by Kerry Kaya
Still, Mickey and his madness had come in useful over the years, even if that meant he and Albie had needed to put the hard word on him from time to time to make sure that he did their bidding. In fact, as far as George was concerned, Mickey owed them—he owed them big time. He’d lost count of the amount of times they had needed to bail him out of a tricky situation or give him an alibi over the years.
“Let’s grab a cup of tea and a bite to eat,” he said, guiding Mickey toward a café across the street, hoping more than anything that he would put the sword away. The last thing he needed was for the old bill to turn up and cart them both off to the nearest nick. After all, Mental Mickey, as he and Albie had often referred to their second cousin, was hardly inconspicuous.
Settled at a table toward the back of the premises with mugs of tea in front of them, George spoke. “My brother, Albie, is on the missing list.”
Mickey shook his head. “Sorry to hear that. What do you want me to do?” he asked, eyes lighting up as his gold-encased fingers delved underneath his coat to touch the sword hilt. “Slice up the bastard who done him in?”
“No, not yet.” Putting out his hand to quieten the man down, George looked around him once more. Mickey could be a liability at the best of times. “I don’t even know if he has been done in. No, what I want you to do is to put the feelers out, ask around, see if anyone knows anything.” He watched Mickey’s reaction over the rim of the mug. “You’re good at that, getting information from people,” he added, with a smirk.
“Yeah, I can do that.” He took his hand away from the sword and picked up his steaming mug.
“If you locate Albie, I’ll pay you some hefty wedge.”
Mickey shrugged his shoulders. He was more interested in cutting people up than having some cash in his back pocket.
“And I mean some serious wedge an’ all.”
“Yeah, all right.” He swallowed a mouthful of tea. “On one condition. When I find the cunt responsible, I get to play with him.” He toyed with the hilt of the sword once more with a beaming smile spread across his face. “This girl needs to earn her stripes.”
“Knock yourself out,” George answered. Silently, he sipped at his tea. He’d set the wheels in motion. All he had to do now was wait for Mickey to work his magic and give him the information he so desperately needed.
* * *
An empty field in the Essex countryside was where the latest rave was taking place. Much to the chagrin of the police, the illegal parties were organised with military precision and the promoters were able to convey thousands of people to the venue with the minimum of fuss.
Parking his car against a grass verge, Fletch turned to look at the throng of party-goers making their way across the vast, open space. From the confines of the car, a vibrating hum of music could be heard in the distance.
“Remember, this is work.” He turned to look at his brother as he sat in the back of the car. “That means we’re not here to get out of our nuts, right? We’re here to scope the place out and that’s it.”
“But we can still have a good time while we’re at it, can’t we?” Stevie pulled out from his jacket pocket a small polythene bag containing several white pills. He dangled the bag in front of Fletch’s face. “You know you want to,” he grinned.
“Yeah,” Fletch chuckled. “Just keep your eyes peeled. We need to know who is selling what. What security they have, etcetera.” He looked across the field, opened the car door, and climbed out.
There was an excitement in the air as they traipsed across the mud-splattered grass. As they neared closer, the sound of music intensified, and a vibration could be felt underneath their feet. They paid their ten-pound admittance fee and made their way around the perimeter of the rave, watching everything that went on.
Taking the tiny white pill that Stevie handed him, he placed it on the back of his tongue and washed it down with a mouthful of bottled water. With virtually zero security, as far as Fletch could see, it was going to be a piece of cake for Billy to take a slice of the action.
* * *
“What d’ya mean there ain’t no security? There has to be.”
It was the next morning, and lounging back on the dining room chair, Fletch shook his head. “I’m telling you, Billy, there’s none, well, no one worth bothering about anyway. Just a couple of suits walking around, and a couple of kids on the gate, giving it large, and believe me, they are raking it in … and that’s without the money they’re taking from the pills.”
“No,” Billy laughed out loud. “You’ve made a mistake. You must have been too out of your nut to see what was going on.” He stabbed his finger forward. “I keep telling you to lay off them pills. I sent you there to work, not get wasted.”
“I’m not mistaken; and I wasn’t wasted.” He lowered his eyes. “Besides, I only had a couple of pills, and that wasn’t enough to stop me from seeing everything that went on, as clear as day.” Lounging back even farther, Fletch grinned. “Trust me, there is hardly any security, Billy, at least not enough for us to have to worry about.”
“Fuck me! What kind of amateurs are these pricks?” He was thoughtful for a moment. “I can’t fucking believe it. No security, eh?” He shook his head. “You know what this means, don’t ya?”
“What?”
“It means we can take the fucking lot, more or less, hassle free. It’ll be the easiest nights graft we’ve had in a long time.” He lit a cigarette and shook his head once more. “Two bob fucking amateurs. The soppy cunts won’t know what’s hit them.”
“That’s not the best of it.”
“What d’ya mean?” Sitting forward in the chair, Billy frowned.
“The pills. Someone is supplying them.”
“Yeah well, that’s obvious. Even an imbecile would be able to tell me that.” He shook his head slightly, waiting for Fletch to get to the point.
“I asked around, and it seems that the E’s are being supplied by a firm.”
“And?”
“A firm from across the water.”
“From across the water?” Billy slumped backwards and his voice took on an incredulous tone. “Don’t tell me it’s the fucking Bannermans.”
“Yep, the very same.”
“And on my fucking patch an’ all, the no-good cunts,” he growled. “I bet they’re having a right laugh at my expense.”
As he watched a flurry of emotions spread across his boss’s face, Fletch gave a stilted smile. “So,” he asked spreading out his hands, “do you still wanna go ahead with it then?”
Recovering from his initial shock, Billy grinned back. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Fletch lifted his eyebrows. He would take that as a very firm yes.
* * *
Eric Porter leaned back in his leather recliner, puffed on his cigar, and eyed the man in front of him warily. “So, what is it I can do for you, Mickey?” His eyes flickered toward his girls, or his brasses, as he commonly referred to the women who worked for him.
As soon as they’d spotted Mickey Shank through the glass partition leading to his office, they had scurried out of harm’s way. The last time Mickey had entered his premises, one of the girls had ended up with a six-inch slit across her left bum cheek. According to Mickey’s irate protests, she had looked at him the wrong way. Poor girl couldn’t sit down for a week.
“If it’s one of the girls you’re after, then I’m sorry, but they are all booked up for the day.”
Mickey Shank grinned. He liked Eric, liked his astute business mind. The man in question not only owned a string of the best porn shops and brass houses across London, but also owned a series of one-armed bandit arcades. In other words, he had a lot of fingers in a lot of pies.
He turned his head and noted that the sitting room where the girls usually lounged around waiting for their punters to arrive had emptied out in double quick time.
“Was it something I said?” he laughed out loud.
Erik gave a nervous laugh. “L
ike I said, Mickey, the girls are all booked up.”
They weren’t, but Mickey wasn’t to know that. His antics during the last visit had near enough caused a riot, and the girls had threatened to walk out and never come back. They were a funny lot, his brasses. They’d scratch another girl’s eyes out if she so much as tried to look at one of their punters, but the minute one of them were injured, they stuck together like a pride of lionesses.
As a way of smoothing things over with them, he’d given the girls his word that he wouldn’t allow Mickey anywhere near them again, and as he often stated to anyone who would listen, his word was his bond, unless there was some serious wedge at stake.
“Good job. I’m a bit busy today then, ain’t it?” He turned back to look at the man, his tone becoming serious. “You ever seen a samurai sword?”
“Yeah, once or twice.” Eric narrowed his eyes, not sure where Mickey was going with the conversation.
“Bet you ain’t ever seen one like this though.” He pulled the ornate sword out from underneath his coat and held it outwards. Sunlight streamed through the windows and bounced off of the single-edged jewel steel sword, casting light shadows to fall around the room. “This beauty can slice through bone like a hot knife through butter.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.” Eric gave him a wide smile, showing crooked nicotine-stained teeth. He puffed once more on his cigar. “So, what is it I can do for you, Mickey? I take it you didn’t come all this way just to show me your new toy?”
“Toy?” Mickey’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Fucking toy?”
“I meant your new blade.” Eric put out his hand to placate the man.
“It’s a sword.”
“That’s what I meant.” He nodded across to the weapon. “Sword, blade, there all the same to me, and let’s face it, no matter what fancy name you wanna give it, they can still cause a person some serious damage.
“Suppose so.” Wafting his hands in the air to clear the cigar smoke, Mickey sat forward. “I’m looking for me cousin.”
Eric screwed up his face. “Cousin? What cousin?”
Unpredictable and paranoid at the best of times, Mickey jumped up from his seat and slammed the point of the sword toward Eric’s stomach. “My fucking cousin.”
Beads of cold sweat spread across Eric’s forehead. “All right, fucking hell. I was only asking which cousin you meant. I mean, you come from a big family, don’t you, Mickey? It could be any one of your cousins on the missing list.”
“I’m talking about me cousin Albie, Albie Bannerman.” He eased the sword away from Eric’s stomach and hovered over the man. The weapon remained poised in his fist, ready and waiting to strike out.
“How would I know where he is?” Eric stammered. “That ain’t my scene, Mickey, you know that.”
“Because you know everything that goes on in the smoke.”
“Nah, Mickey. I’m small time, you know that. I spend my days holed up here with the brasses keeping me nose clean.”
Mickey laughed out loud. There was nothing small time about Eric Porter. “Get on the blower and make some calls. Find out where he is.”
Eric looked up helplessly. Who exactly was he meant to call?
“I said, get on the blower,” Mickey roared.
“All right, fucking hell, all right.” Picking up the telephone receiver, he tapped in a series of digits. Sweat poured out of him, and using his free hand, he snagged a handkerchief across his forehead. “I tell you what, Mickey, why don’t I give you a bell later on this afternoon, once I’ve got something concrete for you, at the very least, a name.”
Thinking it over, Mickey nodded his head. In a roundabout way, it made sense. He couldn’t do much holed up in Eric’s brass house. “It’s a good job I like you Eric,” he smiled.
In return, Eric gave a cautious smile and watched with baited breath as the man walked out of the office, whistling out loud as he did so. The very thought of being on the receiving end of Mickey Shank’s temper, if he didn’t like you, was enough to make him shudder.
Chapter 5
All thanks to Eric Porter, George had the start of a blinding headache and he rubbed wearily at his temples. For the past twenty minutes, he’d listened to Eric screaming blue murder down the phone, demanding to know why he had sent a nutcase like Mickey Shank to see him. And even more importantly, how was he supposed to magic up information out of thin air, single-handed? He wasn’t a miracle worker, he bitterly complained.
“Just phone around your contacts and find out what you can,” George growled down the phone. “Between you and your cousin, you’re bound to find out something.”
He ended the call and sat back in his seat. He wasn’t a big fan of Eric, or his cousin, Dirty John, come to that. Still, if they managed to find out what he wanted to know, then he would give them both a very generous drink on Albie’s safe return.
Even now, he couldn’t rid himself of the niggling thought that Billy King was somehow involved. His hatred of the man was enough to make his blood boil, to send him into a frenzy of anger. He caught sight of his reflection in the glass windowpane of the drinks cabinet. His bulging wide eyes made him look manic, crazy even. His thoughts turned to Mickey. Perhaps the apple didn’t fall far from the tree after all.
* * *
On returning home from one of her shopping trips, Susan smiled. “Thank you, Fletch.”
“No problem.” He returned her smile, climbed out of the car, and opened the rear passenger’s door for her.
Left standing on the driveway with the car keys still held in his hand, he watched as Susan sashayed her way toward the front door. He looked around him and puffed out his cheeks. Other than the Mercedes and his own car, the driveway was empty. Billy was obviously out.
“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself. Billy didn’t care about her, not really. All she was to him was a trophy wife, someone he could have hanging off of his arm. Without missing a beat, he chased after her.
Hearing footsteps behind her, a startled Susan spun around.
His cheeks were flushed red as he strode across the marble hallway and looked his boss’s wife in the eyes. “Why did you really ask Billy to change drivers?”
“I …” Susan shook her head.
“Tell me?”
“I didn’t,” she lied.
“Yes, you did.” He took a step closer. “We both know that you did. Billy would never have pulled me out, unless you asked him to.”
“I thought it would be a nice change from Joseph.” She placed her handbag on the hallway table, averting her eyes as she did so. “I don’t like him.” She gave a little shudder. “There’s something about the way he always watches me. He gives me the creeps.”
“You’re lying.”
She made to walk away, and he grasped her wrist, pulling her back toward him. “Why did you really ask Billy?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“You’re lying.”
She looked down at his hand still clasping her wrist and tried to pull it free. “You’ve got some …”
“Front,” he interrupted. “Yeah, we’ve already established that.”
Her heart began to beat faster, and swallowing deeply, she glanced toward the front door in fear. “Billy will be home soon.”
“No, he won’t.” Fletch’s eye-line flicked toward the door. She was right. Billy could walk in at any moment.
“I think you should leave right now.”
He released her hand and watched her walk across the hallway. She had never looked more beautiful to him than she did right now. “Why did you really ask him?” There was an urgency to his tone and his breath caught in his throat, as he waited for her to answer.
Susan closed her eyes, brought her hand up to her face, and turned around. “Because …”
“Because what?” He took a step closer and searched her face, wanting to hear her say the words out loud. He needed to hear them, as well as he knew that he needed air to breathe. “Wa
s it because you wanted me to drive you around? Or was it because you wanted to see me again?”
She hesitated and gave a slight inclination of her head. There was so much more to it than just that. “Because you saw me as being more than just Billy’s wife.” There was more than a hint of bitterness in her voice. “When you asked me how I was, you genuinely wanted to know. You didn’t ask, just because you had to, or because you were afraid of what Billy would say if you didn’t.”
He nodded his head, and glancing across to the closed front door, he took a step even closer. Despite the fact that he was skating on thin ice, very thin ice, and that every fibre in his body told him to run away from this woman as fast as his size ten feet would allow him to, he was unable to stop himself.
Susan King had managed to crawl her way underneath his skin, and no matter how much he tried to, and he really had tried, he just couldn’t erase her from his mind. “Even with all this,” he glanced around him. “Even with everything you have, I don’t think you’re happy.” He poked himself in the chest. “In here, you’re not happy, are you?”
She shook her head and looked down at her feet, averting her eyes as she did so.
“I know you better than you think I do.” He stepped forward, backing her up against the wall and forcing her to look up at him. His face was poised just inches away from hers. “I’ve watched you, studied you; and I’ve seen how nervous you are around me.” His thumb reached out to touch her throat, and he gently stroked the delicate skin there. “Did you know that whenever you’re nervous, your pulse,” he moved his thumb to the side of her neck, “it pulsates each time you swallow.”