by Martina Cole
Once they were parked up, he had to force himself to walk towards the Portakabin. It was raining hard and, as he followed his father through the maze of man-made iron walls, he was impressed by his uncle’s planning. If they were raided right this second, the Filth would have no idea whatsoever how to negotiate this place. It was like a rabbit warren, and the scrap was used as its main defence. It was brilliant how his uncle had thought it out.
As they approached the offices, Petey could hear the animal grunting of Billy Allen and, as they walked up the steps, they saw Noel Bailey in the doorway. He was smiling at them, as if this was just a normal visit between family.
Inside, the place was running blood, and the stench of sweat, blood and urine was overpowering in the confines of the small room. Billy Allen was clearly on his last legs and Petey felt the relief wash over him.
Billy was lying back in the typist chair; one hand was no more than a bloody stump, and his fingers, along with his thumb, were strewn all over the floor by his feet. His right eye was gone – Peter Bailey guessed it had been removed by his brother, probably with one of the teaspoons he usually used when making them a cup of tea. Billy looked like something from a Wes Craven movie, but he was unwilling to admit defeat. He was still fighting it, as he lapsed in and out of consciousness. The amount of blood he had lost would have killed any other normal person by now.
Daniel Bailey looked at his brother and shook his head in a gesture of denial, but Peter could see that he was impressed despite everything that was going on. Billy Allen was intent on playing the hard man, right until the bitter end.
‘We’ll get nothing from him, Pete. I think he’s almost enjoying this – the mad bastard – proving how hard he is.’
Peter knew the man had to be in mortal agony; his brother, when he got started, would have gone for the maximum of pain, especially as this was so personal to him.
Danny said loudly, ‘We need that cunt Terrence. I’ve got everyone out looking for him. Now he is a fucking Grade-A coward. He wouldn’t last a minute, not like this fucking maniac.’
Peter sighed in agreement. ‘I take it he ain’t said nothing?’
Daniel shook his head in consternation. ‘Not a fucking word – forced a few screams out of him, though.’
His brother laughed. ‘No brain, no fucking pain! How many times have we heard that one, eh?’
Daniel nodded. Then he went to his desk and picked up the small blowtorch. ‘Take his shoes and socks off.’
Jamsie did as he was told, and Petey stood with his cousins, watching the scene with mounting trepidation; even he could see the man was beyond help, unable to even keep his remaining eye focused on anything or anyone around him. No one there had any kind of care or interest in the pain he was experiencing, except to see how it might benefit them. Petey saw his family and the Life in stunning clarity then; he was a fool not to have realised the truth before now. He saw his father slip his coat off and fold it up neatly, before carefully walking through the blood and placing it in the other office. Then he walked back towards his brother and, taking out a lighter, he ignited the flame, before lighting himself a large Cuban cigar.
Danny and Davey lifted up the man’s right foot, and Petey watched as his uncle adjusted the flame, and then held it an inch away from the man’s sole.
The scream was horrendous. Laughing nastily, his uncle said loudly, ‘I ain’t letting you go quietly, you cunt. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll finish you now. Quick and clean.’
Billy Allen was barely conscious, but he still managed to spit out, ‘Fuck you, Bailey.’
The smell of burning skin was overwhelming, and Petey felt the food he had eaten a few hours earlier attempting to make its way back out into the world at large. It took every ounce of willpower to stop himself throwing up all over the place. He saw his cousin Danny watching him intently, well aware of what was ailing him; he felt a spark of shame at this obvious weakness on his part. He knew that in the Life it was kill or be killed – you had to be able to do whatever was required to keep not only yourself but your family safe. He had never believed that he was this feeble, though he had always recognised, deep down, that he wasn’t as comfortable as his cousins with the more violent aspects of their work. Oh, he could hold his end up, he could do what was necessary, but he had always been a great believer in delegating the less savoury tasks to other people. He was fine with administering a good hiding, teaching someone a lesson, but torture – that was a different thing altogether. Now he saw why his father and his uncle were so revered, respected by so many people. They had no such qualms, and neither did his cousins by the looks of it. He lit a cigarette, more as an excuse to look away from the bloodied mess that had once been Billy Allen, than because he actually wanted a smoke.
Daniel Bailey took the man’s pulse and, shaking his head in annoyance, he said loudly, ‘He ain’t going to last much longer.’
He took a glass of lager from his youngest son and, throwing it in Billy’s face, he waited patiently for the man to come round. It took a few minutes before Billy Allen opened his eye. He looked horrendous, but he glanced at each of them. He tried to laugh, but the laugh became a hacking cough, and he was suddenly spewing blood everywhere.
The boys moved away instinctively, but Danny caught a spray of it across his face. His brothers laughed then at his obvious horror; jumping up quickly he picked up an old rag from the top of one of the filing cabinets and, wiping his face, he said in disgust, ‘That’s all I needed! Fucking wanker! He did that on purpose!’
Peter Bailey looked at his brother and said quietly, ‘He’s dying, Daniel. He won’t last much longer.’
Daniel nodded in agreement. ‘Sling him in the boot of the black Sierra out the back; it’s next in line for crushing. He will be in a two-by-two metal coffin first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘His brother must realise he’s gone on the missing list by now. Strange no one’s fucking located him yet, don’t you think, Dad?’
Daniel looked at his eldest son. ‘Delroy’s got the whole firm on the case. We’ll find him, don’t you worry.’
Peter blew his cigar smoke out noisily. They could hear the rattle as Billy Allen fought to take in his last few breaths.
‘He thinks he has beaten us – thinks that he’s died a fucking hero’s death! How thick can he be? The fact he wouldn’t talk tells us that he knows more than is healthy. Why put yourself through that?’ Jamsie was genuinely astonished at the man’s stupidity.
Daniel sighed. ‘He died knowing he never grassed no one up and, in many ways, son, he did die a hero’s death – not to us maybe, but to him, and to whoever he was protecting. One thing we know now, though: if the Allen brothers weren’t the main instigators of the trouble, they definitely know who is. They were in on it.’
Peter Bailey saw the logic in his brother’s words. ‘Well, let’s just hope we find his brother sooner rather than later, before he has a chance to tell whoever he’s rolling with that the game is almost up. Though the fact we are hunting the Allens down will be enough to alert whoever they are in league with.’
Everyone was in agreement, talking at once. Peter glanced around the Portakabin, and saw with quiet humour that nothing in there had changed since they purchased the place all those years ago – except for the blood that now coated everything.
‘This place will need to be gutted, Daniel. There’s enough mess here to keep the old London going on a Saturday night. Everything, from the carpets to the desks, will have to go.’
Daniel nodded. ‘Sorted. It’s being gutted tomorrow. I’ve got Delroy’s mate, Phillip Harrison, on it. He has an industrial cleaning outfit, and Delroy reckons he’s a fucking whiz with blood. Does crime-scene cleaning, by all accounts – earns a fortune, and it’s legit. Marvellous really, ain’t it, how you can earn a fucking crust these days?’
Peter had heard about the lad and, like his brother, he was amazed at how people could find a niche in such a market, but that was a sig
n of the times, he supposed. Murder made a lot of money, for a lot of people.
He could hear the rain hammering on the roof; it sounded like a machine gun. He glanced outside. He thought he saw someone outside the main door; it was a few seconds before his brain registered that it was his young niece, looking for all the world like a drowned rat, her face blurred by the heavy rain that was lashing against the Portakabin. At first he had thought it was the lights outside playing tricks on him, until he saw her move. Then he realised that it was really her, that she had been watching everything as it transpired.
She was staring into his eyes now, and he saw that she did not seem fazed, she was looking at him through the pouring rain as though her being there was the most natural thing in the world. Turning from him abruptly, suddenly she was gone, making her way back hurriedly towards the small office.
Peter Bailey watched her as she ran, his mind racing with the implications of how much she had actually witnessed. He was so shocked that he hesitated for long moments, before turning to his younger brother and bellowing angrily, ‘What in the name of holy fuck is our Tania doing out here?’
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five
Terrence Allen was surprised as well as appalled at how scared he was. Until now, he had believed he was incapable of feeling this much terror; he had perceived himself to be a man of substance, a man of character. He was now aware that he had been completely wrong about that and everything else; he wished desperately that he had never ignored the unwritten law which said you didn’t fuck over those who were stronger than you. He had made a fatal mistake believing he was the cleverest of them all.
He cut himself a line on the dirty worktop and, as he snorted the powder deeply, he felt the rush as it hit his brain. He sniffed it up higher, tasting the bitter flavour sliding down his throat, mingled as it was with his snot. He heaved involuntarily, and swallowed the mucus down, taking a deep swig from his bottle of beer to help it on its way.
The only light he could see at the end of a rather long and dark tunnel was his brother’s innate loyalty. Billy would not say a word, no matter what was done to him. Billy was a cunt like that – he lived and breathed being the quintessential hard man. As thick as shit, of course, but still a man of certain old-style principles and beliefs.
That wasn’t to say, though, that the Baileys wouldn’t find a way to break him. Daniel Bailey was known to be a man who could happily torture a subject while eating his lunch. Whatever people’s past issues with his style, now anything he did would be applauded by the same people who had formerly whispered that he was a fucking head case. His actions – taken to avenge his wife’s death – would only enhance his reputation.
He looked around the flat, and shook his head at the filthy state it was in, but it was a safe house, and that was what he needed now more than creature comforts. He had beer, Scotch, fags and drugs – the main requirements of a man on the run, and he was on the run. The flat was in Barking, and it was due for demolition, so he was the only tenant. He opened the curtains slightly, and looked out into the darkness; all he saw was rain and rubbish. The only light he had was from a few candles – and they were not exactly illuminating the place – and he was freezing into the bargain.
A Calor Gas heater was on low, but it would not last much longer; he wished he had made proper provision in case something like this happened. But there was literally nowhere else to go – the Baileys knew everything about them, and he didn’t know who in his circle he could really trust now. After all, he had fucked up big time; Lena Bailey’s death was not something that would earn him brownie points. Unless something drastic happened to the Baileys, he was persona non grata for the foreseeable future.
He tried Petey Bailey’s mobile once more, but it was either turned off, or the battery was dead, so he left yet another message, and hoped against hope for the best.
Maybe Billy had convinced the Baileys that they were a pair of innocents. Unfortunately, his behaviour at the engagement party had not been appreciated – he had shown his hand far too soon. Arrogance was his biggest failing. He had believed at the time that he had something to be arrogant about. Now, the people he had been working with all these years would readily serve him up without a second’s thought.
Terry dropped down heavily on to the greasy old settee that looked and smelled like it had been purchased some time during the Korean War, and he waited.
It was the waiting that was the worst part.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six
Petey Bailey looked at his young cousin and smiled. He had not realised how pretty Tania had become, or how much she had matured physically in the last couple of years. Even like this, soaked to the skin and shivering with cold, she looked good.
He had insisted on taking her home, and she had been so grateful, refusing to go with anyone else but him. He had been glad to leave the scrapyard; now he looked like the hero of the hour. His father had been beside himself with anger about her being anywhere near the place. But with everything that was going on, Petey could see how she could be lost in the middle of it. These were not normal times, as he had pointed out to his father and, as such, normal behaviour was not to be expected.
But it was Tania who had really shocked him; she had argued her point with passion and a strength that he had never believed possible of her. She had really let rip, reminding them that her mother was dead and she had every right to know who was responsible. She had also pointed out that she had been a Bailey all her life and, as she wasn’t deaf, dumb or blind, she had sussed everything out from a very young age. She was nearly eighteen and, like young Delroy, she had as much right as the rest of them to be treated as an adult.
He had left them there, arguing the toss, insisting that she needed to get home and warmed up before she caught pneumonia or worse. He had been the perfect knight in shining armour.
‘You all right, Tania?’
She nodded sadly.
‘How much did you really see, darling?’
She shrugged, thrilled at his calling her darling; she had imagined him saying that to her so many times. He was such a big part of her life; he didn’t know that she thought about him all the time. He was larger than life – her equivalent of a rock star or actor. Petey was everything that she believed it was important for a man to be. It wasn’t just his good looks, but the way he treated her; he was the whole package.
The car was getting too hot now, and Petey really wanted to open a window and let some cold air in, but he knew she was probably freezing. She had been a handy little tool tonight, bless her – she had got him away from all the fucking shit.
‘I don’t know why they think I’m some kind of fragile doll. I lost my mum, remember? I don’t care who suffers, as long as we find out who did it.’
He could hear the determination in her voice, but it was mixed with a girlish whine that just proved how young she still was. She was trying hard to be strong. Petey guessed, rightly, that she wanted to be a part of the family firm because she needed to feel like she was doing something constructive, rather than just grieving. He understood how she was feeling; she was, as she pointed out, more of a Bailey than they realised. She had the same genes, and her grandmother’s strength of character. One day, he was sure, she would be a woman to be proud of.
‘You shouldn’t have poked your nose in. You should have listened to your brother, and waited patiently like he asked you.’
She snorted in annoyance. ‘I thought you were on my side.’
He laughed then, a quiet, exasperated little laugh. ‘I am, Tania, believe me I am, darling. But you need to understand that knowledge can be a very dangerous thing, and you know something now that really isn’t good for you to know. Suppose the Filth were to pull you in? Suppose they stuck you in a room, and said unless you told them what they wanted to know, you could get banged up, eh? What about that?’
She didn’t answer him for a moment. Then she said sarcastically, ‘Like that’s ever g
oing to happen! Our dads wouldn’t let them anywhere near me – you know that as well as I do.’
He was impressed with her logic, and her trust in her family’s ability to protect her. ‘Fair enough. I’ll concede that. But what if Terrence Allen snatched you off the street, and wanted to know where his brother was? And what if this same Terrence Allen decided to use brute force to find that out? Do you think you could keep your trap shut like his brother did? If he threatened to cut your fingers off, say? Would you tell him what he wanted to know?’
She was unable to answer him with complete honesty, because she knew that he was right – she would be terrified. They were silent until they reached the house and, once inside, she turned to him and said quietly, ‘I think I would be sensible enough to act the innocent, make him believe that I knew nothing of any merit. But if Terrence Allen was fool enough to come after me, take me off the street or whatever, then I think he would know as well as I would that he could never let me go home again. So it’s a moot point really, don’t you think?’
Then she started to cry, the truth of his words penetrating her mind, while Billy Allen’s screams filled her head. Running to her cousin, she threw herself into his arms, and he held her, impressed with her logic, and aware that she was indeed growing up fast.
As he stroked her hair, he could feel her body as she pushed against him. She was holding him tightly to her, and she was ripe, all right – he knew she was as aware as he was of the reaction she was getting from him. He was excited; she was not only young and up for anything, but she was also dangerous, very dangerous indeed. She was his cousin, she was his uncle’s daughter, his baby, and she was offering herself to him. And, even though he knew what he was doing was wrong, he couldn’t help himself. He had always loved the chase, loved the conquest, and this was the ultimate forbidden fruit; it would taste all the sweeter because of that. He liked being first, and he liked them young.