persona well enough to understand all her nuances yet. Lenny’s, well, he’d had a long time to study those.

  “I know you said you’re a chef down.” She rubbed her forehead. “But the yard will need cleaning. The blood. I’ll get rid of the machete. One of the coppers takes backhanders. He might be able to get prints off it and match them to someone in their database.”

  “The masked man had gloves on.”

  “Maybe to come here, yes, but he sounds incompetent. He may have touched it beforehand.”

  Li Jun shrugged. He didn’t much care for the finer points at the minute. Yes, there was justice to be had for Jiang, but he needed peace, the routine of running the takeaway until closing time—after he’d cleaned up his nephew’s blood. Later, in bed, he’d think about that man’s voice, try to remember his name.

  For now, he had work to do, and that was pretending everything was normal.

  He stood and waited for Cassie to open the door again.

  ‘Where’s the fridge?’ The man’s words floated in his head. ‘What I’d like is a beef curry and a portion of egg fried rice…’

  “It’s one of three men,” he blurted.

  Cassie paused at the open door and glanced back at him, her auburn eyebrows high. “You’ve remembered?”

  “Perhaps. The food. Beef curry, egg fried rice. Three people always ask for it.”