East End Trouble (25 page)

C
harlie had spent
the last week collecting rat droppings from the rat he’d named Roland.

He selected the driest droppings and then opened his pouch of tobacco and crumbled the droppings on top. When he’d used up most of the droppings, he mixed the contents up carefully and inspected the package.

He would never notice the difference, Charlie thought with a grin.

He hobbled up from the bed. The bruises around his ribs had almost gone, but they still felt tender, a timely reminder of just how much he hated Alfie Harris. He stuffed the package of tobacco in the pocket of his trousers and then wandered off to the washroom where he washed his hands thoroughly with soap and water. The soap was a little better there, not much, but at least, it created a few suds.

He then headed off towards the recreation room, which was really just a wide corridor between the two wings of the men’s prison.

Alfie was sitting at a table playing cards with some of his cronies when Charlie approached.

One of the men sitting next to Alfie laughed. “Well, look who it is. He’s come back for more.”

Alfie Harris turned his weasel-like face towards Charlie. “What do you want?”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble. I just wanted to clear the air.”

Alfie sneered at him, but Charlie pressed on. He set the packet of tobacco on the table in front of Alfie. “A peace offering.”

Alfie smiled up at him and gave him an evil-looking smirk. He obviously thought he had Charlie Williams just where he wanted him. Running scared. He had pegged Charlie as another prisoner he could bully and extort.

Despite his intense dislike of the man, Charlie managed to smile pleasantly. “No strings,” he said. “I just thought it was a nice gesture.”

Alfie smirked and put his thin, veiny hand over the packet of tobacco. He hesitated a moment and then snatched it up and stuffed it in the breast pocket of his prison uniform. “It will take more than that to buy my goodwill, son.”

Charlie wanted to laugh. It had worked.

“I realise that, Mr. Harris,” he said with mock sincerity. “But it’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?”

Charlie could hardly suppress his laughter as he walked away from Alfie Harris.

The stupid fool had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. He walked over to another table and took a seat beside two young lads who were starting a game of rummy.

“Want to join?” one of them asked Charlie.

Charlie nodded as he sat down. “Go on then, deal me in for the next hand.”

But Charlie didn’t look up as the cards were dealt. His eyes were still fixed on Alfie Harris.

Alfie had opened up the pouch and was peering inside. He took a large pinch of the tobacco mixed with rat droppings and sprinkled it on a cigarette paper. He rolled it up expertly and then raised it to his lips.

Charlie held his breath.

They weren’t allowed matches or lighters in the prison, so a prison guard had to come over and light it with a match for him.

The prison guard lit the cigarette, and Alfie took a deep breath in.

Charlie put a hand over his mouth to suppress his sniggers as Alfie breathed out the white smoke and then coughed a couple of times.

Alfie stared at the cigarette. “It’s strong stuff. I reckon it must be foreign,” he said to the prison guard before shrugging and raising the roll-up to his lips and inhaling again.

Charlie laughed until tears ran down his cheeks, and the two blokes he was sitting next to looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

That was prison for you, Charlie thought. A man had to make his own entertainment.

T
he following afternoon
, Gary Carter burst into his brother’s office at the warehouse. Dave had been going over some figures from the workshop with Brian and looked up surprised at the interruption.

Gary was breathless, and his eyes shone with excitement. “I need a word, Bruv.”

Brian Moore, who was sitting on the other side of Dave’s desk, turned his squat neck, looked at Gary and raised an eyebrow.

“In private,” Gary added, scowling at Brian.

Brian Moore considered himself a vital part of Dave Carter’s business, and he didn’t like the fact that Gary didn’t trust him enough to talk in front of him.

Gary’s eyes glittered with excitement, and his skin was itching. He couldn’t wait to share this news with Dave, but it wasn’t something he wanted to do in front of anyone else, even Brian.

Finally, Dave nodded at Brian. “We’ll continue this later.”

Looking, majorly disgruntled, Brian stood up and shrugged his broad shoulders.

He gave Gary an obstinate look as he passed, but Gary barely noticed. He quickly sat down in Brian’s vacated chair.

“You’re going to love this, bruv.”

Dave regarded him steadily as he leaned back in his chair, interlinked his fingers and placed his hands on the desk in front of him.

Gary knew he seemed volatile. He’d just taken a bit of coke, and the last thing he wanted was for his behaviour to tip Dave off. He tried to get his enthusiasm under control, but it was impossible.

“It’s Big Tim,” Gary burst out unable to hold it back any longer. “He’s been in the Blind Beggar since lunchtime, and he’s absolutely wasted. He has been muttering all sorts about Martin Morton. I reckon we’ve got a chance to turn him.”

Dave stared at Gary but said nothing.

Gary’s legs were jittery, and his knees were jumping beneath the desk. He was so eager to get started. He had no idea why Dave was wasting so much time.

“We have to act now, bruv. We won’t have much time. I’ll go now,” Gary said, starting to stand up again.

“No,” Dave said firmly.

Gary looked at him puzzled. His brother wasn’t one for turning down an intelligent opportunity, and this was a prime chance to screw over Martin Morton.

“What do you mean, no? We won’t get another chance like this again.”

“You can’t go; he knows you’re my brother.”

“Yeah,” Gary said, waving Dave’s words away dismissively. “But if he’s ready to turn on Martin Morton then, he is not going to care, is he? He’ll be pleased to speak to me because I’m your brother.”

“No,” Dave said again. “You’re missing the point. Tim will know you’re my brother, and so will everyone else in the pub. If he is seen talking to you, it will get straight back to Martin Morton within minutes.”

Gary slumped back down in the chair. He hadn’t thought about that. “Well, who else can you trust to send. Everyone knows Brian is working for you. Most of the people in our outfit are well-known faces around here.”

Dave nodded slowly. “We’ll send Patrick.”

Gary’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. “The new boy?”

“Yes. Tell Patrick to approach Tim and tell him we’d like to talk to him in private.”

Gary swallowed and nodded slowly. It made sense. Although it would put a big onus on Patrick to show he had what it took. He nodded again. He wished he’d thought of that.

Gary grinned at Dave. “I’ll get right on it.”

Gary walked swiftly out of Dave’s office, closing the door behind him and heading down to the other end of the warehouse where the other boys were sitting around playing cards.

“Patrick, I need a word.”

All the boys were gathered around an upturned wooden crate and looked up as Gary spoke.

“I’ve got a job for you.”

Patrick smiled broadly as he walked beside Gary, and Gary shook his head. The boy was so young. He had a cocky walk and a level of overconfidence that made Gary nervous. He hoped Dave wasn’t making a mistake by trusting him with this.

“This job is important, right? You don’t screw it up.”

Patrick nodded eagerly. “Of course, boss. You can rely on me.”

As Gary filled Patrick in on the plans, he couldn’t help thinking they were taking one hell of a risk using this young lad to approach Big Tim.

P
atrick Cunnings was
on top of the world as he swaggered down the Whitechapel Road toward the Blind Beggar. He’d had a pint or two in there on numerous occasions but never for work.

He couldn’t help grinning to himself. This was the start of a new life. He was going to do this job well and get Dave Carter to trust him. Then the sky was the limit. Patrick Cunnings had plans, plenty of them.

Cunning by name, cunning by nature that’s what one of his teachers at school had said, and it was true enough. Patrick knew he was bright, although he’d been awful at school. His patchy attendance hadn’t helped, and neither had the fact that both his parents believed teaching their son silly things like maths was a daft idea when he could be working and bringing home some money.

His dad had been most eager to get him out earning, mainly because he spent most of his own wages down the pub every night.

Patrick beamed as he imagined his mother’s face lighting up when he passed her a few extra quid this week. She would be made up.

Patrick pushed open the door and entered the pub. It was lovely and warm inside and already quite busy. He took a quick butchers at the other punters inside the pub. Most of the old-timers were propped up at the bar, and he couldn’t see Big Tim among them. He scanned the tables and caught sight of Big Tim, sitting at a table in the corner on his own.

Big Tim was a well-known character in these parts, and Patrick had seen him on numerous occasions. He’d known how big the man was, but today for some reason, he seemed even larger than usual. Everything about the man was massive. His suit jacket strained at the seams as he lifted his drinking arm, bringing his pint to his mouth.

For the first time, Patrick felt a twinge of nerves. It wouldn’t be clever to get on the bad side of a man like Tim. Still, he had been given a job to do, and he was determined to do it.

He squared his shoulders and then smiling at everyone around him, he walked up to the bar with a swagger.

Molly walked over to him quickly. “What can I get you, love?”

Patrick ordered a pint of beer but kept his eyes on Big Tim.

When Molly handed him his pint, he took a long drink and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He took a deep breath and started to walk over to Tim’s table.

He felt a bit like a condemned man, but he tried to reassure himself that all he was doing was talking. That was easy enough. And if he managed to pull this off, Dave Carter would be sure to show his appreciation.

“Er, you mind if I sit down?” Patrick said to Big Tim.

The big man’s head moved up slowly, and Patrick could see for the first time just how pissed he was. His eyes struggled to focus on Patrick.

“Do I know you?” Big Tim asked suspiciously.

Patrick slid down into the chair opposite Tim, put his pint on the table and leaned in close.

“I’ve got a message for you,” he said in a quiet voice. “Gary Carter would very much like to have a word with you…if you have the time, sir.”

Patrick had added the sir on the end for good measure because he thought it sounded respectful. He licked his lips nervously as Big Tim leaned forward, staring at him with bleary eyes.

Patrick swallowed hard. “Gary said he can meet you at The Three Grapes in half an hour if you’re willing to talk.”

For the longest time, Tim said nothing and Patrick started to think that perhaps he was too drunk to understand English. This was going to be harder than he’d expected.

He leaned further forward, intending to try to get through to him again, when all of a sudden Tim moved like lightning.

Patrick was quick on his feet, which he was very thankful for because as Big Tim’s huge fist came crashing towards his face, he dodged it just in time. It missed his jaw by less than an inch.

For a moment, Patrick just stood there, blinking in shock, and then suddenly his wits came back to him. He turned around and legged it out of the bar.

Clearly Big Tim wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Patrick didn’t stop running until he’d turned off Whitechapel Road. He leaned back against the rough brick wall and panted. That had been a close call, and far too close for comfort for his liking. He’d been lulled into a false sense of security because Tim had appeared so drunk. He was still a dangerous bastard, though. If that punch had connected, Patrick would have been knocked out cold on the floor.

He was disappointed that Tim hadn’t decided to take Gary up on his offer, but he hoped Dave wouldn’t be displeased with his work today. He had done exactly what he was told, and in this game, that was important.

M
ary carried
little Jimmy up the path to the front door of the small bungalow in Romford. She hadn’t visited Bev since Bev and her husband had left the East End, and she was really surprised at how lovely the bungalow was.

It was in a little cul-de-sac, surrounded by other identical bungalows. The front garden was lovely and filled with flowers. Everything about the little bungalow seemed fresh and new. They’d been newly built when Bev and her husband had moved in five years ago.

Mary felt a pang of envy. Life would have been very different if she’d moved out here with Kathleen.

But there was no point regretting the past. Things couldn’t be changed. All she could do now was make sure that Jimmy was safe.

She raised a hand and knocked on the door.

The door opened, and Bev’s jaw dropped open. “Flaming Nora, Mary. Is that really you?”

Bev broke out into a broad grin as she opened the door wider. “Come in, love. It’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been far too long.”

Bev looked great. Her skin was fresh and glowing, and she looked younger than her fifty years. Her hair was free of grey, and Mary wondered if she had it tinted. She touched her own hair self-consciously.

Mary stepped inside the bungalow, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw how tastefully it had been decorated. Pretty wallpaper printed with rosebuds covered the walls, and the carpet was thick beneath her feet. Mary would have killed for a place like this.

Bev’s husband, Fred, had worked like a demon over the years and done very well for himself, but at forty-five, he’d had a heart attack and decided to retire early. They’d moved to this bungalow in Romford, but unfortunately, Fred didn’t get a chance to enjoy his retirement. Less than a year later he died after another heart attack.

Mary followed Bev into the front room, which was lovely and bright as there were great big windows looking out onto the back garden.

“Are you all right, girl?” Bev asked, noticing Mary looked quite overwhelmed. “Sit yourself down, and I’ll make a cup of tea.”

Bev leaned over and chucked little Jimmy under the chin. “Who is this good-looking little chap then?”

“This is Jimmy,” Mary said and smiled proudly. “My grandson.”

“Oh, how lovely! You lucky thing. I didn’t even know Kathleen had married. Did my invitation get lost in the post?” Bev teased, but then the smile fell from her face as she saw the expression on Mary’s face.

Mary shook her head sadly. “She didn’t get married.”

Bev pursed her lips then she patted Mary’s arm. “Let me make that tea, and then you can tell me all about it.”

When Bev left the room to make the tea, Mary took the opportunity to have a good nosy around. Jimmy squirmed in her arms as she admired Bev’s furnishings. There was a nice picture of Bev and Fred on the mantelpiece. It must have been one of the last ones they’d had taken before her old man had died.

The last time she’d seen Bev had been at Fred’s funeral, and she regretted not visiting sooner to see how a friend was coping with widowhood.

They’d been ever so close once. They’d attended the same school and once Mary had envied Bev’s good fortune in landing a man like Fred. Kathleen’s father had been the polar opposite of Fred in every way. The man had been a complete scallywag. Bev and Mary had their daughters just a few months apart, and they’d bonded over cups of tea and chats about motherhood. Then tragedy struck when the girls were just five years old: Kathleen and Bev’s daughter, Claire, contracted diphtheria.

It had been one of the worst times in Mary’s life. Eventually, Kathleen had pulled through, but poor little Claire hadn’t been so lucky. Bev had had a complete breakdown at the funeral, and for a year afterwards, she couldn’t cope with everyday things. She didn’t clean the house or cook, but with Fred and Mary’s help, she’d managed to pull through those dark days.

Mary knew she was about to ask Bev a huge favour, and she would have understood if Bev turned her down, but this was the one chance she had to make sure Jimmy was safe, and so Mary was determined to be as persuasive as possible.

Bev brought out the tea and then listened in silence as Mary told her what had happened. She didn’t spare any details. Bev had grown up in the East End and was well aware of what life could be like. When she’d moved out to Romford, Martin Morton had just been a little upstart with no power to speak of, but she listened with horror as Mary told her what sort of man he had become and how Kathleen had been trapped in his web.

By the time Mary had finished, both women were in tears.

“So, the thing is, they’ve warned me to get Jimmy out of the area. I don’t have anyone else I can turn to, Bev… I was hoping you’d look after him for me, just for a little while until things settle down. Of course, I can pay you some money for his keep…” Mary’s voice trailed away as she looked beseechingly at her friend.

Beverley got up from her armchair and came and sat beside Mary on the sofa. She put her arm around her old friend’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Mary. I can’t imagine how awful this has been for you. Of course, I’ll look after him for you. I’ll do my best to help; you know that.”

Bev stroked little Jimmy’s cheek.

Mary broke into fresh tears at her friend’s generosity. “I’m sorry, Bev. I know it’s a huge ask. And you’re happy here in your lovely home. The last thing you want is a screaming infant around.”

Bev shook her head. “It will make a nice change. It’s too quiet around here. To tell you the truth, I’ve been ever so lonely after Fred died. I even considered moving back to the East End.”

Mary looked at her friend in shock.

Beverley chuckled. “I only thought about it for a little while then came to my senses. It’s lovely out here, Mary. Neighbours are nice, and it helps that I got a little bit of money from the insurance when Fred passed. I remember how good to me you were after I lost my Claire. I told you then I’d never forget your kindness, and I meant it. I’ll help you through this, Mary. Together, we’ll make sure little Jimmy is all right.”