‘What’s going on, Cynth?’
After dragging her sister none too gently, Cynthia pushed her into the back kitchen and, opening the cellar door, forced her inside. Following her, she bolted the door and groped around in the gloom till they reached the bottom of the steps, where they crouched as quietly as they could. It was almost pitch black, the only light coming from under the door above them.
‘Is there a torch anywhere in here?’ Celeste was clearly terrified now. Shaking her gently, Cynthia whispered, ‘For fuck’s sake, Celeste, is there a torch in here?’
Celeste walked unsteadily to a row of shelves and took down a small hand torch. Giving it to her sister, she waited like a young child to be told what to do next.
Turning on the torch, Cynthia looked around the unfamiliar space and, seeing a door that was obviously once the coal hole, she went towards it and made sure it was secure.
By now they could hear people walking around above them. It wasn’t Jonny that was for sure – they could hear the doors being wrenched open upstairs, and they both realised that whoever it was wasn’t visiting for any kind of social reason.
‘What’s going on, Cynth?’
Celeste’s voice was rising and Cynthia went to her and said quietly but forcefully, ‘Shut up, Celeste. Whoever it is mustn’t know we are here, OK?’ But even in the weak torch light Cynthia could see the hysteria rising in her sister’s eyes and marvelled once more at how such a fucking coward could ever be enough for Jonny. She hugged her to her tightly saying in a soothing voice, ‘Calm down, Celeste, we’ll sort this out. Now, has Jonny any weapons hidden down here?’
Celeste was shaking so badly she could barely talk. ‘I . . . I don’t know . . . Probably . . .’
Cynthia looked around the large room and, spotting a large steel trunk, she went over to it. There was a large padlock protecting the contents. She sighed heavily. Looking round again, she grasped a large spanner from one of the shelves and attempted to break the chain with it. It was a fruitless exercise and the noise would alert them as to their whereabouts, but she tried anyway.
She could hear the men at the cellar door now, and she knew that the still-warm teapot would tell them that they might still be in the house somewhere. And now they knew where. She guessed they had come through the French doors in the lounge; they wouldn’t risk the neighbours hearing them kicking in the front or back doors.
The cellar door was another thing altogether though. It was well inside the house, and they were now kicking at the lock with a ferocity that told her they would be through at any moment.
Celeste was crying openly – she wasn’t even attempting to be quiet any more. Terror had taken her over and Cynthia knew that if they were to get out of this it would be down to her. Panic rising inside her, she gave the locked box one last wrench and, even though it didn’t open, she saw that if she lifted the lid there was a four-inch gap – just wide enough to get her hand
inside. She did that and, feeling around, she gripped the first thing that came to hand. A few seconds later she was holding a small calibre gun. Whether it was loaded she had no idea, but in her blind panic she pulled the safety back and then, leaving her sister crying in fear, she walked deliberately behind the stairway.
She was shaking herself now, she felt as if she was going to pass out. She took a few deep breaths and, when the cellar door finally crashed open, she waited for the visitors to come down the stairs.
The man was like the anti-Christ. His anger was so consuming he looked willing to rip them limb from limb with his bare hands.
Emerging from the stairway silently, Cynthia pointed the gun at the back of his huge head and fired.
He dropped to his knees, and she felt the bile rising inside her as she saw the gaping hole that was left after his skull and brains had been ripped open.
Twenty seconds later she heard a muttered ‘Fucking hell’, followed by the sound of the other man leaving the house as quickly as possible. She went over and looked down at the man’s body. He wasn’t quite dead yet and, kneeling down beside him, she removed the heavy shotgun from his reach. Then, pointing the gun once more at his head, she pulled the trigger again.
That was when Celeste started to scream.
Going to her sister, Cynthia slapped her as hard as she could across the face. Seeing that the girl was calmer, she walked her slowly up the stairs back into the kitchen. Then, the gun still in her hands, she closed the now-open front door before pouring both herself and her sister large brandies. She gulped hers and made sure her sister did the same. Next, she walked out into the hallway and, picking up the telephone, she rang around until she located James, only telling him that she was at Jonny’s house and that Celeste needed her husband as soon as physically possible.
Then she sat at the kitchen table and waited, all the time talking calmly to her little sister and assuring her that everything was going to be all right. She wasn’t sure she believed any of that herself, but she knew it was all she could do until the men arrived.
‘I still can’t believe it.’ That much was evident in Jack Callahan’s voice.
‘Your daughter shot Kevin Bryant in self-defence, and she saved our Celly’s life by all accounts.’ Mary Callahan’s voice choked up as she once more relived her daughter’s close escape from death. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Kevin had been going to take out Celeste to get back at Jonny P. A few of the more sceptical said he might have only used her as a hostage, but Mary strongly suspected his plan was always to wipe her baby out like a little boy would stamp on an ant. ‘Well, you better believe it, she’s the fucking hero of the hour by all accounts, and our Celly won’t have a word said against her.’
Jack Callahan could hear the fear in his wife’s voice and decided to keep his opinion to himself; she might be stunned by Cynthia’s actions but he wasn’t. She was like a bloke in a lot of respects, oh, not in her womanly body, but in her mind. There was something missing in his elder daughter, and he knew that, as hypocritical as it was, had she been a boy he would have been proud of her. Males could be like his Cynth and it would be seen as strength, in a woman it was seen as suspicious.
His daughter a murderer! Because that’s what she was. She had waited behind the cellar steps and done Bryant from behind, using her sister as bait. That was the action of a man, that was a cold-blooded reaction. If she had had a lump of pipe instead she would have hammered his head in, he was sure. That his
daughter had knelt down and finished the fucker off, was so distasteful to him he felt a moment’s sickness in his belly. She was a fucking strange cove and no mistaking. ‘How does Jonny feel about all this?’ he asked curiously.
‘Pretty much the same as everyone else.’
Mary was as amazed as her husband about the turn of events. In fairness, Cynthia had saved the day; if it wasn’t for her the chances were Celeste would be dead now and the thought upset Mary so much she had to swallow down the urge to cry.
The mess had been cleaned up at the house by all accounts, but Celeste still refused to go back there. Well, she could understand that – what she couldn’t understand was why Celeste was staying with Cynthia and not with her? They were like Siamese twins nowadays – where Cynthia went, Celly followed.
Jonny Parker was too wise to do anything about that just yet; he knew that Celeste needed time to get over what had happened to her. Plus, Mary guessed shrewdly, he would be grateful to have Celly off his hands while he cleaned up the mess he had caused by his greediness. For once Mary agreed with her husband. This was something that should have been avoided at all costs. It had left a bad taste in a lot of people’s mouths.
Kevin Bryant might not have been liked, but he had been respected. It was only the fact that he had gone after a defenceless woman that had stopped the other crime bosses in London from retaliating on his behalf. She bet they were watching their backs now. They would need to and all; Jonny had half the Smoke at his disposal. Kevin Bryant was dead and his business partner Bertie Warner had disappeared completely. She suspected they were sharing the same grave somewhere and she hoped they would rot in hell for what they had tried to do to her poor daughter. Bastards, the pair of them. No one went after wives or kiddies – it was the unwritten law.
‘No one has seen him, Jonny, it’s like he dropped off the face of the earth.’
‘What about his wife and kids?’
‘House is empty, hardly even any clothes packed. I’ve got people keeping an eye out in Spain and Portugal but, in reality, he could be fucking anywhere.’
Detective Inspector Jones was as bent as a nine-bob note, and he knew that he was expected to give his main benefactor Jonny Parker something substantial for the money he was paid on a weekly basis, but there was nothing. It was the gospel truth – he had not been able to locate the man, or his family.
‘Bertie would have a fallback plan, he probably had passports, et cetera waiting for just such an eventuality. All we can do is wait and see if anyone recognises him, or he commits a crime somewhere and we get wind of it. As I say, Jonny, he could be anywhere. South America, maybe? They would welcome the cunt with open arms – look at Biggsy.’
Jonny Parker knew the truth of this, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted Bertie Warner’s balls for this outrage and he wanted them now. If there was one thing he knew, it was not good practice to let Bertie have a swerve on this. It would make Jonny look weak and it also meant that someone was out there and they would have him and his family in their sights. It made him uneasy, even though he knew they were well protected. He had made the mistake of assuming his family was out of
bounds, and he would never make that mistake again. Celeste was in bits, and why wouldn’t she be? After what she had seen, he was surprised she wasn’t in a nut-house.
But it was Cynthia who had amazed him the most. She had taken out Kevin Bryant and, from what he could gather, she had knelt down and finished the job. Either way, she had fucking scared Warner off – he must have thought they were waiting down there for him and wasn’t prepared to take the chance of a bullet in his own bonce. None of it seemed to have affected Cynthia that much, she seemed a bit unnerved but that was about it. As he had looked at her comforting his wife, it had crossed his mind that she would have been a worthy mate for him, and he had hated himself for that thought even as he had acknowledged the truth of it. She was like a modern-day Boudicca, all hair and fiery sexuality. He was ashamed at how she had affected him, because he knew she was a two-faced, conniving whore, but somehow that just made her seem more intriguing.
Celeste was like a ghost of her former self; he had taken her to a doctor in Harley Street who was known to keep a closed shop, but all he had said was that she was suffering from shock. Well, Jonny could have fucking told the doctor that much, and
he
wouldn’t have charged five grand. But the doctor had given her some happy pills and some sleeping tablets – both of which Jonny could have purchased in any pub in London for a millionth of the price – and sent them on their way. Still, Jonny felt better for having done
something
for her.
It was Cynthia who was on his mind, though – and the fact that she had taken Bryant out in such an audacious way. She had shown her mettle and, even though she had been an outcast over her last carry-on, she was now number one in everyone’s books. She had more than redeemed herself; she had killed someone, and not just anyone either – she had killed the man who had been going after his wife, after Jonny P’s wife, and that
counted for a lot in their world. She had been a ruthless and efficient killing machine and for some strange reason that turned him right on. He liked a bit of fire in a woman, and she had it in abundance. Cynthia was a stroppy mare, she was arrogant, and she was dangerous. All those things in a man would have been great, but in a female they were a worry. Females bled every month, they lived on their emotions, and they were as unreliable as a bent Filth, so what was the attraction suddenly?
He knew what it was all right, she was a goer in every way was Cynthia Tailor, and it was Cynthia Tailor he wanted under him. Not Cynthia Callahan. He wanted the woman she was now, not the girl he had bedded all those years ago. Her face that night it had happened had been a revelation to him; she was almost triumphant she had killed a man and she was determined not to let it affect her too much. He could see her forcing the terror out of her body, saw it being replaced by pride, and she had never looked lovelier to him than at that moment when she had conquered her fear. She had stared him in the eyes and it had been a challenge; she was daring him to turn away from her, and she knew, and he knew, he couldn’t. She had protected his most treasured possession, his wife, and she had seen to it that the person who had been a threat to them was no more.
Even Linford had been impressed and, though the clean-up operation had been long and laborious, they knew it could have been much worse. It had been a long night, but it had been a lucrative one. More than that, it had been a night that had given him an itch, a terrible itch that he knew he could only assuage by bedding his wife’s sister. Even though he knew it was a madness inside him, he couldn’t deny the strength of it. Every time he thought of her kneeling down and putting one right in Bryant’s ugly face he felt a tightening in his groin, and he knew that he would get no relief until he had her under him and crying out his name. It was madness but, like many a man before him, any caution was all but gone to the wind.