Linda covered her head with her arms when he raised his hand menacingly. ‘Simeon . . . please! I didn’t mean to make you angry. What did I do wrong?’
‘You got ideas above your station, fool.’ Jake grinned nastily. ‘No one comes here without an invitation – no one!’
‘But . . . but
you
’re always here,’ she cried. ‘Why can’t I come when I want to?’
‘What?’ Jake snarled. ‘You questioning my right to be here?’
The Man reached down and yanked Linda up from the floor. Throwing her down onto a chair, he towered over her, pointing a finger towards Jake as he yelled into her face: ‘He is my spar! Whereas you are just a fucking tart! See the difference?’
He leaned closer then, forcing her to cringe back as he pinned her with an icy stare. ‘You don’t mean
that
to me!’ He snapped his fingers in her face. ‘Got that?’
Tears spilled from Linda’s huge, terrified eyes. Rolling over her spidery lashes, they ran down her cheeks and splashed onto her breasts. As The Man watched their progress, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Reaching out, he yanked the material of her top down, frowning darkly at the welted stripes and teeth marks adorning her breasts.
‘Jake?’ he demanded, turning to look at Jake over his shoulder. ‘You do this?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Yeah . . . so?’
The Man tutted, releasing the material. ‘What the hell you playing at, man? I told you not to hurt her.’
‘She didn’t bleed,’ Jake said. ‘Anyhow, she enjoyed it!’
The Man shook his head and turned back to the girl. She cowered away from him. The last thing she’d expected was for Jake to tell him what they’d done. What would he do to her now?
‘This true?’ he asked, a slight smile lifting his lip. ‘You enjoy that shit?’
‘N-no,’ she spluttered. ‘I – I . . .’
‘Could be useful,’ he said, ignoring her as he looked back at Jake, a glimmer of an idea forming in his mind. ‘Some a them big-money men like it like that, don’t they?’ he mused. ‘It’s usually hard getting these bitches to oblige. I reckon we could make a mint with this one if she likes it rough.’
‘W-what do you mean?’ Linda whimpered fearfully.
The Man leaned over her again, smiling now, his voice low and velvety. ‘I mean, it’s time we sorted out that nice little place I’ve been promising you, eh? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, darlin’?’
She nodded, relieved that he wasn’t going to kick her out, but confused by this sudden change in his mood.
Standing, he pulled a wad of money from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Tomorrow, I want you to go and buy yourself some nice, sexy things. Don’t be getting none of this cheap shit you been wearing, though . . .’ He plucked at her skimpy silver halter neck. ‘Get some real sophisticated stuff, then go to a girlie place and get some nice innocent stuff: pretty little dresses, and ribbons for your hair, yeah?’
She nodded, taking the money.
‘And here, darlin’,’ he went on, holding out a little folded wrap. ‘Go and sort yourself out, there’s a good girl. You look a fucking mess.’
Linda smiled happily, licking her lips as she took the wrap from him and tottered off to the bathroom. She’d sort out all that stuff about the big-money men and what-have-you later. For now, she was just glad she wasn’t in The Man’s bad books. And glad to have this little wrap of happy powder to kiss all those silly little fears away.
‘Get on to Marie,’ The Man told Jake when she’d gone. ‘Get her to sort a place out. In fact, tell her to come over tonight. I want her to see this one – suss her out.’
‘What time?’ Jake asked. ‘You got Max coming over later too, don’t forget.’
‘Marie’s cool. It don’t matter what she hears.’
‘Yeah, maybe Marie’s cool – but
she
’s not,’ Jake countered, nodding towards the bathroom.
‘Not yet,’ The Man agreed. ‘Anyhow, Max will ring before he comes.’
‘I’ll tell her to come at one,’ Jake said, heading for the phone.
13
When Paul entered the main bar of The George, the first people he saw were DCI Jackson and his fat friend. They were sitting at a wonky table facing the door and he felt himself blushing as they simultaneously looked his way. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to recognize him. He breathed a sigh of relief. One meeting with Jackson had been enough of an unnerving experience. The last thing he needed was to feel self-conscious in his social time.
He went to the bar to get himself a pint and looked around for Eddie. Spotting him in a crowded booth overlooking the pool table – out of Jackson and Mac’s view – he made his way over and slid onto the bench seat beside him, nodding hello to the others already seated.
‘We’re not staying long, are we?’ he asked quietly. ‘Jackson’s round there. I feel funny having him watching me.’
Eddie laughed. ‘I’ve just invited them to come with us. I didn’t think you’d mind.’
Paul nearly choked on his beer. ‘Tell me you’re joking!’
Eddie slapped him on the back and said, ‘Do me a favour! Do I look like a brown-noser? They always come in here for a couple when they’ve finished for the day. What you so nervous of him for, anyway?’ he asked teasingly. ‘What you been doing, you naughty lad?’
‘Nothing,’ Paul said. ‘It’s just that I spoke to him this morning and – I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘He just made me feel a bit weird.’
‘Scared you shitless, you mean?’ Eddie grinned. ‘Ah, don’t worry about the old Dragon Master. He’s all right – if you avoid him like the plague!’
‘I intend to,’ muttered Paul.
‘Anyway, never mind them,’ Eddie went on, pushing himself to his feet. ‘We’ve time for another pint before we set off. What you having?’
‘Lager, thanks.’ Paul drained his glass quickly and handed it over.
‘How are we getting there?’ he asked when Eddie came back a few minutes later.
‘Cab,’ Eddie said. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m planning to get well and truly plastered before the night’s through, and there’s no way I’m driving with that pair of dykes, Nesbitt and Wotserface, on drunk-driver watch!’
‘Fake-Man Blake?’ Paul volunteered, having heard the unflattering term being bandied around the station.
‘That’s the one!’ Eddie laughed. ‘Shit! Wouldn’t they just love to pull us in for driving under the influence? They’d have us in cuffs and down at the station faster than they could turn that vibrating truncheon of theirs on!’
Laughing along with the others at the table, Paul began to relax. Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
An hour – and two drinks – later, the group made their noisy exit.
‘Haven’t I seen that lad somewhere before?’ Mac gestured with a nod towards Paul Dalton as the group straggled out.
Jackson looked over. ‘Yeah. A bit ago when he came in!’
‘No.’ Mac shook his head. ‘Somewhere else. He’s one of ours, isn’t he?’
‘Oh, that’s right.’ Jackson nodded. ‘He was there this morning. I talked to him and he kept blushing.’
Mac laughed. ‘The effect you have on people! They call you the Dragon Master, you know?’
Jackson chuckled. ‘Yeah, I know. But they don’t know I know. They forget we’re shit-hot detectives and it takes us two minutes to learn their every little secret!’
‘Talking of secrets,’ Mac said, suddenly serious as he remembered something that had been bugging him all day. ‘Did you notice how shifty the Singh family were this morning?’
‘I noticed how bloody quick they were to get the shop open!’ Jackson said, tutting disapprovingly. ‘Times change, eh, Mac? Bloody hell, it was unheard of in my day. If someone in your family died – never mind got murdered – the whole place would shut down for a month at least!’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe I’m getting old, but I don’t understand this whole the-show-must-go-on business.’ He sighed, picking up his empty glass. ‘Another?’
‘Thanks.’ Mac handed over his empty glass.
Jackson headed off to the bar, leaving Mac to mull over his suspicion that the Singh family weren’t altogether kosher. It wasn’t just the indecent haste with which they’d opened up the shop – although he had to agree with Jackson on that. Times had changed – for the worse. There was something else. He’d been a bit too busy today to put his finger on it, but something about the nephews niggled him.
‘They need looking at,’ he said when Jackson came back.
‘Who do?’ Jackson asked.
‘The nephews – the family altogether.’
‘Why? What’ve you got?’
‘Just a hunch.’ Mac shrugged, taking a swig and licking the foam off his moustache. ‘Something about them doesn’t sit right. Remember when they got there this morning?’ he went on, eyes narrowed with concentration. ‘The big one, Guppy – Guptar Wotsisface? Well, I thought it was a bit suss how he kept bugging us to let them in. Like all he was bothered about from the time they got there was getting access to the shop, even though his uncle was lying in a pool of blood in the back yard. Just doesn’t feel right, that.’
‘Maybe he couldn’t face seeing his uncle in that state,’ Jackson said. ‘Does funny things to people when they lose a loved one in those circumstances.’
Mac shook his head slowly. ‘No, it wasn’t that. He was the one who did the ID, if you remember, and he went straight in without a flicker of emotion.’
Jackson considered what Mac was saying. He hadn’t paid too much attention at the time but, on reflection, he supposed Mac was right. The eldest nephew had been very matter-of-fact in his viewing of his uncle’s body. No tears, no shock – nothing. If anything, Jackson reflected, he’d looked pissed off. And he’d certainly sounded it when he’d been barking at his brothers in their own language – not a word of which Jackson had understood, which was probably why he’d switched off and not noticed the untoward behaviour.
‘If you ask me,’ Mac continued, ‘he was more concerned about getting in the shop than anything. Like he was worried about something inside. Something he didn’t want anyone else to get to first.’
Jackson frowned. ‘I know what you’re saying, Mac. Trouble is, it’s only a gut feeling – not that I don’t trust them, especially yours – but that’s all it is at the end of the day. We’d never get the go-ahead to go over the shop. Not while it happened outside and the nephews aren’t suspects. Their alibis are watertight.’
‘Nothing’s watertight,’ said Mac. ‘And if we’re looking for motive, what goes on inside the shop might have some bearing.’
‘We’ll have a hard time proving they’re involved,’ said Jackson. ‘They’re on the video leaving the shop through the front door at twelve-fifteen, and Singh triple-locked the door behind them. They went straight to The Pink Casino down Canal Street, and the casino’s video shows all three arriving at twelve twenty-five, while the shop video shows Singh leaving by the back door at twelve thirty-seven. There’s no way they could have done it. It’s just not possible.’
‘All right, so maybe they didn’t do the dirty work themselves,’ said Mac. ‘Maybe they paid someone to do it for them? It’d be easy enough, and they’ve definitely got the funds.’
‘It’d be easy enough to arrange,’ Jackson agreed. ‘The place is crawling with scum capable of it. Good thing is, most of them are so stupid they’d slash their own throats for a few quid.’
‘Good thing?’
‘They’re all so bloody thick,’ Jackson explained, ‘that it wouldn’t take us long to weasel it out of one of them if someone had been paid by the family.’
Mac nodded, taking another drink and letting out a loud burp. ‘We’ll take a look through the files tomorrow and line up some likelies, eh? Drag ’em in and give ’em a shake-up.’
‘We’ll need something pretty solid before we start ruffling any big bastards’ feathers,’ Jackson said. ‘It’s my bet the Singh family would sue the bollocks off us if we started casting aspersions without a bloody good reason. So we’ll follow your hunch – but quietly.’
‘Agreed,’ said Mac, draining his glass. ‘Another?’
The party was in full flow when they arrived. They didn’t have tickets, but Eddie managed to get them in with a flash of his badge – and a promising wink at the two giggling young nurses manning the ticket table. ‘All professionals together, eh, girls?’
As Eddie lingered to take the nurses’ phone numbers, the others wandered inside to find a table. Paul stayed with Eddie, determined not to end up sticking out like a sore thumb.
Inside, the place was packed to the rafters. ‘Who the hell’s looking after the patients?’ Paul hissed.