The Price

by Kerry Kaya

  Her hands still trembling, Jenny took the money and gave her eldest son a warm smile. Just maybe her brother wasn’t all bad after all.

  * * *

  “So this is what I want done …” Billy King glanced across to the gated lock-up.

  Situated at Tilbury docks, the area was in darkness. Two large Alsatian dogs jumped up at the gates, snarling and growling, protecting their territory. “I want you to squeeze through those gates and go across to the office. Jemmy, open that window.” He pointed toward the farthest window of the porta-cabin. “Climb through and look around for a blue ledger.”

  The three boys looked up at him with a blank expression. They had no idea of what a ledger was.

  “It’s a blue book, about so big.” He placed his hands ten inches apart.

  They nodded their heads.

  “All you have to do is bring me that book.” Billy glanced across to the office. “It belongs to me and I want it back.”

  “What about the dogs?” Fletch looked to the dogs fearfully and ran his hand through his short, dark brown hair, making it stand up on end. He’d been bitten by a stray once, and ever since, had been afraid of them.

  “Don’t worry about them.” He turned toward Joseph and waited for the man to pass him a carrier bag, filled to the brim with cheap off-cuts of meat, from the boot of the car.

  “And what about me? What do I do?” Frank hopped from one foot to the other, barely able to contain his excitement.

  “You, Frank,” Billy took the carrier bag and passed it across, “your job is to feed the dogs. If you want your nephews to come back in one piece, then you’d best make sure you keep those mutts happy.”

  Frank snatched the carrier bag and groaned. He’d imagined himself having a more active role, rather than just feeding the dogs to keep them quiet.

  “So, are you all clear on what you have to do?”

  They nodded their heads.

  “Right then, Frank, start feeding those dogs.”

  Complaining bitterly as he did so, Frank delved his hand into the carrier bag and grasped a chunk of bloody meat. He looked down to see his hand stained red, and groaned even louder. “This meat fucking stinks.”

  “Just throw it over the gate.” Billy rolled his eyes. Just how much of a dim-witted fool was Frank Fletcher? He sidled up to the man, not sure that he fully understood the seriousness of his role. “Unless you want the dogs to tear those boys apart, limb from fucking limb, then you’d best start chucking that meat over. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Frank?”

  Not liking this turn of events, Frank’s eyes were wide and he nodded his head. His sister may have taken a lot of flak from him over the years, but touch one of her precious boys and it was a different story altogether. Eyeing his nephews, he began chucking the meat over the cast iron gate, with a lot more enthusiasm then he’d had previously.

  “Right then, come on, boys.” Billy led them toward a small gap in the gate. “Squeeze through there and make a run for it to the cabin.”

  Fletch looked toward the gap, the cabin, and then to the dogs. His heart began to pound inside his chest and his palms were clammy. He could hardly lose face and tell Billy that he was scared.

  “Come on, Frank, start feeding those fucking mutts.”

  In a steady pace, Frank threw the chunks of meat up and over the fence.

  “Go on,” Billy urged the boys.

  One by one, they wriggled through the gap and pressed themselves up against the metal gate. Fletch was the last to squeeze himself through, and not taking his eyes away from the dogs, he moved closer to Stevie and his brother. “Run,” he hissed, his voice merely a whisper.

  The dogs turned their heads, sniffing the air. They barely gave the boys a second glance as they ran across the forecourt.

  “Here you are. Nice dogs.” Frank spoke in a sing-song tone as he threw the meat over the gate.

  Too engrossed in the meat that Frank was feeding them, they gobbled up the chunks and whined for more, their tails wagging.

  Using a crowbar, the boys struggled to prise open the porta-cabin window. Finally, and with a loud pop, the glass came away from the seals holding it in place. Carefully, they placed the pane of glass on the floor and leaned it up against the cabin wall, then set about pushing Spencer up and through the open window.

  “Keep that meat coming,” Billy barked, not taking his eyes away from the boys.

  Frank chucked the meat over even faster. The dogs on the other side of the iron gate jumped up in the air, snatching the meat between their powerful jaws, before it had even had the chance to land on the floor.

  Looking nervously back at the dogs, Fletch stood on tip-toes to look through the window. “Remember, it’s a blue book,” he called out to his brother.

  Spencer searched around the office and pulled open a series of drawers. “Is this it?” he asked, holding a hardback blue book up in the air.

  “I dunno,” Fletch shrugged his shoulders. “Give me it.” He took the book from his brother and held it aloft for Billy to see. In the distance, Billy nodded his head.

  Down to his last handful of meat, Frank glanced across to the porta-cabin. What was taking the boys so long? “I’m getting low on meat,” he stated.

  “Just keep it coming,” Billy answered through gritted teeth.

  Fletch and Stevie began to haul Spencer back through the window. He landed on the floor with a soft thud. They picked him up and brushed him down. “We have to go.” Fletch looked once more to the dogs and shuddered. “Come on.”

  “I’m out.” There was more than a hint of alarm in Frank’s voice. “I’m out of meat.” He looked to where his nephews were still standing beside the porta-cabin, then to where the dogs were. “I’m out, Billy,” he said, his voice rising.

  Billy turned his head. “I told you to pace yourself, not give it to them all in one go.” He looked to where the boys were. “Move,” he hissed. He took a step closer to the gate and wrapped his fingers around the iron bars. “Move,” he shouted.

  Hearing the alarm in Billy’s voice, the three boys looked up. Sniffing the air, the dogs also looked up.

  In a blind panic, Stevie and Spencer ran. Frozen to the spot, Fletch could only watch in fear as the dogs ran across the forecourt, growling and snarling.

  “Run,” Billy roared.

  The two boys slipped through the gap in the gate.

  “Run,” Frank urged. He stepped closer to the gate and like Billy before him, he grasped hold of the metal bars, his eyes darting from the dogs, then to his eldest nephew. “Fucking run.”

  The dogs were almost upon him. With just a spilt second to spare, Fletch came to his senses, made a dash for it, and darted across the gravelled forecourt. The dogs changed direction and chased after him, snapping at the air.

  “Run, Fletch,” Spencer and Stevie screamed.

  With his chest heaving, Fletch ran as if his life depended on it, which just so happened to be the case. He could hear the dogs gaining on him, could hear their powerful jaws snapping, and he cried out in fear as he launched himself at the gate. Scrambling to the top of the iron gate, his throat constricted painfully, and the pain in his chest intensified, as his small frame shook. Behind him, the dogs jumped up in a frenzy, barking and growling, as he slid down the other side.

  With a loud thump, he landed on the floor in a heap. He could barely breathe, so acute was his fear.

  It was Billy who dragged him to his feet, and taking one look at the boy’s deathly white face, he began to laugh. “Fuck me, I thought you were a goner there for a minute.”

  Amid back-clapping, Fletch wiped himself down. His heart was beginning to slow back down to its normal, steady pace, and he turned back to look at the dogs on the other side of the gate with wide eyes. “That was a close one,” he gasped.

  “Close?” Billy laughed even harder. “Any closer, and those fucking dogs would have taken a chunk out of your arse.” He stabbed his finger toward Frank. “You can blame your
uncle for that. I told him to pace himself, not throw the whole lot over in one go.”

  “I didn’t.” Frank looked down at the floor, his cheeks turning scarlet.

  With the precious ledger containing every debt owed to himself tucked safely underneath his arm, Billy grinned widely. “Come on,” he said, slinging his free arm around Fletch’s shoulder. “You all did a good job. Well done, boys. But right now, I need a drink. What d’ya reckon, Frank?”

  Frank nodded his head. After what he’d just witnessed, Billy King could say that again.

  Chapter 2

  Ten years later.

  The Two Puddings, in Stratford, East London, was where Billy King was hosting his wife’s fortieth birthday party.

  Birthday banners and streamers had been placed strategically around the bar area. Along the far wall, tables had been placed side by side and covered over with starched white linen cloths. A finger buffet consisting of sausage rolls, sandwiches, and quiches, had been laid out beside a seafood platter of jellied eels, cockles, and whelks, and with no expense spared, sitting proudly in the centre of the wooden tables, was a two-tiered iced fruitcake. The atmosphere was jolly, exactly how Billy had planned for the occasion to be. Nothing but the very best would do for his wife.

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Jenny Fletcher had set out the ironing board, and with her son’s shirt spread over the board, she began ironing out the creases.

  “Has Frank already gone?” Freshly showered and shaved, Fletch walked into the kitchen, bare-chested.

  “You know what your uncle is like.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “He couldn’t wait to get out of the bleeding door.” She placed the iron on the metal holder, passed across the shirt, and watched as her eldest son slipped it on.

  Casting her eyes over her two sons, she felt a familiar sense of pride. They were not only handsome, but also big strapping lads, which was a miracle in itself, considering the little amount of food there had been to go around when they were growing up.

  “Will you be okay on your own?” Buttoning up his shirt, Fletch glanced across to his mother.

  “Of course I will.” Jenny nodded toward the living room. “That new game show is on the box at eight. It’s meant to be good … everyone is raving about it.”

  Fletch nodded his head. “And you’ll remember to lock the back door, won’t you?”

  “Already done,” she grinned. “Oh,” she walked across the kitchen to where the housekeeping tin was kept, took it down from the shelf, prised open the metal lid, and took out two ten-pound notes. “Here, take this and have a good time tonight.”

  “Mum,” Fletch scolded. “We don’t need your money.” Not only did they work for Billy, but they also had a nice little side-line selling used cars, the majority of them cut and shut. “We earn enough working for Billy.”

  “No, come on, take it.” Of course she knew they earned good money. Across her fingers were several large diamond and sapphire gold rings. And the fact that they had bought her a real fur mink coat for her birthday was more than enough to tell her that they were doing well for themselves. Gone were the days when she struggled to put a meal on the table. The feasts she was now able to put on for her sons and their friends were legendary. “I want you both to have a good time tonight.” She pressed the crumpled notes into her son’s hand.

  “Thanks, Mum.” Fletch took the money and kissed his mother on the cheek. When he returned home from the party, he would slip the money back into the housekeeping tin.

  She cast her eyes over her youngest son. “And you, you behave yourself tonight. No fighting and no getting too drunk. You’ll look after him, won’t you, Fletch?”

  “I don’t need looking after. I’m twenty-two, not a baby,” Spencer complained in his usual slow drawl.

  “I know you’re not, sweetheart.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a hug. Standing at least three inches taller than his brother, Spencer was a big lad and towered above her. “Watch him,” she mouthed.

  Fletch nodded his head. It went without saying that he would watch out for his younger brother. “Right then,” he said, clapping his hands together, “are we ready?”

  “Yeah.” Spencer grinned from ear to ear. He couldn’t wait to get to the party.

  “Come on then.” Fletch pulled on his jacket and pushed Spencer out of the kitchen. “Bye, Mum,” he called out.

  “Bye, my darlings.” As the front door slammed shut after her sons, the house became eerily quiet. She quickly tidied away the ironing board and iron, then walked through to the lounge. Taking a seat in her favourite armchair, she sighed and picked up her knitting bag. The boys were growing fast, and before she knew it, they would fly the nest, leaving just her and Frank alone. The very thought of only having her brother for company was enough to make her shudder.

  * * *

  An hour later, Fletch strode across the floor of the Two Puddings, with Spencer and Stevie following closely behind him. He shook Billy’s hand, then turned his attention to Susan, Billy’s wife.

  “Happy birthday.” As he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, the scent of her sweet perfume hit his nostrils, and the words caught in his throat. He’d heard through the grapevine that Billy’s wife was beautiful, and despite catching fleeting glimpses of her at his boss’s house, nothing could have prepared him for just how beautiful she actually was up close.

  Wearing a classy, fitted knee-length powder blue dress, with a string of pearls around her neck, Susan’s blonde hair was tied up in an elegant chignon. “Thank you,” she breathed, tilting her head to one side to look up at him, her blue eyes sparkling.

  Fletch returned her smile, feeling suddenly shy. He was thankful for the interruption when Stevie nudged him in the ribs. “Beer?” he asked.

  Tearing his eyes away from her, Fletch nodded his head.

  “It’s a free bar, lads, so knock yourselves out.” With his hand clasped tightly around his wife’s waist, Billy grinned at them.

  As they walked toward the bar area, Fletch was unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder. If the rumours were true, then it was no wonder Billy treated his wife like a queen, and wrapped her up in cotton wool.

  “Bit of all right her, ain’t she?” Stevie whispered in his ear.

  Fletch shrugged his shoulders, hiding his true thoughts. Stevie could say that again. In all his life, he’d never seen such a beautiful woman.

  They ordered their beers, curtesy of Billy, and swallowed down large mouthfuls of the amber liquid, quenching their thirst.

  “Looks like your uncle is enjoying himself,” Stevie winked.

  Turning his head, Fletch raised his eyebrows and looked across the pub floor. Frank would chase after anything with a pulse. He watched as his uncle danced his way around a group of women, young enough to be his daughters, and inwardly groaned. “He’s an embarrassment, that’s what he is.”

  Spencer grinned widely. “Give him a break, Fletch. He’s having a good time, that’s all.”

  Fletch rolled his eyes. What about their poor mum, sat at home all by herself? Even though Billy had extended his invitation to Jenny, Frank had flatly refused to bring her. “He’ll chase after anything in a skirt,” he stated, turning up his nose.

  Stevie nudged him once more, his body suddenly tense, as he pulled himself up to his full height. “Look lively.”

  Fletch looked up and groaned. “What now?” He turned his head to glance across at his uncle for a second time.

  “The Bannerman brothers have just walked in.”

  “Oh shit,” Fletch muttered. He hastily glanced toward his brother, before turning his body around to watch a group of men entering through the pub doors. “That’s all we need.”

  The Bannerman brothers were a rival firm, hailing from across the water, in Bermondsey. It was no secret that there was no love lost between the two firms. In fact, to put it mildly, they despised one another, and were locked in a bitter turf war. Placing his beer down onto the wooden
bar top, Fletch made his way across the busy room. He came to stand beside his boss, leaned in close, and whispered in his ear.

  Billy’s face was a mask of hatred, as he turned to look across the bar. The Bannerman brothers had been a thorn in his side for as long as he could remember, and to add insult to injury, not only had they turned up uninvited on his wife’s birthday, of all days, but they had humiliated him in the process.

  “There is some business I need to take care of.” He released his arm from around his wife’s waist, and smiled down at her apologetically as he did so, the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fletch, look after her,” he instructed, and clicking his fingers toward Joseph Hatton and his remaining henchmen, he tore across the packed boozer, seething with anger.

  Standing protectively beside Billy’s wife, Fletch could feel her body heat, he was that close. He had to physically stop himself from taking sly glances at her. There and then, he wanted to berate himself. Now wasn’t the time to be having fanciful thoughts about Billy King’s missus. Unless he was very much mistaken, World War Three was about to begin.

  “What is all that about?” Feeling confused by her husband’s sudden departure, Susan stood on her toes to look across the crowded room.

  Her voice broke his thoughts. How was he supposed to answer? He could hardly tell her the truth, could he? “I dunno,” he shrugged.

  She gave him a warm smile. “So, you’re the famous Fletch I hear so much about?”

  Fletch was even more alarmed, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah,” he finally answered, wanting to kick himself for sounding so droll. The truth was, he had never had much experience with women, at least not actually talking to them, anyway. Usually, his relationships only lasted a few weeks before he became bored with them and got rid.

  She patted his arm, sending a shiver down his spine. “Billy talks highly of you.”

  He nodded his thanks and tore his eyes away from her to look across at her husband, his boss. The atmosphere in the pub had turned decidedly frosty.