The Price

by Kerry Kaya

  Despite herself, Susan swallowed deeply, and the vein at the side of her neck bobbed up and down, proving him right. The action caused him to lift his eyebrows and chuckle out loud, as if to say, see, I told you so.

  “I think you told Billy to switch drivers, because you wanted me to do this.” He placed one hand on the wall above her head, lowered his face to meet hers, and brushed his lips across her cheek.

  She didn’t push him away or slap his face for being so forward, and right there and then, elation coursed through his veins. He’d been right after all; she wanted this to happen, just as much as he did. Maintaining eye contact, his breathing became noticeably heavier, and he licked his tongue across his bottom lip.

  “Tell me it’s what you want,” he said, his voice deep and husky.

  Susan gave a slight nod of her head.

  “Tell me,” he urged her. “I need to hear you say it.”

  “Yes,” her voice came out a bare whisper. “It’s what I want.”

  He swooped in for a kiss, relishing the taste of her. The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, and fisting his hands in her hair, he pulled her body even closer.

  “We can’t.” Coming to her senses, a flush of heat spread across Susan’s skin. She pulled herself free and shook her head. “Billy will …”

  He placed his finger against her plump lips, silencing her. “Billy will never find out.”

  * * *

  From the corner of her eye, Jenny Fletcher studied her eldest son. She noted the wide grin spread across his face and smiled; it was good to see him looking so happy.

  “Mum, could you iron this for me, please?”

  He handed across his favourite shirt and she lifted her eyebrows. “Who are you getting yourself spruced up for?”

  “No one.” He gave her a coy grin and slung his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

  “You can’t fool me,” she laughed, opening out the ironing board. “I could smell you coming down the stairs, you’ve splashed on that much aftershave. Have you met someone?”

  “No, of course I haven’t.” His cheeks blushed a deep shade of pink, and he looked away, as he blatantly lied through his teeth, causing Jenny to laugh even harder.

  “She must be special.” She nodded down at the shirt she had spread across the board and gave him a little wink. “Well, whoever she is, I hope that she makes you happy. That’s all I want for you, darling.”

  “Mum, I’m going to work, that’s it.”

  “In your favourite shirt?”

  “It’s just a shirt, nothing special.” He rolled his eyes and turned to walk out of the room. No matter how hard he tried to hide the truth from her, he knew his old mum would be able to suss him out. She had a knack for doing just that. “I’m just going to work,” he muttered.

  Pursing her lips, Jenny nodded her head and set to ironing out the creases. As her son left the kitchen, she gave a little chuckle. “Just going to work. Pull the other one,” she grinned, “it’s got bells on.”

  * * *

  Susan was already waiting on the doorstep when Fletch pulled onto the driveway. Her cheeks were flushed, and she gave him a wide grin.

  “I’m not late, am I?” he asked, jumping out of the car.

  “No,” she smiled.

  “Where’s Billy?” He looked around and noted that his boss’s car was missing from the drive.

  “Out, all day apparently.” She gave him a coy grin and reached out for his hand. “He said that he won’t be back for hours.”

  Lifting his eyebrows, Fletch matched her smile. “So, we’ve got the place to ourselves then?”

  Susan nodded her head and giggled.

  “I take it you don’t want to go shopping today?”

  “No, not today.” She shook her head and pulled him into the house.

  He kicked the front door closed behind them, and glancing over his shoulder at the still empty driveway, he eagerly followed her up the solid oak staircase. The fact that he was playing a very dangerous game was erased from his mind.

  * * *

  Hurtling down the A13 at break-neck speed, George Bannerman and his firm were on their way to Southend, in Essex. Out of thin air, Eric Porter had managed to magic up some information. An associate of his had been moonlighting as a doorman at a casino in the seaside town, and could positively remember seeing Albie.

  “This girl is gonna be earning her stripes tonight.” Mickey Shank could barely contain his excitement, and as he sat on the backseat, he hugged his sword toward him, with a wide grin spread across his face. “It can take a man’s head clean off of his shoulders. Glides through muscle and bone like a hot knife through butter.”

  “Give it a fucking rest, Mickey,” George snapped. For the past twenty minutes, Shank had regaled them with stories about the damage he’d committed over the years.

  “I was only saying …” The corners of Mickey’s lips turned down.

  “Yeah well, we get the fucking picture.”

  Twenty minutes later, George screeched the car to halt outside the Red Dice Casino and jumped out. Without even taking a moment to pause, he bounded inside the venue and strode across the blue and red swirling carpet toward the reception desk.

  “Jed Morris?” he barked to the receptionist.

  She pointed her finger past the slot machines to where the poker room was situated at the back of the premises.

  * * *

  Jed Morris was built like a brick shithouse and had long, swinging dreadlocks that he kept tied off of his face. Despite his fierce reputation on the street, he had a heart of gold.

  He spotted the group of men striding across the casino and made his way toward them.

  “Mr. Bannerman?” He put out his hand. “Eric told me to expect a visit from you.”

  George nodded his head. He shook the outstretched hand and got straight down to business. “You saw my brother in here?”

  “That’s right.” He walked across to where the roulette tables were. “He spent the night here at this table.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “From what I could make out. He stayed until about four in the morning. He told me he’d had a good night.” He patted his back pocket. “He left happy, if you get my meaning.”

  “So, he was up on his luck?”

  “Yeah.” Jed nodded his head. “That was the impression he gave me.”

  As he took in his surroundings, George thought this through. Could it simply be the case that Albie had been rolled of his winnings, and subsequently suffered a misfortune? “And you’re saying he was definitely alone? He didn’t speak to anyone. No one was bothering him?”

  Lifting his shoulders, Jed shook his head. Ever since his telephone call with Eric, he’d wracked his brain, going over and over that night in his mind, trying to recall if he’d missed something, if anything had seemed amiss. “I’m pretty certain he was alone, but I can’t tell you if he spoke to anyone or not. It was a busy night. We had to throw a rowdy stag party out. You know the type. Jumped-up pricks who’ve had too much to drink and think they own the gaff.”

  “Yeah,” George sighed. It was beginning to look like a wasted journey after all. He rubbed at his temple. “If you can think of anything else, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem, let me know.”

  “I will do, Mr. Bannerman.” He shook George’s hand once more and watched the men leave.

  * * *

  They walked back out onto the street. As always, the area was busy. Day-trippers strolled the promenade, eating ice creams and candy floss. The scent of burgers and onions frying wafted toward them, and in the distance, George could hear the sound of children building sandcastles on the beach. Their squeals of delight as they paddled in the sea was suddenly loud to his ears, depressing him.

  “Well, that was a waste of time,” Mickey sulked. He’d had visions of taking a swipe at anyone who dared look at him the wrong way. “I reckon we should go back in there and slice that bastard up.”<
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  “For what reason?” George barked. He’d known all along it was a bad move bringing Mickey along for the ride.

  “I don’t like the look of him. The wanker knows more than he’s letting on.”

  “Get in the motor, Mickey.” Losing patience, George blew out his cheeks. He took note of the madness in his cousin’s eyes and took a step forward, his voice low, dangerous. “I said, get in the fucking motor.”

  Mickey swallowed deeply, and without saying another word, he did as he was told and climbed into the car. The tone in George’s voice instantly transported him back in time, to a time when he had been just sixteen years old, and his alcoholic, waste of space mother and her deadbeat lover had been brutally murdered.

  He licked at his dry lips and squeezed his eyes shut tight, in a bid to push the sickening images away from his mind. As he gripped onto the door handle, flashes of George and Albie standing over the lifeless bodies swirled around his head. He swallowed down a mouthful of bile.

  “Get in the motor,” George had roared, as between them, they had pulled him shaking and crying away from the murder scene. Even then, even at such a young age, he’d known better than to argue back. You didn’t argue with the Bannermans, even though, by rights, it should have been him calling the shots. After all, he had been the one wielding the bloodied knife that fateful day.

  Slipping onto the driver’s seat, George started the engine. With one final glance at the casino, he drove the car forward. Just moments later, he slammed his foot on the brake, causing the occupants to throw their hands out in front of them to save themselves.

  “What the fuck?” they complained.

  “It’s Albie’s motor.” He threw open the car door and jumped out, making the car behind swerve across the road to narrowly avoid hitting him. “It’s Albie’s motor,” he repeated.

  Following suit, George’s firm climbed out. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m fucking sure.” He looked the car over with a critical eye. There was no physical damage, no tell-tale signs that anything untoward had taken place. He was getting closer to finding his brother, he knew he was.

  * * *

  By the time Billy returned home, Fletch was sitting inside his car. He rolled down the driver’s window and gave his boss a wide smile, hiding the fact that he had just spent the entire morning in bed with his wife, doing the unthinkable.

  “You all right?” Billy strode across the driveway and leant his hand on the roof of the car.

  “Yeah.”

  “Any dates yet for the next rave?”

  “Nah.” Fletch shook his head. “It’s gotta be soon though. We’re gonna need to be ready to rock and roll as soon as I hear anything.”

  “Yeah.” Billy was thoughtful. “Organise a meeting pronto. Everything needs to be put in place.” He began to move toward the house, then stopping abruptly, he turned around and walked back to the car. “And what about Spencer?”

  “What about him?” Fletch narrowed his eyes.

  “Does he know to keep his mouth shut about Bannerman?”

  “Yeah, of course he does.”

  “You’ve put the hard word on him?”

  “Yeah.” Swallowing deeply, Fletch nodded his head.

  “Good.” There was a steely glint in Billy’s eyes and his tone became threatening. Spencer Fletcher was the weakest link, as far as he was concerned. “Make sure he knows to keep shtum.”

  “I will do.” Reminded that Billy was a very dangerous individual, Fletch bowed his head. He would need to have a serious word with his brother and remind him, once again, to keep his trap shut for both of their sakes.

  * * *

  “I know. You keep on telling me.” Sitting at the kitchen table, Spencer rolled his eyes.

  “It ain’t a game, Spence.”

  “I know that.”

  “You killed a man, and not just any man, it was Albie fucking Bannerman.”

  “I know,” Spencer shouted back. “I know all of this, Fletch. Why do you keep having a go at me and banging on and on about it?”

  Fletch averted his eyes. He could hardly tell his brother the truth … the truth being that his life was at risk, if he opened his mouth and let slip about what he and Billy had done to the youngest of the Bannerman brothers.

  “I’m just worried, that’s all, and I’m not having a go at you, Spence.” He lowered his voice and sat forward in his seat, watching from the corner of his eye as his mum entered the kitchen. “I just want to make sure that you’re clear on the situation, and that you remember to keep schtum.”

  “What are you having a go at him for?” Jenny eyed her two sons suspiciously.

  “I’m not,” Fletch groaned.

  “Well then, leave him alone.” She gave her youngest son a wide smile and patted his arm. “Where’s your uncle anyway?”

  “Where he always is,” Fletch snapped. “Down the fucking pub.” He scraped back his chair, stood up, and took in his mother’s startled expression. “I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” he said, giving her a half smile.

  The truth was, as much as he wanted to put the hard word on his brother, it was himself he was also worried about. He should never have made a move on Susan, should never have taken the situation to the next level. He just couldn’t help himself.

  There must be something wrong with him, he decided. He must have a death wish. He pondered this over. The problem was, if everything did go tits up, if Billy did find out about what he’d done, then there would be no one to back him up, no one to help fight his corner. Of course, he knew he could count on Spencer and Stevie, but as for Frank, well, his uncle was about as much use as a chocolate teapot.

  “I’m sorry, Mum,” he repeated.

  “It’s okay, son.” She watched as he walked from the kitchen and turned to look at her youngest boy. “What’s up with him?”

  “I dunno.” Spencer shrugged his shoulders. “Had a right go at me, he did, Mum.”

  “Did he now?” Jenny was thoughtful. She’d bet her life on it that her eldest son was having girl trouble. “You leave him to me,” she winked. “I won’t have anyone upset my baby. How about some chocolate cake?” she asked.

  Nodding his head, Spencer grinned happily. Already, the conversation he’d had with his brother was gone from his mind.

  * * *

  It was early evening by the time Fletch, Spencer, and Stevie made their way back toward Billy’s house.

  The dining room was standing room only, and as they pushed their backs against the wall of the crowded room, Billy looked up and nodded his head in acknowledgment at their arrival.

  “We’re gonna rob a venue, one of them raves,” Billy told his men. “We’re gonna take over the doors and take a cut from every pill that’s being sold.” He put his hand out toward Fletch. “Fill ‘em in.”

  Taking a step forward, Fletch spoke. “These raves are raking in the cash. Now, we won’t know until the actual day when or where they will take place. So, we need to be ready to roll, as soon as I get the information.”

  Joseph leaned back in his chair, across his face was a scowl. When the fuck had all of this been planned out? He chewed on the inside of his cheek, glaring at Fletch, the oh-so-fucking-fabulous protégée. Once again, he had been pushed out of the loop, and as a result, he was livid.

  “Would have been nice to have been told beforehand,” he growled.

  “You’re being told now,” Billy snapped back. “Carry on.” He waved his hand in the air.

  “So,” Fletch continued, “we’re gonna need to be tooled up, just to put our point across. These kids are fuck all anyway, but should they start getting lairy, an iron bar to the face should do the trick.”

  At this, Billy nodded his head. “All you need to do is wait for our instruction as to when and where you go.”

  “Yeah,” Fletch added. “Everything is organised by word of mouth, and directions are usually left in various public telephone boxes. All we have
to do is keep following them until we get to the venue. It’s simple really.”

  “Sounds pointless to me,” Joseph grumbled. He looked around the room and locked eyes with Keith, knowing for a fact that the man would see his point. “I mean, robbing a kids’ party, for fuck’s sake. We’re hardly gonna come out rolling in dough, are we?” he sniggered.

  Fletch laughed out loud. “It’s a bit more than a kids’ party. Think of it as a nightclub, but only put on illegally.”

  “Still,” Joseph protested, “I can’t see us making any profit doing this.” The truth was, he just didn’t like the fact that it had been organised behind his back, and more to the point, he didn’t like the fact that it had been organised by Fletch.

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Billy sat forward in the chair. “They’re raking in thousands of pounds each week, and seeing as it’s on my manor,” he spread out his arms, “that means, I’m owed a cut of whatever they take.”

  Still, Joseph was unsure. He tugged at his brown hair, thinking the situation through. “And who supplies these pills? Who’s putting the money up front for them?”

  Lounging back in his chair, Billy flashed him a wide grin. “I’ll give you two guesses.”

  There and then, Joseph felt his heart sink and his bowels loosen. “Bannerman,” he offered.

  “You’ve got it, and from now on, everything will be going through me.” He lifted his eyebrows slightly. “Bannerman, the lanky streak of piss, can go and take a running jump. Who the fuck does he think he is, having the audacity to peddle on my patch?”

  * * *

  Darkness had descended as they travelled down the country lanes in a convoy toward the latest rave that was taking place. Just as Fletch had predicted at the meeting the previous evening, directions had been left in public telephone boxes, instructing the ravers where to go.