Reckoning (8 page)

Jules’s eyes flashed but she managed to keep her mouth shut.

“You all need to understand that I’m not my brother,” said Toni. “He loved a good war and he’d have been down here like a shot with his hatchet at the ready, probably with Jared Slattery’s name carved on it. But I like the quiet life, I like to be wrapped in a gossamer blanket of champagne and chocolate, being regularly serviced by leggy beauties and Caesar, when the mood takes me, adding to my collection of eyes, all the while watching the money rolling in. What I don’t like is having to come to England because some clatty, shitey wee neds have made a pact with an Essex wide boy. Get it sorted. If you don’t, consider our partnership terminated.” They all tensed when she reached into her handbag. When she pulled out an emerald green glasses case they only grew tenser. “This is waiting for those lovely green eyes of yours Mikey.” She looked to Jez. “Don’t worry, I’ve got one for you too. It’s such a shame Ryan and Rachel aren’t in the business anymore because I’m sure they wouldn’t have taken this shit but I’m not going to try to convince them to come back, I’m certain that’s what got my brother killed.” She held her hand out to Caesar. “I’m ready to leave now.”

He took her hand and assisted her to her feet, not that there was anything physically wrong with Toni, it was just part of the elegant lady image she’d built around herself. He placed her floor length fur coat on her shoulders.

“Get it sorted Boys. I suggest you listen to her,” said Toni, pointing at Jules. “At least one of you knows what they’re doing. Honestly, if you need a job doing properly kill all men before you do it.” She patted Caesar’s arm. “Not you. You’re not like other men.”

With that they both flounced from the room.

“What has Caesar got that no other man does?” said Jez, his mind boggling.

“I don’t want to know,” said Mikey, slumping into the chair Toni had vacated, disturbed by how hot it was. “Christ, that didn’t go well.”

“Yes it did,” said Jez. “We’re all alive and we’ve still got our eyes. In my book that’s a good meeting with Toni McVay.”

“She liked me,” grinned Jules.

“Just because you’re old,” retorted Jez, making her frown.

“We need to find Nilsen and the Starklaws fast,” said Mikey. “If Toni does decide to terminate our partnership she’ll kill us all.”

“Could she do that?” said Jules. “Is Glasgow really that strong?”

“The McVay’s have a fucking army,” continued Jez. “We have good people behind us and a lot of allies in this city but we’d still be outnumbered.”

“So it’s vital we give Toni some results and fast,” said Mikey. “I’ll call Grant, see if they’ve managed to get anything out of the blokes who attacked Dane.”

“Doubtful, Dane probably got any information there is to get. He’s good at inflicting pain,” said Jules with a waggle of the eyebrows.

“We don’t want to hear about that,” retorted Mikey, already dialling.

“What if they can’t tell us anything?” said Jez as Mikey spoke with Grant. “Then what do we do?”

“Fuck knows,” replied Jules.

Mikey hung up with a frustrated sigh. “Grant said they couldn’t tell him anything they hadn’t already told Dane.”

“What about getting DCI Taylor to run a check on the Starklaws and Nilsen?” offered Jez. “He could find out if they own any properties we don’t know about.” DCI Taylor was a bent copper but quite a decent one who’d helped them bring down Alex and his backers and was still on Mikey’s payroll. The partnership suited them both.

“The Starklaws don’t own any other properties, they’re too thick to buy a bolthole,” said Jules. “If Nilsen has one he’s too smart to put it in his own name.”

“Good point but he still might have heard something from one of his grasses,” replied Mikey. “It’s worth a try anyway.”

“Go for it,” said Jez. “I’m willing to try anything, I don’t care how remote the chance might be.”

They frowned at each other at the sound of breaking glass and yelling coming from the bar.

“What the bloody hell’s that?” said Jez.

“I hope Toni hasn’t changed her mind and decided to come back to fuck us over,” said Mikey.

In response to his question, the door flew open to reveal the terrified-looking manager who was starting to wonder why he’d accepted the job.

“There’s four men with baseball bats smashing the place up,” he cried. “Shall I call the police?”

“No,” barked Mikey, striding for the door. “Fucking police, unbelievable. We’ll sort this.”

Jez and Jules followed Mikey into the bar to find four men wearing balaclavas smashing glasses and bottles and overturning furniture. All the customers had cleared out except for the drunk at the end of the bar who refused to leave his pint. The intruders were so engrossed in their work that they failed to spot the three of them standing there.

“Oy,” yelled Mikey.

The four men finally realised they weren’t alone and stopped, eyes bulging out of their balaclavas when they saw who was watching them.

“Oh shit,” said one of the men, running for the door, only to be confronted by Jules and her knives. She rammed one of the blades into the side of his belly and whacked him across the face with the hilt of the second knife.

The other three tried to fight back but it was useless. Mikey catapulted one across the room with a punch to the jaw. Jez kicked one in the stomach, snatched up a broken chair leg and whacked him round the back of the head. Jules finished off the fourth with a knife to the back of the knee, laming him and he dropped to the floor with a cry.

“I figured we wanted one of them conscious,” she said, indicating the three comatose men.

“Hey, that was fucking beautiful,” slurred the drunk, still perched on his stool, raising his pint glass in a toast. “That little sod Lyle Nilsen has been begging for a good hiding.”

“Lyle Nilsen?” said Mikey.

The drunk pointed at the man Jules had kneecapped. “That’s the bugger.”

Mikey pulled off the balaclava to reveal an attractive man in his late twenties with the trademark Nilsen mop of curly brown hair.

“I wish Toni McVay was here to see this,” Mikey smiled predatorily. His head snapped round to face the manager. “You can leave. We’ll clear this lot up.”

“But the mess…we’re open…,” he stammered, having seen nothing like this before.

“We’re closed for the rest of the day. We’ll get someone in to sort all this out. When you come in tomorrow you won’t be able to tell anything happened. You keep your mouth shut about this and you’ll get a hefty bonus in your next pay packet. Alright?”

“Y…yes Mr Maguire,” he said before bolting out the back door.

“You can do one too Geordie,” Jez told the drunk.

“Alright son, I know when I’m not wanted, although I’d love to see that bastard get his comeuppance,” he replied, pointing at Lyle, who had stopped groaning in pain and was alert and listening to every word of the conversation, but not daring to join in. His big brother had told him that if you get caught you don’t say a word. Lyle knew he’d meant if you get captured by the police but he assumed the same applied if you were caught by your enemies. Besides, his throat was so constricted with fear he wasn’t sure he could speak.

“He hit me once because he thought it was funny, showing off in front of his mates,” continued Geordie.

“In that case, have one on us before you go,” said Jez. “Just don’t knock him out, we need him to talk.”

“Oh fucking great,” exclaimed Geordie, sliding off his stool and reeling over to where Lyle lay, who looked up at him warily. “Not so tough now, are you?” he yelled before stamping on his crotch, making him squeal.

While Geordie had his fun, Jules went around the other three men and pulled off their balaclavas. It came as no surprise to discover they were all Lyle’s cronies.

“Thanks for that boys,” grinned Geordie when he’d done, revealing blackened teeth and wafting them all with his foetid breath.

“No worries,” said Mikey. He went behind the back of the bar and produced an unopened bottle of scotch and a bottle of vodka. He found an empty carrier bag under the bar, slid the bottles inside and handed them to him. “A gift. Tell everyone what you saw here today.”

“I will and I’ll enjoy it,” he said before taking the bag. “No need for this though, hurting that wanker was reward enough. Just one thing, hurt him some more for me will you?”

“Oh we will, have no worries on that score,” said Mikey, glaring at Lyle, who recoiled.

Jules let Geordie out, just opening the door wide enough for him to slip through. As he exited two men tried to get in, innocent to the situation inside.

“Bugger, off, we’re closed,” she yelled at them before slamming the door shut in their startled faces and locking it.

“Jules, get your phone out,” said Mikey, picking up one of the discarded baseball bats while Jez brandished a knife. “We’re going to send Toni proof that we’re sorting this shit out.”

CHAPTER 8

An hour later Jules opened the back door of the pub to let in Mark, Grant, Hayden and the clean-up crew.

“What a mess,” sighed Grant. “It’s going to take us ages to get all the blood out.”

“We had to make sure the message was heard loud and clear,” replied Mikey.

“How can they hear without any ears?” quipped Mark.

Lyle lay in a pool of his own blood, minus both ears, which sat by his head. He was also missing both pinky fingers, which had been placed neatly beside his ears.

“Did he give up where his brother’s hiding?” said Grant.

“Yep, when I started cutting into his left ear,” said Jez. “You three are with us. Brogan can handle this, can’t you?”

Brogan had been carefully handpicked by Mikey and Jez from their men to oversee security at the compound and their clean-up crew. He was a strong, slightly overweight man in his forties with a receding hairline he tried to disguise by combing his hair forward Roman style. His whole demeanour spoke of a man desperately fighting age with his dyed dark brown hair and eyebrows and his clothes that were twenty years too young for him.

“Yeah, easy,” he replied.

Lyle had been subjected to the worst damage. As well as his missing fingers and ears he’d been badly beaten, so badly that he’d spat out some of his teeth on the floor in a mess of blood and saliva. The other three had been beaten too but not to the same extent because they were just cronies. Lyle was the real prize.

“What the hell did they think they were doing?” said Hayden, shaking his head.

“They didn’t know we were here but Toni McVay had called us in for a meeting,” replied Mikey.

“Toni?” said Grant. “Jesus, how did it go?”

“Not great until this shower came in and gave us the perfect opportunity to impress her. We’ve already sent her the footage and she’s very pleased. Let’s move before Nilsen realises something’s wrong. I want this lot dumped outside the club Nilsen owns tonight when it’s open and full of punters. We need a grand gesture to let the city know that if you fuck with us you’ll regret it.”

“I’ll look forward to it Boss,” said Brogan.

Mikey, Jez and Jules exited the back way with Grant, Hayden and Mark in tow.

“Right you lot, let’s get on with it,” Brogan ordered his crew. “We’ve got a lot to do so pull your fingers out, alright?”

“Can we have a pint while we work?” said one of his men, a young, lairy twenty year old called Duane with huge ears.

“Help yourself, if you want my foot up your arse you cheeky little sod. Get to work unless you want your ears cutting off too. Jesus, I’d be able to mount those bastards on my wall,” he yelled before taking out his phone.

The rest of his men tittered but got straight to it. They all liked and respected Brogan but they also knew that he took any threat he made very seriously, especially Duane, who wanted to keep his ears thank you very much.

Rachel was still filled with the happy holiday glow after their rather eventful trip up to Scotland. They were back home now and as she walked through Newton Abbot she nodded to every passer-by, some who smiled back, some who looked away and hurried on. That had never happened before but no one here had known about her violent history before.

It was a relief that the salon was busy as usual. At least their businesses weren’t being boycotted. Maybe everything would blow over after all?

Tracey Baxter, the lively, sassy woman with the mass of curls she’d hired to manage the salon bounded up to her. “Rachel, lovely to have you back,” she said, embracing her. “How was Scotland?”

“Great, just what we needed. How’s business?”

Tracey understood her worries and wanted to soothe them. “Absolutely fine, no change.”

“That’s a relief,” breathed Rachel.

Tracey really liked Rachel and found it hard to equate the violent gangster she’d read about in the papers with the real Rachel, the doting mother, adoring wife and good friend. It didn’t matter to her, Tracey was just grateful she was in her life, Rachel had been very good to her and her and Ryan’s efforts had finally located the body of her missing brother, killed by the serial killers who had foolishly kidnapped Ryan. She would be forever indebted to them. Yes, there were some folk who, now they knew the truth about them, thought they should be forced to leave the area but thankfully they were in the minority. The Laws were big employers, generous with their wealth and many people, particularly the younger generation, found their histories exciting.

“Kirsty Halliday’s waiting for you in your office,” said Tracey.

“Why?” said Rachel, puzzled. Kirsty Halliday was a local pillar of the community. After Rachel’s recent outing as a previous violent criminal she couldn’t imagine her setting foot in her establishment.

“Don’t know,” replied Tracey. “But she was quite upset and she insisted on speaking only to you.”

“Strange.”

“I settled her in your office with a cup of tea.”

“How long has she been here?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“I’d better not keep her waiting any longer then,” said Rachel, puzzled as she made her way across reception to her office at the back. When she entered Kirsty jumped up, eyes wide, wondering if she hadn’t made a mistake now she was finally face to face with Rachel Law.

“Can I help you Kirsty?”

Rachel sounded very pleasant but Kirsty was suddenly intimidated, she wasn’t used to talking to gangsters, she was used to coffee mornings with her rich friends, organising charity events and arranging flowers.

“Yes…I…oh God, this is so awkward,” stammered Kirsty.

“Please sit down and we can chat about it,” said Rachel, taking a seat on the couch that faced her desk.

“Okay,” she replied, finding Rachel’s calm manner soothing. She perched on the opposite end of the comfortable chocolate leather couch, careful to keep some space between them.

Rachel had never seen this woman so agitated before, she was usually the essence of cool and calm. She’d met Kirsty at a charity event at the local golf club and she’d passed smoothly between guests, talking and laughing pleasantly, everyone seeking out her company. Now Kirsty was a completely different woman whose hands shook as she ran them through her short light red hair, making the charm bracelet on her right wrist rattle.

“It’s Gloria,” Kirsty finally began.

“Your daughter?”

Kirsty nodded, eyes full of tears.

“I’ve met her,” continued Rachel. “She’s been in here a few times for treatments. She’s a nice girl.”

“She was,” she said nastily before hastily adding, “I didn’t mean that. You see, she’s got a new boyfriend and he’s a troublemaker to put it mildly. He keeps her out all hours and makes her do things she never used to do. She drinks, smokes and I’m terrified she’s taking drugs, sometimes she seems so out of it. She backchats me all the time and won’t do a thing I say. Gloria’s a good girl really, she wants to be a paediatrician, at least she wanted to. She’s lost all interest in any sort of a decent future. Now all she wants is to be with Billy.”

“That’s his name, Billy?”

She nodded. “Billy Whitelock,” she said, face creasing with disgust. “A vicious little thug, drug dealer and thief. Unfortunately he’s a very good-looking boy and all Gloria can see is his pretty face. She’s my only child and I’m terrified he’s going to suck her into his loathsome world.”

“That’s a terrible story, I have a daughter myself so I can imagine how you feel,” replied Rachel, already guessing where this conversation was going. “But what has this got to do with me?”

Kirsty finally seemed stuck for words. “I was wondering if you would…err…speak to Billy for me?”

“Speak to him?”

“You understand his world,” she said tactfully. “If you talk to him he’ll listen.”

“In my experience people like that don’t listen to anyone, no matter who they are.”

“Then maybe you could, oh I don’t know, make him listen?”

Rachel was shocked. “You’re asking me to break the law and hurt someone because you don’t like the fact that they’re in a relationship with your daughter?”

Kirsty sighed, letting her shoulders slump. “Yes, I am.”

“And why should I do that when you’re not willing to do it yourself?”

“Because I’m desperate,” she exclaimed. “I’ve already spoken to him and you know what he did? He laughed in my face. Then I read in the papers about your and Ryan’s pasts and I thought these people might be the answer to my prayers. I’ll pay you.”

Rachel’s face turned to stone. “We don’t need your money. Please don’t insult me.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I know you don’t need the money.” Her expression was still determined. “But I know about something you do need. The Tower.”

“And how do you know that?”

“My husband’s on the Council. He’s very influential, he could make sure it’s sold to you.”

Rachel was actually tempted because she wanted to see her vision come to life but she wasn’t about to let Kirsty know that. “I’m going to need more than your word. I want your husband’s too.”

“You can have it. He’s as keen as me to get Gloria away from Billy.”

“Then why isn’t he here?”

“We both thought it would be better if we spoke woman to woman.”

“I want assurance from your husband himself before I’ll even consider it. Me and Ryan will be at Empirica Thursday evening at seven. If you’re serious you can bring him there and we can discuss it in more detail. If you don’t show up we’ll know you’ve changed your mind and we’ll never speak of it again. Agreed?”

“Yes,” smiled Kirsty, elated it had gone so well, even though Rachel had actually committed to nothing. “We’ll be there, I promise.”

“In that case I’ll arrange a quiet table for four.”

“Great, see you Thursday evening,” smiled Kirsty, suddenly much chirpier, picking up her handbag and getting to her feet, rushing for the door, leaving Rachel with her thoughts.

A few minutes after she’d gone, Tracey stuck her curly head around the door. “What did she want?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

“I never liked her, stuck up cow. The daughter’s nice though.”

“What do you know about Gloria?”

“Nice girl, really bubbly and giggly. She’s seeing a local boy, Billy Whitelock. He has a dodgy past but since he’s been with her he’s got himself together, even gone back to college. Kirsty and her husband have given the poor boy a hard time because they’re snobs who don’t think he’s good enough for their darling daughter, even though he makes her happy. Why?”

Rachel swallowed down the rising anger and smiled pleasantly. “Nothing.”

“You’re back,” screeched a voice.

“Hello Daina,” Rachel smiled when a pair of arms were thrown around her neck.

“How was Scotland?”

“Really good. We needed it.”

Daina’s expression turned saucy. “And how was Thane?”

“He’s fine thank you. What?” she added when Daina continued to grin at her.

“I think he still has crush on you.”

“He does seem to have a little crush, I’ll admit that.”

“Who’s Thane?” said Tracey. “Come on, spill.”

“Spill what?” said Daina.

“It’s a saying,” explained Tracey. “It means tell me everything.”

Daina considered this statement. “Spill, I like this.”

“Well, go on then,” Tracey urged Rachel. “Who is this mysterious Thane? Whoever he is he can’t possibly be as hunky as Ryan.”

“Almost,” said Daina. “But not quite.”

“Almost? Where is this God? I must meet him and is he single?”

“Yes but you’re not,” smiled Rachel.

“Thane is gorgeous, he is a c…” Daina stopped and frowned. “What is another word for Scottish that starts with c?”

“Do you mean celtic?” offered Rachel.

“That is it. He is a celtic god,” ended Daina.

“It’s a good job you didn’t ask Ryan, he would have given you a very different c-word,” smiled Rachel.

Daina released a loud, lusty laugh that made everyone smile.

“And how are you feeling?” Rachel asked Daina. She was four months pregnant with Bruiser’s baby, much to their mutual delight.

“I feel wonderful, better than ever. Bruiser loves to kiss my belly and talk to it.”

“Bruiser, talk?” said Rachel.

“You’d be surprised how much he talks when he is feeling romantic,” she said dreamily. “We’ve booked the church for three months’ time, an autumn wedding, so you and Ryan must be there, you my matron of honour.”

“We wouldn’t miss it for anything,” assured Rachel. She glanced over at Sabine, who was quietly attending to someone’s nails. “Is she okay? She’s been quite quiet lately.”

“It’s since I found out I having baby,” said Daina. “She feel even more alone and worry I won’t have enough time for her when I married with baby.”

“Poor mite,” said Tracey. “Why didn’t you tell us?”