Bertie, on the other hand, was a doer by nature; if anyone fucked him over, he done them, simple as that. It was a credo he had lived by and which had kept him alive and kicking this long in a very dangerous game. All his instincts were telling him to go after Jonny P mob-handed, guns blazing, pickaxes swinging, and maybe even a few fucking machetes thrown into the mix just for the irony factor. And that was exactly what he was going to suggest to Kevin. He couldn’t sit here like a fucking Victorian mistress any longer. It was, in effect, doing his head in.
Bertie liked Kevin; he probably knew him better than anyone else, and he respected him, and saw his good points as well as the bad. But this fucking silence was deafening; he could almost hear his own brain turning over, and at every little noise he expected to be overrun by a mob wielding giant machetes.
Kevin was watching Bertie placidly; he knew exactly what was going through his mind and, in a way, he could sympathise with him. Bertie didn’t have the patience of a three year old, and when a bit of chastising needed doing he was the man to call on.
Unfortunately, he had the brains of a fucking gnat and, whereas Kevin had never been that loquacious, Bertie could talk for England. He never shut his fucking trap from the minute he got up till the moment he fell into a fitful sleep. Kevin would like to bet he was still talking even then.
‘Get your coat.’ As he spoke he stood up and his considerable bulk seemed to fill the small room to capacity.
Bertie smiled, this was more like it!
In the small outer office of his scrap-metal yard, Kevin opened the arms safe and, taking out a semi-automatic he had purchased from an old acquaintance, he proceeded to arm himself to the hilt.
‘Shall I call the boys?’ The excitement was already overflowing in Bertie’s voice. He was thrilled at this turn of events; there was nothing he liked more than a good tear-up, a serious fucking straightener was always something to be enjoyed. Violence as far as he concerned solved
everything,
there was nothing like a good fucking tear-up to sort out the men from the wannabes.
Kevin shook his head. ‘Not yet. Make a cup of tea.’
Jonny was half-pissed and he was annoyed with himself because of it. But it had been a very strange night so far, and he knew that if his calculations were correct it could only get fucking worse. Much worse. He glanced at his watch – it was twenty past one and no news yet. But there was plenty of time; he would sit and he would wait. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, and he wondered at how this night would eventually pan out.
Linford had poured himself a large brandy, and he downed it in one gulp. ‘I needed that, bwoy,’ he said reverting to his Jamaican patois.
Jonny grinned. ‘You’re about as Jamaican as I am fucking Irish.’
Linford laughed happily, he knew the truth of that statement. ‘I left Jamaica as a baby. My mother came here looking for me father – she still hasn’t found the bastard. But I grew up in a Jamaican household and, believe me, that’s as good as being brought up in the home country. A bit like the Irish, eh?’
They laughed together, pleased that the change of topic meant that they were not waiting in silence any more.
‘Very much like us actually. I feel more Irish than English at times. Catholic school will do that to you.’
Linford nodded sagely. ‘That’s the truth.’ He took a ready-rolled joint from his jacket pocket and lit it ostentatiously, as only a true Rasta could. Toking on it a few times, he breathed
the smoke in deeply before saying seriously, ‘You know you’ve got to kill him, right?’
Jonny sighed deeply before he said sadly, ‘Knew it from the off, mate.’
Linford grinned through the thick blue smoke. ‘You know it makes sense. He can’t be left standing, he’s too proud a boy. Eventually he would have to come a-knocking.’
‘Shame though, Linford. I always respected Kevin Bryant.’
Linford shrugged. ‘Don’t mean he ain’t a bad motherfucker. Mark my words, you don’t cancel him out this night, he’ll just wait for his opportunity. Stands to reason. Now Bertie has to go either way – holds too many fucking grudges for his own good, that one.’
Jonny didn’t answer; there was nothing more to say, the decision had been made.
Celeste felt ill with worry, and couldn’t settle at all. Why she had come to her sister’s she didn’t know – she just supposed that at certain times in your life, you needed your own. Even with family like hers. She couldn’t go to her mum’s what with her father muttering away about Jonny’s front and her mother offering endless cups of tea. Instead, she had found herself on her sister’s doorstep.
Her sister seemed both amazed and pleased to see her, that much was obvious, even at this late hour.
‘Oh! Hello, sis.’
Cynthia had taken to calling her ‘sis’ and it sounded more false each time she heard it.
‘All right, Cynth? I thought I’d pop in and give you a quick hello.’
Cynthia’s eyes said ‘not at this time of night you haven’t’, but she didn’t question further. Instead she said brightly, ‘Come through to the kitchen, I’ll make a cuppa. Or I’ve a nice bottle of wine if you’d prefer that?’
Celeste followed her sister into the pristine kitchen and asked frankly, ‘Got any vodka?’
Cynthia turned to face her sister and, smiling sadly, she said sympathetically, ‘That bad?’
Celeste nodded.
Cynthia responded, ‘That’s why I’m still up and about too, James is on the missing list as well.’ She poured them both
large vodkas and, gulping deeply from hers, she grimaced in a comical manner before saying, ‘I know you can’t tell me what’s going down, but I can guess from the fact you’re here it’s important. I know I done a wrong one, but it was only because I was frightened for James. He’s a cokehead, you know that, don’t you?’
Celeste didn’t answer her, she didn’t know what to say.
‘He snorts it up like it’s going out of fashion – out of his nut most of the time, he is. Now I know better than anyone that I’m not the greatest wife, or mother come to that, but I was jealous of you, and frightened for him. Does that make sense? I know now that what I did was wrong, was disgusting, and I’m paying the price for that. But you’re still my little sister and I can see you’re not right. You can confide in me if you like, or we can just sit here and talk about nothing. It’s your call, Celeste. Either way, I’m here for you, OK?’ It was said with honesty and humbleness.
Celeste knew that her sister really meant what she was saying. Her time in the wilderness had obviously hit her hard, but she knew what Jonny would say if he ever found out she’d told Cynthia
anything.
‘I can’t talk about it, Cynth, I wish to fuck I could. But I just
can’t.’
Cynthia plastered a smile on her lovely face and said in a resigned manner, ‘Fair enough. We’ll talk about something else. Have you seen the dresses in that new shop in Ilford? I treated myself the other day.’
Smiling gently, Celeste listened as her sister prattled on, grateful for her company, and glad that they were back on some kind of even footing. But the worry was still there, and she wondered when this bloody night would ever end.
Bertie was getting worried. He couldn’t track down anyone of note on his payroll. He realised after the second phone call that they had been poached. All the minions were available, but the real deals, the hard men they relied on to administer their commands, were nowhere to be found. At first he had refused to believe it, hadn’t wanted to doubt that he had their loyalty. Now, though, it was an absolute certainty and he felt the unfamiliar feeling of dread lying in his stomach like lead.
Kevin wasn’t as surprised as Bertie; he knew that everyone had their price, and that no one was really a hundred per cent loyal – not in their game anyway. Everyone wanted to play for the winning side – that was human nature. But he was a bit fucked off that it had been done so easily and so sneakily. Neither he nor Bertie had even sniffed anything untoward going on, so that showed it was well planned and had been well executed. It also told him that they were on a losing streak. They had one chance to rectify this situation, and that was by taking out Jonny P once and for all. This was no longer just about revenge, it was about absolute survival, and that put a completely different complexion on things. This was now a fight to the death. And it was going to get dirty, very dirty indeed.
Kevin looked at Bertie Warner and he could see the fear and the disbelief in his eyes. Bertie had always believed that their blokes were sound, were unwavering in their loyalty.
‘He’s done us up like kippers, Bertie. We have to accept that.
But if I’m going down, then I’m taking something of Parker’s with me.’
Bertie had never seen Kevin Bryant look so human in his life, and that worried him. For the first time in living memory he could see emotion on the big man’s face. But it was his friend’s words that really chilled him. He knew that Kevin, like himself, was not going out without a fight, and that was something he could understand.
‘I’m right behind you.’
‘Thanks for coming home with me, Cynth. I know it’s silly but I get nervous here by meself.’
Cynthia didn’t answer her sister. Instead she busied herself making a pot of tea. She wanted to be seen to be the administering angel when her brother-in-law arrived home. She wished she knew what was going on, but she knew better than to ask too much about it. If she played her cards right, she could at least start to get back into the family and their way of life.
That Celeste was this anxious told her that something big was going down. For the first time that night she wondered if her James was involved. She hoped so – whatever it was would be a big earn. All this worry wasn’t for a lousy couple of quid, of that much she was sure. Her quick brain worked out that it had to be about taking something from someone – that was the only way a true Face could go forward in life. It was how you spread your workforce and made sure everyone was getting a nice earn.
Cynthia was a born criminal. She had the innate cunning needed for the job, and she also had the hard core inside her that was necessary when the time came to take out those who had outlived their usefulness. She didn’t know that, but her instincts were nearly always spot on. Except when she was blinded by jealousy – then her instincts risked being overpowered by revenge. She had a taste for revenge, she had since a small child. In a man these would have been traits that could
have taken her to the top of her game; in a woman they were seen as a weakness. Men in her world believed that women were ruled by their hormones, and they could never respect a creature that had no real will of their own – it was as simple as that. Yet Cynthia knew she was ten times more intelligent than most of the men in her orbit, especially her ignoramus of a father, and that imbecile of a husband she had tied herself to.
As she looked round her sister’s home, saw the luxury and the expense, she could once more kick herself metaphorically in the head. This could have been
hers,
this could have been
her
life. This
should
have been her life. Because, all that apart, Jonny Parker was the only man to ever ring her bells. When he had taken her she had finally felt whole, poor James couldn’t compete with that. No man could compete with that. She had chosen respectability and where had that got her?
She had imagined herself presiding over dinner parties, where her James, not Jimmy,
James,
would bring his minions, and she would patronise them while stunning them with her food and her witty repartee. Instead she had chosen a man who couldn’t decide whether to wear a tie without a fucking twelve-day postmortem on the subject.
She closed her eyes in anger and frustration. She hated her life so much, and the fact she had been the instigator of her own downfall was doubly frustrating.
Cynthia took the teapot to the table, and looked at her little sister. She was all eyes, all big blue eyes and anxiety. Even in her anger she felt a stirring of pity for her. ‘He’ll be OK, Celeste, stop worrying.’
‘It’s three in the morning and not even a phone call.’
Cynthia sat down and sighed heavily. ‘James does this all the time. It’s the nature of the game, nightclubs are called nightclubs because they are open at night!’
Celeste smiled then. But she was still guarded, not saying anything that might give the game away. But Cynthia acted as
though she didn’t care about any of that and was once more the solicitous sister.
‘Shall I make you a bit of toast? You need to eat, love.’
Celeste shook her head. ‘I couldn’t, Cynth, thanks.’
‘How about a biscuit? You always had a sweet tooth.’
Celeste stood up abruptly. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’ Her sister’s panic was spreading to her now.
‘That noise, there’s someone outside.’
‘You stay here, Celeste, and don’t move.’
Cynthia walked silently from the big kitchen and checked all the downstairs rooms. As she looked out of the front-room window, she saw a large man walking towards the front door. Running back to the kitchen, she said to her sister in a whisper, ‘Get down to the cellar. Don’t argue, just go.’