Tara (78 page)

It was cosy in his lounge, imitation coals flickering even though there was no heat and the soft Dralon settee soothing under his old body.

'When this is over we should retire and sell up,' he said, taking the tea.

Queenie perched on the arm of his chair and slid her arm across his shoulders.

'Where would we go? The seaside?'

George looked up at her and smiled. She was still a remarkably handsome woman, her skin was unlined, pink and white like a girl's, her eyes full of youthful vitality. He knew her hair had long since turned grey, but seen in the soft light of a table lamp it looked natural blonde, curling on her plump shoulders.

'Wherever you like, darlin',' he said/Some nice little cottage where we can stay in bed all day if we want, and a nice garden to potter in.'

"That sounds lovely.' She bent to kiss him and she smelled of rose soap and handcream. 'Now stop worrying and come with me.'

The telephone rang, making them both jump. George picked it up, his eyes wide and frightened.

'It's me, Ron Harrison.'

'Any news?' George asked.

'Afraid not,' Harrison said. 'The Hythe police station is only manned part time, but a couple of men from Folkestone drove out to the house to take a look. It was all in darkness, doors and windows secured, didn't look as if anyone had been there in years, so I guess you were mistaken. They're going back tomorrow in daylight just to be certain.'

'Didn't they go in the house?'

'Even the police can't break and enter,' Harrison said. 'Had the door been broken in or a window left open they would have, but they shone their torches through and there was nothing doing. Even the drive gate was padlocked. There wasn't even any sign of tyre marks. It sounds to me like you're barking up the wrong tree, George.'

'OK,' George's voice was flat with disappointment. 'Could you check it out tomorrow again, though, and ask them to see if the girl was spotted around there?'

'Will do. I'm sorry, George. I can imagine how you feel, but we'll be keeping a close watch on the club, too. Something just might pop up when we least expect it.'

George buried his head in Queenie's shoulder.

'I was so sure they'd find something. I don't know if it's worth going down there now with Needles and Tony.'

'There certainly isn't any point till daylight,' Queenie said sensibly. 'If the police can't see anything, neither will you. Go around six or seven, that's soon enough, and meanwhile come to bed.'

'I'll just phone Needles.' George sighed deeply. 'No point in him making up a cock and bull story for nothing.'

Duke picked up the receiver a second after it had been answered downstairs at the reception desk. He had got into the habit of doing this since the time he listened in by accident and heard one of the barmaids slagging him off to another. Tonight he had another reason for snooping; he'd seen Tony and Needles whispering together in the passage down by the bogs. He smirked when he recognised George's voice.

'I won't keep you. Just rang to say we won't bother tonight, but go around six when it's light. Plod's been out there and they can't see nuffin'. Maybe there ain't nuffin' to see anyway. Is that OK?'

'Yeah!' Needles' thick voice showed no curiosity or emotion. "The club opens at nine till around half two. We take bookings for private parties.'

'Someone ear-wigging?' George asked.

'Certainly, sir,' Needles answered briskly. 'We look forward to meeting you.'

Duke had to be quick with the phone so Needles didn't notice a click. So they were going down there and the police had already been and checked it out?

If George and Needles left at six, on a clear road they could be there around half seven, eight at the latest. He doubted the police would go any earlier than that, especially after one wild goose chase.

Anxiety gnawed at his innards and made him feel nauseous. Bergman had sickened him earlier with his whining and blubbering, now it was George and Needles getting up his nose. The lads would be back from the pick-up before seven. He could nip down there now, collect the stuff and shoot off again, leaving orders for Joe to dispose of the girl and Harry immediately.

Duke got up, smiling to himself as a brilliant idea came into his mind. No doubt George, Needles and probably Tony would go down there tooled up. His men had only Joe's small handgun and the shotgun between them. There was a fair chance some of his men would be killed, with luck all of them. After all, George would be savage when he found they were too late to save Harry and his girl.

But he'd be fine. He had the money and he'd be long gone from the house with the drugs. All he had to do was slip back into his real identity, and Duke Denning would be just another name in East End mythology.

He poured himself a small measure of brandy, just enough to calm those butterflies, and flicked back his sleeve to look at his watch.

'You'll be looking at a gold one soon,' he told himself. 'Lying on the beach in Florida without a care in the world!'

He opened the roll-top desk, removed his personal address book and diary and slid them into his briefcase. Then, taking the safe key from his pocket, he opened that too. Ironically it had been the best night since Harry went, over five thousand put into the safe already during the evening. He took the previous day's takings out of their green bank bag and shoved them loose in his case, then did the same with tonight's. A pile of envelopes from the stationery cupboard made a good substitute back in the bags. When Needles or Tony put the final takings away they wouldn't notice anything different.

There was only his suit jacket to put on now and as he adjusted his tie in front of the mirror he took one last look at Harry's photographs of old boxers and film stars. For a moment he felt strangely sad. He liked this club, the customers and even the staff. But they had always belonged to Harry. Even if he had been a real buyer for the place it would never be as successful as it was for Harry.

He wasn't going to waste his energies on regrets, after all he'd planned to make himself a fortune and now it looked as if he wouldn't even need to give the men their final pay-off. But all the same, you didn't meet many men of Harry's calibre in a lifetime!

'I'm watching every move!' Tara shouted down the stairs as the men started the trek down into the darkness. 'Open the door, Micky. You other three, stand back where I can see you!'

It felt as if every pore in her body was pouring out sweat. Her stomach ached with a combination of terror, hunger and nausea, and she knew with utter certainty these men weren't going to stand by and let her herd them into a cell, however much she waved that gun.

Frank was moaning loudly, still bent over double. Natural concern for his injury conflicted with a suspicion he was laying it on thick, just to distract her attention long enough for Joe or Carl to whack her on the head.

Micky had reached the outer door now. Even in the gloom Tara could see him hesitating, trying to gauge the feelings around him.

'Open it, Micky!' she yelled. "The rest of you wait there, don't move!'

She heard the clunk of a key turning in the lock.

'Good, Micky,' she called out. 'Now you go forward and open the other door.'

Unless she had read him entirely wrong, she was sure he'd look after Harry. But as Micky stepped into the area between the two doors she felt a surge of hatred for her from the other men. Frank turned his face towards her, lips curled back. Carl's face was cold. He was watching every move she made, and she knew he was waiting to spring.

Her father, meanwhile, was standing at the bottom of the stairs as calmly as if he was queuing to go into a public toilet, and it was this attitude which unnerved her more than anything.

The lock clicked through to Harry's cell and a shaft of dim light spilled out.

'Harry!' she bellowed. 'Come on out!' A shadow knocked out the beam of light and suddenly there was Harry, supported by Micky. She knew he'd lost an enormous amount of blood because she could no longer distinguish a bandage round his leg.

'Are you OK?' she called out.

'Better for seeing you,' he mumbled in a slurred voice.

'Move over here with him.' She waved the gun towards the part of the passageway furthest away from the cell. 'Joe, Carl, Frank, inside!'

They didn't move an inch.

'You heard me, move!' She yelled louder this time, but still they just stood there.

She knew they were testing her, sure she'd never fire, that Frank's injury frightened her. Her hands were so sticky with sweat she could hardly hold the gun; she had to brace herself, legs apart, to stop them shaking.

'If I pull this trigger it will be aimed at one of you,' she assured them. 'I'm not scared to kill any of you. I don't intend to waste bullets. So move, or one of you gets it!'

She saw them exchange looks of pure defiance. She had no choice! Aiming at Carl's legs she squeezed the trigger, holding the stock in both hands. Once again she recoiled with the report, her view obscured for a moment by blue smoke.

She heard him collapse. It sounded like a sack of potatoes hitting the ground and as the smoke cleared she saw the appalled look on both Joe's and Frank's faces. He looked dead. The bullet had hit him in the side and blood was rapidly staining his light shirt, his mouth gaping.

'Drag him in the cell, Joe!' she ordered. 'And you, Frank, unless you want to see my next trick.'

They moved then – Joe hoisted Carl up and Frank took his other side, shuffling forward to the cell.

She had to go down now. She couldn't trust Micky to lock the door on them, and anyway Harry needed help. Walking briskly to the inner cell door, the gun still in her hand, she removed the keys.

'I'm not as inhuman as you were,' she said sharply. They had laid Carl on the bed, Frank sat by his side and Joe was looking down at them both. 'You can get water and use the toilet. The police won't be long, or medical attention!'

She slammed the outer door after her and locked it; only then did she get a good look at Harry. He was slumped against Micky as if his life was ebbing away.

'Oh, Harry.' She rushed over to him, tucking the gun into her jeans, and took his face in both hands. 'It's almost over now, hang on a little bit longer, we'll get you up the stairs.'

She tucked the keys in her back pocket and put her shoulder under Harry's arm. Micky took up the other side and slowly they made their way up the stairs.

Harry's breath was laboured, his legs like India rubber, and blood was trickling out through the bandage, running down an already dry furrow of blood on his shin.

'I thought they'd killed you,' he rasped.

At the top of the stairs they laid him down on the wooden floor. Micky looked haunted, dark curls falling into his eyes, biting on his lip as he considered his position. Tara thought hard.

'Micky, I'm going to let you go, I'll even forget what you look like. All I ask is that you go into the airport and telephone for an ambulance. Can I trust you to do that?'

The troubled expression vanished from his face.

'Promise me?' she begged, clutching at his arm. 'I love Harry and he'll die without help. Don't let me down.'

A groan from Harry made them both lean over him.

'Come to me when all this is over,' Harry wheezed out. "Thanks, mate!'

'I'll go now. Don't worry, I won't let you down.' Micky ran upstairs briefly, coming down seconds later with a leather jacket and a small holdall. He was out of the back window and off through the bushes like a jack rabbit and Tara turned back to Harry, sitting down on the floor beside him.

His eyes opened at her touch on his brow and his lips moved to speak.

'Don't try.' She kissed her finger and laid it across his lips. 'I reckon it will take ten minutes before he gets to the phone, another ten for the ambulance to get here. Within twenty minutes you'll be safe. Can you hold on?'

It wasn't a nod exactly, more a movement of the eyes, then he closed them as if trying to blank out the pain. She had never seen anyone look so ill. His cheeks were sunken, the bones standing out gaunt and sharp, skin like parchment, each breath laboured.

Tara found an old tea towel in the kitchen. She soaked it in cold water and wrung it out, then went back to sit beside him and sponge his face and hair.

It was so strange sitting there on the cool floor in the gloom. The early morning sun was filtering through the front windows, but not reaching the passage where she was. She could hear the birds singing, wind rustling leaves and the occasional faint noise from the cellar.

She felt so dirty and tired. After two nights without sleep she'd reached the stage where if she just leaned back against the wall she would drop off.

The gun was digging in her waist. She took it out and gazed at it reflectively, stunned that she'd actually pulled the trigger. It was too big for her back pocket, so she tucked it into her bra and buttoned her shirt up round it.

Harry groaned softly and she leaned nearer him. His breath was sour and rasping and there was an evil smell coming from his wound. But one thing had come out of all this. She knew the full measure of her man. He had pride, courage and integrity and she loved him so much it hurt.

'Won't be long, sweetheart,' she murmured into his ear. 'He must have reached the phone by now.'

She didn't hear a sound. It was just a faint shadow that made her turn her head.

Duke stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing an army combat jacket and trousers, white blond hair immaculately combed, pointing a gun at her. Her scream was involuntary.

'Move away from him,' he ordered. 'Stay sitting, just shuffle back.'

Tara did as he ordered. She didn't know if he was alone or whether he had caught Micky running away, all she could do was play for time and try to stay calm.

The gun tucked into her bra made her feel more confident. If he got distracted she could reach for it.

'Where are my men?' he asked. His thin lips were set in a straight line, eyes colder than ice, she could see he was like a coiled spring and she guessed he'd have no hesitation in shooting her.