by D. S. Butler
Trevor shut his eyes for just a moment, but it was a moment too long.
He felt Martin’s fingers close around his wrist as he lifted the gun in the air. Trevor fought back. He tried to hit Martin in the gut with his elbow, and from the sound of his sharp intake of breath, he’d been successful. But Trevor didn’t have the upper hand for long.
Martin grabbed Trevor’s throat, and his other hand tightened on his wrist, pulling the gun down. It was at that moment Trevor pulled the trigger.
The pain was unbelievable. It felt like fire ripping through the top of his thigh. He screamed in agony, reeling back from Martin as the gun dropped to the floor.
Martin kicked the gun away before Trevor could reach for it, but he didn’t go after it himself.
As Trevor lay sweating on the floor, he looked up at Martin. The crazed man’s eyes were glassy as he laughed and laughed, and for the first time, Trevor realised this man was not just evil, he had lost his mind.
He knew then he was about to die at the hands of Martin Morton. He wished he’d been able to tell his father how sorry he was, and he wished he had been a better brother to Georgie.
But it was too late for regrets. He slumped down on the floor and closed his eyes, waiting for Martin to finish him off.
But it didn’t happen. Eventually, Trevor opened his eyes and saw Martin sitting back on his barstool watching him with a grin on his face.
“You won’t get away with this,” Trevor spat. “Jimmy is on his way. He knows I’m here.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day, son,” Martin said as he drained his whisky and then stood up.
As Martin walked towards him, Trevor realised to his horror he was shaking. He could feel the hot, sticky blood leaking all over his trouser leg, and there was nothing he could do but clamp a hand over the wound and try to stop the blood flowing from his veins.
“Maybe I’ll finish you all off,” Martin murmured. “That would be a nice ending.”
Trevor shook his head, panting from the pain. “There is no way you would get away with it.”
Martin cackled with laughter. “I’ve got away with worse in my time.”
Then Martin raised his foot and placed it firmly on Trevor’s gunshot wound. A horrific scream ripped from Trevor’s throat. Martin smiled with delight as he applied more pressure.
Chapter 50
Red-haired Freddie was wasting his time in Walthamstow. He was at the greyhound track, and although he quite liked a night at the dogs now and then, he was thoroughly fed up.
Babs had been very insistent that he needed to come to the track tonight to meet Willie the Shirt. Willie had earned his nickname because he never actually wore a shirt. Willie was an odd man. He always wore a jacket, tie and vest, but for some reason, the silly old bugger never wore a shirt. The fact that he was some kind of wizard with figures meant he was great at working out the odds and ran a little undercover betting ring. Naturally, the Mortons took a cut, and one of Martin’s men collected the money every week. But Freddie had never had to go and collect the money himself before.
When Babs had asked him to go in person, he’d started to suspect that Willie had been on the take, but Babs insisted that wasn’t the case and told him she believed Willie was a loyal worker. Something wasn’t quite right about this situation, Freddie mused. If he didn’t know any better, Freddie would have suspected Babs wanted him out of the way for some reason.
She’d even had the cheek to commandeer his motor tonight. Freddie shuddered. God, help him. She didn’t know how to drive.
A bunch of lads jostled him as they walked past, and Freddie gave them a fierce look as they muttered apologies and backed away.
Freddie looked at his watch and scowled. He would give Willie another half an hour.
* * *
They were only a few feet away from Morton’s Club when Trevor’s screams pierced the night. Jimmy and Tim broke into a run and burst through the doors to the club.
Jimmy’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Martin Morton standing menacingly over Trevor, one foot pressed against Trevor’s blood-soaked leg.
Martin turned and grinned when he saw Jimmy and Tim just behind him.
“Evening, gents.”
“Get away from him,” Jimmy ordered with more confidence than he felt.
He hadn’t yet pulled out his gun and wanted to determine the lay of the land before he did so.
Martin removed his foot from Trevor’s leg and turned around. Trevor groaned and rolled over onto his side, curling up into a ball.
“Pathetic, isn’t he?” Martin said, nodding at Trevor. “Taking him down was almost as easy as beating Georgie.”
Jimmy tensed, but he didn’t move. He knew Martin was goading him, but he couldn’t afford to act rashly. Dave would have told him he needed to keep his wits about him and not allow anger to cloud his judgement.
“Blubbering mess,” Martin commented dispassionately.
But Trevor had stopped blubbering and stayed still and silent. Jimmy hoped he had just passed out from the pain.
Martin looked directly at Jimmy and gave him an evil grin. “He came in here with a gun, but he didn’t have the guts to kill me.”
“Maybe not, but I have,” Jimmy said.
There was no one else at the club to back Martin up, and Jimmy knew it was now or never. He pulled the gun slowly out of his overalls and took pleasure in seeing the look of surprise on Martin’s face.
Martin raised an eyebrow. “Well, this is an interesting development. But I doubt you’ve got the balls for it.”
Jimmy wasn’t about to let Martin try and talk his way out of this. He held the gun in both hands tightly, braced for the recoil and squeezed the trigger. The loud bang made his ears ring.
The bullet punctured Martin’s shoulder. He clutched the wound as it stained his white shirt and staggered back against the bar.
Jimmy aimed again and squeezed the trigger, but this time nothing happened.
Jimmy stared at the gun in disbelief and shook it angrily. He tried again, squeezing the trigger, but again nothing happened. The gun was jammed. He clenched his teeth and stared at the useless hunk of metal.
He was sure he had loaded the bullets correctly, but he wasn’t much of an expert… Had he done something wrong?
By the time Jimmy looked back up at Martin, he realised with horror that Martin had somehow retrieved Trevor’s gun and was pointing it directly at him.
Martin laughed. “Nice try.”
Jimmy held his breath. After everything that had happened, it was so unfair that Martin was going to get away with it again.
Big Tim moved to step in front of Jimmy. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”
A female voice behind them said, “That won’t be necessary.”
“Hello, darling,” Martin said with a wide smile.
Jimmy turned to see Babs Morton standing behind them, holding another gun.
She gave Jimmy a look he couldn’t quite understand, as though she were trying to communicate something to him. She kept the gun trained on Big Tim as she walked towards Martin.
As she passed them, she whispered a few words in such a low voice that Jimmy thought maybe he had imagined it. “Stay very still, and you won’t get hurt.”
“Well, I never thought I would be so pleased to see the old trouble and strife.” Martin laughed at his own joke and held out his arm to loop around Babs’s shoulders, but she stepped back and remained out of his reach.
The red blood stain on Martin’s shoulder was getting bigger, and he had started to sweat. He put the gun down on the bar and then said, Go on then, darlin’. Finish them off.”
“Enough games,” Babs said. “Martin, you need to get out of here. Freddie has left the Jaguar out front for you. Get to the doctor and then lie low for a couple of days. You know the drill.”
Martin looked irritated at being bossed about by his wife, but Jimmy was more concerned with the fact he was losing his chanc
e to kill Martin Morton. He couldn’t believe he was going to get away again. Jimmy would never have a better chance than this.
“I’m not running away from anyone. This is my club. Kill them,” Martin ordered.
Tim reached out to shove Jimmy behind him and whispered hoarsely, “When she shoots, run. I’ll block you as best I can.”
“I’m not killing anyone unless I have to, Martin. The police are on their way, and you’re not going to be able to get away easily in your condition.” She nodded at the gunshot wound on his shoulder.
Martin hesitated and then they all heard the faint sounds of sirens in the distance. He jerked his head in a stiff nod and stalked off towards the exit.
Anger burned inside Jimmy as he watched Martin Morton make his escape. He turned to Babs. “Why are you letting him get away after everything he has done to you?”
Everyone knew he had left her to rot in prison. How could she protect him like this? He wondered whether he would be able to grab her arm and snatch the gun before she managed to shoot him.
But the determined look Babs gave him, made him realise the chances of getting the gun from her without getting shot were pretty low.
Babs sneered at him as she coldly told him to shut up and watch.
When Martin was outside, they could see his distorted image through the etched glass as he made his way towards the car.
Babs gestured with the gun for them to walk behind the bar. Jimmy frowned. What was she going to do with them? He had assumed Babs would let him and Tim go as soon as Martin was outside, but perhaps she had other plans for them.
“Get down,” she ordered.
Jimmy opened his mouth to argue, but when Babs crouched down beside the bar, and Big Tim followed, he changed his mind.
He sensed Babs tense beside him as they heard the car door slam shut. “What’s going on?” Jimmy demanded.
Jimmy waited to hear the engine roar to life as Martin made his escape, but the sound never came. Instead, there was a blinding light and a deafening boom, and the windows of the club shattered. Jimmy’s ears had already been ringing from the sound of the gunshot, but that was nothing compared to now.
Behind them, bottles of booze had broken, and the contents dripped down onto the floor. Tim was covered with large chunks of plaster that had been dislodged from the ceiling. Speckles of white plaster dusted Babs’s hair, but she didn’t seem to care. Her eyes gleamed as she grinned, staring out through the broken windows.
Jimmy followed her gaze. The car Martin had climbed into was a smouldering wreck, and as flames licked around the bodywork, Jimmy shivered. No one could have survived that. Not even Martin Morton.
Chapter 51
For a long time, no one said a word then Babs slowly lowered the gun. Jimmy was too dazed to do anything apart from look at the wreckage. Particles of dust and smoke lingered in the air and made him cough. Trevor was still on the ground. He hadn’t moved and was now covered with shards of glass.
Jimmy moved, intending to go and check on him, but then paused, looking at Babs who was watching the burning wreck of the Jaguar with the trace of a smile playing on her lips.
“I don’t understand,” Tim mumbled, getting to his feet and leaning heavily on the bar.
Babs turned to him. “This has been a long time coming. You and Jimmy weren’t the only ones who had grown sick of Martin.”
Jimmy didn’t dare speak. He was well aware of the fact Babs was still holding the gun.
She turned to look at Jimmy and narrowed her eyes. “Do you remember Frank the Face?”
Jimmy shook his head, but Tim nodded.
“It was before your time, I suppose,” Babs said. “Martin ruined Frank’s life a long time ago.”
Tim shook his head as though he just couldn’t believe what had happened. “But you knew… You knew it was going to happen. You told us to crouch down.”
Babs turned to Tim. “Of course I knew,” she said coolly. “Who do you think planned it? Frank couldn’t have done it all himself, could he?”
Jimmy was shocked at the brazenness of Babs Morton. “Aren’t you scared you’ll get found out?”
Babs looked at him and sneered. “I’m not a bleeding amateur,” she said scathingly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to leave before the police get here. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you both to keep your mouths’ shut. I suggest you get a wriggle on, too.”
“What about Trevor?” Jimmy turned to look at Trevor who still hadn’t moved.
Babs peered at him, waving the dust and smoke from her eyes. “If he is still alive, you had better get him out of here as fast as you can.”
* * *
As Babs stepped over Trevor’s prone body, she heard the young man groan. She had to admit, she was glad he wasn’t dead.
She smiled. She could not have planned things any better. She’d had a worrying few minutes when she’d realised Martin wasn’t alone in the club, but events had turned out even better than she’d expected.
After getting rid of Freddie, so Frank and his mate could get to work on the car, Babs had needed to find a way to get Martin to use the Jag. She had intended to make up a cock and bull story to persuade Martin to drive the car. In the end, that hadn’t been necessary.
The last thing she was expecting was to find Jimmy, Big Tim and Trevor at the club, but Babs wasn’t stupid. She quickly saw how she could use the situation to her advantage.
Before entering the club, she had slipped out to the car to retrieve the gun from the glove compartment and then waited for the perfect moment to strike.
When she saw Jimmy was not going to finish Martin off after his gun jammed, she had stepped quietly into the club and pointed the gun at Big Tim.
For once in his life, Martin had actually seemed pleased to see her. For a moment, she’d felt a twinge of guilt, but she remembered his treatment of her over the years and how easily he’d disposed of Kathleen Diamond and suppressed her doubts.
Frank the Face had used his connections in Liverpool to get somebody to make the car bomb. He had used some ex-army bloke, so Babs wasn’t worried about getting caught.
She had made sure it couldn’t be traced back to her. The ex-army bloke had never met her, and she knew Frank the Face was old school.
Frank had waited years to get his own back on Martin and try to redeem himself with Dave Carter, so there was no way he would dob Babs in. He was no grass.
Babs stepped out of the club and breathed in the night air. The first thing she intended to do when she got home was have a nice hot bath and get rid of the smell of smoke.
She strode confidently away, ignoring the twitching curtains of the houses she passed. She had done it. Martin was gone. Maud was dead. All Babs had to do now was get Gertie sorted, and all would be well in Babs Morton’s little kingdom.
* * *
Frank the Face was hiding in the shadows on the opposite side of the street, watching the events unfold. He’d held his breath as Martin climbed into the car, almost expecting something to go wrong. Martin Morton had the luck of the devil. But luck certainly hadn’t been on his side today.
Frank pushed back his grey scarf and touched the scars on his face. He had waited for this day for a very long time.
Seeing Big Tim had been difficult. The big man had only been following orders, but he’d helped Martin destroy Frank’s life.
Still, the important thing was Martin Morton was gone, and Frank the Face was very glad to have played his role in Martin’s demise. As the years had passed, he thought about his revenge every day, and it was every bit as sweet as he’d imagined.
He leant back his head and grinned up at the darkening sky as a tear trickled down his cheek. The bastard had finally got what he deserved.
After a moment, Frank looked back at the smouldering wreck and knew he needed to get out of there quickly unless he wanted to hang around and answer the Old Bill’s questions. It was time for Frank to go back to Liverpool.
He took one las
t look at the burning car and said, “Rot in hell, you bastard.”
Chapter 52
Martin Morton’s funeral was a major event. Almost all the well-known faces in London turned up to show their respects, even if many of them hadn’t actually had any respect for Martin Morton when he was alive. Although Martin’s career had started with a lot of promise, the last few years had been shocking for those that knew him, to say the least.
Babs was wearing an elegant black dress with a fitted jacket and a black hat and veil. She kept a sober expression on her face, even though at times during the service she had wanted to smile.
The only thing that worried her was the reaction of Tony and the rest of Martin’s men after his death. Freddie’s reaction had her particularly worried. He wasn’t stupid and had realised she’d tried to get him out of the way to use his car. So, he knew she had to be involved in some way. She knew Freddie would never go to the police, but even so, Babs did not want it to be common knowledge that she was the one who had killed Martin.
She did regret that Freddie’s Jaguar had been obliterated, though. Freddie was not an emotional man, but Babs could have sworn the hard man had been close to tears when he saw the wreckage of his motor.
After the service was complete, she had taken the time to walk around, looking at all the flowers that had been left outside the church. She pretended to read the messages, even though really she just wanted to get home. She felt obliged for appearances’ sake. She caught Freddie staring at her from a few feet away and smiled and nodded at him. Freddie met her steady gaze unflinchingly and then walked straight towards her.
Babs tensed and turned to face him, determined not to let him sense any weakness.
Funeral guests milled about them, many of them Babs hadn’t seen for years, but she’d accepted their condolences with grace. When Freddie stepped in front of her, she took his arm and led him off to the side of the church so they could talk without worrying about being overheard.
