‘In here,’ he called. Tiff was surprised at how soft his voice sounded. She’d been expecting something rough and raw like many of the lowlifes she’d grown up with on The Devil.
She walked into a huge lounge that had her whistling in appreciation. It was in-your-face flash to the max and reeked of money. Leather sofa, black coffee table, mounted plasma telly. The man himself sat in a cream high-back chair near the floor to ceiling window which led to a balcony with stunning views over Chelsea Harbour. There was a small table next to him with a glass part-way filled with drink and he held a book loosely in his hands. A gangster who spent his time reading; she hadn’t met one of them before.
Tiff’s appreciation of the room extended into a smile as she gazed at him. ‘Look like you’ve just had the place done up.’
‘You could say that.’ A man of few words. She could live with that.
No point beating about the bush. ‘The thing is Kieran—’
‘It’s Mister Scott.’
That threw Tiff. She’d assumed because he knew her mum this was all going to be child’s play. Ask him for the cash, he stumps up and she pisses off. Her eyebrows wrinkled together. ‘I thought you were a mate of my mum’s.’
He took a slug of his drink. ‘I am. Have been for a very long time.’ He placed the book on the table. ‘Remember you as a nipper. The only way your poor mum could get you to stop screaming the place down was to shove a sweetie ciggy in your gob.’
Her face heated up. This man was bent on putting her down, no doubt about it. Why he was doing it, she didn’t know, but she needed to get past it if she was going to leave with the cash. So she did a little trick she’d learned years back – ignored what he’d said. And that’s when she noticed the photo in the small, loveheart frame on the table near the book. She would swear it was a black-and-white snap of him and her mum. It was a strange photo of him as a small boy with a plaster over one lens of his glasses and her mum with an arm over his shoulder. They were both grinning like hell. What made it odd was that they were standing next to a basket full of washing.
Catching her looking at it, he laid the picture face down on the table. But it was too late. Tiff had already sussed that he had a very close relationship with her mum indeed. That’s why he’d mounted it in a loveheart frame. Everyone had a weakness and his was Babs.
So she played her newfound knowledge to the hilt. ‘I’m ever so grateful that Mum – Babs – said you’d sort me out . . .’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’
Tiff had to bite her tongue to stop from lashing out at the arrogant ponce. ‘But Mum said that you’d see me straight.’ She flashed her eyes innocently at him. ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do if I don’t get my mitts on that dosh.’
He widened his legs slightly and leaned forward. ‘Babs is tickled pink that you managed to turn your life around. But me,’ he pierced her with his steady stare, ‘I don’t think a leopard changes its spots that easily. And I’ve got the funny feeling you’re gonna bring a wagonload more trouble to your mum, just like in the bad ol’ days.’
Tiff had had enough. She eyed up the room scornfully. ‘You’re living the life, Mister Scott, and what I’m asking for is spare change. It ain’t like you’re gonna miss it.’
‘How much are you after?’
‘Three large.’
‘The best way to ruin a good friendship is to lend a mate some dough. I could end up giving it to you and then watch as it comes back to bite me in the jacksie and ruin things between me and Babs.’
‘That ain’t gonna happen,’ Tiff pleaded.
He pointed at the leather sofa. As she sat she noticed a gorgeous pink velvet clutch shoved down the side. Frowning, she held it up. ‘I got my sister Jen the exact same one for her birthday last year.’ She ended on a whisper, ‘That’s when I was still chatting to the cow.’
Kieran pursed his lips. ‘You wanna talk about your situation or go on like you’re on the Shopping Channel?’
She ditched the purse on the floor. She opened her mouth but he got there before her. ‘This time, fuck stringing me along and tell me the truth.’
Tiff knew she didn’t have much choice, so she started, ‘I’ve kept my fingernails clean for years. The problem is, I got in a bit over my head, finance wise. Now these two Herberts . . .’
Five minutes later she finished with, ‘And that’s the honest to God’s tale. I swear on my life.’
He considered her for a moment, then asked, ‘You on good terms with your sister Dee?’ She nodded back eagerly, not a clue why he was interested in her big sis.
He eased up and moved towards the wall, which she was gobsmacked to see him push back to reveal a drinks cabinet with glass shelves trimmed with gold.
‘What’s your poison?’ For the first time he smiled at her. Not a bad looking fella. She might be into him if she wasn’t into girls.
Satisfied, Tiff got nice and cosy in her seat. ‘Voddy and Coke.’
When he handed her the glass he said, ‘I’ll give you the readies, with some on top. As for those two cretins, no need for you to sweat about them no more.’
Tiff saluted him with the glass. ‘Thanks Mister Scott.’
He grinned. ‘Of course you don’t get nuthin for anything in this life. I’ll need you to do something for me in return.’
The V&C spluttered out of Tiff’s mouth.
After Babs’ daughter had gone, Kieran drained his glass of brandy, walked past the clutch purse on the floor and over to the table near his armchair. He picked up the book he’d been reading. Charlotte’s Web. He opened it up and read the handwritten dedication inside.
Happy birthday my beautiful boy.
Babs
She’d gifted it him on his tenth birthday. If it hadn’t been for her he’d never have . . . Kieran abruptly froze the thought. Looking backwards wasn’t going to help him deal with John Black. His mentor was holding out on him. Trying to diddle him out of the gold. Why else would John have given him the slip when he stashed it?
He put the book down and stared at the snap of him and Babs. Would she feel betrayed if she found out what he was up to? If she ever found out . . . He shuddered. But he couldn’t keep the thought at bay. If the one person in the world he loved found out what he was doing, he’d end up crucified.
He turned away from the old photo and stepped out on the balcony. As he gazed down at the harbour he convinced himself that he wasn’t betraying Babs at all. This was simply business.
Thirty-Six
Thomas Berry, aka Tommo, punched off his mobile and smiled triumphantly at his partner. ‘That was the dyke bitch. She’s ready to pay up.’
They’d been doling out some street justice to another unsatisfied customer when the call had come through. He hadn’t answered it immediately, too hyped up on the sound of the cracking bones and screams as he broke the stupid berk’s legs. When would people learn that if you delayed you were gonna have to pay double. He chuckled away to himself as they walked through the dark, deserted street.
Errol said, ‘Probably the thought of seeing that wrinkled dick of yours pushed her to the edge.’ He ended on a long sniff as he snorted some Special K up his nose.
Tommo didn’t go in for drugs; a waste of time and hard-earned cash. ‘You won’t have a dick left the way you’re going through the gear bruv.’
Errol let out a crazy, loud laugh. ‘That ain’t what the ladies say.’
‘Yeah, well, the type of birds you go around pumping—’ He finished on a harsh shriek of pain as something hard whacked into his calf. He tumbled over, his nose spewing blood as he slammed face first into the ground.
Shaken to the core, he raised his bloody face to see a large, shadowy figure aiming a sawn-off at his head. Next to him another figure shoved a hood over Errol’s head. ‘Think you’ve got the wrong geezers, fellas.’
The wheels of a vehicle screeched towards them. Without a word, the man holding the shooter took something out of his pocket and t
hrew it on the ground next to Tommo. He knew the score so he quickly pulled the hood over his head, clenching his teeth in pain. He heard footsteps beside him and then behind him. A firm hand grabbed his ankle and started dragging him down the street.
A woman with plastic boobs and come hither mouth moved seductively to the tune being spun by the DJ – Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ – and deliberately got in Kieran’s face as he made his way through The Lock.
She flashed her mascaraed-to-death eyelashes at him and planted her artificial strawberry creams nearly in his face. ‘I thought me and you could take the floor by storm.’
I bet you did, bird, he thought. ‘I don’t think I remember your name on the membership roll.’ The only way a woman of her stripe would be was if she had a rich hubby or sugar daddy bankrolling her.
She softened her voice to all lovey-dovey and Little Miss La-di-da, but he heard Essex in there, probably Romford. ‘I hear you are a good mover Mister Scott. Know how to do the Hokey Cokey,’ she said, seductively.
He had nothing against Essex folk; they just couldn’t become members of his club.
As if on cue, one of his team came over. He grabbed the woman by her sunbed-tanned arm. Startled, she tried to wriggle free. ‘Oi, what the heck you doing?’ Deffo Romford.
‘Right, darlin’, it’s time for you to take your business elsewhere.’
The bouncer dragged her away as she shouted, ‘This is a free country. I can speak to who the heck I like.’
‘See, that’s where you’re wrong,’ Kieran heard him answer. ‘This ain’t a free country, it’s Mister Scott’s country and you, my girl, are being deported . . .’
Kieran smiled reassuringly at the few clubbers who had stopped to watch, but they soon lost interest and got back into their booze and the groove.
He quickened his steps; he had business to take care of. He headed for the top of the building and entered the large attic. He shifted the boxes at the end out of the way, revealing a keyhole. He inserted the key that he alone kept, and turned it. He slid part of the wall across, revealing another room in the attic next door: a building he also owned. It was in complete contrast to the luxury of his club. Bare walls, scarred wooden floor with flecks of blood ingrained in it and a window left wide open, just in case one of his visitors needed to learn a lesson the hard way – head first falling back down to earth.
Two of his crew stood by while he approached the two hooded knobheads shackled to the back wall. They were secured so that only their toes touched the ground. Kieran had inherited the room in its present condition, including the chains and shackles on the walls. Apparently the previous owner had been an S&M freak who got his rocks off with a bit of spanking and whipping. Kieran had got rid of most of the hardcore gear, except for the wicked-looking thick whip he took down off the wall. It uncoiled like a snake.
Time to get this show on the road. He nodded to his men, who stepped forward and whipped the hoods off. He was glad to see Errol Banks and Tommo Berry go slack-jawed when they clocked him.
Errol sputtered, ‘Mister Sc . . .Scott—’
Kieran cut him off with a savage crack of the whip against the floor. He shook it out with relish. ‘I hear it’s possible to use this on someone without slashing them to ribbons.’ His steady gaze pierced them. ‘Never could master that meself.’
Tommo’s body convulsed like he was shitting his pants. ‘We don’t know what this is about Mister Scott, but it ain’t true. We ain’t done nuthin.’
Kieran tutted and shook his head sadly. He inhaled through his nose as he stepped closer, the whip wriggling by his side. ‘What do you see on my face?’
Both men frowned. ‘Er, what?’ Errol slowly let out.
Kieran smiled brightly. ‘Don’t be shy fellas. What do you see on my face?’
Tommo had a stab. ‘Eyes. And very nice they are too.’
Kieran shook his head. ‘You’re getting warm though.’
Errol punched in, ‘A nose.’
Kieran flicked the whip so its head slithered along the floor. ‘I better put you out of your misery. A pair of ears. And the way I hear it, you been collecting debts on my turf without my say-so.’
Both men looked at each other. ‘Now that’s naughty,’ he added in a quiet, deadly voice. ‘You know the rules. You wanna take a piss in my pot, you ask my permission first. I mean that’s basic manners, innit.’
He cracked the whip so that it caught one of Errol’s shirt buttons and ripped it off. Back in the day Kieran had stepped out with an older dominatrix who had shown him a thing or two about handling a whip.
Errol cringed back. ‘We’re sorry Mister Scott, we’ll take our business elsewhere.’
Kieran carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Trying to get one over me I can deal with, coz let’s face it fellas, you’re pond life. Not worth my notice.’ His tone hardened. ‘But when word reached me that you’ve taken to humiliating some poor Doris who owed you dosh by threatening to rape her . . .’
Tommo couldn’t help himself. He strained against his chains as he spat, ‘That fucking minge muncher—’
With a fluid one-two flick of his wrist, Kieran slashed him across both cheeks, leaving him screaming in pain as blood trickled down his already damaged face. ‘You really should learn how to respect women. Mind you, my old girl was a slag of the first order, who really should have had her legs sewn together so she’d stop popping kids out every nine months.’ His eyes glazed over as a small smile turned up the corner of his mouth. ‘Then I met a lady who showed me that birds are to be loved, cherished, pampered. You don’t fucking go around threatening to stick it up them like they’re a piece of meat from Spitalfields.’
Errol opened his mouth, but the shake of the whip made him snap it shut. Kieran carried on. ‘The thing is fellas, going round doing shit like that makes folk think my turf is a homeland for nonces. And that can’t be allowed to stand.’
‘We’re sorry Mister Scott,’ both men threw out together.
Kieran paused for a second or two, then said, ‘Maybe you are, maybe you ain’t. Who knows? But I’m thinking to myself, this girl does owe these two morons some blunt and fair’s fair, they should get their money back.’ He shoved his free hand into his pocket and waved a bundle of hundreds in the air. ‘A grand is what I hear, am I correct?’
Both men nodded quickly. Kieran let the whip drop and divided the cash up. Then he passed one wodge each to his men. ‘You need to open those mouths of yours wide now,’ he said, like he was offering a child its favourite treat.
Kieran’s men shoved the notes into their mouths. He smiled, long and hard. ‘Now eat up.’
He stood with his arms folded as they finally swallowed the money down. Errol looked like he was going to puke, so Kieran warned, ‘You’ll be using your mouth another way if there’s one speck of crap on my floor.’ Errol nodded, his eyes watering.
‘Now you’ve got your money back, piss off outta here. And don’t let me hear another word about you taking liberties in my manor.’ He inched his head menacingly forward. ‘Coz if I hear tell you have, it won’t be a whip I’ll be coming after you with.’
Without waiting for a response, he left the room. He straightened his jacket and smiled. Now Tiffany Miller was his to command.
Thirty-Seven
‘Good evening Mister Black. Glad you could join us.’
All the receptionists at Kieran’s club knew John, Kieran had made very sure of that. John appreciated the effort, but he didn’t much care for this bowing and scraping. Then again, John was convinced that Kieran enjoyed rubbing his nose in the fact that he’d bought the premises from John for a knockdown fee, just before property went stellar in Wapping. John didn’t resent the fact that the guy had made a killing. But he did think it was a bit saucy that Kieran hadn’t even offered him a little drink by way of a thank you very much. Still. Not that it mattered of course.
He stepped forward but a hulking, great beast of a bloke appeared out of nowhere to halt
him in his tracks. ‘I need to search you sir.’
Was he for real? Then John remembered the trouble that had gone on here. So he gave himself up to be patted down.
The first man he’d spoken to said, ‘Mister Scott has asked if you could wait for him in the bar.’
John walked off muttering, ‘Wait for him in the bar? Who’s he think he is? My fucking headmaster?’
He grew even more narked as he waited a good ten minutes with a Scotch in his hand until Kieran appeared. The other man got into it straight away. ‘So, where is it?’
John shook his head. ‘I’ve already told you it’s on a need to know basis.’
Kieran bared his teeth. ‘And I need to know.’
John sipped his drink coolly. ‘Sorry mate, I can’t tell you that – you understand. A mate of mine has got it secured.’
Kieran’s nostrils flared, clearly pissed off. ‘What do you mean, you can’t tell me? It’s my fucking . . .’ he looked around to check no one was listening, ‘gold. You’re expecting me to leave it with persons unknown in a location unknown? I ain’t stupid.’
‘What do you want? A receipt? And you ain’t handing it over to persons unknown.’ His voice softened. ‘You’re handing it over to me. Your old mucker, unless of course you’re saying you don’t trust me?’
It seemed to John that it was a long time before Kieran responded. ‘Course I trust you.’ But the atmos was cooling. ‘It’s not really a question of trust, is it? You can’t really expect me to hand my hard-earned product over and not know where it’s gone. That’s not realistic.’
John was enjoying this moment so much, he didn’t notice the storm cones going up. He took the tone of the kindly uncle. ‘Look son, you’ve done well for yourself and you’re getting near the top of the tree, but no disrespect, you’re not actually on the highest branches. As I’ve explained to you before, the kind of boys who deal with this kind of work don’t like publicity. I know, I’m one of them. If the guys I’m using find out I’ve been dropping their names, they’re not gonna be very happy. I wouldn’t be. Let me take care of things for you. Of course, if you’re not confident I’ll see you right, you’re welcome to make enquiries with someone else and I’ll get it shifted there.’
Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series) Page 22