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

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  They both trembled, chests rising, as they breathed angry air into each other’s face. Neither was going to back off. It was Tiffany who finally took a half-step back as she shot her sister daggers.

  She contemptuously flicked her fingertips twice against her shoulder giving Jen the brush-off. ‘You know what I heard Nuts say to a mate once? There was more life in a blow-up doll than his own wife. Sad, sad, state of affairs babe.’

  Jen spat in her face. Courtney gasped loudly as Tiffany staggered back, shock joining the spit on her skin.

  Jen was deeply shocked too. It wasn’t the first time she‘d had a set-to with her sister – that’s just how sisters got sometimes – but she’d never, ever dissed Tiff in such an awful manner before. But she wasn’t sorry. Tiff had had that coming for years. Jen’s hands screwed into fists by her side.

  ‘You fucking better get out of my gaff now,’ Tiff roared.

  ‘I’m going, believe you me,’ Jen yelled. ‘You’re greedy and the truth is Mum spoiled you rotten. Don’t you ever bring your skank, lying self anywhere near me, my girls or my door again. I wash my hands of you.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Tiff answered silkily. ‘But do you know what? You’ll always be a loser. You never wanna take any chances do you? You never wanna get your hands dirty because you’re too good for that!’

  Jen marched over to her daughter, grabbed her, and a few seconds later violently slammed the door. She’d had plenty of ding-dongs with her sister in the past and they’d always kissed and made up. But not this time.

  Things had been said and they couldn’t be unsaid.

  Sixteen

  Next morning Babs knew there was trouble brewing as the women either side of her in the showers tripped over themselves to grab their towels and bolt. Water still cascading over her, she twisted around to find the other occupants fleeing for their lives too. And no wonder. Paula ‘Knox’ Benson and her two gorillas stood near the sinks, arms folded. Their menacing gazes were fixed on the single person left – Babs.

  After her encounter with Knox in the corridor it hadn’t taken her long to realise that she was Top Bitch in the prison. With her own eyes she’d seen the animal mete out a piece of hardcore punishment. Babs had been in the library flicking through a Recipes For One cookbook when hell had kicked off next to her. Knox and her toughs had bundled a terrified prisoner into a corner.

  The cringing inmate had pleaded, with terror drenching her eyes, ‘I’ll have your Wholenut by tomorrow.’

  Most people thought that cash and drugs were the most prized things smuggled into prison, but there was something else ranked up there as well – chocolate. The decent stuff was hard to come by so it was a prized luxury item.

  Knox’s nasty grin flashed two gold teeth either side of her mouth. She hadn’t uttered a word, instead lashed out with her tattooed fists. A single left and a right knocked the other woman out cold. Babs got the message, loud and clear, why she was nicknamed Knox.

  Babs’ wet skin crawled. Oh, hell’s bells; she didn’t need the headache of any argy-bargy. Babs’ number one rule of survival behind bars was simple – first sign of trouble, walk the other way.

  She tried to do that now. ‘I’ll just be off so you can conduct your business without an audience.’

  As she reached desperately to turn off the shower, Knox’s voice stopped her cold. ‘Did I give you fucking permission to move?’ She turned to one of her thugs. ‘Did I?’

  The thug snarled, ‘No, you didn’t.’

  The other thug added, ‘You wanna teach her a lesson so she knows who’s really running this joint.’

  Babs shrank back into the chill concrete wall as the other woman’s steely gaze settled on her once again. ‘I think you’re right girls.’

  ‘Now hold up a minute,’ Babs sputtered.

  ‘Shut. It,’ Queen Bitch growled.

  They started advancing on Babs, who started pleading for her life. ‘If it’s money you want, I can get that. Or choccie. I can get my hands on a tin of Roses. You won’t be wanting Wholenut after you’ve tasted hazelnut whirl.’ They carried on coming. ‘Whatever you think I’ve done, I know we can get it sorted out.’ They reached the edge of the shower. ‘Please, I’ve got bloody grandkids.’

  Knox reached over her and turned the shower off. That’s when Babs saw she was holding something tight in her other hand. Oh fuck, I’m gonna get battered like a scrambled egg. She slid down the wall until she was a damp, petrified huddle on the floor. They stood around her, looking down at her with the bloodthirsty gazes of playground bullies.

  ‘I’ve got a message for you.’ Knox crouched down beside her.

  Babs prayed like she’d never prayed in her life. The other woman’s hand started to move towards her. Babs wanted to squeeze her eyes tight but for some reason she couldn’t look away. She was transfixed. Here it fucking comes. Babs silently cursed her ex for getting her into this mess. She waited for the other woman’s legendary one-two knockout blows to fall.

  But they never came. Instead, Knox opened her large hand and Babs gagged. Sitting pretty in the woman’s palm was a small dead pigeon. Its belly was slit and its broken neck cocked to the side.

  Knox said, ‘I’ve got a little prezzie for you.’ Babs had never heard of anyone being beaten to death with a dead pigeon but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

  But instead of duffing her over, Knox twisted her fingers into the animal’s grisly insides. Babs thought she was going to heave as the squidgy sound of guts being shifted filled the air. Knox pulled something out.

  Babs went slack-jawed when she saw what she held. A tiny mobile phone.

  ‘This is yours,’ Queen Bitch informed her.

  ‘You what?’ Babs stared at the phone as if it were a hand grenade with the pin pulled out. Mobiles were strictly forbidden and anyone caught with one would find the full force of the prison establishment coming down on them like a ton of bricks. And that’s when Babs remembered all about dead pigeons and prisons. They were lobbed over the wall with all manner of illegal things inside their swollen tummies.

  ‘Kieran says hello.’

  The penny dropped. Kieran had organised for her to have a mobile. She’d loved that boy to bits since the first time she’d met him back in ’72. Her heart had broken for him because he’d been like a feral animal; a smelly, dirty, hungry thing, running wild on The Devil. That mum of his should’ve been shot for leaving him in such a state. There was an unbreakable bond between them. He was the son she’d never had. There was one thing that squeezed her heart with sadness though – the path he’d decided to take as an adult. She’d wanted him to be respectable, upstanding, like any mother would wish for her child, but he’d chosen to make the underworld his profession. It hurt her to do it, but that’s why she kept Kieran away from her girls. Babs didn’t want her daughters to be part of that world, even though she knew that Dee had already been involved in it through her husband. Thank God Dee and John had turned their backs on that life.

  Knowing Kieran was connected she shouldn’t have been surprised when he lined up the hard-faced kanga, Mrs Reagan, in her last prison to watch her back. She didn’t know how he knew her and hadn’t asked; but she was eternally grateful that someone was looking out for her. And just as well because those first few months behind bars had been the hardest. She’d wanted to cry herself to sleep most nights, she missed her family so badly. But he’d never done anything as nutty as smuggling a phone in before.

  ‘You’re to keep it in a safe place,’ the other woman continued. ‘Only use it when it’s a priority. Got it?’

  Babs took the phone. ‘Thanks.’ Then she got pissed off. ‘So what’s with trying to give me a flippin’ heart attack?’

  Knox leaned in, much closer this time, making her fear grow again. ‘Couldn’t have the others thinking me and you are tit buddies, now could we.’ She stood up. ‘Kieran says any problems, you come to me.’ She closed one hand into a fist and punched it twice into her other
palm. Babs swallowed. If this woman was protecting her she was going to be fine.

  They turned and left the still shaking Babs. She stared at the phone in her hand. She was playing with fire. If the kangas twigged, she was done for and would have a couple of years added to her sentence. Screw it! Now she could call her girls and hear their sweet voices anytime she liked.

  The mobile pinged, startling her. Her eyes darted around in fear that someone had heard, but no one came inside. Babs quickly gazed down at the screen.

  A text.

  She opened it and her face creased into a huge smile.

  Gonna take you for a slap up Chinese up west when you get out.

  Luv you, my second mum.

  K

  Bless him. Tears stung her eyes.

  Seventeen

  ‘Good evening Mr Scott, glad you could join us this evening.’

  The Lock’s doorman, dressed in the classic rig and top hat of his profession, hurried down the club’s steps to open his car.

  ‘Evening James. How’s things?’

  ‘Never been better sir.’ James hurried back up the steps to open the club’s doors. ‘Enjoy your time tonight sir.’

  Kieran lapped it up; he loved all this. The boy who’d reeked of neglect, running wild round The Devil back in the day, had done good.

  He swaggered through the lobby where the receptionists and discreetly placed bouncers kept out undesirables like the mutt’s nuts. They all chorused, ‘Good evening Mr Scott.’

  He’d got his hands on the club through John Black. In the days of the previous owner the ground floor of the former warehouse in Wapping had been a smoky snooker hall frequented by local likely lads and petty criminals. The place had a proper name but no one knew what it was. Everyone called it The Lock In as it served drinks to those in the know, after hours. John had got the place for a song. In his early days, Kieran had mentioned to his underworld mentor that he was looking for a place to use as a club. John thought he was clever unloading The Lock In on the young whippersnapper for twice the price he’d purchased it for. But Kieran bought it anyway. It was ideal for him.

  Unfortunately for John, he sold around about the time London money was moving eastwards and the docks went from knackered to prime locations. John didn’t make many mistakes but this was one of them. Kieran sometimes wondered if John had ever forgiven him for it.

  Kieran had had a very clear idea what he wanted to do with The Lock In. He loved the old Hollywood high society movies he’d watched as a nipper with Babs, so he set out to stamp that style on his new club. He went to a great deal of time and trouble to make it work. He struck lucky when an old 1930s East End cinema closed down and he was able to buy all the art deco fittings for a knock-down price. He turned the various floors into restaurants, bars, a snooker room (a proper one this time), a cigar place and function rooms. He handpicked the staff to make sure they fitted in with his idea of what kind of club it was meant to be and didn’t scrimp on paying top dollar wages. He considered changing the name of the place to something chi-chi but decided in the end to just lob the ‘In’ off and call it The Lock.

  There was just one type of person Kieran wanted in his place – the stinking rich. He charged outrageous membership fees to ensure that only those with poke in their pocket came through the door. For a couple of months after it opened it looked like Kieran’s dream was going to sink without a trace. Sometimes the only punters in the bijou bar were Kieran and John Black. One night, John patted him on the back and said, ‘Never mind mate. We all make mistakes.’

  But then word began to spread. There was nowhere else like it in the East End and some of the loaded brigade who lived in the riverfront developments, business people from down Canary Wharf way and the City itself, began to join. Finally, even the West End elite were applying. It was Kieran alone who decided who was going to become a member and who wasn’t. There was to be no riff-raff, no B-list celebs and absolutely and definitely no criminals (apart from those he invited to the snooker room on the top floor).

  Crime was his business but The Lock was his dream and his passion. It was also so that if the law wanted to raid the top floor office from which he actually ran his rackets, they’d have to tread on the toes of a lot of very powerful customers on the way up. And Kieran was confident they weren’t going to do that.

  He turned his mind to business and made his way to the snooker room where John was going to meet him. The room was filled with blokes he trusted. He took off his jacket and got into a hundred quid match with a Face from across the river.

  The door opened and John come in. Kieran turned to look at the various other players. They got the message, put their cues on the tables and left. When they were alone, Kieran nodded at his visitor. ‘Alright mate. Do you fancy a game? ‘

  ‘Well, we’re in a snooker room. It makes sense, don’t it?’

  Kieran gave a joyless smile. ‘Yeah. I suppose it does.’ He took the frame from under the table. ‘Do you want to break?’

  John pulled a face. ‘Seeing as I’m the number one in our relationship, that makes sense too, don’t you think?’

  Kieran nodded. ‘I’ve never suggested otherwise mate.’

  John broke, clipped the reds and brought the white back up to their end of the table where it rested against the baulk. Kieran tapped the table in appreciation. ‘Nice shot mate.’

  For a few minutes, they played on in silence, the only noise the click of the balls as John ran up a score. Kieran knew he was wound up. He was always on his game when he was wound up. He decided to miss a sitter to get the conversation going. ‘Whoops . . .’

  John teed a shot. ‘That’s right mate – whoops. We seem to have a problem you and me and I ain’t talking about the game either.’

  Kieran shrugged. ‘I ain’t got a problem. I just want to know where the gold’s going, that’s all.’

  John sank another. ‘And I’ve already said we’re in a need-to-know-basis business you don’t need to know. I shouldn’t really have to tell you that, should I?’

  Kieran took a deep breath and tried to be reasonable. ‘OK. And what happens if you fall under a bus? Where would that leave me then? With my finger up my rear end and no proceeds.’

  John looked up in anger. ‘Why? Has anyone suggested that I might be falling under a bus?’

  ‘We’re in the kind of business where people fall under buses a lot, accidently or otherwise. Anyway, you know what they say at funeral services? Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, he’s cut down like the grass in the spring – or something like that anyway. We can all pop off anytime. Did I tell you about my next door neighbour? Fit as a fiddle and only thirty-nine – snuffed it in the night – just like that, he was gone.’

  John was unimpressed. ‘Sad story but you still don’t need to know where the gold’s gonna be stashed. If you’re worried about me pegging out, buy some life insurance on my behalf. I’ll be looking after the gold. That’s final.’ He walked around the table to finish the frame.

  Without warning, John began smiling. ‘Do you remember how we met mate?’

  Kieran smiled too, his much more wistful. ‘There’s no need to go over the past Guv, I’ve never said I don’t owe you. Of course I do.’

  John was chuckling now. ‘How you came running in that pub in Mile End with that stolen car radio under your arm, chased by them two coppers that were looking to take you outside for a hiding? How old was you then, eh? Fourteen?’

  ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘The plods grabbed you by the hair and started to drag you out and you said to them – Alright officers, it’s a fair cop. And I was having a drink with some of the gang, so I shouted at ’em to leave you alone coz you was working for me. Do you remember that? I thought to myself then, ‘‘I like the look of that lad. He knows how to handle himself when he’s in a bit of trouble.’’ And do you remember how, after the law let you go on my account, I told you to chuck the radio away. How tea leafing from motors is for k
ids and if you wanted to get into some grown up business, I might be able to put a little work your way . . .’

  Kieran was silent. John sighed and went on. ‘Of course, that was a long time ago. But if you look back over the years, I’ve never let you down, have I? I’ve always played straight with you like I’ve always played straight with everyone else. It’s a failing of mine, playing straight, and I have to admit it’s cost me over the years but that’s how I like to roll.’ John’s voice rose. ‘And now you’re whining like a thirteen-year-old kid because I wanna play this game my way? What’s the matter with you?’

  Kieran was shamed. ‘Look boss, I’m not saying—’

  John cut him short. He spread out his arms and said, ‘Come here.’

  Kieran came over and John gave him a hug and a pat on the back. ‘I’m not telling you where the gold’s going. And, I repeat, that’s final. OK?’

  Kieran pulled himself out of John’s embrace and looked at the floor for a moment before nodding and saying, ‘Fair enough – you’re the big Guvnor, I know that.’

  John got back on with the game. The final black ball was a long shot and John spent a few moments studying it and chalking his cue. He sent the white down the table where it clipped the black into a pocket to clear the table. ‘Pot black, my friend.’

  Eighteen

  Tiff shrugged off the cold of Friday morning as she walked into the ‘Piggy Bank’ store on Whitechapel High Street, knowing that if she didn’t get her hands on a grand pretty lively she was dead meat. She’d been looking over her shoulder since that animal had called demanding his dough back and she’d given him the slip down The Roman. Tiff knew that once the money lenders gave her the cash she wouldn’t be able to pay off much, but at least she’d have got that Tommo and Errol off her back.

  The loan shop was done up like a mini bank with a few counters containing leaflets, a plastic teller window and two screened-off areas for privacy. It even had a little play area with nailed-down toys for kids. Tiff scoffed. So people can sell their kids as well?