The Trap (22 page)
‘Er, is it OK if I have a beer, please?’ Dean asked. He had noticed Roy drinking one, and hoped it might calm his nerves a bit.
‘Have what you like, mate. You’ve already had me sister,’ Roy said, glaring at Dean.
‘Now, don’t start performing, Roy. I want this to be a pleasant get-together. Where’s Colleen by the way? I haven’t seen her since you got engaged.’
‘At work. I don’t like bringing her here anyway. Vinny obviously doesn’t like her, and we all know what Vinny says goes, don’t we, Mum?’ Roy spat. He was furious that Vinny and Michael had paid Dean a visit and decided his sister’s fate without involving him. It had made him feel like an outcast yet again. He’d felt like that a lot lately, especially when Ahmed was at the club.
When his aunt handed Dean a beer, Lenny grinned at him. ‘So, when you shagged my cousin, did you plan to get her pregnant?’
Vivian wanted to laugh and congratulate her son on asking such an awkward question, but instead she pretended to be annoyed. ‘You’ll be going upstairs to wash your mouth out in a minute, young man. Now leave poor Dean alone.’
Queenie and Vivian then began asking him question after question, and Dean was almost relieved when Vinny turned up with his little boy in tow.
‘So, have you told your family about the baby yet, Dean? Bet your nan weren’t too pleased,’ Queenie chuckled.
‘Bet his old man weren’t either,’ Vinny said, smirking at his brothers. Terry Smart was a trappy nobody who had got a bit too lippy a year or so back. He had been spouting his mouth off in the Grave Maurice about how the Butlers were no match for some of the other London firms, so Vinny had decided to teach him a lesson with a hammer. Vinny had concentrated just on Terry’s mouth in a bid to teach him to keep it shut in future. It seemed to have worked. Terry couldn’t eat and drank only through a straw for a month after the attack, and had never bad-mouthed the Butlers since.
‘To be honest, I haven’t had a chance yet,’ Dean admitted, sheepishly.
‘Why don’t you let me tell them for you? I can see you’re dreading it, boy,’ Vinny offered. It wouldn’t just make his day breaking the news of the baby and the forthcoming marriage to Dean’s dad and grandma. It would make his fucking year.
Remembering the state of his father’s face after his altercation with Vinny Butler, Dean immediately shook his head. ‘No. If I’m gonna be a father, then I should tell them myself. I’m a man now, not a boy.’
‘Well, in that case, best you ask my sister to marry you properly then. I take it you haven’t done so yet?’ Vinny asked.
Debating whether to leg it out of the front door and jump on the first train to a different part of the country, Dean just ended up shaking his head instead.
Thoroughly enjoying watching Dean squirm, Michael joined in with the fun. ‘Chop, chop then. What you waiting for, Deano?’
Knowing he had no choice but to propose properly, Dean got down on one knee in front of Brenda and held her trembling hands. ‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife, Bren?’
Brenda looked into Dean’s eyes and could see quite clearly by his horrified expression that he was only asking her to marry him because he was too frightened to stand up to her brothers. Still, she didn’t care. Dean was her first real love and once they had their own house and a baby, he would be tied to her forever. ‘What about your new girlfriend?’ Brenda asked. She was determined to play a bit hard to get even though she was gagging to say yes.
‘She’s history. I never wanted to split up with you in the first place, Bren, you know that. I only ended it because I thought it would cause murders if our families found out,’ Dean lied.
‘So, what did she say when you finished with her, then?’ Brenda asked, suspiciously.
‘For Christ’s sake, Bren. The boy will have cramp kneeling down like that if you don’t bloody well answer his question soon,’ Queenie said.
With all eyes on her, Brenda grinned broadly. ‘Yes, Dean. I will be your wife.’
An hour later, Dean Smart stood outside the house he shared with his grandma and father. His mum had died while giving birth to him, and so Dean had been raised an only child.
He let himself into his home with a heavy heart. His nan despised the Butlers so Christ knows what she would make of him impregnating Brenda.
‘That you, boy? Do you want a corned beef sandwich? I’m just making your dad one,’ Freda said.
Thankful that his nan and dad were both at home so he could kill two birds with one stone, Dean asked her to sit down in the lounge.
‘You ain’t got yourself bleedin’ nicked, have you?’ Freda asked accusingly.
‘Spit it out, then. What you done?’ Terry Smart asked.
Freda sat on the armchair. She knew neither her son nor grandson were what could be described as life’s role models, but they both had a good heart, and weren’t bloody thugs or murderers like members of a certain family she could mention.
Dean clasped his quivering hands together, then took a deep breath. ‘Please don’t hate me, but I’ve got a girl pregnant and I’ve agreed to marry her.’
Freda felt her heart leap with joy. Dean might only be young, but getting hitched and being responsible for a child of his own was exactly what he needed in her opinion. If that didn’t keep him on the straight and narrow, then nothing would.
Terry Smart grinned. His pal had just become a granddad for the very first time, and Terry couldn’t wait to brag about the soon-to-be newcomer to his family too. ‘You’ll be a great dad, Deano. Don’t be asking me to change any nappies though, will ya? I’ve got my street cred to consider.’
‘So, what did Sandra’s parents say, boy? I hope you asked her dad for permission to take her hand in marriage before you proposed?’ Freda asked. She had met Sandra a couple of times now, and even though Freda was a little disappointed she had given herself to her grandson so early in their relationship, she still liked the girl immensely.
‘It’s not Sandra that I’ve got pregnant. It’s Brenda Butler,’ Dean mumbled, staring at his shoes.
Freda burst out laughing and nudged her son. ‘He’s a wind-up, ain’t he, Tel?’
Terry Smart chuckled, but then clocking the shameful look in his son’s eyes, his laughter dried up. ‘You are kidding us, right?’
When Dean shook his head regretfully, Terry leapt up and went absolutely berserk. ‘You stupid little cunt,’ he screamed, while punching his son numerous times in the side of his head.
‘Leave him! You’ll do him damage,’ Freda hollered, leaping on her son’s back.
‘Do him damage! I’ll fucking kill him,’ Terry yelled. How could his son do this to him when he knew how badly Vinny had beaten him? He had lost most of his teeth for fuck’s sake, and now had to rely on false ones to chew his food.
Freda ran into the kitchen, grabbed her rolling pin and hit Terry over the head with it. ‘Go down the pub and calm yourself down. I will sort this mess out,’ she shouted.
Terry grabbed his jacket. ‘You’d better fucking sort it, Muvver, because over my dead body is he gonna marry into that cunting family.’
When the front door slammed, Freda sat down on the sofa next to her grandson. Unusually for Dean, he was crying, but Freda could not find it in her heart to comfort him. ‘You stupid, stupid boy. Whatever possessed you to poke your Hampton in Brenda Butler, eh? To say I’m disappointed in you is an understatement, Dean, but I’m gonna use the money I’ve got saved in me old biscuit tin to sort this mess out for you, OK? Now dry them bloody eyes. No point crying over spilt milk, is there?’
Furious with himself for acting like a big girl’s blouse, Dean Smart wiped his eyes furiously with the cuff of his shirt. ‘I have no option other than to marry Brenda, Nan. Her brothers will annihilate me if I don’t. And what you going on about money for? That ain’t gonna change nothing, is it?’
‘Oh, yes it will! Nearly fifty pounds I’ve saved over the years. I shall take it round to Queenie’s house right now, and insist that little tart of a daughter of hers gets an abortion.’
When his nan darted into the kitchen and ran back waving a tin, Dean leapt up and snatched it off her. ‘Don’t be so stupid. Don’t you think the Butlers could afford an abortion, if they wanted Brenda to have one? They don’t agree with all that, which is why I have to marry the girl.’
‘Marry her, my arse,’ Freda spat, grabbing back the tin. Seconds later, she stomped out of the front door.
Unaware that her future son-in-law was currently chasing his gran down the road begging her not to cause any trouble, Queenie was busy discussing the day’s events with Vivian. After Dean had left, the subject had turned to Albie.
‘I still can’t believe we have to suffer that old bastard for dinner. Can’t we put some arsenic in his?’ Vivian suggested.
Queenie chuckled. It had been her idea that Albie come round to hers for dinner tomorrow. There was no way that she would humiliate herself by being seen out in public with the womanizing old drunk. ‘I wonder what the boys will dress him up as? Be funny if they make him look like one of them orthodox Jews. That will give the neighbours something to talk about, won’t it?’
Vivian burst out laughing. It had been Queenie’s plan to bring her husband to the house in disguise. She hadn’t wanted any of the neighbours to clock him.
‘I’m only doing this for the boys, you know. My Michael is especially upset that his dad is dying, but I couldn’t give a shit to be honest. Would have divorced him years ago and changed my name back to Wade, but I didn’t want the kids to feel like bastards,’ Queenie explained.
‘But they are bastards. The whole of the East End knows that,’ Vivian joked.
Holding her crotch to prevent herself from piddling her knickers, Queenie was about to top up Vivian’s glass when the doorbell rang. ‘Who the bleedin’ hell’s this? Look out the window, Viv. I need a wee.’
‘Oh, my giddy aunt! It’s only Mad Freda,’ Vivian exclaimed.
Forgetting about her desire to use the toilet, Queenie ran to the door like a thoroughbred racehorse. ‘Come to offer your congratulations, have you?’
‘Yep, I bet she has, Queenie. Must be thrilled our families are about to be joined in matrimony,’ Vivian added, putting a supportive arm around her sister’s shoulder.
Freda opened her tin, took the notes out and handed them to Queenie. ‘There’s enough there for the abortion. Take it, it’s all yours.’
Queenie chuckled. ‘But, we don’t believe in killing babies, do we, Vivvy?’
‘Nope,’ Vivian replied. The look on Mad Freda’s screwed up face was absolutely priceless.
‘Well, best you start believing, because there is no way my grandson is getting involved with your shitbag family. May God be my judge, I would kill for that boy, if I was forced to.’
Queenie grinned at Vivian, then ripped the notes that Freda had given her into little pieces and threw them into the air. ‘Well, best you go get your gun, you mad old bat. Your Dean is a Butler now, whether you like it or not.’
Laughing when Freda crawled along the garden path trying to retrieve the money while showing her bloomers, Queenie then slammed the front door.
Johnny Preston grinned when he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He hardly recognized himself with short, dark hair, so he doubted anybody else would.
‘Right, stick this on now,’ Graeme Bradley urged, handing his pal the false moustache.
‘I don’t like this thing. I’d much rather have grown a bit of a beard,’ Johnny complained.
Graeme chuckled. He and Johnny went back years, and people used to refer to them and Dave Phillips as the three musketeers. An eight-year prison sentence for attempted murder had then narrowed it down to the two musketeers, and Graeme had been gutted when he had learned of Dave’s death while serving time in Pentonville.
‘You do look a bit like Hitler, but you’re just gonna have to like it or lump it, I’m afraid. I’ve already told you, you can’t have dark hair and a blond beard. You’ll look a freak, and bring unwanted attention to yourself.’
Graeme had dyed Johnny’s eyebrows as well, and thinking how he looked like one of the Marx brothers, Johnny ordered his pal to trim them for him. The plan they had hatched was for Johnny to park up on a motorbike near Vinny’s club, shoot Vinny at point-blank range, then meet Graeme who would be waiting nearby with a van. The bike would then be loaded in the back of the van, and disposed of as quickly as possible.
Johnny did not need his disguise for the actual hit because he would be wearing a crash-helmet. His new appearance was just so he wasn’t a prisoner in Graeme’s home, and could pop to the shops, café, or wherever he wanted. Graeme said, as far as he was aware, there wasn’t anybody in Dagenham that knew who Johnny was, but you could never be too careful. He had also told Johnny to avoid the local pubs at all costs in case the regulars started asking awkward questions.
‘Does that look better?’ Graeme asked, handing his pal a mirror.
‘Yep, much better. Right, we ready to go and pick this bike up, then?’
Graeme reached for his keys. ‘Come on, Hitler, let’s go.’
Queenie and Vivian hadn’t long been back from visiting their mother’s grave when Vinny let himself in. ‘Just checking you’re both OK? That mad old cow, Freda, hasn’t given you any more grief, has she? I shall have a fucking word with Dean later. He needs to man up and learn how to keep his nutty nan under control.
‘Don’t you be having a go at that boy. Look at the flowers he bought me as a way of an apology. Our Bren’s got herself a good ’un there. Gone out engagement-ring shopping, they have. You’ve only just missed them.’
Vinny grinned. Young Dean was certainly making an effort and that’s what he liked to see. If Dean carried on excelling himself in the same way then Vinny might even employ him as part of the firm. Paying him a decent wage would also ensure Brenda and the baby were well looked after. ‘Where’s me little terror?’ Vinny asked.
‘Gone round the shops with Lenny to get me some pearl barley. I’m cooking lamb stew, your father’s favourite,’ Queenie said.
Vinny chuckled. ‘I’ve got some rat poison at the club. I should have bought it round so you can add an extra bit of spice to Dad’s.’