by Kerry Kaya
* * *
Billy King could barely keep the snarl from his face, as he marched across the pub floor. Who the fuck had allowed the Bannermans in? He’d specifically told the doormen that they were barred, and not to give them access, should they turn up. His eyes flickered across to the men on the door. They would feel the full force of his wrath before the night was out.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growled, approaching the group of men.
The eldest of the brothers, George Bannerman, spread open his arms. “Free country, ain’t it?” As always, he was impeccably dressed. Despite being a tall, slender man, he was also strong and could hold his own. He looked around the packed boozer, and his eyes fell upon the sparkly birthday banners. “I didn’t realise it was a private party,” he said with mock surprise. Beside him, his brother and other firm members sniggered.
“Yeah well, it is, so now you can fuck off.” Billy’s temper was beginning to rise.
George began to laugh. “A little dickie bird told me it was your wife’s birthday.” He nodded his dark blonde head across the bar, to where Susan was standing. “You don’t mind if we stick around, do you? Offer our congratulations, maybe even buy the lady a celebratory drink?”
Billy lunged forward. It took two of his men to hold him back. “Get out,” he roared. His face had turned bright red and he clenched his fists, ready to attack.
George laughed once more. “I’m coming for you, King,” he said, stabbing his finger forward before giving a slight inclination of his head, indicating for his firm to leave the party. “Oh,” he paused, slowly turned around, and glanced once more in Susan’s direction. “Give our regards to the birthday girl,” he winked.
“I’m gonna kill him.” Billy was so incensed, he could feel the anger seeping through his pores. He watched as the Bannermans left the pub and breathed heavily through his flared nostrils. “I’m gonna kill him,” he spat. “If it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“You okay, boss?”
Billy shrugged his number two away from him, and glanced menacingly across to the doormen. “I told you to keep that lot out,” he screamed at them.
The head doorman, Barry Whitlow, gave a shrug of his shoulders. Who was he to tell the Bannermans that they weren’t welcome? After all, he wasn’t stupid, and certainly didn’t have a death wish.
Throwing back his fist, Billy swung it toward the big man, hitting him square on the chin. The man fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. “Next time,” he spat, “do as I say.”
* * *
Spencer sidled up beside his brother. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“The Bannermans have turned up,” Fletch answered, keeping his voice low.
Clenching his fists into tight balls, Spencer made to move forward, eager to get stuck in.
“Leave it,” Fletch warned, pulling back on his brother’s arm. “Billy will sort it out.”
“Yeah, but it’s the Bannermans.”
“No buts.” Fletch tightened his grip. “I told you to leave it, Spence.” His voice had a steely tone to it, and with one hand still curled around his brother’s forearm, he used his free hand to beckon Stevie forward. “Get him out of here, will you?” he shouted above the music. “I don’t care where you take him, just get him away from that lot.” He flicked his head toward the Bannerman firm.
Stevie narrowed his eyes. He glanced across the pub floor, and then back to his best friend.
“Please, mate, just do as I ask.”
“Come on,” Stevie sighed. He threw his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and led him back to the bar area.
Fletch couldn’t help but sigh with relief, as he watched his younger brother being led out of harm’s way. The last thing he needed was for Spencer to fall underneath the Bannermans radar. Being a big lad, he was a target for others to try and take down.
* * *
Billy was apologetic as he made his way back to his wife.
“What happened?” she asked, putting out her arms to placate him. Concern was clearly etched across her face.
“Nothing,” Billy shook his head. “Nothing for you to worry about, darling.” He turned once more toward the pub entrance. He would kill the Bannermans stone dead, if it was the last thing he did.
* * *
Sitting inside his car, George Bannerman chuckled out loud. “Did you see his face?” he grinned. “I thought he was gonna have a heart attack. The bastard was practically foaming at the mouth at one point.”
Albie Bannerman nodded his head. Like his brother, he was impeccably dressed. “Jumped-up ponce. That prick needs a good hiding,” he said, clenching his fist.
George laughed once more; nothing would give him greater pleasure, than to see Billy King brought down.
With his hand on the door handle, Albie was ready to jump back out of the car. “We should have finished him,” he growled. He pulled a firearm out from the waistband of his trousers and looked to his brother. “We should have topped him while we had the chance.”
“Too many witnesses.” Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things, because witnesses could easily be bought off or scared into keeping schtum. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.” He glanced once more toward the pub doors and started the ignition. “We’ve shown our faces, rattled a few cages, so to speak. Come on, time to get out of this shithole.”
“Yeah,” Albie agreed, screwing up his face. “It stinks this side of the water.”
* * *
The next morning, Fletch and Spencer were up and out of bed early. Billy had called a meeting at his home in Ongar Essex and would have their guts for garters if they turned up late.
Jenny was already pottering around in the kitchen, buttering a plateful of toast, when her sons came down the stairs. “Tea?” she offered, her hand hovering over the teapot.
Fletch glanced at his watch. “No thanks, Mum.” He grabbed a slice of toast, took a bite, and chewed on it before swallowing. “We can’t stop.” He took a second bite, whilst shrugging on his jacket.
“This is fucking bollocks.” Standing beside the kitchen doorway, Frank yawned loudly. He had a raging hangover, all thanks to the free bar. “It’s only just gone eight. What’s he calling a meeting this fucking early for?”
Turning to look at his uncle, Fletch groaned. Still wearing his underpants and an off-white singlet vest that had definitely seen better days, Frank wasn’t even dressed. “Come on, Frank, get a move on; you’re gonna make us late.”
“Fuck him.” Entering the kitchen, Frank took a seat at the table and swallowed down a large gulp of tea. Grimacing at the bitter taste, he spooned in three tablespoons of sugar.
“Frank,” Fletch urged, as he tapped at his wristwatch, “we have to go.”
“All right, fucking hell.” Frank clutched at his aching head. “At least let me have a cuppa first, will ya?”
Gritting his teeth, Fletch pushed his brother out of the kitchen and stabbed his finger forward. “Where’s your loyalty, eh?”
“Loyalty?” Frank threw his sister a sly glance. “I’m all ears, boy.” He lit a cigarette, leaned back in the chair, and nodded his head. “Let’s talk about loyalty.”
“Frank,” Jenny warned.
“You …” Ignoring his sister, Frank stabbed the cigarette in his eldest nephew’s direction. “You would know all about loyalty, wouldn’t you?” He flicked a layer of ash onto the linoleum floor and sucked his teeth. “You’ve got a short memory. You forget where you come from, boy. You forget the hell I plucked you from.”
Taking a nervous glance at his brother, Fletch swallowed deeply. Of course he hadn’t forgotten, how could he? The memory of his childhood was forever ingrained into his brain.
“And now you, of all people, want to talk about fucking loyalty?” Frank cocked his head to one side, his voice a low growl. “You’ve got the front to stand there and judge me, to accuse me of shit?” He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe if you took your head out of King’s arse once
in a while, you’d actually learn the meaning of the word.”
“Frank.” Thumping her palms down on the table, Jenny breathed heavily through her flared nostrils. “Enough.” Her eyes darted nervously toward her youngest son, hoping and praying that he didn’t understand the hidden meaning behind her brother’s words. “Please, enough of this now.”
“What?” Frank spread out his arms, his expression the picture of innocence. “I’m only speaking as I find, but don’t worry,” he winked. “The family secret is safe with me.”
Taking a step forward, Fletch’s chest muscles strained against the thin fabric of his shirt. “Watch your mouth, Frank.”
“I gave you a home.” Frank roared. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be living on a scrap heap. It was me.” He poked himself in the chest. “I was the one who took you all in when no one else wanted you.”
Glancing around the outdated kitchen, Fletch gave a bitter laugh. “We would have been better off on the scrap heap. At least then, we wouldn’t have had to put up with you and your shit. At least then, Spencer wouldn’t have been so scared as a kid that he would piss the bed every night.”
“That was nothing to do with me and you know it.” Frank had the grace to look down at the floor.
“Nah, maybe it wasn’t all your fault, but you didn’t help the situation, did you?”
“Fletch.” Jenny put her hand on her son’s arm. “That’s enough now, son. Your uncle is right, he did take us in. He gave us a roof over our heads, a home.”
Shrugging his mother away from him, Fletch stared at her open-mouthed. “Took us in? We’re not talking about a stray dog here, Mum.” He narrowed his eyes. “Whether we like it or not, we’re family.”
Frank leaned back in the chair. He loved nothing better than to goad his nephew, and to know that his words had got the younger man’s back up. It made his day a whole lot sweeter. With a smirk spread across his face, he lifted the cigarette to his lips, inhaled a lungful of smoke, and opening his mouth to form the shape of a perfect O, he puffed out a series of smoke rings.
“Fletch, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Fletch gave his brother a reassuring smile.
“Why are you arguing?”
“We’re not,” he grinned. Turning back toward his uncle, the smile slid from his face. He knew exactly what it was Frank was referring to, not that he would ever tell Spencer. As far as he was concerned, his brother must never know the truth. He must never know where they had come from. “We’ll be waiting in the car. You’ve got ten minutes, so move yourself.”
Watching his nephews leave the house, Frank winced as the front door slammed shut behind them. “He’s getting too big for his boots, that boy,” he stated to his sister. “Ordering me around … who the fuck does he think he is?”
Jenny remained silent. She watched, as her brother slurped at his tea and turned her back on him. A smile creased her face. Ever since her sons had begun working for Billy King, she had noticed a shift in power. No longer did Frank rule the house with an iron fist. She delved her hands into a sink of hot soapy water and set about washing up the breakfast things, all the while, basking in his discomfort.
“You know what his problem is, don’t you?” Frank spat. “He’s got too much of his father in him.”
The smile slid from her face, and drying her hands on a tea towel, her back stiffened. “He’s nothing like him,” she bristled.
* * *
Billy King owned an impressive house. Situated at the end of a long driveway, the grounds surrounding it were both vast and secluded. The house itself had six bedrooms, two large sitting rooms filled with oil paintings and Chinese silk rugs, and a dining room with a solid oak table that could comfortably seat ten people. It was in this room that Billy conducted his business.
Despite the earliness of the hour, he was pleased with the turnout. “How did they know we would be there?” It was more of a statement than a question, and placing a cigarette between his lips, Billy cupped his hand around the flame from his solid gold lighter. Not for the first time did he wonder if there was a spy in his camp. “Well?” he demanded, as he exhaled a lungful of cigarette smoke. “How the fuck did the Bannermans know it was my wife’s birthday party? Or that we would be in that particular boozer?”
The men turned to look to each other. For all intent and purposes, they were as equally confused as Billy was.
Billy thumped his fist down on the dining table. “Someone in this room,” he said, stabbing his cigarette forward, “must be giving them information.”
Once again, the men looked toward each other.
“Nah, I can’t see that happening.” It was Keith Lewis who finally spoke. He plucked a cigarette from his own packet and paused before placing it between his lips. “I mean, come on, if someone was running their mouth off to the Bannermans, we would know about it, wouldn’t we?”
“Well, what do you call this then? They didn’t just grasp the information out of thin air, did they?” Billy sneered.
Fletch looked between the two men. It was no secret that they despised one another, all thanks to Billy and his philandering ways—that, and the fact that Keith had returned home early from work one day and caught the man in his bedroom, with his wife bent over the bed they shared, her red lacy knickers around her ankles, legs spread wide apart.
“I dunno.” Fletch shrugged his shoulders. “I think Keith’s got a point.” He delved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his lighter. He flicked the ignition, sucked on the cigarette and exhaled a stream of blue smoke lazily through his nostrils.
“Nah.” Billy tore his eyes away from his adversary. “They know too much. I know for a fact that there is a snake in this room.”
“Yeah, and you’d know all about that,” Keith muttered underneath his breath.
Billy cocked his eyebrow, his tone goading. “Yeah, and so would your missus.” He gave a cocky wink. “Tell her I said hello.”
Knocking over the dining chair in his haste to jump up from his seat, Keith’s face turned red, and he balled his fists ready for action. “Fuck you,” he bellowed.
“Nah, you’re all right,” Billy chuckled, “I’d rather …”
“Seriously, Bill,” Fletch interrupted. Just like Keith before him, he jumped up from his seat and held out his arms, in a bid to keep the peace. “This really ain’t helping matters, is it?”
Billy sucked on his cigarette and gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.
With the situation once again relatively calm, Fletch resumed his position at the table. “Can we just get back down to business now?”
Once more, Billy looked around the room. “As I was saying …” A nerve twitched at the side of his jaw and his eyes fell upon Keith for a second time, silently daring him to retaliate. Even though it was he who was in the wrong, there was nothing he would like better, than to have an excuse to smash his fist into the man’s face. “… There’s a snake in this room.”
Fletch thought this through. Billy was right. It was more than a little bit strange how the Bannermans were able to stay one step ahead of them. Could there really be a spy in their camp? “Maybe it was the guvnor of the Two Puddings who told them?” he asked.
Billy shook his head. It wasn’t the first time the Bannermans had known about his movements.
“So, what are you thinking then, Bill?”
Stubbing out his cigarette in a heavy crystal ashtray, Billy lounged back in his chair and massaged his temples. He didn’t know what to think; that was the truth of the matter. He looked around the dining table. The only thing he knew for certain, was that amongst his men—men that he had trusted without a second thought—there was a snake in the grass.
His eyes settled on Spencer, and just as quickly, he dismissed the idea. Spencer was a lump, a strong lad, and not to mention physically capable, but he was far too dim-witted to be running his mouth off to the Bannermans. As he continued to stare across at
the boy, an idea formed in his mind.
“So?” Fletch repeated. “What are you thinking, Bill?”
“Nothing.” Abruptly, Billy stood up.
Confused, Fletch narrowed his eyes and looked around him. “What do you mean, nothing?”
“Exactly what I said, nothing. Just drop it.” He waved his hand dismissing the conversation.
“Yeah, but if someone …”
“I said, drop it,” Billy growled. He walked across to the dining room door and held it open. The meeting was over.
Reluctantly, the men got to their feet.
Still feeling confused, Fletch hung back slightly and reaching the door, he looked Billy in the eyes. “I don’t get this,” he said his voice low. “You said someone was giving out information.”
Billy clasped him on the back. “Like I said, forget it.” He watched the men walk from the room, and as they neared the entrance hall, he called Spencer back toward him.
Fletch made to follow after his brother and Billy held up his hand. “Just Spencer,” he said, closing the door to the dining room firmly shut behind them.
Turning toward Stevie, Fletch raised his eyebrows. A surprised expression was etched across his face. “What’s all that about?”
Equally confused, Stevie shrugged his shoulders.
* * *
Billy smiled across the room to Spencer and gestured for him to take a seat. He knew the boy wouldn’t ask questions. It wouldn’t even occur to him to do so, which was exactly what he was counting on.
“I’ve got a little job for you, Spence,” he smiled.
Without saying a word, Spencer grinned widely and basked in the attention Billy gave him.