East End Trouble (11 page)

W
hen Martin got back
to his club, things were just beginning to heat up for the evening. There was a line forming outside by the doormen, who stood aside to let Martin enter. He got a few respectful nods from some of the punters, but he ignored them. He was still in a foul mood, thanks to his mother.

The first thing Martin saw when he walked towards the bar was Frank the Face, looking pissed and cradling a glass of whisky. Martin gritted his teeth. What the hell was he doing downstairs?

A moment later, Big Tim was by his side. Martin jerked a thumb at the pathetic figure of Frank at the bar. “What’s he doing down here? I thought I told you to keep him out of sight.”

Big Tim frowned. “I don’t think you said that, boss. You said to keep him at the club, not to keep him upstairs or out of sight.”

Martin was feeling extremely irritable after spending the evening in his mother’s company, so he turned on Big Tim and snarled. “Are you telling me I don’t remember what I told you?”

Big Tim flinched. “No, boss. Sorry, I must have got it wrong.”

Martin took a deep breath. He was filled with a burning fury, but it wasn’t sensible to take it out on Big Tim. He was reliable and a good worker. Martin needed to keep him around.

But somebody was going to fall victim to his temper this evening. Martin’s gaze fell back to Frank at the bar.

“Has he been any more forthcoming with details of Dave’s future plans?”

“No, boss. He says it’s all a mistake, and he never meant to betray Carter.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed. “Mistake, my arse. I’ll show him just how big a mistake he’s really made.” Martin looked up at Tim. “Get him outside in the van.”

Tim raised a questioning eyebrow, but wisely said nothing to contradict Martin. He’d seen his boss in this kind of mood before and didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger.

Tim pushed his way through the crowds of punters gathering around the bar and slapped a hand on Frank’s shoulder.

Frank whirled round. The alcohol had made him confident and given him an attitude to match. He looked at Tim with an angry glare.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Frank said. “You can’t keep me here any more against my will.”

Big Tim smiled coldly. He’d once had a lot of respect for Frank the Face, but in the last couple of days that respect had gone out of the window.

He couldn’t respect anyone who double-crossed people like Frank had. Dave Carter might be Martin’s enemy, and so he was Tim’s enemy too, but you couldn’t just skip from side to side like Frank had tried to do. It just wasn’t done in this world.

“Don’t worry,” Tim said. “We’re not keeping you here anymore.”

Frank look shocked. “What?” He leaned forward cupping his hand behind his ear, so he could hear Tim more clearly over the loud music in the club. “What do you mean?”

“We’re going for a little drive,” Tim said.

Tim’s words made the blood drain from Frank’s face, and his eyes widened in shock. Tim had to hand it to him, though. He was a veteran at this. Frank didn’t panic or try to scream down the club.

Frank’s eyes shifted to the door, but he didn’t try and make a run for it, and Tim was glad of that. It was better to take your punishment like a man, unlike Keith Parker who had pissed his pants in terror.

Frank slid off the barstool and followed Tim behind the bar. They moved through the small kitchen area and then finally walked out of the back door of the club.

When he saw Martin Morton waiting for him by the van, Frank’s resolve nearly broke.

But he set his mouth in a firm line and met Martin’s gaze without flinching.

“I hear you haven’t been very talkative,” Martin said. “That’s very disappointing, Frank.”

“I’ve got a lot of respect for you, Mr. Morton. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, but I realise what I did was wrong, and I’ll regret it till the day I die.”

Martin rapped his knuckles on the bonnet of the van. “Get in, Frank.”

They hadn’t tied Frank up. There was no point in that sort of thing. Frank the Face had earned enough respect over the years to forgo that particular humiliation.

But even Tim was wondering how far Martin was prepared to go on this one, though. Getting rid of a little runt like Keith Parker was nothing. It was about as simple as scraping some shit off their shoes. But Frank? Tim shook his head. Frank the Face was a huge player in Dave Carter’s outfit, and if Martin killed Frank, Dave Carter would take that as a personal affront. He wouldn’t take it lying down.

Tim indicated right, pulled off Jellows Lane and stopped the van in front of an old abandoned meatpacking factory.

To his credit, Frank had kept his counsel and hadn’t yet started begging for his life.

They climbed out of the van, with Martin leading the way, Frank in the middle and Tim bringing up the rear, in case Frank tried to make a run for it.

They let themselves in through a side door and walked into a large open-plan space. Most of the cabinets and counters that had any value had been removed and flogged long ago, leaving a cavernous space behind.

“This will do,” Martin said, his voice echoing around the large room.

He strolled around the room and then pulled out two wooden chairs. One had a broken leg. He held it above his head then threw it hard against the wall, smashing it.

Both Tim and Frank watched him uneasily.

Martin could be very unpredictable, and no one knew that better than Tim.

Martin carried over the one good chair and set it down in the centre of the room. “Take a pew, Frank.”

Reluctantly, Frank did as he was told and sat down on the rickety wooden chair.

It was cold tonight, and Frank’s breath was forming circular, white puffs in the air.

Martin slapped his hands and then rubbed them together. “Have you changed your mind about talking yet, Frank?”

Frank closed his eyes briefly and muttered something; Tim thought it might be a prayer. That wasn’t going to help him much now.

“I don’t want to betray him anymore,” Frank muttered, referring to Dave Carter.

“Well, you should have thought about that earlier. You’ve already betrayed him once. So what do a few extra titbits passed my way matter?”

Frank hung his head and then he looked up at Martin beseechingly. “Please, Mr. Morton. Be reasonable. Surely you can understand my predicament.”

Martin smiled, and as he turned around, the moonlight streaming in the window lit up his face, highlighting that pale, silvery scar on his cheek. At that moment, Tim thought he looked truly evil.

“I’m not a reasonable man,” Martin said. “If you wanted reasonable, you should have stuck with Dave Carter.” Martin walked quickly up to Frank and clamped a hand around his neck, squeezing it so Frank’s eyes bulged and his skin turned red.

Tim watched from a distance, giving Martin room but staying close by in case Frank retaliated.

Finally, just as Tim thought he was actually going to strangle Frank, Martin released his grip.

Frank panted for breath as Martin stood over him.

Martin gave him a moment to get his breath back and then grabbed a handful of Frank’s hair, yanking his head back. “Ready to talk yet?”

Frank grimaced. The good side of his face tensed upwards, but the other side drooped down heavily, making his face look like one half was made of melted wax.

“I can’t,” Frank panted out.

Martin let go of Frank’s hair, and his head dropped forward.

“Well, it looks like we have no choice, Tim.” Martin nodded at Tim and gave him the signal.

Tim walked to the far side of the room and opened up the large, black holdall he’d stashed there earlier. He pulled out a huge, gleaming samurai sword and tested its weight between his hands.

Frank turned around, craning his neck, desperate to see what had put such a huge grin on Martin’s face.

When he saw the sword in Tim’s hands, his jaw dropped. “Jesus Christ,” he said.

Martin cackled. “He ain’t going to save you now.”

C
harlie Williams shuffled
along the prison corridor. The drawstring in the pair of trousers he’d been given was broken, so he was forced to walk along clutching them to his stomach, or have them falling down around his ankles.

He’d asked twice for a replacement pair, but all he’d received for his trouble was a shove in the back and a kick up the arse from the prison guards. Bastards.

He was on his way to the visiting room for another visit from his mother. He didn’t much like seeing the disappointment in his mother’s eyes when she came to see him, but that was better than having no visitors at all.

He’d been lucky enough to stay local so far. After the trial, he could be sent anywhere in England, and then his chances of getting any visitors would be very slim.

When he walked into the visitor’s room, Charlie was so surprised to see Dave Carter sitting there that he released his grip on his trousers. Luckily he managed to grab them before they fell down completely.

He walked forward quickly, gripping his trousers with one hand and holding the other hand out to greet Dave.

“Mr. Carter, what a pleasant surprise.”

Prison made most people act strangely, but Dave seemed relaxed and calm just as he always did. He’d stood up to shake Charlie’s hand, but now he sat back down and gestured for Charlie to take the seat opposite him.

“How are you holding up, son?”

“It’s not too bad in here,” Charlie said, trying to be cheerful. “I reckon I’ll be out soon. And I just want to say, you don’t have to worry about me. I know where my loyalties lie.”

Dave studied Charlie’s face carefully making him feel nervous.

Dave leaned forward in his chair and put his hand on the table. “I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of bad news for you, son. The police have found a gun at The Three Grapes, and it had your fingerprints on it.”

Charlie felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He flopped back in the chair. That was it then. He would be in here forever.

“I don’t want you to worry, Charlie. I’ve got you a brief, one of the best. I just need you to keep your wits about you, do you understand?”

Charlie nodded, glumly. He understood all right. He had to keep shtum. Otherwise, the consequences would be far worse than just going to prison. But Dave Carter didn’t have to worry. Charlie would never rat him out. Dave Carter had given him a job and trusted him back when he was a seventeen-year-old kid with nothing, and there was no way that Charlie would repay him by squealing to the police.

“Are you really all right, son?” Dave asked, looking at Charlie with concern.

Charlie tried hard to smile, but his mouth just wouldn’t turn up at the corners.

“I’m worried about my mum,” Charlie said. “I’m all she’s got, and she relies on me to put the food on the table. I don’t know what she’ll do while I’m inside.”

“Now, Charlie. You know you don’t have to worry about that. You’re one of mine, and I take care of my own. I’m going to visit your mum personally and make sure she’s all right. I promise you that. So I don’t want you in here worrying, do you understand?”

Charlie nodded.

It was a weight off his mind not to have to fret about his mother. There were enough things to worry about in prison without worrying about her.

T
he following morning
, Linda decided to confront Kathleen. She’d lain awake in bed last night thinking about it. She didn’t really believe that Kathleen had done it on purpose. She obviously just didn’t realise how important Donovan was to Linda. Kathleen had had a very difficult time of it over the past few days, and so it was quite understandable that she wanted some company on a Friday night.

Linda thought perhaps she’d been rather unfair to her friend. She didn’t want Kathleen to think she was choosing a man over her. Kathleen would always be her best friend.

So after enjoying a Saturday morning lie-in, Linda had decided to talk things through with Kathleen and explain that although she wanted to spend time with Donovan, she still wanted to help her friend in any way she could.

As she passed Salmon Lane, she caught sight of Mary, Kathleen’s mother, “Good morning, Mrs. Diamond,” Linda said brightly.

Mary smiled. “Good morning, Linda. I’m off to the market. I promised Theresa I’d cover her stall for a couple of hours.”

“I’m just going to see Kathleen.”

“See if you can cheer her up,” Mary said. “She’s been a bit down in the dumps lately.”

Linda wanted to tell Kathleen’s mother that she knew all about the pregnancy and that she would do her best to support Kathleen, but she didn’t know quite how to bring it up without sounding very rude and impertinent, so in the end, she decided to say nothing and waved Mary off and continued on to find Kathleen.

When she reached the Diamond’s house, she knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Of course, she knew that Mary was out, but it was very unlike Kathleen to be out at this time on Saturday. She wouldn’t be at the market spending money because she needed to save all her pennies now that she had a baby on the way.

Linda thought perhaps Kathleen hadn’t heard her knock the first time, so she knocked again and waited.

Was that noise coming from inside? Linda wondered whether Kathleen was listening to the wireless and that was why she hadn’t heard her knock.

She pushed on the door, and it opened. Mary had left it on the latch as she normally did.

Linda shut the door behind her and wandered through into the hallway.

She opened her mouth to call out to Kathleen, but a movement caught her eye as she walked past the doorway to the front room.

She turned in shock and blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing with her own eyes. Donovan and Kathleen were sitting on the sofa. Kathleen’s blouse was draped over the back of the sofa, and she was just about to undo her brassiere.

Donovan paled when he noticed he and Kathleen were no longer alone. Kathleen gave a little squeak of shock and clutched a cushion to her chest.

Linda swallowed hard when she saw that Donavan’s belt was unbuckled.

“Linda! Wait!” Donovan called out. “Let me explain.”

But Linda didn’t wait. She turned on her heel and rushed out of the house, feeling sick.

She ran nearly all the way home until she was panting and had a stitch in her side. She would never let either of them explain. What she had just seen didn’t need an explanation. Even she wasn’t that naive.