The Price

by Kerry Kaya

  “Course you have, my darling. That’d be the shock.” She led the way into the lounge and indicated for Tina to take a seat on the chintz patterned sofa.

  “The shock? Wait a minute, but how? How could you possibly know?”

  “Well, of course I know, darling. I am his mum,” Jenny laughed.

  “But how? I mean, Fletch doesn’t even know yet.”

  “Know what?” Jenny narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were talking about him being sent down.”

  “No.” She shook her head and looked down at her lap. Taking a deep breath, she looked upwards and met Jenny’s eyes. “Mrs. Fletcher, I’m pregnant with Fletch’s child.”

  Holding onto the arm of the chair, Jenny made the sign of the cross across her chest. Not that she was a religious woman by any means, it was just something you did when you received a shock, wasn’t it?

  “Oh, my Lord,” she cried. “Pregnant? Are you sure? I mean, have you taken a test? Have you had it confirmed?”

  Tina nodded her head, barely able to keep the sly grin from her face. “I’ve taken several tests and they were all positive. My Fletch is going to be a daddy,” she smiled sweetly.

  * * *

  Turning over on his bunk, Fletch tried his best to ignore the loud rumbling snores that came from his cellmate, Chester Stopes. “Fucking hell, Ches, I’m trying to get some kip here.”

  “Sorry, mate.” Wiping away a slither of saliva that had trickled down the side of his jaw and onto the pillow, Chester belched loudly. “Was I snoring again?”

  “Yeah, just a bit.”

  “Sorry, mate,” Chester said again.

  “Nah, you’re all right.” Swinging his legs around, Fletch sat up. “I couldn’t really sleep anyway,” he said, leaning back on his elbows.

  “You thinking about your girl again?”

  Fletch sighed. “Yeah, something like that.” Only she wasn’t his girl. She was a grown woman and was also married to his boss. “It’s over between us anyway, so no point dwelling on it, I suppose.”

  “That’s defeatist talk, that is.” Chester reached out for a matchstick thin roll up, and placed it between his lips. “Twenty years ago, first time I was ever banged up, my old woman told me it was over between us. But look at us now, twenty years later, and we’re still going strong.”

  “That’s because you’ve been locked up for over half that time.” Fletch rolled his eyes.

  “No, it ain’t.” Chester blew out a perfect smoke ring and lay back on his bunk. “It’s because I didn’t give up. I knew, deep down, she still loved me, see.”

  Following suit, Fletch lay back down and placed his hands behind his head. His thoughts turned to Susan. Did she love him, he wondered? Had she ever loved him? He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, all the while, images of Susan King haunted his dreams.

  * * *

  “Are you any feeling better, darling?” Jenny tentatively knocked on the bathroom door. Having stayed up until the early hours of the morning talking, she’d invited Tina to stay the night, much to the chagrin of her brother.

  “Yes, thank you.” Tina pulled open the bathroom door. “It’s this morning sickness,” she complained. “It’s knocking me for six.”

  Jenny nodded her head. “You do look a bit peaky. I was the same when I was carrying Fletch. I was as sick as a dog for the first four months.”

  “Four months?” Tina groaned.

  “It’ll all be worth it. You just wait until you’ve got that baby in your arms and then you’ll see,” Jenny chuckled. “How about a cuppa before you have to go home.”

  Crocodile tears sprang to Tina’s eyes. “I don’t really have a home anymore, Mrs. Fletcher. My mum and dad went Garrity when they found out about the baby.” She lowered her voice. “They demanded I get rid of it.”

  “What? An abortion?” Jenny cried.

  Tina nodded her head. “My dad was all set to drag me off to the clinic.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we? That little bubba in there is my first grandchild. I’ll tell you what, you can sleep in Fletch’s room, and Spencer can kip on the sofa.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t do that.” Tina flapped her hands as if embarrassed. “I can’t put you out like that.”

  “Yes, you can, and you’re not putting me out. Besides, it’ll only be until Fletch comes home. I’m sure he’ll want you to both have your own place before the baby is even born.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher. I can’t thank you enough, really I can’t.”

  “No need to thank me, and it’s Jenny. No need for formalities. You’re family now.”

  Tina smiled sweetly. “How about I make that cup of tea? It’s the least I can do.”

  “That’d be lovely, darling.” She watched as her son’s girlfriend set about filling the kettle and smiled to herself. Her boy had landed on his feet with this one, she was certain of it.

  * * *

  “Look lively, here he is.” Billy King grinned widely and jumped out of the car. It was five months later, and after his short stretch inside, Fletch was about to be released from prison.

  Strolling through the iron gates, Fletch matched Billy’s smile. “Fucking hell, is that for me?” he asked, nodding his head toward the white stretch limousine parked outside Wormwood Scrubs.

  “Nah, it’s for that bloke behind yer.” Billy rolled his eyes. “Course it’s for you.” He opened the door to reveal Spencer, Stevie, and Frank sprawled across the leather seats. Held aloft in their hands, were bottles of the finest champagne, no cheap crap from the local supermarket.

  “Bloody hell,” Fletch grinned. He slipped off his jacket, threw it across the seat, took the bottle of champagne that was handed to him, and took a deep swig before climbing inside.

  “Good to see you, Fletch,” Stevie said, shaking his hand.

  “Same here. Anything happen while I’ve been away?”

  “Nah, nothing.” He gave Spencer a sidelong glance, warning him to keep his mouth shut about Tina. He had a sneaky suspicion her little or not-so-little revelation, as the case happened to be, wasn’t going to go down too well. In fact, it would be fair to say the shit was truly going to hit the fan. “Here, a little sweetie for you.” He pulled out from his jacket pocket a small bag filled to the brim with tiny white pills and passed across one.

  “Cheers, mate.” Fletch winked his appreciation and swallowed the pill down with a mouthful of champagne. “And what about you, have you been behaving yourself?” he asked, turning his attention to his brother.

  “Course I have, Fletch.” Spencer gave him a wide, beaming, lopsided grin. He’d missed his big brother.

  “Good.” He clasped his brother on the shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “So, what’s the plan then?” he asked, shuffling along the seat so Billy could climb into the limousine beside him.

  “The plan is to get you shitfaced for a start,” Billy grinned. “The guvnor of the Robin Hood is gonna have a lock-in.”

  Fletch nodded his head, impressed. He had a sneaky feeling the guvnor wouldn’t have had much of a choice on the matter. Billy could be persuasive when the mood took him, and if his charm didn’t work, then the threat of a shotgun blast to the back of the head usually did the trick. “I think I’ll just nip home and see me mum first.”

  “Nah, you don’t wanna do that.” Stevie spoke fast, too fast.

  “Why not?” Taking a swig of the champagne, Fletch narrowed his eyes.

  “Because it’s your first night out of clink, ain’t it?” He gave a nervous laugh. “You’ve got at least six months of boozing to catch up on.”

  Fletch shrugged his shoulders and guzzled back the champagne. He supposed they were right. There was plenty of time to see his mum, and she would understand if he was a bit late coming home.

  “Here and this is for you. Your cut from the rave turnover.” Billy reached forward and picked up a carrier bag full of used bank notes. “I kept it safe for you, mate.”

  “Peering inside
the bag, Fletch laughed out loud. “Cheers, Billy. I’m gonna need this to get back on me feet.”

  “Yeah, you will an’ all.” Frank belched loudly, ignoring the warning shots from the occupants of the car. “This champagne is repeating on me,” he complained.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Fletch looked around him. “Why’re you all acting so shifty?”

  “Shifty? No we ain’t. You’re turning into a right paranoid twat.” Billy slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s just good to see you back, that’s all. I’ve even got a couple of jobs lined up for us.”

  “Fucking hell, Billy. I’ve only just come out of nick. I don’t wanna go back inside just yet.”

  “Well, you’re gonna need the money.” Frank continued to belch.

  Narrowing his eyes, Fletch eyed his uncle over the rim of the bottle. “Why am I gonna need the money, Frank? You chucking me out or something?”

  “Course he ain’t, are you, Frank?” Billy gave the older man a cold stare. “Now, come on, get that booze down ya,” he grinned, changing the subject. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  Amid their laughter, Fletch couldn’t help but think it sounded hollow to his ears. Something was going on, he knew that much. In fact, he’d bet his life on it that something was amiss.

  * * *

  The Robin Hood public house, in Dagenham, was crammed full of the usual punters. They let up a cheer as Fletch entered the doors, and he punched his fist in the air, giving them a wide grin.

  “Drinks all around!” Billy shouted out, much to the joy of the regulars. “And give us a dozen more bottles of your finest champagne for our exclusive party.” He paid for the drinks, then led Fletch over to a corner booth so they could speak in private. “There’s been some problems with the Bannermans,” he stated.

  “What problems? Is it to do with the E’s?” Fletch took a seat. He rested one of his forearms across the sticky table top, the other, he draped casually around the top of the chair beside him.

  “Nah,” Billy shook his head. “That other business we took care of.”

  Immediately, Fletch’s eyes flickered across the bar. His brother was doubled over laughing at some joke he had been told. Even as Fletch watched him laugh, he highly doubted that Spencer even understood the punchline. Spencer was a people pleaser, always had been.

  “They don’t know, do they?” he asked, sitting forward and giving Billy his full attention.

  “Of course they don’t.”

  “So,” he lifted his shoulders and leaned back in the chair once more, “what’s the problem then?”

  Billy glanced behind him. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that they’ve been asking around, wanting to know if anyone saw Albie the day he went missing.”

  “But no one did, did they?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” He swallowed down a mouthful of champagne. “They’ve got Mickey Shank terrorising people. The mad bastard is threatening to cut them up if they don’t give him information.”

  Mickey Shank?” Fletch frowned. “I didn’t know he was involved with the Bannermans.”

  “He’s one of their relatives. A distant cousin or something like that.”

  “Is he? I didn’t know that.”

  “Who gives a fuck if they’re related or not?” Billy narrowed his eyes. “It ain’t, this is your fucking life, is it?” he asked, referring to the televised chat show that Eamonn Andrews fronted.

  “Yeah, I know.” Fletch shrugged his shoulders. “It just surprised me I suppose.”

  “Well,” Billy sighed, “you can see now why it’s causing a concern.”

  “Yeah.” Fletch nodded his head, deep in thought. “You’re not worried though, are you?”

  “Of who, Shank? Nah, course I ain’t. He’s nothing but a fucking tool merchant. I’d muller the fucker with one arm tied behind my back.” He picked up a beer mat and rolled it between his fingers. There was a nervousness about him that Fletch had never seen before. “Take away those fucking blades he carries around with him, and he’s fuck all,” he added, full of bravado. “No, what worries me is that those questions could end up one way or another leading back to me.” He nodded across the pub to where Spencer was standing. “And of course to your brother, and let’s face it, that’s aggro we don’t need.”

  “So, who else knows about it?”

  Billy paused. “Well, obviously we had to dispose of the body, didn’t we?”

  “The breakers yard down Crow Lane?”

  “You’ve got it in one. Now, I trust this geezer in any normal circumstances, but faced with Mad Mickey Shank and a blade up to his throat, and well, he may just start talking.”

  “So, what do you want to do? Pay him a visit?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking tomorrow morning, just you and me. We could take a trip down there and have a nice friendly little chat with him.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Fletch nodded his head.

  “Good lad.” With the business concluded, Billy made to stand up.

  Remaining seated, Fletch glanced around the pub. “Who was it that set me up?” he asked, tipping his chin in the air.

  Billy sat back down. Like Fletch, his cold eyes glanced around the room. “I don’t know, mate.”

  “Someone tipped the old bill the wink, you know that as well as I do.”

  “Yeah, it looks that way,” Billy sighed.

  “So then,” Fletch shifted his weight, “there’s a snake in our camp, Billy.” His voice had a steely tone to it. “And I wanna know who the fuck it is.”

  “You’re not the only one, mate.” Billy was thoughtful as he looked around the room. “We’ll sniff him out; he’ll make a mistake. He can’t stay hidden forever, can he?”

  Fletch shrugged his shoulders. Sniffing out the bastard was proving to be the hard part.

  “Come on,” Billy grinned. “Let’s get back to celebrating your freedom.”

  Fletch gave him a stilted smile. He looked down at his wristwatch. He would give it another hour or so, then slip out the back door and see his old mum. She would most probably be going out of her mind with worry.

  * * *

  “Mum, I’m home.”

  An hour later, Fletch breezed into the house, a wide grin was spread across his face. In his fist was a bunch of carnations, and in his other hand, a box of her favourite milk chocolates. As he entered the lounge, his smile froze. Sitting on the chintz patterned sofa beside his old mum was his ex, Tina.

  “Surprise,” she gushed, spreading out her arms to reveal the large bump in front of her.

  “What are you doing here?” Even as he said the words, he could hear the anger in his voice. The last person he wanted to see was his ex on returning home from his six-month stretch inside.

  “Fletch,” Jenny scolded. “Where are your manners? Tina wanted to see you, been waiting six months, she has.” She nodded down to the bump. “She’s got something to tell you, son, something important.”

  A feeling of dread swept over him. He looked to the bump, then to his ex’s face. Tina’s smug expression told him everything he needed to know.

  “Is it even mine?”

  Tina gasped and crocodile tears filled her eyes. She snapped her head toward Jenny, her only ally. “I knew he would be like this; I told you he would go off of his head, didn’t I?”

  Jenny glared at her son. “How could you be so insensitive? I’ve never been so bloody ashamed of you.”

  “What?” He spread out his arms. “I’ve got every right to ask. I’ve been banged up for the past six fucking months. How can that,” he said, pointing to the bump, “possibly be mine?”

  “I’m eight months gone.” Tina sniffed back her tears.

  Her revelation struck a chill inside of him, and he felt his face pale underneath the brightly lit lightbulb. “Eight months?” he stammered. In his mind, he hastily calculated the dates.

  “Yes, eight months.”

  “Didn’t they tell you when they picked you up from priso
n?” Jenny asked.

  “No, they fucking didn’t,” Fletch snapped back. He’d known all along that they were acting shifty. Now, he knew the reason why. He looked across to his mother, saw the beaming smile there at the thought of holding her first grandchild, and after throwing the presents he’d bought her onto the empty armchair, he began to back out of the room. “I can’t deal with this. I can’t fucking deal with it,” he yelled, retreating out of the house and running as fast and as far away as his legs would carry him.

  * * *

  Mickey Shank was grinning from ear to ear. Sitting on the back seat of George’s car, he listened intently to what his cousin had to say. Clasped between his legs was his sword, and he admired the intricate detailing of the hilt, appreciating the way in which the streetlights streaming through the car windows bounced off of the steel.

  Tonight, he was determined that she would be earning her stripes. He could barely contain his excitement. After all, he’d waited patiently, biding his time, waiting for this moment to come.

  “My grass has told me that that slippery little cunt King is gonna be in this boozer tonight,” George snarled. As he looked toward the Robin Hood public house, he could feel the familiar sense of anger begin to build inside of him once more. He could feel his pure hatred of the man seeping out of his pores.

  The occupants of the car turned their heads to look across at the pub.

  “Yeah, and what if he’s wrong?” asked Jason Miller, one of George’s firm members. “It ain’t like this snout of yours has given you much to go on in the past, is it? Ten months Albie has been missing for, and you’ve still had nothing concrete. No names, no nothing. He didn’t just vanish into thin air, did he? Someone somewhere knows what happened to him.”

  George shrugged his shoulders. It was true. So far, Joseph Hatton had proved himself to be useless when it came to providing information. Still, the suspicion he had that King was involved in his brother’s disappearance niggled at him.