The Price

by Kerry Kaya

  Up ahead of him on the driveway, Fletch was sitting inside his BMW, exactly where, under any normal circumstances, he would have expected to find him. Silently, he counted to ten before striding toward his so-called protégée. As he approached, his expression remained neutral, masking the hatred that seeped out of his pores.

  “You all right, mate?” There was a calmness to his voice, and that fact alone both shocked and impressed him.

  “Yeah.” Fletch gave him a wide smile.

  Billy nodded his head. He placed his hands behind his back and balled his fists. “Did you take my missus shopping?”

  “Yeah, just this minute got back.” Fletch leaned back in his seat and grinned up at his boss, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “I have to warn you, though, I think that Mrs. King went to town on your credit card.”

  Billy returned the smile, all the while, his blue eyes remained cold. Lying bastard, he thought to himself. He resisted the urge to sarcastically applaud him. The traitorous bastard was wasted in their world. He should have been up on a stage someplace, surrounded by bright lights, quoting Shakespeare.

  “You might as well get yourself off home.” He glanced across to the house and narrowed his eyes. “Go and see that boy of yours while you can.” Without another word, he abruptly turned and headed for the front door.

  There and then, he decided that he was going to decimate them, both of them, but not before he’d taken his rage out on his so-called wife first.

  * * *

  Adrenalin spurned Spencer on, and sprinting as fast as he was able to, he made his getaway from the rundown council estate. From his open mouth, his breath tore out of him in short, sharp, ragged bursts. His heart pumped hard and fast, and in his side, the pain that had started as a dull ache, had begun to intensify beyond anything he had ever known before. He grimaced as the sickening, twisting, burning sensation took hold, engulfing him.

  Discarded takeaway containers, crumpled cola cans, and sweet wrappers littered a deserted alleyway, and he slowed his pace down. More than anything, he needed to catch his breath.

  With one hand curled around a six-foot iron railing, he twisted his head this way and that, checking that he was alone. Then he pressed his hand to his side, in a bid to stop the searing pain. His body was hunched over and he could barely breathe, as his lungs fought against the exertion to inhale the air that his body needed. He breathed in and out, inhaling and exhaling large gulps of air. Why was the pain in his side getting worse?

  He straightened up, brought his hand away from his body, and looked down at the bright red blood smeared there. Panic rose within him, and a low guttural groan that resembled a wounded animal, spilled from his lips. He’d thought that Bannerman’s henchman had punched him in the gut, not stabbed him. Where had the blade even come from?

  Gingerly, he touched the wound for a second time and looked down. His fingers were wet, sticky, and coated in red. He was bleeding out, just like his Uncle Frank had done when Shank slashed him. Pressing down on the wound even farther, his eyes were wide, scared. He didn’t want to die.

  The sound of footsteps approaching the alleyway, caused him to snap his head upwards. It was an elderly woman, chattering away to a young child. He pressed his hand into his side once more, and fought against the urge to ask her for help. No, she was bound to call the police, once she realised he’d been stabbed. Instead, he sucked in his breath, exhaled slowly, then staggered away.

  He continued walking, and as he approached the busy High Street, he picked up his pace. He wasn’t being followed, he was pretty certain of that. Up ahead of him, he spotted a taxi rank. The pain was becoming so much worse, and he was beginning to feel dizzy.

  He needed to get home, and fast. Breaking out into a jog, he kept one hand pressed to the wound. As he barged his way through the throng of passers-by, they turned to look as he ambled on his way, muttering out obscenities that he should look where he was going.

  At the taxi rank, he stumbled onto the back seat of a waiting car, and yanking the door closed behind him, he gritted his teeth, leaned back slightly, then reached into his denim pockets and pulled out a wad of cash. Throwing the money onto the front passenger’s seat, he briefly closed his eyes. “Take me to Dagenham,” he groaned. “And put your foot down.”

  * * *

  “Just wait here for me, yeah?” Fletch glanced across to his boss’s front door. He and Stevie had been on their way to get some food, and just as he’d pulled up outside a Turkish restaurant, in Green Lane, Dagenham, his mouth already watering at the prospect of filling his belly with chicken kofte, Susan had telephoned him and told him to come back to the house, as a matter of urgency.

  Just hearing her husky voice, was enough to make him instantly hard. He couldn’t get enough of her. As far as he was concerned, it was a no-brainer. The food could wait, much to Stevie’s annoyance.

  “I won’t be long,” he told his best mate.

  Pulling down the glove box, Stevie began sorting through a selection of compact discs. “Hurry up then,” he said, looking upwards. “I’m starving.”

  “All right, just give me a minute.” Fletch rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car. His mobile phone began to buzz and he looked down at the screen. It was Spencer. He didn’t have time for this right now. The call rung off. He glanced back at the house, then tossed the phone across. “It’s Spence. If he rings again, answer it for me, mate.”

  He walked toward the front door, and noting that Billy’s car was absent from the driveway, he briefly wondered if he had time to drag Susan upstairs for a quick session, before Stevie came looking for him. Probably not, he groaned to himself.

  As he lifted his hand to rap the brass knocker, the front door edged open. Taking a quick glance back at his car, he cautiously took a step across the threshold.

  “Suze?” he tentatively called out.

  When he received no reply, he entered the hallway. His body was on full alert as he moved forward. What the fuck was going on? Why was the front door open? He paused in front of the door leading to the dining room.

  “Suze?” he called out for a second time. Still no reply.

  Even though he knew it was a long shot, he pushed open the dining room door anyway. The room that Billy used for business meetings was just as he’d expected it to be, empty. He edged his way toward the lounge, and as he pushed open the heavy oak door, he braced himself.

  “For fuck’s sake, Suze.” He physically relaxed when he saw her sitting on one of the high-backed chairs facing him. “You worried the fucking life out of me, babe. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  With her eyes remaining downcast, Susan lifted her head. Terror was etched across her beautiful face. Her left eyelid had swelled to three times its usual size, and a trickle of blood snaked its way down from one nostril, toward the edge of her full, pink lips, the same lips he had kissed, over and over again, just that afternoon. Across her high cheekbones, already he could see bruises beginning to form, and her body shook so violently that his blood ran cold, just thinking about the horror she must have been through before he arrived.

  “What the fuck, Suze, who did this to you?” He raced into the room and gently took her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. “Tell me, babe,” he urged her. “I swear, before God, I’m going to fucking kill them with my bare hands.”

  “Hello, Fletch. Fancy seeing you back here so soon.”

  The booming voice caught Fletch off guard, and as he swung his head to the right, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end. Shards of ice-cold fear slammed down his spine, and his throat became suddenly dry.

  “Bill,” he spluttered.

  “From the look on your face, I think it’s safe to say that I’m the last person you were expecting to see,” Billy grinned.

  Chapter 15

  Fletch swallowed deeply, and coming to his senses, he sprang away from Susan, in the hope of creating what he prayed looked like a reasonable distance betwee
n them. A pink flush crept up his neck, and he shoved his hands deep into his denim pockets, trying to make himself look less suspicious, as if their interaction was a lot more innocent than it actually looked.

  Without needing to be told, he already knew they had been caught red-handed, and he let out an annoyed groan. There was absolutely no way on earth that an eagle-eyed Billy would have misread what had just taken place.

  As he stared down at the floor, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. What the fuck was going on? What was Billy doing here? Why wasn’t his car on the drive? Who was it that had attacked Susan? Was it Billy himself, and his heavy fists? Had he somehow found out about them?

  “Cat got your tongue, kid?”

  Jerking his head toward Billy for a second time, the breath caught in Fletch’s throat. Kid had been a word Joseph would use to address him. It had been his way of putting him in his place.

  “That’s right, our mutual friend, Joseph.” Billy stabbed his finger forward. “The one you told me was the snake; the one I topped, because you told me he was a fucking grass.” He shook his head. “When all along, it was you. You, who I should have been watching out for.”

  “Nah, Bill.” Finding his voice, Fletch gave a nervous laugh, and a slither of hope filled him. Maybe this wasn’t about him and Susan after all. Perhaps Billy had found out who his father was? Out of the two, it was the better scenario. He looked his boss in the eyes, and swallowed down the urge to not look back at Susan for confirmation. “You know it’s not me, mate. I haven’t been giving Bannerman information.”

  “I can tell you exactly what you’re not, and you’re right, you’re not the grass, and you’re not my fucking mate, either.” Billy’s eyes darkened. “But I can tell you what you are, and that’s a cunt.”

  Fletch opened his mouth to speak, and then, just as quickly, snapped it closed again. His stomach dropped and he dragged his hand across his jaw.

  “Is there something you need to tell me?” His voice began to rise as he looked between his wife and protégée. “Well, come on, I’m waiting. Fill me in on all the gory details. What have I missed, eh? What have the two of you been getting up to behind my back?”

  This was it, the moment Fletch had been waiting for. All he needed to do was admit to the truth, let Billy throw his toys out of the pram, maybe even smash the place up a bit or a lot, grab Susan, and then fuck off someplace where he would never find them again. Only he wasn’t stupid. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing with Billy ever was.

  “Well, answer me.” Billy lifted his arms in the air and his voice began to rise. “I’m still waiting for you to deny the fact that you’ve been shagging my fucking wife.”

  Fletch took this as his chance, and hastily threw a glance in Susan’s direction. He could feel the fear she felt seeping out of her pores and his first instinct, his only instinct, was to fight tooth and nail. She was his life, and he would do everything in his power to protect her. At that same moment, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and with a slight nod of her head, gestured toward the left of where he was standing. The sight that met him made him instantly reel backwards.

  “Whoa, Bill,” he yelled, “there’s no fucking need for that.”

  “How did you think this would end?” There was amusement in Billy’s voice. “Did you really think I was just going to let the two of sail off into the sunset, hand-in-hand, with my approval.”

  Fletch’s heart began to pump faster. He could barely drag his eyes away from the plastic sheeting that had been rolled out across the wooden floorboards. “You don’t have to do this, Bill.” His voice was high. “Not this.”

  “Then explain to me what I should do?” Billy cracked his blood-stained knuckles and took a menacing step closer to his wife. “Come on, Fletch, I’m all ears—how exactly should this,” he said, sweeping his hand between them, “go down?”

  Fletch shook his head. How was he supposed to answer? For the first time in his life, he was actually at a loss for words.

  “Maybe I should just kill her, take her out of the equation?” Lunging forward, Billy grasped his thick fingers around Susan’s slender neck.

  The attack was more than enough to make Fletch see red. He charged after his boss, flung his arms around Billy’s waist, and forcibly hauled him away from her. He could hear Susan gasping for air, alerting him to the fact that she was okay—shocked and hurt maybe—but still conscious, and more importantly, still alive.

  They tumbled to the floor, and with one hand still clamped around Billy’s waist, he used his free hand to jab punches into his boss’s face and ribs. It wasn’t enough, he knew that, and panic began to rise within him. He had to take Billy out. He had to somehow stop him.

  Punches continued to fly, and despite each one hitting his target, Fletch could feel his grip on Billy’s waist loosening. He kicked out his feet, as his fingers struggled to reclaim the hold he’d had on him. His efforts were fruitless. With ease, Billy was able to twist his body around, and much to Fletch’s despair, the older man now had the upper hand. Effortlessly, Billy pulled back his meaty fist and began to pummel it forward. Thick and fast, the punches came crashing down, catching Fletch wherever they landed.

  Even though stars danced in front of his eyes, as each sickening punch now connected with the side of his head, Fletch tried to hold Billy off. He threw his arm around his neck and yanked it backwards, hoping for a reprieve. It did the complete opposite, and only enraged Billy further.

  He wasn’t going to walk away from this, he knew that now. He’d been a fool to even think he could take Billy on and succeed. Images of his son entered his mind. He would grow up fatherless, just like he himself had done. In that instant, he knew that he couldn’t give up, not now, not like this. He owed it to Austin to try and survive.

  He thrashed his body around. If only he could get Billy off of him, he stood a chance of fighting back. In front of him, a tiny window of opportunity appeared, and using his elbow, he slammed it hard into Billy’s face.

  A loud grunt escaped Billy’s lips, his eyes clouded over, and he slumped forward.

  Briefly closing his eyes, Fletch threw his head back, and exhaled loudly. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead, and his chest heaved with each breath he took.

  “Have I …”

  He snapped his eyes open and looked upward. Susan was standing over them. In her hand, she held a heavy crystal ashtray. The look across her face was one of pure panic.

  “Have I killed him?”

  * * *

  Pete’s face was ashen as he barged his way into George’s study and slung the holdall onto the desk.

  “It was a fucking setup,” he breathed heavily. “Someone was waiting for me as I came out of the flat.”

  Tearing his eyes away from his number two, George jumped to his feet, raced around the desk, yanked across the zip, and peered inside the bag. As he eyed up several large zip bags containing the Ecstasy pills, relief surged through him.

  “Who was it?” he demanded to know.

  “Dunno.” Pete rolled his eyes. “Funnily enough, I was a bit too busy to catch his name.”

  George stabbed his finger forward. “That fucking Das, I’ll finish him for this.”

  Pete scratched at his jaw as he thought it over. “I got a good look at him though—big bloke, young, probably in his early twenties. I jibbed the fucker up and he had it away on his toes.”

  “Good.” Satisfied, George nodded his head. He took out one of the polythene bags and turned it over in his hand.

  “Funny thing was, he didn’t look like one of Das’s lot.” He came to stand beside his boss. “I dunno, the more I think about it, I can’t help thinking it all seemed a bit personal. He didn’t even attempt to snatch the bag. If he’d wanted the goods, then surely he would have made a beeline for the holdall.”

  “Big bloke, you said?” George snapped his head upwards.

  “Massive bastard, had a mean right hook on him an’ all.” He touched the s
ide of his face, recalling the jab Spencer had landed upon his jaw.

  At this, George chewed the inside of his cheek. If it had been King, then Pete would have instantly recognised him. He looked into the distance. From what he had seen of his son, and knowing for a fact that he was roughly the same height as Pete, it was safe to say he could rule him out. Besides, if he knew him as well as he thought he did, then he was pretty certain the little fucker wouldn’t dare try to cross him.

  “He didn’t say a single word, just grinned at me manically.” He tapped the side of his head. “I don’t think he was the full ticket.”

  Spencer? As of yet, George hadn’t encountered his youngest son, and he narrowed his eyes at the possibility of his involvement. “How big are we talking?”

  Pete eyed George’s six-foot-three frame up and down. “I’d say your height, give or take an inch.”

  Snarling, George tossed the bag of pills inside the holdall. It was about time he made it his business to have a meet with his youngest boy.

  * * *

  Fletch’s eyes were wide as he rolled Billy off of him and scrambled to his feet.

  “He is, isn’t he?” Susan’s voice began to rise. “I’ve killed him.”

  As he edged toward her, Fletch held out his arms. “Don’t look at him, darling.”

  Susan backed away, her face deathly pale. “Tell me,” she pleaded. “Is he dead?”

  Glancing behind him, Fletch shook his head; he couldn’t tell. “Don’t look, Suze.” He steered her back. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

  Behind them, as he lay slumped out on the floor, Billy groaned.

  A startled scream escaped from Susan’s lips, and without hesitating, Fletch snatched the crystal ashtray out of her hands and pounced forward. Repeatedly, he slammed the object down over his boss’s head, oblivious to the spray of blood that covered him, the ceiling, and walls. He couldn’t stop; he had to keep going. He had to finish what he’d started, and above all else, he had to keep Susan safe.