The Make (23 page)

Shit, George, what you been up to now? Were these money-lenders? Fences? Drug dealers? What?

‘I don’t know what this is all about,’ said Harry, feeling his whole body tense, his heart speeding up. ‘But I’m sure we can discuss it.’

‘Oh, you’re
sure
, are you?’ Deano gave a laugh, and the three men with him snickered like the well-trained dummies they were. Then Deano’s smile dropped from his face like a mask. He looked at the two heavies. ‘Hold him,’ he said, and he came at Harry with both fists swinging.

Harry felt himself being grabbed. He struggled, but couldn’t move an inch before Deano ploughed into him. He felt a horrific pain in his jaw, felt a hideous series of sharp jabs to his stomach as Deano’s fists pummelled him. He sagged between the two men, groaning, retching, while Deano came in again and again, kicking, hitting, shouting obscenities at him – that he was scum, that he’d pay, they’d
all
pay, all the Doyle bastards.

It seemed to go on forever, but it was minutes, just minutes. They let him fall to the floor where he lay, vomiting weakly, his body a heaving sea of agony.

‘Let’s get him out to the car,’ said Deano, and he was lifted, dragged up the stairs and out through a door into an alley.

They let him fall on to the freezing, snow-covered cobbles, his blood dripping down and staining the white snow to crimson. At that point, mercifully, Harry passed out.

Chapter 51

Hours later, Harry was in hell. Lefty was in the bar in the rocketing heat and noise of the club. He finished his drink, pleased with himself. Deano had a Doyle scum to take his temper out on, and that was good. Not
the
Doyle, not
George
Doyle, but close enough for jazz. Deano had George’s address now; it was just a matter of time.

He sat there and watched the rubber-suited freaks and chained-up sex slaves. He gave a nod to Mona, who quickly looked away, trying to pretend she hadn’t seen him. One of the boys gave him the nod that Deano was back and wanted to see him, so he went over to the door of the back office. He gave the knock, and then Deano was there, filling the doorway.

‘Lefty my boy,’ he said. He glanced behind him, seemed to come to some sort of decision, and ushered Lefty inside.

Then Deano shut the door. The office was quiet, the noise from the club muted. It was cooler, too, but Lefty was aware that he was sweating with nerves. He always did when he was around Deano. Deano was a maniac. You never knew
what
this fucker was going to do.

There was a boy, the same dark-haired boy Lefty had seen in here last time he called, lying with his eyes closed on the couch. The boy’s face was as smooth and unlined as an alabaster sculpture, his eyelids tinged with a delicate tracery of blue veins. The long sweep of his dark lashes was almost heart-rendingly beautiful. Did Deano want to discuss business in front of his latest pash? Lefty looked uncertainly between the sleeping boy and his employer.

‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Deano with a dismissive wave of a hand. He went over to the desk and went round behind it, sat down heavily. He looked up at Lefty with expectation. ‘So. You got my boy?’

Lefty gulped and gave Deano his full attention. ‘Yeah. I found him, Deano.’

Deano nodded his huge head and looked around with theatrical care. ‘Then where
is
he, Lefty?’

‘Don’t you worry, I got him in my sights. I’ll get him tonight.’

‘So where is he? Right now?’

‘He’s got a job in the casino. When he comes off his shift, I’ll get him.’

‘You sure about that?’ Deano eyed Lefty dubiously.

‘Yeah, Deano. It’s as good as done.’

‘No, it ain’t as good as done. Because it ain’t
done.
Suppose Alfie gets wind of it and takes off before you can get too near?’

‘He can’t do that, Deano. He don’t know a thing.’

‘Well, let’s hope so.’

Lefty thought he was doing good. He thought a little praise for all his efforts wouldn’t have gone amiss right now, but he didn’t say so.

‘The boys picked up George Doyle, right?’ Lefty asked, subtly reminding his employer that
he
, Lefty, had nailed George’s arse through his contacts.

‘Sadly no,’ said Deano. He spread his hands wide. ‘They couldn’t find him at the flat. Went to his old lady’s. And there he was, being loaded into the back of an ambulance.’

‘What the fuck?’

‘That’s what I said. Seems like that bastard’s upset someone else too. But no matter.’ Deano gave a chilling little smile. ‘I’ll catch up with him later.
If
he’s around to catch up with, which the boys said looks kind of doubtful. You’re
sure
you’ve got Alfie staked out?’

Lefty nodded, but he wasn’t sure at all now. If George had been hospitalized – shit, what had happened there? – and Harry was off the scene, would Alfie now be hanging around to find out what was going on?

‘It’s in the bag, Deano. I swear.’ Now Lefty was
really
sweating. He was telling Deano it was all fine, all okay, but Deano was doubting him, he could
see
Deano was doubting him big time.

‘Only, it was all in the bag once before, you remember that?’ Deano mused, smiling all the while at Lefty. ‘I left you in charge of Alfie, and what happened? I think you remember, Lefty. You fucked up.
That
’s what happened. You lost my boy, and I’ve been deprived of his company. I’ve missed my boy, you know. Missed him bad.’

‘I know you have, Deano, and I’m sorry for that. But now I’m going to put it right for you, okay? I’ll put it right tonight. No worries.’ The sweat was cascading down Lefty’s face.

Shit, he wanted out of here.

Deano straightened suddenly and struck the desk with both shovel-like hands, palms down. He nodded and beamed at Lefty; but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was a smile the crocodile gives to the wildebeest a split-second before it traps its head and crunches down with killing force.

‘I
know
you’re going to put it right for me, Lefty. You know how I know?’

Lefty shook his head dumbly. His eyes skittered sideways and landed on the boy like a meat fly finding flesh.
Why didn’t the noise wake him?
shot through Lefty’s butane-addled brain. The noise of Deano’s hands hitting the desk had made
him
half shit himself with fright, but the slumbering boy hadn’t moved a muscle.

Now Lefty’s attention was divided between Deano, who was getting to his feet, and the boy. Sleeping too
soundly.
Lefty was suddenly very worried about that.

Deano’s eyes followed Lefty’s darting glance as he came around the desk.

‘Oh yeah,’ he said, looking at the sleeping boy with a sigh. ‘That. It’s unfortunate, Lefty, but what can I say? Sometimes I don’t get the pure stuff; sometimes some cocksucker adulterates it and, I’m afraid, well, a person gets a hot dose and then . . .’ Deano put his fingers to his head and made a loud noise, like a pistol shot.

Lefty jumped.

Oh shit, I want out of here
, he thought in terror.

The boy. His eyes went to the boy again, and yes the boy was pale,
very
pale, why hadn’t he seen that before? The unblemished skin of his face had a blue tinge to it. ‘You see, Lefty, accidents can happen,’ Deano went on, approaching him. Lefty stepped back, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run.

‘Oh my
fuck
. . .’ he murmured under his breath, and he understood now, he knew what he had walked in on. He was sharing the room with a psychopath and, yes, he had always known that when he was in Deano’s company, but he was also sharing the room with a
corpse.

‘Yeah, I can see you understand, Lefty, and that’s good, because I’ve got a little job for you.’ Now Deano was right in front of him: huge, threatening, terrifying. Deano reached out one massive hand and clapped Lefty companionably on the shoulder. ‘Now, what I want you to do Lefty—’ he indicated the dead boy with a nod – ‘is get rid of that. Okay?’

‘Oh hell . . . Deano . . .’ Lefty was shaking his head. He knew he’d done something bad to that taxi driver, but he’d been on a bender and he hadn’t been too sure of what was happening; but he was sure
now
– he wasn’t too jazzed to know that he didn’t want to handle a corpse tonight, not if he could avoid it.

‘Now come
on
, Lefty my boy,’ said Deano reassuringly, as if talking to some dumb animal. He squeezed Lefty’s shoulder, drew him in against the huge heat and bulk of him. Lefty shut his eyes and prayed for deliverance. ‘You tidy up that little mess for me – and make sure you do it right, you got that? – then you get Alfie and you bring Alfie back to his papa, okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Lefty gasped out. He opened his eyes and Deano’s big bowling-ball of a head was inches from his own, the shark-black eyes staring at him. He could see every pore on Deano’s huge fat cheeks, was drowning in Deano’s distinctive and downright repulsive smell, a noxious mixture of strong cologne and old, stale sweat. ‘Sure, Deano. I’ll go get the car, bring it round the side.’

‘Yeah. That’s fine, Lefty.’ Deano just stood there, still clasping Lefty’s shoulder, staring into his frightened eyes. ‘Only before you do, I want to show you something.’

Oh no, just let me get out of here
, thought Lefty, panicking now. He had decided that he was just going to take off, just run as far and as fast as his legs would take him; he didn’t want to be handling any more dead people. And as for returning Alfie to his proper owner, well fuck
that.
Gordon could tell this fat motherfucker if he wanted to, but Lefty promised himself that he was
out
of here.

‘Show me what?’ asked Lefty, gulping, sweating, feeling sick and craving a fix and wanting out so badly he was dangerously near to just wrenching himself out of this bastard’s hot grasp and running until he could run no more.

‘Just a little something,’ said Deano, and he was leading Lefty across the room with an arm around his shoulder. Lefty couldn’t do anything but go where he was bid. Deano stopped at a door behind and to the left of the desk. He opened it and pushed Lefty into the doorway.

Lefty heard a cry. But he was staring into darkness, and could see nothing.

Deano reached around the frame and found the switch. The light came on strong, vivid, almost blinding after the darkness. Lefty blinked. It was a storeroom, painted white, no more than six feet by eight. There was nothing in it but a chair, and

Oh Jesus oh God oh no

tied to the chair, sitting there gagged and bound and with tears of fear and dread springing from her eyes, was Lefty’s mother.

‘Holy
shit
!’ sprang from Lefty’s lips. He surged forward. ‘Ma . . . oh Jesus, don’t . . . Ma . . .’

Deano grabbed Lefty and flung him back against the wall of the storeroom. Lefty’s mother let loose a strangled half-scream. Lefty found himself staring straight into Deano’s eyes from inches away. Deano wasn’t smiling any more.

‘Now see, Lefty? I took out a little insurance. You were taking
so
long to find my boy that I started to think, you know what? That Lefty’s a junkie and he’s a screw-up, so I’m going to set a little something aside just in case he thinks he can walk away and not deliver what he’s promised.’

Lefty was shaking his head frantically. ‘No, Deano!’ he shrieked. ‘I wasn’t going to walk away, I swear.’

‘Good. That’s what I like to hear. Now.’ Deano yanked Lefty away from the wall and flung him back through into the office. Ignoring Lefty’s mother, he switched off the light in the storeroom and closed the door on her.

‘Ma . . .’ Lefty moaned, and started back towards the door. Deano caught him and cuffed him hard across the face. Lefty fell back.

‘You’ll
get
your ma when you’ve done the cleaning-up here and when I’ve got Alfie safe back with me. You got that, boy? That all clear enough for you?’

Lefty nodded, half crying with terror and anxiety now. His ma was a good woman; she didn’t deserve this. He had to do what Deano said. Get rid of the dead boy. Bring Alfie in. Then he’d get her out of here, and he’d make it up to her, it would all be cool. He would
make
it cool.

‘
Clear?
’ roared Deano.

Lefty jumped. ‘Yeah, Deano. I swear it. It’s clear.’

‘Good.’ Deano flung Lefty from him in disgust. ‘Now go get your car.’

Chapter 52

Lefty felt like he had taken a wrong turning somewhere, and now everything was chaos. It was as if he was trapped in one of those crazy computer games where you had to overcome this obstacle to face another one, then another, then another; and if you didn’t triumph every time then you lost the game and you were fucked, the dragon would eat you, you would be dead.

He went to fetch his car, a beaten-up old BMW, thinking that this was not good, that DNA evidence would be all over
him
, and not Deano. Deano had killed the boy, overdosed him, so why the hell should Lefty have to incriminate himself to save Deano’s stinking rotten skin?

But he had to. Lefty was crying and shaking and gasping, knowing he had to do what Deano said or the consequences would be beyond bad.

That was when he saw Mona, who had just finished her shift, getting into
her
car. He took a pull from the butane can in his hand and went over there, reached in through the open window and turned off the ignition, grabbing the keys.

‘Hey!’ shouted Mona, looking up at him with wild eyes. Then she saw who it was. ‘Oh
fuck
,’ she groaned.

‘Take it up the alley there,’ said Lefty, slapping the keys back into her hand.

‘You
what?
’

Lefty reached in and grabbed her chin. He shook her head like a marionette’s. ‘Take the fucking
car
up the fucking
alley
, you got that, bitch? Then get the damned boot open and get back behind the wheel.’

‘Sure,’ said Mona hurriedly. She could see he was tanked and when he was like that he could do anything. As long as she lived, she would never forget the young cab driver’s face as Lefty slaughtered him. Lefty let her go and, trembling, she pulled in up the alley at the side of the club like he said. Then she got out and opened the boot and quickly got back behind the wheel.

Lefty had walked up alongside her car, and now in the headlights Mona could see him at the open side door of the club. For one crazy moment she thought of just locking her door, closing the window, throwing the car into reverse and getting out of that alley faster than a bat out of hell. But she was afraid. She knew what Lefty was capable of. She was
paralysed
with fear of what he’d do if she disobeyed him.

Now he was carrying something wrapped up in a tarpaulin. Maybe a roll of carpet, something bulky like that. He went round to the back of the car and Mona heard the solid
thump
of the thing being decanted into the boot, felt the suspension judder beneath the sudden impact, and she thought,
That ain’t no carpet, that’s too heavy.

Into her mind sprang a vision of the cab driver, screaming his head off while Lefty killed him.

No she didn’t want to think about it. Whatever was in that tarp, she wasn’t going to concern herself with it, not at all. She closed her mind to all possibilities. It was just some . . .
thing
, that was all. Deano wanted something shifted, and they were going to shift it, right?

Right.

Again, she saw the cab driver. So young. Shrieking as his life splattered in dark red liquid gouts out of him, and all over the inside of his cab.

Stop it.

The side door of the club closed and now Lefty was coming round to the passenger side of the car. Again Mona felt it, that sudden urge to bolt, to flee. But too late. Now he was in there beside her. She glanced round at him. She could see sweat glistening on his skin. He looked sick, almost demented, his eyes dancing madly in his head.

‘Start this fucker up,’ he snapped at her. ‘Come
on.
Hurry it up.’

Mona started the car. All she wanted was to get home, bathe Josie, read her little girl a story. But she backed the car down the alley and then followed his directions until they drew up in a busy street lined with houses. Lefty got out, pulling the keys out of the ignition again. Then he slammed the passenger door shut and walked off up the drive of one of the houses, leaving Mona sitting there with her skin crawling with terror. Her ears were sharply attuned to the thing in the back. It was silent. It was

Dead

Oh shit, she wouldn’t think about it. She switched on the CD player; it was Sade singing a bluesy track. Anything to stop her hearing if that thing started to move.

And now Lefty was back, and he was carrying something. He opened the passenger door, threw a
shovel
in the back, and then said: ‘Come on then, let’s get the fuck on the road, what’s up with you?’ And he drew a deep breath of butane from the can.

Oh my God
, thought Mona in a paroxysm of fear and dread.

It really was a body in there. And Lefty was going to bury it.

Following Lefty’s directions, Mona drove them out to Epping Forest and they found a deserted spot. She parked up, dry-mouthed with terror, and sat there in the sudden silence with her heart racketing around in her chest. She felt like she might die at any second, that her heart was just going to
stop
with the horror of it all.

Lefty was reaching back, grasping the shovel. He got out.

‘Come on then, I need a hand here,’ he said and, like someone walking in a dream, Mona got out, and locked the car door – although she had no idea why she did that, just habit; no one was out here in the arse end of nowhere, no one was going to want to pinch her ratty old car, who was she kidding?

She went round to the boot, opened it. In the faint moonlit darkness the tarp looked dark blue. It looked body-shaped, too. Mona couldn’t believe she was standing here getting ready to do this with this maniac. She had planned a deep bath, a pizza, something on the TV; what she had
not
planned was digging a grave.

Lefty, weighted down by the shovel, was awkwardly grabbing one end of the tarp.

‘Come
on
,’ he spat at her, wheezing hard. ‘Get a hold.’

Mona, shuddering with revulsion, did as she was told. She grabbed a hold of the other end of the

body

thing and between them they started crab-walking their burden into the woods. The thing was surprisingly heavy. Mona started wondering whether she had the feet here, or the shoulders. Felt –
oh fuck –
like the shoulders. God help her.

A surge of sickness swept up into her throat but she swallowed it. Just kept walking, carrying the thing, following Lefty’s directions, thinking, this is murder, isn’t it?

But no, she hadn’t murdered anyone. She
wouldn’t.
She was just doing what she was told. Hadn’t she read somewhere that that was what the SS said, the Nazis when they were gassing the Jews?
It wasn’t our fault; we were just doing what we were told.

The thing was heavy. Her arms were aching, drooping under the weight of it when finally Lefty said: ‘Okay, this’ll do.’

He dropped his end and Mona, thinking
oh fuck, the head, that’s the head I got here
, put down her end more gently. Lefty found a spot, threw off his long leather coat and started to dig. Well, at least he didn’t expect her to help with
that.

‘Fucking ground’s frozen. Like iron,’ he complained, sweating despite the cold, and cursing.

Mona looked around with a shiver. The breeze lifted, whispering through the denuded trees and probing her shuddering body. Lefty was digging like a man possessed, stabbing at the cold earth with extreme determination. Slowly the hole he was digging grew bigger and deeper. There were trees all around them, forming a thick intricate tracery of finger-like black outlines against the dark blue night sky. A person could easily get spooked in a place like this. An owl hooted in the distance. Somewhere, something shrieked. Probably a fox or some damned thing. She was shivering in earnest now.

The hole was getting pretty big. Lefty was down there, throwing out shovel-loads of dry black dirt. And then she heard it. Every hair on her body seemed to stand on end. Her stomach shrivelled into a hard, painful knot.

The thing inside the tarp had groaned.

Lefty heard it too.

He stopped digging and looked up at her.

They stood there in total silence.

Again, the thing in the tarp groaned. ‘Holy
shit
,’ said Lefty, and leapt up out of the hole. Before Mona could draw breath to protest, Lefty hit Mona’s end of the thing with the shovel.

Mona shrieked.

The thing inside the tarp shrieked too.

‘Sonofabitch . . .’ muttered Lefty. Wild-eyed and sweating and gasping, he swung the shovel again, again, again, until the thing made no more sound.

Mona was backing away, terrified, revolted, clutching at her mouth, oh shit, she was going to be sick, she couldn’t take any more of this . . .

Whatever was in there, it was dead. She hoped.

Because now Lefty grabbed the other end, the
feet
end, and was easing the thing into the hole, snatching up the shovel again, starting to pile the dirt back in and the sound, oh Jesus the
sound
it made hitting that tarp, the cold hard slither of the dirt as it fell back into the hole. She hoped, she
prayed
that Lefty had killed whoever was in the tarp, killed him good, because otherwise the poor thing was going to die a slow, lingering death, suffocating beneath the cold earth.

Mona was crying, shattered. She crept forward, not wanting to but unable to help herself. She peered into the hole and now, with Lefty forking the soil into it with almost manic drive, she could barely see the tarp at all. A few more shovels full of dirt, and the job was done. Lefty hit the top of the soil, leaving a bit of a mound because he knew it would sink, and he didn’t want that happening, didn’t want some fucking dog walker or some rambling bastard to find it and start shouting. Carefully he piled the leaves he had displaced all over the grave, and then he snatched up his coat, put it on. Drew a wheezing, painful breath. Reached inside his coat and took a long, blissful pull of butane.

Mona stood there, shivering, shuddering, staring at him with disgust and fear.

‘Job done,’ said Lefty with a wild white grin. He surged past her, hefting the shovel over his shoulder. ‘Come on. That’s part one done. Now for part two.’

Oh shit
, thought Mona, and trailed after him, afraid to be with him, but even more afraid to be left standing here alone, in the woods, with that thing buried just feet away from her.