by Kerry Kaya
They laughed together, before pushing their way out of the heavy club doors, both of them eager to get to the second club on the list.
* * *
Big Tone had heard some alarming rumours, and driving at break-neck speed, he drove toward Stratford. Although he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing, he also knew that if it involved Danny McKay, then anything was possible.
He brought the car to a halt outside The Belgrave, and peered through the car window, toward the club. He didn’t recognise the men on the door, and his stomach lurched.
“Fuck,” he swore to himself. He was unsure of which way to turn. Should he drive to all of the clubs, hoping he could stop McKay’s takeover? Or should he go straight to Freddie, and inform him of what was going on?
Faced with a dilemma, he sat back in his seat for a moment, before putting the gear into first, and screeching away from the kerb. He had to try and stop the takeover, before it was too late.
Bringing his mobile phone to his ear, Big Tone shouted into the receiver. “Do not let Danny McKay inside the club, under any circumstances.” He could hear the confusion in Lloydy’s voice, and roared. “Just do as I fucking tell you to do,” he screamed, before throwing the phone down beside him.
* * *
Lloydy was confused. He stared at the phone in his hand, before slipping it back inside his jacket pocket. What the hell was going on? He looked around, concerned. His mind was all over the place. His eyes were on the lookout for Danny.
He absentmindedly nodded at the punters, as they walked through the doors to the club, barely even frisking them. That was to be his biggest mistake. Without even realising it, he had allowed Danny and Moray’s men to slip through the doors tooled up.
It wasn’t long, before he spotted Danny walking toward him. He held up his hands. “I don’t want any aggro, mate.”
Danny began to laugh. “You don’t want any aggro? Are you taking the piss? It’s too late for that.” He pulled back his fist and knocked Lloydy to the ground. “That’s just for starters. I’ve got personal issues with you, you cunt, and at some point in the very near future, I will end you,” he said, giving Lloydy a swift hard kick to the groin.
As Lloydy rolled around on the ground, obviously in great pain, Danny gave a signal for the takeover to begin inside the venue.
Crouching down, Danny pulled Lloydy’s head toward him, a handful of his hair was clutched in his fist. “You actually thought you were going to take me out, didn’t you?” he growled, as Lloydy squirmed in front of him. “Well, son, here I am, so do your best. Go on, take a shot.”
“Come on, Danny, don’t do this,” Lloydy whimpered.
“Don’t fucking do this?” Danny growled. “Don’t you remember, you and Terry Stevens were going to try and kill me? Where is he?” Danny asked, looking up.
Lloydy remained silent.
“I said, where is he?” Danny roared, pulling Lloydy’s face closer toward him.
“He’s not here. I don’t know where he is.”
Danny smashed his fist into Lloydy’s face a second time, then straightened up. “Come on,” he said, now to Moray. “Let’s take over this shithole.”
* * *
Writhing around on the floor, Lloydy brought his hand up toward his face. Blood trickled out from his nose. He rolled over onto his side, grimacing, as pain shot through his groin.
He could hear sniggering from the newly appointed doormen, stood on the doors, as he spat out a mouthful of blood-stained spit, before slowly staggering to his feet.
Unsteadily, he managed to walk a few yards away from the club, before Big Tone brought the car skidding to a halt beside him.
Jumping out of the motor, Big Tone brought his hands up to his head.
“He’s already been and gone.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Big Tone shouted. This had to be some kind of a nightmare. He looked around him, stunned, with no idea of which club or pub Danny would turn up at next. It was a case of playing a game of cat and mouse.
“I think he is looking for Terry.”
“No,” Big Tone shook his head. “He isn’t purposely looking for him, or anyone else for that matter. If he comes across him, then he’ll more than likely batter him to within an inch of his life, but until then, he is solely taking over the doors.”
“All of them?” There was shock in Lloydy’s voice.
“Yes, fucking all of them. He’s already taken over The Belgrave and this club. Fuck knows how many more he has taken over by now. Get in the car. We have to try and stop him.”
“Tone, I can barely walk. I think I need to go to the hospital.”
“Just get in the motor,” Big Tone snapped.
With great difficulty, Lloydy did as he was told, groaning in pain while he did so.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Big Tone stated, once they had set off.
“I feel like I’m going to be pissing blood for the next week,” Lloydy cried.
Big Tone glanced across at his friend, before sighing. “I’ll take you to hospital, before the end of the night, okay? But right now, we have to find Danny.”
Lloydy nodded his head, before taking a quick peek inside the waistband of his trousers. “Bloody hell, Tone,” he cried, the colour draining from his face. “It’s bad.”
Big Tone rubbed his hand across his head. Abruptly, he stepped his foot on the brake and executed a three-point turn. “Okay, okay. I will take you there now, but,” he said, pointing his finger toward Lloydy, “I’m not coming in with you, right?”
Reluctantly, Big Tone drove as fast as he could toward Newham Hospital. God knows how many clubs Danny would have taken over by the time he returned.
* * *
Danny and Moray were celebrating. They had just successfully taken over all of Freddie’s pubs and clubs.
“What did I fucking tell you? I said everything would go to plan.”
Danny nodded his head, feeling euphoric. “Yep, we did it, mate.”
Lighting a cigar, Moray puffed on it, and grinned widely. “I would love to be a fly on the wall, when Freddie finds out.”
Danny burst out laughing. “It’s not going to be pretty, but fuck him. This is about us now.”
“Too fucking true, Danny, mate. To us, the new kings of the East End,” Moray said, raising his glass in a toast.
Danny grinned. “To us,” he replied, raising his own glass. He had finally broken free from Freddie and the firm, and he couldn’t feel any happier than he did right now. In fact, he wished he’d done it years ago.
* * *
The irate screams that came from Freddie, were beginning to give Big Tone a headache. He couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why he was getting the blame for everything. It wasn’t as if he, himself, had personally taken over all of Freddie’s clubs.
“And where were you, when all of this was happening? Oh yeah, that’s right … you were taking Lloydy to the fucking hospital. Did it not cross your mind that stopping McKay from getting my doors, was just that little bit more important?”
“Hold on, Fred. Lloydy was in a bad way. I couldn’t just leave him.”
“I couldn’t just leave him,” Freddie mimicked. “You should have kicked him to the fucking kerb, and sorted out McKay. What do you think I pay you for?”
“Sorry, Fred.”
“I’ll give you fucking sorry,” Freddie growled, as he attempted to get out of his chair without wincing. His heavy fists were clenched, as he tried to swing a punch toward the big man. In defeat, he sunk down heavily, gasping to catch his breath. The pain from his broken ribs were getting the better of him.
“I tried to stop him, Fred, but you know what he’s like. He was always one step ahead of me.”
“Do you know how much damage you have caused?” Freddie wheezed. “Twenty years, it took me to build up this business, and it’s all fucking gone now, because of you.”
“It wasn’t exactly me, was it?”
“Well, you
didn’t try hard to stop him, did you? One fucking day, I left you in charge for, and now it’s all gone.”
“I’m sorry, Fred. I did my best.”
“Fuck off, Tone. You’re lucky I can’t get up and knock seven bells of shit out of you, because trust me, other than killing McKay, there is nothing I would like to do better right now. ”
Big Tone took this as his cue to leave. Once outside on the street, he walked as fast as he could toward his car, looking around him nervously as he did so. The situation with Danny was beginning to make him feel paranoid. He had a feeling Danny McKay was capable of just about anything right now.
Chapter 8
Ray Chambers loved being outdoors. A bit of fresh air never did anyone any harm, and it was certainly better than being cooped up inside the house all day.
He walked his border collie, Jack, every day, over at Barking Riverside. It had become an integral part of their routine, ever since Ray’s wife had died suddenly, four years earlier. The sound of seagulls circling above this stretch of the Thames was as familiar as the landscape itself, and he breathed in lungfuls of crisp air, as he and Jack began their three-mile daily hike.
He picked up a tennis ball and threw it as far as he could, watching, as Jack ran into the wind, his black and white coat flying out behind him.
“Here, boy,” he shouted, as Jack ran full pelt back toward him, the ball clenched between his teeth. “Drop,” Ray ordered, as he swooped down to pick the ball up and throw it again.
He watched as Jack disappeared amongst the overgrown weeds, and waited for a few seconds, before calling him back. “Jack!” When the dog didn’t appear, Ray put his fingers to his lips and let out a high pitched whistle.
“What the hell?” he muttered, as Jack appeared into view, with a long stick between his jaws. “Come here, boy,” he called out.
Grabbing hold of Jack’s collar, Ray brought the border collie to a halt. “What’s that you’ve got, eh? Drop.” In horror, Ray staggered backwards, as he came to realise that Jack hadn’t brought him a stick, but in fact, a bone, and judging by the trainer dangling precariously from the end of it, most likely a human one.
He hastily clipped the lead to Jack’s collar and dragged the dog away. He needed to get to a phone box, and quickly.
* * *
Detective Inspector Ronnie Dellow climbed out of his car. The cold wind whipped bitterly around him, and he pulled his thin jacket farther around his wiry body. “What have we got?” he called out.
“Looks like a body, guv.”
“Looks like?” Ronnie muttered to himself. “Either it is, or it isn’t?” he snapped.
“It is, well, what’s left of one.”
Ronnie strode farther into the weeds. “And who found it?”
Police Constable Stephen Hibbs looked down at his notebook. “This gentleman. A Raymond Chambers,” he said, pointing across to a visibly shaken Ray.
“And what was he doing out here?”
“Walking his dog, guv,” Stephen said, as he hurried to keep up with the inspector.
“Make sure you take a statement from him,” Ronnie said, as he came to a halt in front of a half-buried black bin bag. It had been dug up and torn apart, more than likely by foxes. He could see soot-covered bones and what looked like charred flesh protruding out from the thin plastic bag. “I want this whole area cordoned off,” he demanded. His coarse greying hair blew in the wind, giving him the appearance of a mad professor. “And get forensics down here,” he added as an afterthought.
Stephen nodded his head, before rushing off.
Ronnie crouched down. He twisted his head this way and that way, in order to look at the discovered remains from every angle. He then looked up at the at the barren wasteland. There were no houses for miles around, just a stretch of the Thames and Thamesmead directly opposite—only the lapping water separating the two areas.
He wondered briefly if there was a connection between the body and Belmarsh prison, situated across the river. Or was it solely a coincidence? There is no such thing as coincidence, when it comes to crime. He could remember someone saying that once. He couldn’t remember who it was now, but at the time, he’d agreed it was true. He looked across the water in the general direction of the prison. Somehow, he had a feeling this wasn’t going to be an open and shut case.
* * *
Matty stalked the walkways of Gascoigne Estate. He kept his eyes peeled for the usual junkies. They were usually creatures of habit, and often, could be found begging for loose change outside the estate shops. Today, however, there were none.
He walked toward the grey tower blocks, which dominated the estate, casually kicking a stone underneath his foot as he did so, scuffing his already tattered trainers. He came to a halt and leant back against the wall outside Lyme House, a particularly rundown block.
He watched the comings and goings, as he waited. Today, it wasn’t just any junkie he was waiting for.
As the door to the block opened, Matty looked up. “Hey,” he called out.
Charlene Morris looked around her. Instantly recognising Matty, she turned her head away and pretended that she hadn’t seen him.
“I had a missed call from you the other night,” Matty grinned, as he stepped into line with the blonde.
“Yeah, well, that was the other day. I’m not interested now.”
“Well, you were the other day. So what’s changed? You up on your luck?”
Coming to a halt, Charlene gave him a cold stare. “What do you want?”
“Nothing, I’m just reminding you that I’m here, if you ever need something.”
Disgusted, Charlene turned her head away. “I would rather cut my arms off.”
Matty laughed. “That’s what they all say, but they always give in, just like you nearly did. You know where I am, if you need me.” He then turned and walked away.
Charlene stared at Matty’s retreating back. She felt ashamed of herself for even contemplating giving Matty a call, let alone actually going through with it. She dug her nails into the palm of her hand, full of self-hatred. With one last look at Matty, she then turned and walked toward the estate primary school to collect her two little boys.
* * *
Maxine hated herself for what she was doing, yet she couldn’t stop the compulsion inside of her. She waited until she could hear water flowing from the en suite shower, then snatched her husband’s jeans up off of the floor and rifled through the pockets.
She found nothing. He was obviously becoming a lot more guarded with what he left lying around. She stood chewing on her thumbnail, thinking. Finally, she looked around the bedroom. As always, her home looked like a show house, with not so much as a plumped pillow out of place. A thick ivory bedspread draped down onto a plush cream carpet, a carpet that was so thick, she could curl her toes into it. Matching ivory drapes at the double windows fell to the floor in folds.
On an antique cream dressing table, were two bowls of fresh pink roses, placed there to give the cream and ivory room a splash of colour. Her eyes fell upon her husband’s wallet on the bedside table, and without even thinking, she had snatched it up, flipped it open and quickly scanned through the contents.
“What are you doing?”
In shock, Maxine dropped the wallet. She hadn’t heard her husband walk into the room. “Nothing.”
Walking forward, Danny scooped his wallet up from the floor. “What are you doing, Max?” His tone was loud and harsh, a lot harsher than he’d intended.
Her cheeks flushed pink, Maxine attempted to run past her husband. He grasped hold of her wrist, stopping her from escaping.
Water droplets sprayed over her, as she struggled to break free. “Ow, you’re hurting me. Let go.”
He released the tightness of his grip. “What were you doing looking through my wallet?”
Maxine lowered her eyes. She wanted to kick herself for not being more careful. Now he knew she’d been snooping. Realising her husband wasn’t going to let h
er leave without an explanation, she spoke quickly. “I don’t know.”
“Seriously, Max, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you looking through my wallet? Don’t you trust me?”
Maxine bit down on her lip. “I don’t know.”
“Will you stop saying, ‘I don’t know,’ and just answer the fucking question?”
“No, obviously I don’t.”
Stunned, he released her and watched helplessly, as his wife ran from the room. Stood half naked, with just a towel tied around his waist, he wondered briefly, how life could go from being fantastic one minute, to an all-time low the next. He would never understand women, he decided.
* * *
Ronnie Dellow watched from behind a strip of blue and white police tape, as the crime scene manager took photographs of the remains. “How soon can we get the PM done?” he called out to the appointed pathologist.
Judith Maine walked toward him. She pulled off her protective over-suit and dropped it into a polythene bag. “We should have the go ahead to remove the remains soon. I’m hoping to schedule the PM sometime early evening. Obviously, it depends on the workload at the mortuary,” she said, glancing down at her watch.
“Can you tell me anything yet?”
Judith smiled. “Other than that your victim is definitely deceased, you will have to wait until the PM. You should know that already, inspector.”
“You can’t blame me for trying,” Ronnie grinned back.
As Judith laughed, her heavy jowls wobbled. “They do say everyone loves a trier. Will you be attending?”
Ronnie nodded his head.
