by Caz Finlay
‘What? Are you calling my esteemed colleague a liar then?’ He turned to Paul, who was sitting on the bonnet of Ian’s battered Fiat Panda, holding a baseball bat as though it was his baby. ‘He says it wasn’t him, Paul. He thinks you’re a liar.’
‘No!’ Ian wailed. ‘I never said that. I never, Mr Carter.’
‘Well, if it wasn’t you, then who has been cutting our drugs with rat poison?’ Paul said as he jumped off the bonnet and sauntered over to Jake and Ian.
‘I don’t know,’ Ian cried. ‘I don’t know. But please, it wasn’t me.’
‘If it wasn’t you, then you must know who it was. Because if you don’t, that means you’ve been leaving our good-quality gear unattended. Either way, we’re not happy,’ Jake snarled.
Suddenly the sound of the Z Cars theme tune filled the air as Paul’s mobile phone started ringing.
‘All right, Con?’ Paul said as he answered.
Jake listened to the one-sided phone call and realised there was something else requiring their attention.
Paul hung up the phone. ‘As fun as it is to watch Ian piss himself, we don’t have time for this, Jake,’ he said sternly.
‘Shame,’ Jake replied.
Ian looked at his captors with a mixture of fear and relief on his face. Jake smiled as he realised Ian had obviously misunderstood Paul’s instruction.
Paul handed Jake the baseball bat. Ian scuttled backwards until he reached the brick wall and could go no further. He held up his hands in defence and let out a bloodcurdling scream as Jake brought the bat down. His hands and fingers took the brunt of the first blow so Jake struck him again for good measure, this time across his shoulders and chest. For his parting shot, Jake kicked Ian in the face, breaking his jaw.
‘Your share of Number 69 is ours now, Ian. Don’t go there again,’ Paul reminded him as they walked away, leaving him howling in pain.
Chapter Three
Jake, Paul and Connor arrived at the warehouse on Canal Street together, to find Gary Mac with his two sons standing in a semi-circle. In front of them were two young lads, who looked no older than eighteen, strapped to chairs with cable ties and gagged with gaffer tape.
‘Fucking hell. It looks like Fifty Shades of Grey in here,’ Paul said with a chuckle.
‘Are these the fuckers who tried to rob us?’ Jake asked incredulously.
Gary and his sons nodded. ‘There were two more but they got away,’ Gary said.
‘You get a look at them?’ Connor asked.
‘Only a fleeting glimpse. Didn’t recognise them.’
‘Thanks, Gary. You and the boys can get off now.’
Gary signalled his sons to follow him. ‘Night, fellas,’ he said on his way out.
Jake stared at the two young lads in front of them. Their eyes wide in terror. Their legs trembling. One of them had a suspicious wet stain on the crotch of his jeans. Ordinarily, a scene like this would be right up Jake and the twins’ street, and they would think nothing of making an example of anyone who tried to steal from them. But these two looked like a pair of terrified kids.
As if reading his mind, Connor spoke. ‘What the fuck are we gonna do with these two?’ he said with an exaggerated sigh.
Jake shrugged. ‘Beats me, lad,’ he said as pulled up one of the chairs and sat down. ‘Paul? Any ideas?’
‘We could just shoot them in the head?’ Paul suggested, although Jake knew he had no intention of doing so. They had no guns on them for a start.
The two captive youths began to shake their heads furiously.
‘Let’s hear what they have to say for themselves then,’ Jake said with a nod.
Paul approached the two youths and ripped the gaffer tape from their mouths.
‘So?’ Paul snapped.
Immediately the two of them started babbling. All Jake could make out were the words sorry, melon and dare.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Connor muttered and walked away.
‘Oy!’ Jake shouted as he stood up and walked over to them. ‘You weren’t fucking crying earlier when you shot one of our mates, were you? You pair of spineless little pricks.’ He kicked one of the chairs, almost sending it toppling over. ‘Calm the fuck down and tell us who you are and who you’re working for.’
The one who’d pissed himself continued to cry but did so quietly, snot and tears pouring down his face. The other one, who had a mass of curly blonde hair, seemed a little more composed, so Jake focused on him.
‘You! Curly! Tell us who you’re working for,’ Jake demanded.
Curly shook his head. ‘No one,’ he stuttered. ‘No one, I swear.’
‘Fuck off!’ Paul snapped. ‘You expect us to believe you and him, and your two mates who done a runner and left you in the shit, independently decided to rob our gear? Knew where it was coming in and ambushed some of our best lads? Do you think we’re fucking stupid?’
‘We didn’t know it was yours,’ Curly snivelled. ‘We just thought we were going to nick a bit of weed from some lads. We had no idea what it really was, or that it was yours.’
By this point Connor had walked back over to them.
‘This one’s telling us some fucking porkies,’ Paul said to his brother.
‘He’s not,’ the other one suddenly wailed.
‘Oh, I forgot you were even here. Stopped crying for your mummy now?’ Jake said to him.
‘I’m telling the truth. I swear,’ Curly pleaded.
‘Tell us what happened then. Everything. Including who shot Vinnie,’ Connor demanded
Curly took a deep breath. ‘Someone told us—’
‘Who?’ Jake snapped.
‘We don’t know his name. We met him in a pub in Birkenhead. We’d never seen him before.’
Jake raised an eyebrow at the twins. This was getting more ludicrous by the second.
‘Look, I can explain, I swear. Just let me explain,’ Curly pleaded.
‘Go on then,’ Jake replied. ‘Let’s hear your fairy-tale. But I want details, Curly. The more detail you give me, the more likely it is that you will live to see the light of another day.’
Curly licked his lips. ‘Me and my mates, Jay’—he indicated the sobbing lad beside him at this point—‘and Richie, were drinking in the Brass Balance pub in Birkenhead when we started to talking to this fella at the bar. We’d never seen him in there before.’
Jake opened his mouth to ask a question, but Curly pre-empted him. ‘He was late thirties. Average build. Clean shaven. Brown hair. He was wearing a Hugo Boss tracksuit top. That’s all I remember about him. He said he knew about this load of weed that had been left in a container near the docks, and how it was just sitting there for the taking. He said it was some real good-quality weed. Then, some lad who was a few years above us in school, Kenny Bailey, came in. Kenny’s always been a bit of a nutter so when he heard what this fella was saying, he persuaded us to go and take this weed.’
‘And you thought this was a good idea why?’ Jake snapped.
‘We were off our faces. We’d been doing coke and drinking Jaeger bombs all day. We just wanted some weed.’ He sniffed. ‘We weren’t thinking at all.’
‘So, you’re telling me three of our best men were ambushed by a nutter and three stoners?’ Jake barked.
‘We didn’t ambush them,’ Curly went on. ‘We thought this weed would just be lying there with no one guarding it. We weren’t waiting for anyone. When we saw it was a container full of coke, we thought that maybe something wasn’t adding up, but we were already in it up to our necks by then. We were just going to take some, but then your lads turned up and we panicked. Kenny shot one of them and then we ran.’
The lad beside him shook his head. ‘I fucking told you not to go along with Kenny the Melon,’ he wailed.
‘Where can we find this Kenny the Melon?’ Jake asked.
‘The Brass Balance pub. He’s always in there,’ Curly said.
‘Do you believe this pair of cretins?’ Connor asked.
&nbs
p; Jake shook his head. ‘I don’t fucking know. I think someone will be paying Kenny the Melon a visit though, don’t you?’
‘And find out if anyone knows who this fella in the Hugo Boss top is. If he exists!’ Connor added and Paul and Jake nodded in agreement.
‘Exactly how old are you two?’ Jake asked.
‘Eighteen,’ Curly replied.
Connor shook his head and looked at Paul and Jake. ‘We weren’t this fucking green at eighteen, were we?’
‘God, I fucking hope not,’ Jake replied with a laugh.
‘Right then, lads,’ Connor said as he placed one hand on Jake’s shoulder and one on Paul’s. ‘I’m goosed. And I don’t think it’s very fair if all three of us give these two little pricks a kicking, do you?’
Paul shook his head. ‘Like using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut, mate. Yous can get off. I can handle these two.’
‘No, I’ll stay,’ Jake said with a smile. ‘I enjoy watching you work.’
Paul shrugged. ‘Sound.’
‘I’m getting off then. I’ll check on Vinnie, and tell Gary where he can find this Kenny prick.’
Ten minutes later, Curly and his mate stumbled out of the warehouse battered and bruised. They might have had a broken bone or two, but they had also had a very lucky escape. Jake, at least, was content that they would never try to take what was his again.
Chapter Four
Grace walked into the kitchen as Michael was serving up generous portions of scouse to their three older sons, Jake, Paul and Connor.
‘This smells fucking amazing,’ Paul said as he almost stuck his face into the bowl.
‘I haven’t had scouse for weeks,’ Jake said as he plunged his spoon into the hot stew. ‘Thanks, Michael.’
‘Not since the last time you all came for tea,’ Grace said with a smile. Every few weeks one of them would phone up at the arse crack of dawn and ask if they could pop round for tea. When they were reminded they didn’t need to ask, they followed up with a request for a pan of scouse. Grace had to admit, Michael made the best scouse she’d ever tasted. It was even better than her dad’s had been, and that was saying something.
Grace sat on a chair at the big oak table. ‘So, how are things boys? How is business?’
‘Brilliant,’ Paul and Jake said in unison as they stuffed their mouths.
‘All right,’ Connor replied with a shrug.
Grace noted the different responses but didn’t push further. The lads would inevitably tell them everything anyway as the evening wore on.
‘How is the new fella working out, Dad?’ Connor asked before biting off a chunk of crusty buttered bread.
Michael sat down at the table with them. ‘Carl? He’s all right. A bit wet behind the ears, but he’s up for a scrap. Sometimes a bit too up for it, but Murf and the lads will sort him out.’
‘Good,’ said Connor. ‘He can handle himself in the gym, can’t he, Paul?’
‘Yep. Nearly knocked Jake out last week, didn’t he, lad?’ he said as he gave Jake a playful shove.
Jake almost spat his food out of his mouth in his effort to respond. ‘No, he fucking didn’t. Knobhead.’
Grace smiled at their good-natured banter. She loved to see the three of them together. They were step-brothers now as a result of her marriage to Michael, but they acted more like blood brothers.
‘What about the trouble you had with those lads from Birkenhead?’ Grace asked. ‘Did you sort it out?’
‘Yeah. It was just a bunch of kids trying to chance their arm. They had no idea who they were robbing off,’ Jake answered.
‘They won’t be doing it again, anyway,’ Connor assured her.
‘Nope.’ Paul laughed and shook his head.
‘The club’s doing okay too?’ Grace said. ‘I noticed when I looked at the books.’
Jake nodded. ‘Yep. It’s holding its own. It pays everyone’s wages.’
‘Did you sort out that problem I mentioned, Grace?’ Connor asked. ‘I couldn’t work out how to balance the incomings and outgoing last month with that extra money we got in.’
‘Yes. The books are straight now. Everything looks above board,’ she replied.
‘Brilliant. Thanks.’
Grace watched as the boys tucked into their food. It wasn’t long before the talk turned to football and their beloved clubs. Jake and Michael were staunch Evertonians while the twins were diehard Liverpool fans, and the clubs’ legendary rivalry never failed to spark some lively debates. She half listened to their conversation while her mind wandered to Connor’s earlier response to her question about the business. It was a subtle change in his demeanour that she doubted anyone else in the room had even registered. She hoped that it meant nothing, but her gut told her that it was something.
Grace was putting plates into the dishwasher when Connor came into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out four beers.
‘Everything okay, Con?’ Grace asked him.
‘Yeah. Why?’ he replied.
‘You just look like there’s something on your mind, that’s all. You didn’t seem as convinced as Jake and Paul that things were going well. I know you’re the one who does most of the boring paperwork stuff. Is something up?’
Connor placed the bottles on the worktop. ‘You know when you get that feeling something’s just not right, Grace?’ he asked. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but I just feel like something’s off.’
‘Any idea what?’
Connor shook his head. ‘No. On the surface, everything looks great. We’re doing better than ever. It’s just a gut feeling I have.’
‘Have you spoken to the other two about it?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. They just think I’m being paranoid. Maybe I am. There’s always gonna be someone out to take what’s ours, isn’t there? It just feels like a storm is coming.’ He picked up the beers and started to laugh. ‘God, I sound like fucking Mystic Meg, don’t I? Don’t tell them two I said anything. Any excuse to take the piss.’
Grace laughed. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
Connor was walking out of the door when he stopped and turned around. ‘What do you think, Grace? You ever just get a feeling about something?’
‘All the time.’
‘And what do you do?’
‘In my experience, Connor, you should always trust your gut.’
‘Thought so,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You coming back in?’
‘Yes. Just clearing up a bit. I’ll be through in a minute.’
He disappeared through the doorway. Grace watched him leave the kitchen and leaned against the breakfast bar. On paper, at least, the boys’ business was doing better than ever. The Blue Rooms was thriving and from the money they were turning over on a monthly basis, all of their other businesses were too. But, much like Connor, she also had an uneasy feeling. Perhaps it was because things seemed to be going a little too well, and she never trusted that. The boys had plenty of enemies. It was a given in their line of work. But no one ever challenged them, at least not overtly, and that made Grace cautious. In her experience, when you were the head of the firm, there was always someone trying to take you down. If there was a rival faction trying to take over their turf, then they were doing it in secret, and that was always more worrying. After all, it was much easier to deal with your enemy when you knew who they were.
Chapter Five
Michael Carter leaned back in the leather chair in his office as one of his head doormen, Jack Murphy, or Murf, as he was more commonly known, sat opposite him relaying a tale about one of the new bouncers being caught shagging one of the barmaids in the disabled toilets the night before.
‘It’s not even like he was on his break, Boss. He was supposed to be watching the room.’
Murf had been a bouncer for over twenty years. He was a professional and he didn’t take kindly to young upstarts taking the piss. Michael was usually slightly more forgiving, but he trusted Murf and allowed him to run his door the way he wanted to.
‘So, what do you want to do about it?’ Michael asked, while suppressing a smile. He could imagine Murf’s face turning a violent shade of purple last night as he burst in on young Carl, with his pants around his ankles and a barmaid’s legs wrapped around his waist. ‘Was the barmaid on her break at least?’
Murf stared at him open-mouthed. ‘What? I don’t fucking know. What the fuck’s that got to do with it?’
Michael couldn’t hide his amusement any longer and burst out laughing.
‘Oh, fuck off,’ Murf said with a laugh. ‘You had me going there.’
‘You need to calm down, Murf. You’ll give yourself a stroke.’
‘It just pisses me off when these cheeky little pricks walk around like they’re God’s fucking gift. They don’t understand that we’re a team, Michael, and every single one of them has a part to play in making sure we all go home in one piece at the end of every night.’
‘So? Are you giving him the boot?’
‘Well, that’s why I’m here. What do you think?’
‘I assume you gave him a good kick up the arse last night and docked his pay?’
‘I gave him more than a kick up the arse,’ Murf replied.
Michael shrugged. ‘Personally, I’d give him another chance and see if he learns his lesson. But it’s your door, Murf. It’s your call. It’s you and the lads he’d be letting down if he fucked up when you needed him, not me.’
Murf shook his head and smiled. ‘You’re just a big softie, really, aren’t ya, Boss?’
Before he could reply, Michael looked up to see Grace walking through the open office doorway.
‘There’s not many people who would have the balls to call my husband a big softie, Murf,’ she said good-naturedly as she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
‘Grace,’ he said, standing up to hug her. ‘I didn’t know you were coming in.’
‘Neither did I,’ Michael said with a smile as he stood up too. She walked over to him and he put an arm around her waist. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’