Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Soon after Babs had been sent down, the council had the brainwave of driving out the criminals in the shadows by bulldozing it flat and putting up a new block. But they’d got that spectacularly wrong. Soon a worse set of villains had taken over the top floor and created a whole new criminal empire.

  Courtney swallowed nervously. The stories she’d heard about this place were enough to make her scarper home and hide under her duvet. Plus, her mum would be expecting her home in an hour. She didn’t fancy her rearing up in her face again. So she asked tentatively, ‘What are we doing here?’

  Tash gazed at her. ‘You ain’t turning all scaredy cat on me?’

  Courtney huffed, ‘Course I ain’t. What do I look like? A little kid or something?’

  Tash arched her brow. ‘Some mates of mine are having a little get together.’ She linked her arms with Courtney’s. ‘Come on, it’s gonna be a real giggle.’

  Twelve

  Jen perked up instantly when she heard Bex’s raucous, nasal laughter as she walked into The Knackered Swan. That was her best mate all over; most times she was heard before seen. They had been bosom buddies since school days and had remained as tight as twins through their many ups and downs. The difference now was that Jen had been on a downer for too long whereas Bex had found herself a bloke who treated her like a queen. Just the thought of a fella making her his number one priority made Jen’s heart squeeze.

  The pub was packed. It had mostly shaken off its local nickname of The Knackered Swan – although Jen and Bex still liked to call it that. The longstanding landlord, Jacko, had handed it over to a young couple who’d put money and elbow grease into turning it into a boozer the estate could be proud of. Even some of those trendy types living on the other side of Mile End Road popped in every now and again.

  Jen dropped a few hellos to neighbours and friends as she made a beeline for the bar, ordered a drink and then headed for Bex. She was sitting with a stunning, stylish woman Jen hadn’t met before.

  ‘You took your sweet time getting here,’ Bex greeted Jen tartly.

  Bex was a big girl who enjoyed pouring herself into too-tight clothes. Today was no different. Her jumper-tube dress, a throwback to the ’90s, showcased her eye-grabbing boobs and muffin top. Her belly had been the cause of a lifelong addiction to crazy diets, and by the size of the drink in her glass, Jen decided she must be on the whisky one.

  Jen didn’t answer, gazing at the other woman. ‘Who’s your friend?’

  ‘Naz. She’s my Samuel’s aunt.’

  Jen’s eyebrows shot up. Sam was Bex’s only child, a year younger than Courtney. She loved that boy to death and, in Jen’s opinion, let him get away with murder. She was trying to make up for a Turkish dad who had failed to tell Bex he already had a missus and a couple of young ’uns tucked up indoors. The wife had come after Bex with a baby oil bottle filled with acid, leaving the nasty scar on her left cheek, a reminder that nice girls don’t always end up with nice blokes. Jen was surprised that her mate had anything to do with that bastard’s family.

  ‘A boy should know who his blood relatives are,’ Naz said, as if reading her mind.

  Jen had met Sam’s dad a few times and he’d been a right ugly sort. But not his sister. Naz was a head turner with velvet brown eyes that could melt a man’s heart and a curtain of thick black hair. She wore a navy box jacket over a plain white T-shirt and tight fitting jeans. On anyone else it would’ve looked everyday but on Naz, with her endless legs and long neck, it was a killer look.

  ‘Well, that’s good of you, I must say,’ Jen said. ‘My ex did a bunk years back and I haven’t seen him or his people since, thank God.’ She shivered just thinking about Nuts. How she’d let herself get hoodwinked by such a slime merchant she would never know.

  Bex’s eyes bulged incredulously as she looked at Jen’s drink. ‘What the fuck’s that?’

  ‘Orange juice,’ Jen answered defiantly.

  Bex scoffed. ‘Are you having me on? Orange juice ain’t been your drink of choice since we were in nursery.’ Her laughter was wiped off her face as she whispered, ‘You ain’t put the kybosh on the booze have you? Become Saint Jennifer or something?’

  Sudden heat rushed over Jen as embarrassment kicked in. Her purse was practically empty so the cheap juice was the only drink she could afford. She’d almost ordered a glass of tap water, but that would’ve been like broadcasting her money troubles to the world. She felt humiliated to tell Bex the truth. Ashamed. But she’d never been one to lie to her friend and she wasn’t going to start now. ‘Money’s tight, that’s all.’ Her palms tightened around the glass, coldness seeping into her fingertips. ‘It isn’t right to spend dosh like a fish down the local when my girls need clothes.’

  Bex’s face fell. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were hard up? I would’ve lent you the cash, no questions asked.’

  Jen’s hands slipped into her lap where they tightened into fists. Her bestie was turning into one of her interfering sisters. ‘And that’s why I kept my gob shut. I’m not a charity case.’ Go to her mate on the scrouge? Not on her life.

  With a huff Bex shoved back into her seat. ‘You wanna contact that Nuts and make the tit pay through the nose for leaving you to struggle on your own—’

  ‘No way,’ Jen punched out. ‘The best thing that arsehole ever did was sign those divorce papers. I don’t know which dark, nasty stone he’s slithered under and don’t wanna know.’ Just thinking about Nuts made her head ache and body hurt as if feeling the bruises his fists had left all over her.

  With a determined expression, Bex stood up and declared, ‘What you need, my girl, is a Scarlet O’Hara.’ It was Jen’s poison of choice. Southern Comfort mixed with cranberry juice and a shot of lime topped with ice.

  ‘I’ve just said—’

  Bex waved her words away like they were flies annoying her. ‘This ain’t charity. The best way of forgetting your troubles is to have a bevvy or two.’ And without waiting for a response she headed for the bar.

  ‘She’s quite a woman,’ Naz broke in softly.

  Jen twisted to face her, having almost forgotten she was there. ‘The best mate a girl could have. If it wasn’t for Bex helping out with the girls over the years I don’t know what I would’ve done.’

  Naz shook her long, shimmering hair off her shoulders and crossed her long legs. ‘I learned a long time ago that the best life for a woman is an independent one.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Jen announced sceptically. ‘You sound like a woman who don’t have any kids.’

  Naz’s smile lit up her face. ‘Misha’s twenty and Aydin is eighteen.’

  Jen looked her up and down as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Get outta here. You don’t look old enough.’

  Naz chuckled and added, with pride, ‘Both of them are at university.’ She shrugged. ‘And I’ve done it more or less on my own.’

  ‘How did you manage it?’

  Naz’s voice dropped. ‘I took charge of my life and started my own business. Nothing big, just enough to make sure that my children would live a comfortable life.’ She leaned across the table. ‘I do hate seeing a good, honest mother struggling. You need money and I think I’m the person who can put plenty of it your way.’

  Jen stared at her with open admiration. ‘What type of business you into?’

  Naz looked her square in the eye. ‘Entertainment.’

  ‘Like what? Music? The movies?’ The woman looked the part, Jen decided, all gloss and glamour.

  Naz placed her glass down carefully. ‘Not quite. I entertain men.’

  ‘How do you mean . . .?’ Then Jen reared back, disgusted. ‘You’ve got me dead wrong if you think I’m the type who puts it about for cash-in-hand.’ She couldn’t believe that Naz was a Tom. No wonder she appeared to be living in the lap of luxury. Selling her tail to dirty old codgers, that’s how. And the fucking cheek of it, asking her to join her filthy club.

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

  Eyes spittin
g fire, a furious Jen sneered, ‘You just told me, point blank, that you entertain men. Where I come from that’s got a name that’s not very nice.’

  ‘And that’s the problem,’ Naz observed quietly. ‘Where me and you come from, women are told there are few options in life.’ She settled back in her seat. ‘I meet very rich, foreign businessmen who are away from home and just want a bit of company from a pretty lady for an evening. Nothing illegal or sordid about that. I worked with this other girl who went and got married, and good luck to her. But it means that I’m looking for another business partner.’

  ‘Partner? I ain’t got no money to put in—’

  ‘I know that. It doesn’t require an injection of cash. All it requires is your beautiful self.’

  Jen dropped her head. ‘I’m not beautiful and haven’t got a clue how to chat up businessmen in fancy restaurants and play Lady Muckety-Muck.’

  ‘Are you having a laugh? You’re stunning.’

  Jen bit her lip. Her mind moved a mile a minute. She did need extra cash. But meeting blokes . . .

  She shook her head forcefully. ‘Sorry, Naz, it ain’t my type of thing.’

  ‘Take this anyway, in case you change your mind.’ Naz passed Jen her business card. She smiled as she lowered her voice. ‘You’re the type of woman wealthy, older guys would pay top dollar to meet.’

  Thirteen

  ‘Ere, have a little suck on that,’ the man next to Courtney shouted at her, trying to compete with The Notorious B.I.G.’s ‘Nasty Girl’ blasting from the music system as he held out the half-gone spliff. He smacked his lips like he was getting ready to gobble her up as his greedy eyes ran up her clingy top. ‘I’ve got a few other things you can suck on as well.’ He laughed and winked. She didn’t have a clue what that meant and from the rough look of him didn’t want to know.

  They were inside one of the corner flats on the top floor of The Devil’s Playground. The sitting room looked more like a sleazy drug den with gear strewn on the battered coffee table and filthy floor. The place was crammed with guys, and she and Tash were the only girls, which made her very uneasy. Tash didn’t seem to be having the same problem, busy getting all flirty-flirty with a couple of guys on the grubby sofa at the other end of the room. Courtney would’ve got up and left, but on top of the whisky she’d already downed she’d knocked back a large glass of voddy, which was making her head split and her vision blurred. She was so far gone she couldn’t remember the geezer’s name.

  She took the spliff, wishing she hadn’t as she started spluttering and coughing her guts out.

  ‘Let me top you up.’ The next thing she knew he’d swiped her glass and was back with a refill in seconds.

  He got cosy next to her and she decided she didn’t like the way he smelt. She wrinkled her nose as she took a deep swallow of her drink. The guy really needed to acquaint himself with some deodorant.

  Before she knew it he was leaning right into her, pressing her back into the two-seater. If she had enough strength she would’ve pushed him off, but all of a sudden her limbs felt really heavy and her tongue thick in her mouth. Something was up; the booze had never made her feel like this before.

  ‘Why don’t you and me get comfy somewhere else?’ His voice sounded distant. She couldn’t understand why she was seeing three of him.

  The glass slipped from her fingers, the spilt vodka adding to the dirt on the sofa. She desperately tried to move but couldn’t. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing. She wanted to fight but her body was all floppy.

  Now she was scared. Her hazy gaze flashed around the room until she landed on her mate. ‘Tash,’ which came out of her mouth as, ‘Asss,’ along with a dribble of spit.

  But the multiple Tashes she saw only grinned back. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be alright and back out here in a jiffy.’ At least that’s what she thought her friend said, her mind was slipping in and out. She thought the others laughed as she was carried away into another room with a bedbug-ridden mattress on the floor. He dumped her on it. She wanted to wriggle away, but a powerful wave of sleep gripped her. Her eyes started drooping as she watched him undo his trousers. She was going to be sick. This couldn’t be happening to her. Why wasn’t her bestie doing anything to help her?

  He got down next to her just as someone shouted in the sitting room, ‘Where the fuck is she?’

  She knew that voice.

  Then she slipped into blackness as someone booted the door in.

  John was in the garage, stuffing his face with a burger with all the trimmings, well away from Dee, when his mobile rang.

  ‘Black? Is that you?’

  The number on John’s mobile had come up as unknown. Normally, John didn’t answer unknown numbers but these weren’t normal times. The voice on the other end seemed familiar, in the way of an old tune you could remember but couldn’t place. ‘Maybe – who’s this?’

  ‘We’ve got a problem.’

  He coughed as the burger almost went down the wrong way. The blood leached from his face. No way . . . this couldn’t be . . . He played dumb. ‘Think you’ve got the wrong number bruv.’

  The other man let out a half scoff, half laugh. ‘Let’s cast our minds back shall we. You were the one that recommended a private vault for my gold all those years ago. You set up an account there and did all the paperwork. I was promised my property would be totally safe. I recall you suggested Harry Houdini couldn’t get in and steal it. Remember me now?’

  John kept up the dumb routine. ‘Nah, not really . . . Could you give me a bit of a clue here?’

  The caller’s voice became harsh. ‘You crafty little weasel. You’re the only other person who knew about it. Is that specific enough for you?’

  John remained stunned. He hadn’t seen this guy in years. Where the hell had he got his number from? The last time they’d met, no one apart from bankers had mobile phones.

  He stalled. ‘Course I remember ya. Long time no hear. How’s tricks? You got something else you want stashed away? Coz if you have, I’m your man.’

  John’s phone nearly shook with the caller’s fury. ‘Do you not read the papers or watch the news Black? I’ve been robbed. Some Cockney yobbos broke into the vault and made off with my gold.’

  ‘That’s hard lines mate. Were you insured?’

  ‘Are you trying to be funny? You recommended the place to me, so you’re responsible for this. I’m warning you now, you’d better find out who stole it and get it back or I’ll take matters into my own hands. And I might also start to suspect that you had something to do with the theft. Get my property back and get it back sharpish or there’s going to be trouble.’

  John was uneasy. ‘Look mate, I’m a businessman not a detective . . .’

  The angry caller cut him short. ‘You think I lost my grip on reality as the years went by? Well, you’re wrong my friend. Ask yourself how I got the gold in the first place. Then ask yourself how I got your phone number. Then ask yourself to what lengths a man in my position would go to get property of that value back. I’m putting you on notice my ol’ Cockney china – find it and return it.’

  The line went dead.

  John put the mobile back in his pocket. Sweat popped out above his top lip. What a stroke of bad luck. He could just give the gold back . . . Nah, he shook his head. That wasn’t going to happen. He thrived on this level of danger and always had. He’d heeded his wife’s advice, kept his fingernails clean and only delved into business that was strictly legit for a number of years. But, truth be told, he’d missed the knife-edge life of the criminal underworld. It made him feel like a young guy again. There was no feeling like it. The rush. The adrenaline-pumping excitement. If Dee ever tumbled he was a goner for sure, but she wasn’t going to find out, was she?

  Organising a raid on the vault was the obvious way for him to get back into the game. On a social visit to one of the directors up there, he’d taken the chance to rummage through some yellowing manifests and found that vault 25a still contained
the consignment of bullion. That was good. But even better was that no one up there had seen hide or hair of the owner for donkeys. This often happened. Villains would deposit their takings in a vault and then over the years, get killed, go on the run, get banged up or even forget where they’d left their gear. If, after all this time, the owner of the gold in 25a hadn’t appeared, chances were good he never would. John didn’t want anyone coming after him. But even if the bloke did turn up again, John was confident he wouldn’t be armed and dangerous. He’d met the guy in a sauna and one thing had led to another, as they say. John should have been laughing. After all, he was John Black and the owner was a nobody. If the bloke had any muscle at his disposal, John would have known him, he knew all the big guys in London. But John remembered one thing about the geezer. He had, as they say, the cold blue eyes of a killer.

  John couldn’t do the raid himself as he was too well known. He’d flagged it up to Kieran instead and got himself a rock solid alibi. So, strictly speaking, it wasn’t actually John who’d stolen the gold, was it?

  Under his breath he whispered, ‘Kieran had better watch out. That bloke sounds like trouble.’

  Fourteen

  Courtney woke up in the back seat of a car and started panicking straight away. It was parked round the back of The Devil, near the old cemetery.

  ‘Get the fuck off me.’ She lashed out at the man beside her and then wished she hadn’t moved. Her tummy started rolling.

  He grabbed her wrists as she fought as hard as her still foggy brain would allow.

  ‘Knock it off Court.’