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

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Babs jumped, shoving the phone behind her back. She breathed easier when she saw that it was Knox.

  ‘They didn’t find it then?’ she asked.

  ‘Would I be standing here now if they had?’ Babs paused as her brain went into overdrive and something dawned on her. ‘Bradley knew it was here. She made a real song and dance of turning over the mattress.’

  The other woman’s face turned ugly; not a pretty sight. ‘You saying I snitched?’

  ‘Course not. But only me, you and your two shadows knew anything about it.’

  Knox slammed her fist into the wall. It started bleeding but she took no notice. ‘If it was one of those two numbskulls, I’ll batter ’em.’

  One of London’s former premier gangsters, Frank McGuire, known to one and all as Uncle Frank, took a swing with a ten iron. His ball flew straight into a bunker on the tenth.

  Uncle Frank’s grey hair and wrinkles were those of a man in his sixties – well, that was the age he claimed to be, but most in the know knew it was probably a decade on top of that – but his body was still thick set from the workouts he did most mornings. Even when he was sitting in the front room of his Spanish villa watching British TV on satellite, he was pulling dumbbells to keep himself in shape. But his face was leathery and aged from the sun; despite all the years he’d spent on the Costas, he was still English enough to refuse to use sun cream.

  On the course, he wore the same designer jackets, slacks and golf shoes that pros dress up in, to show he had the money, but he added a tatty Union Jack baseball cap to remind everyone that he didn’t care about that fashion crap. Uncle Frank needed everyone to know that was he was his own man and a man’s man at that.

  Frank bit his lip as he squinted into the distance where the golf ball had landed. He’d fucked up but his fellow players didn’t seem to think so.

  ‘Nice shot Frank but I think your clubs are letting you down.’

  ‘Lovely swing mate but I think there’s something wrong with this course, they don’t look after it properly. We should find another one.’

  In fact, the course was the best in Southern Spain because Uncle Frank only used the best but he was grateful to the other players. They showed him respect and he was big on respect.

  He peered at the two suited ladies next to him who acted as his constant bodyguards. ‘Make a note ladies – I need a new set of clubs.’

  One nodded. A golf buggy appeared in the distance and made its way towards them. On board was one of the club’s staff, an attractive young man. He pulled up next to them and said, ‘Uncle Frank!’

  ‘Yes Pablo, what’s up?’

  ‘There’s a gentleman who would like a word with you.’

  ‘A gentleman? What’s his name then?’

  Pablo smiled but couldn’t help. ‘He wouldn’t say. But he said he was sure you would want to speak to him. He seemed very firm about that.’

  ‘A guy with no name? Who is it then? Clint Eastwood?’ He turned to his friends. ‘Carry on fellas, I’ll be back shortly.’

  He climbed into the buggy, his female minders riding on the back, and Pablo drove him back to the clubhouse. In a corner of the luxurious bar, a man was waiting for him. Frank McGuire went stock-still. He’d never done a runner in his life but seeing who was waiting for him made him almost break that rule. His tension must’ve radiated off him because his ladies took a threatening step ahead.

  ‘It’s alright me lovelies,’ he said though he knew nothing could be alright if this ghost from his past had put in an appearance. ‘Get yourselves something fruity to drink.’ He knew they’d be parked not too far away in case he needed them.

  As Frank approached the bar, memories of his misspent youth flashed before him. ’63 when that fight had kicked off in the basement brothel off Commercial Street. ’66, during that terrible winter, when he’d slashed that cocksure geezer’s face to ribbons with his razor. He gulped as he recalled the one, terrible incident he tried never to think about.

  He swept it savagely from his mind. His visitor turned his laser blue eyes on him.

  ‘I thought you were long away from the life,’ he said by way of a greeting. They both knew which life he was talking about; London’s murky underworld of a bygone era.

  ‘Still a Bacardi man?’ Instead of waiting for an answer the man ordered his poison of choice.

  Frank took a seat as a neat was put in front of him. He picked up his glass, but didn’t drink. ‘Truth be told I thought you was dead or something. One minute you were there, the next you were gone.’

  ‘A wise person knows when to call it a day. I had personal obligations that were more of a priority.’

  Frank’s visitor sipped his drink, which Frank knew wouldn’t contain any booze. His old mucker had never touched the stuff. He’d always remained clear-headed, which was what made him so scary. Back in the day when the man beside him lost it, he really lost it and, unlike most blokes who would blame it on downing a spirit or two, violence had been part of his DNA.

  ‘I take it you haven’t come all the way here to top up your tan?’ Frank continued.

  The man downed his drink in one and then gave Frank his full attention. ‘I’m assuming what happens back home reaches your ear?’ Frank nodded tersely. ‘So you’d have heard about the bullion job?’

  Frank didn’t wait to hear the rest; he shook his head, lowered his voice and bit out, ‘If you’re the face behind that job you need to get up and walk away. I don’t want nuthin—’

  ‘That gold has got my name on it.’ Frank couldn’t help his mouth tipping open with surprise. ‘My property. My legacy. Names are being mentioned but there are too many for me to wade through. And I don’t want my face back in that world.’ The guy leaned close to his ear. ‘My understanding is that you’re still a man with considerable influence back in London.’

  Frank let out a sarcastic scoff. ‘You seen the kinda life I’m living here? Sun, sea, sangria and sex ain’t just happening on the beach, you get me? Why would I trade that for sticking my beak in business that don’t concern me?’

  ‘Because of John Black.’

  ‘You what?’ Frank growled low and nasty like a dog ready to attack.

  Seeing his posture change, his female heavies stormed to their feet and started moving towards him. He waved them back, but instead of retreating to their seats they settled at the other end of the bar primed and ready. Uncle Frank had a thick skin, but one of the things he was touchy about was John.

  ‘You saying John pulled this blag?’

  ‘No. What I’m saying is that when the gold came into my possession John had the resources to help me put it away safe. So he’s the only other person who knew where it was . . .’

  ‘Plus the guys who worked there. Could be an inside job. And over the years there must’ve been loads of security guards, so one of them could be in the frame. Nah, John’s retired, has a killer missus and is taking it quiet.’

  ‘One of the names that keeps reaching my ear is a yob connected to him called Kieran Scott. It’s rather strange that John is associated with this chap Kieran and John is the one who helped me put the gold there.’

  Put that way, Frank thought, John wasn’t coming up smelling of roses. He took a long gulp of his white rum to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

  ‘I’m not saying for sure John’s involved,’ the man next to him kept on, ‘but I need a man who commands respect who can find out.’ He sweetened the pill. ‘If you were to get my gold back there will be a substantial reward for your trouble. Very substantial. If I was to offer you only 10% of it as a finder’s fee that would come to several million pounds. All you have to do is pass word back to Black and Scott that my property‘s covered by you and I’m sure they’ll see reason and return it. Imagine how many times you could have sex not on the beach with that type of money.’

  He scrawled a mobile number on a napkin and stood up. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to catch a flight back to England. Please call me when you’ve c
ome to a decision.’ He gave Uncle Frank a last penetrating look. ‘Don’t forget me and you go back to a time John Black knows nothing about.’

  Uncle Frank studied the phone number. He would’ve said this was a wind-up, except that those in the know knew the man who’d just left wasn’t the type you mucked around with; at least not back in the day. He took out his mobile with the intention of calling John, but instead held it in his hand for a long time before switching it off and putting it back in his pocket. He folded the napkin and put it away before taking a buggy back to the golf game.

  Uncle Frank won the round of golf. In fact he hadn’t but his fellow players decided it would be wise to juggle the results around a little to make it look as if he had. He took his party back to the clubhouse for tequila and tapas by way of a celebration. At one point he got up to go for a whizz and locked himself in a cubicle. He took out his mobile and the napkin.

  ‘Uncle Frank here. Listen, I’m coming back to Ol’ Blighty in a few days’ time. Why don’t you and me discuss your little problem further?’

  Twenty-Three

  Dee let out a little hiccup of giddy surprise when John pushed her up against the wall in the hallway as soon as they got back from visiting her mum’s houses. He leaned his body softly into hers wearing a wicked, wicked smile.

  Dee chuckled and beamed back. She adored it when he was feeling frisky. ‘My handsome soldier looking for a bit of action while he’s on parade?’ She wiggled her body, making him groan.

  Their sex life had taken a bit of a hit in the last few months because John had been unusually busy. Dee had got the nark about it, but had kept her grumbles to herself. Then she’d gone and done something really stupid . . . but she wasn’t going to think about that. Not now she was back in the secure, loving embrace of her other half again.

  ‘You ain’t feeling rough again or anything?’ he asked, stilling his body.

  She reached down and placed her hand over his eager knob. ‘That feel sick to you?’

  John leaned down. Dee pushed up. They met in a powerful kiss. After that they got into it quickly with Dee’s Calvin Klein hipsters off in a flash and John’s trousers yanked down. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched as he hit her G-spot. Oh yeah, that was the way to make her chill and shrill.

  Suddenly John abruptly froze inside her. His head jerked to the side.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Slowly he eased out and away from her and her legs dropped to the ground. ‘John—?’ she started, but he shushed her with a finger over her lips. ‘There’s someone in the house. Upstairs.’

  Dee didn’t argue with him. John’s past life had given him a sixth sense when something wasn’t right, just like when her beloved car had been nicked from their driveway. Dee quietly fixed her clothes as John disappeared into the main room. He came back with an automatic in his hand.

  ‘Stay here,’ he whispered.

  Dee grabbed his arm. ‘You’re not going up there on your own, no way.’

  She quickly stuffed her hand behind the large photo of Banshee and felt for the taser John had given her years ago, which was taped to the back. She always kept it there for these types of emergencies. He opened his mouth to argue with her, but the stubborn set of her face told him straight that he was wasting his time. They made their way up the darkened staircase, Dee behind John. They reached the wide landing and started to check all the rooms. No one was there.

  Dee felt a sense of relief until a tapping sound came from above, where they had made an office and den for Nicky. Shooter and taser at the ready, they both took the smaller staircase to the room upstairs. The light inside shone beneath the closed door. The tapping sound came again as they neared the room. Then it stopped and footsteps sounded inside. John looked at Dee. He mouthed ‘three’ and began the count. On three he booted the door, gun drawn. They couldn’t see anyone inside. It was Dee who felt the presence near the wall behind them. She didn’t hang around and pounced. She pressed the taser to the intruder’s neck. He screamed in pain and toppled over onto his back.

  A grim-faced Dee and John stood over him.

  She growled, ‘You’d better be able to explain in two seconds flat what you’re doing here Nicky.’

  ‘I’m asking you again, why aren’t you at uni?’ Dee winced as Nicky pressed the frozen pack of peas over the scorched mark left from her taser. Nicky was the last person on this earth she’d ever hurt, but she was pissed that he was home.

  ‘One of your dad’s mates said he saw you slinking around the village, knocking booze back like it was going out of business,’ she continued. ‘But I says, no way José, my boy’s got his head down in that big library at the uni reading one of them books that’s a thousand pages.’

  He gazed sheepishly at her. Her boy had been a total cutie when he was little; now his good looks were going to make women do cartwheels. His golden hair shone and highlighted the small scar near his right eye, courtesy of an accident as a child.

  Before he could answer John said from the doorway, ‘Give the kid a rest love. Chat to him tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ She swung around and gave him the look. ‘He’s back here like an alley cat and you want me to give him a break. Un-bloody-believable.’

  But she could see that her husband was only going to stick his oar in so she stood up, pointed a stern finger at her son and said, ‘Don’t think you’re off the hook young man.’

  Her mobile trilled. Impatiently she pulled it out. She pursed her lips when she recognised the number.

  ‘Whatcha want Tiff?’

  ‘I need a word.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ Then she remembered what Babs had asked her to do. ‘Actually, I need to have a word with you as well. I’ll send a text later telling you where and when we’ll meet.’

  She clicked off and turned back to her son. ‘Let me tell you where I think you’re going if you keep this up. To the knacker’s yard, skid row, bookie street and losers’ avenue.’

  Before he could answer the doorbell went. ‘Who the fuck . . .?’ They weren’t expecting any visitors and, more importantly, she wasn’t in the mood. She kept her eyes on her son. ‘That’s the final word on this Nicky.’

  She moved to the window and looked down. There was a car on the drive and two men in suits at the door. She’d never seen them before in her life. Dee opened the window and shouted down, ‘Whatcha want?’

  One shouted up, ‘We’re the police.’

  ‘Oi, Knox wants to see ya,’ announced one of Queen Bitch’s bully girls from Babs’ doorway.

  For crying out loud. Babs was tempted to roll her eyes heavenward. She was eternally grateful to Kieran for making sure someone was looking out for her, but did he have to pick someone who was such a nutter? Babs didn’t like associating with Paula Benson and she certainly didn’t like being at her beck and call. But she didn’t show her irritation because she was still scared shitless of the violent bird.

  Babs dutifully put her flip-flops on. ‘What’s she want then?’

  The other woman said not a word and turned, so Babs followed. Her face scrunched up as she realised that they were headed for the kitchen.

  ‘Why are we going in there?’ But her perplexed question was never answered.

  The kitchen work duty was inside rustling up dinner. One caught Knox’s girl’s eyes and nodded to the back. They ended up by a pile of large boxes shoved against a wall. But when the other woman pushed them out of the way, Babs realised it wasn’t a wall but a door. When they went through Babs was gobsmacked to see they were in the chapel.

  It was the most beautiful part of the prison. It was all wooden beams, arches and panels and gorgeous stained glass windows. Their colours made Babs long for the sun outside and feel a desperate need to be home with her family.

  As she moved further in she realised that Knox and her other thug were standing in front of someone she couldn’t see. Whatever was going on it was no prayer meeting. Babs went slack-jawed with shock when she sa
w that the person they were looking down on was Pearl Hennessy, her next door cellie. The old timer looked like she’d been crying for a week solid and the brown skin on her face was tinged with grey. Pearl didn’t look great at the best of times, but she appeared a right state now.

  Scandalised, Babs marched forward. ‘’Ere, what the effing hell’s bells is going on?’

  Pearl just sniffed, leaving Knox to do the explaining. ‘Your so-called mate here is the person who grassed you up to the kangas.’

  Babs’ brows knitted in a wiggle of confusion. ‘Don’t be daft. Pearl didn’t even know I had it. I told you that the only folk in the know were you and your two darling girls here.’

  The other woman’s face turned murderous. ‘If you think anyone close to me would even cough in a kanga’s direction without my say-so, you’re living in another universe,’ she spat. ‘No, the person with the loose lips is her.’ She stabbed an accusing finger at Pearl who sniffed again. ‘Go on, fucking ask her. That’s why I brought her here, to confess her sins. That’s what my old priest used to do with me and my brothers when we were young – except my big bruv, he was always too quick to grab. And believe me we needed it after the things we saw that slapper of a mother of ours get up to.’

  Babs had never even associated Knox with having a mum, much less having been dragged up as a church-going Catholic. But that’s what being banged up did to you; you only ever thought of the women in here as having a prison family.

  She turned her shaky gaze onto her friend. ‘Pearl—?’