“How?” Mickey asked.
“I don’t know. I met Jesus the other day. He didn’t say what happened; he didn’t even say Robert had been hit. But he didn’t have to,” Charlie said bitterly.
Fire kicked into Mickey’s belly. His brain burned with vengeance. “Well let’s get the Mexican bastard and tie him to the back of a car and drive him around London ’til he says something!”
Charlie gave a small smile to Mickey's suggestion. “This has nothing to do with Jesus—and you know how things work Mick. It was out of respect that he met with me and passed this news on,” Charlie replied calmly.
“What about Leroy? I thought he was on this for you?” Mickey asked, with far more aggression in his voice than he normally allowed himself in conversations with Charlie.
Charlie shrugged in answer to the question.
Mickey felt shock begin to engulf him. Robert Payne was an untouchable. No one would strike against him, as they would know they’d face the wrath of Charlie O'Neil. They would be made to pay. Their families would be made to pay.
“Who?” Mickey heard himself say.
Charlie looked pained.
“Is Pete still out the front?” Charlie asked.
Mickey contemplated using this as an opportunity to say what he felt about the bodybuilder. “Yeah.” he said, thinking it still best to keep his feelings on Pete in check.
“Good,” Charlie nodded. “I don’t know. I have racked my brains. There’s no one. And anyway, who hits someone as big as Robert and then doesn’t boast about it? I would expect someone on my doorstep wanting to negotiate half our firm away on the back of this, or at least someone trying for me as well.”
“I haven’t seen anything out there either,” Mickey shrugged. “I mean I know there were those late collections; but that was just down to a poor choice in personnel.”
Charlie looked up at Mickey. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Mickey replied quickly.
“Ok,” Charlie nodded, accepting the response. “There’s something going on here that I don’t understand.”
Mickey looked back at his boss, not sure how to respond, so he kept quiet.
“I think I’m getting too old for this. I'm not sharp enough to see these moves coming anymore,” Charlie said, so quietly he could almost have been talking to himself.
Mickey put his hands through his hair again, uncomfortable with O’Neil’s display of weakness. He tried to re-sculpt his perfect quiff, though there was not enough gel left to hold it; it allowed him something to occupy his mind with instead of looking at his weakened boss.
“The aggressor always comes out on top in this game; the man who makes the second play is on the back foot,” Charlie continued grimly.
Mickey looked over at the doors which would take him back into the house and his mind now concentrated on thinking of a reason to leave. He was uncomfortable being the witness to his revered boss’ negativity.
“The band’s all set for tomorrow night,” Mickey said, changing the subject to lighten the mood.
At this Charlie’s mood seemed to improve; and he gave a small smile and a nod in reply.
“I should get back; Dawn will have the dinner on the table,” Mickey said, looking towards the door.
Charlie nodded. “Thanks for doing that thing with the band. Jackie will really appreciate it.”
“Anything for Jackie,” Mickey replied.
“We need to put all this shit to the back of our minds, Mickey and put it on hold,” Charlie said his voice sounding firm.
Mickey looked back at Charlie and wanted to argue the point; he wanted to get away from O’Neil’s house right away. He had to get out there, ask questions and reassert the firm’s authority.
“Nothing gets in the way of Jackie’s party,” Charlie snapped, familiar lines of aggression appearing on his face. “Everything is on hold until Jackie’s party.”
Mickey nodded. “Of course.”
“Then after the weekend we unleash hell, like we did in the old days. Everyone, even anyone who thinks they’ve got no beef with us. We go into their places and tear them apart.”
“Sounds good,” Mickey smiled.
“We’ll show everyone who still runs this city,” Charlie continued.
“You want me to go around, ask a few questions tomorrow?” Mickey asked.
“No, I need you to break Jackie out of hospital tomorrow morning,” Charlie said, still with the same firmness in his voice.
“Break her out?” Mickey asked. “I thought she was being let out for the party?”
“No, the stupid quacks said she should stay in,” Charlie said, his voice now dropping down to a quieter tone. “But then what do they fucking know? If they knew what they were doing she’d be better by now.”
Mickey had never asked any questions about Jackie’s illness. He knew it was something serious, but he only understood this from the number of times she’d been in and out of the hospital over the last twelve months. It was only beginning to look a more serious problem, from his point of view, when she was last admitted, and then kept in—and this was now some months ago.
Dawn had of course gone to visit Jackie frequently and Mickey was fairly sure she knew what the illness was. But he had never asked her and it had become a taboo conversation at home.
“Of course,” Mickey nodded.
“I thought maybe you could bring her back home. Then she and Dawn could spend the day getting ready and doing all that girly stuff,” Charlie said.
“That won’t be a problem,” Mickey said. “I think Dawn’s been planning that herself already.”
Charlie smiled. “Good.”
Mickey turned back to the door and went to walk away but was caught by O’Neil’s strong hand on his shoulder.
“One last thing Mick,” Charlie said. “No more thought about what we said tonight—nothing. This problem is on hold until after tomorrow.”
“I understand; tomorrow’s just about Jackie,” Mickey replied.
Mickey wanted to say that he could follow his boss’ instructions, and still make time for raising some hell tomorrow. But he knew the futility of the argument, not to mention the disrespect it would show O’Neil.
“And no one else knows about this situation Mickey, just you and me,” Charlie added, releasing his grip on Mickey’s shoulder.
“What about Pete?” Mickey asked.
“Pete?” Charlie replied, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Pete’s just my security; you’re the only guy left I’ve got to talk to.”
Mickey applied all his concentration, so as not to let a satisfied smile appear on his face, and quickly left for Dawn’s dinner.
He wanted to see Dawn; it had been a hard night in the kitchens today.
Chapter Forty Seven - Leroy Elkins
It was almost ten pm by the time Leroy arrived outside the Blake’s bar; he now regretted returning to the strippers place. He had ended up around her flat all day and hadn’t even called Charlie with an update. Fuck it, he thought, Charlie would understand. You can’t turn down a fine bitch who’s up for it.
Leroy found himself rechecking his watch as he walked into the Blake’s Bar; the place was empty and he thought it might be shut already. The only other person in the place was an old man behind the bar, who seemed preoccupied by a TV in the corner, whilst he delicately polished a glass.
“Mother fucker,” Leroy said, spinning around to examine the empty bar. “You bwoys are in need of some serious marketing. Shit!”
The old man nodded a greeting to Leroy. “What can I get you sir.”
Leroy walked up to the bar, sunk his elbows onto the counter and leant over the edge of the bar; the habit of a thief too hard for Leroy to shake. He took in a good look at everything that was behind the bar, an ancient looking old till and row upon row of sparking glasses. Nothing worth skanking, he thought.
“Shit man, me better get a drink before I lose my place at the bar,” Leroy sneered.
The old man smiled and didn’t react. “So what you having?”
Leroy looked the man up and down. “Fucking ‘ell, ‘ave I walked into help the fucking aged? How the fuck old are you supposed to be?”
“I am getting on a bit these days, but I’m still young enough to pull a pint,” the old man smiled.
“I’ll have a Bud,” Leroy said, his face hardening. “But I ain’t paying for it, and I don’t think you gonna be making me.”
The old man turned and took a Budweiser out of a dirty looking fridge behind him and passed Leroy the bottle. “I wouldn’t charge Leroy Elkins for a drink in our bar.”
Leroy smiled. “Ah you know it. It's true. It's true I’m Leroy Elkins. I’m impressed, old man—how you know who I am?”
The old man shrugged, picking up another glass to shine. “I’ve been behind this bar for almost thirty years. I know the big players around here.”
Leroy was well aware that his ego was one of his flaws, but he couldn’t help but feel a little more comfortable now in the shitty bar; he liked being a name. He looked at the old man. Was he a Blake? He couldn’t remember Si making mention of any old guys.
“Best way to stay healthy in this business, always know the players,” the old man added, not looking up, all his attention on the glass.
“Yeah, ok. I get you Mr. Blake,” Leroy replied.
The old man laughed and looked up at Leroy. “I’m no Blake.”
“Thought this ting was owned by the Blakes?” Leroy said.
“It is,” the old man nodded solemnly.
“Have you got a problem with that?” a woman’s voice said.
Leroy turned to see an old woman stood behind him; she looked like she was dragging a bin bag behind her as she entered the room.
“Shit! You look even older than him,” Leroy laughed. “’Ave I walked into the fricken munsters?”
Leroy didn’t have time to stop laughing before he saw that the bag he thought the old woman was dragging behind her was actually a spade. This only registering in his mind, a moment before—it got thrust over his head knocking him out cold.
Leroy came to suddenly, with cold water over his face. As soon as his eyesight had adjusted to his new surroundings, he lurched his head backwards. A mad looking man was staring at his face so close that their noses were almost touching.
The man looked like he’d been in a car accident; his face was so battered and bruised—it was a mess. He was in his late twenties or early thirties but his eyes were what made him look mad. They were lifeless old eyes. Combined with the injuries to his face, they made the man look more zombie than human.
“Sorry Leroy,” another man said, moving the mad man away from him.
Leroy could see an obvious family resemblance between the two men; the other’s eyes were more human looking but still lacking something. He too had a face that looked like he’d been involved in train wreck. Leroy could tell he was the man responsible for his wet face—he stood there smiling holding an empty bucket.
What the fuck was this place? It was like he’d walked into the set of some horror film.
“You know I didn’t think it would be my brother Nick that scared you most when you came to,” the man said, gesturing down towards Leroy’s feet.
Leroy could see now he was tied to a chair. His jeans were rolled up to the knee and his feet were bare, planted in a bucket full of liquid.
The man grinned at his brother Nick. “Yeah Nick. I thought he wouldn’t lose it until we told him ‘bout his feet being in acid.”
Leroy looked down at his feet and could suddenly feel unnatural heat rising from his soles and up his legs. He screamed.
His mind was blank, silenced by the horror of his situation.
Leroy’s screams were only silenced by the hysterical laughter of the two brothers; he could feel a tear rolling down his cheek.
The brother, who had been doing the talking, stopped laughing and prodded his finger in Leroy’s face. “Stop crying you little bitch. It’s just hot water. I told ya he’d fall for that!”
Leroy looked down at the liquid in the bucket. It looked like water; his brain now acknowledging no feeling of pain in his legs or feet, just the scolding from the heat.
“We were just messing with you, going all psychotherapy on you and shit,” the man grinned. “You should never have fucked with the Blakes.”
Leroy shook his head and looked at the bucket of warm water his feet were in.
“Now, me and my brother are going upstairs to decide how we’re going to kill you two bitches,” the man smiled. He then grabbed the shoulder of his brother and led him to stairwell going upwards.
It was only when the two brothers had walked out of view, that Leroy thought about what the man had said and realised he wasn’t the only captive. He scanned the room and saw a young Asian woman chained to the floor in the corner of what he could now see appeared to be the cellar of the bar.
“It’s alright; we’re going to get out of this,” the young woman said.
The woman was an attractive lady and in a different situation Leroy would have thought about one of his lines to try out. But under the present circumstance, he was all too conscious of his show of fear that she must have just been witness to.
“I’m a policewoman; I should have some backup arriving at any moment,” the woman said. “I’m D.I. Khan.”
The woman suddenly lost all her sex appeal. There’s nothing more dangerous than a good-looking bitch that's police, he thought.
“What are you down here for,” Khan asked. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to; but it might help to talk while we’re both here together.”
“Nutin,” Leroy replied, very aware if he was about to witness a police raid it would be best to try and stay under the radar for as long as he could. “Just refused to pay for my drink.”
“They’re all crazy bastards these Blakes,” Khan said. “I’m going to love seeing their faces when they’re in cuffs.”
Leroy looked down at the bucket; he found himself in a situation where he had no natural ally. He didn’t have much hope in the developing situation with the Blakes but, at the same time, he was more than uneasy about forming an unlikely alliance with a copper. Though he did feel a growing sense of relief at the prospect of a rescue. The police always look after their own, especially when they’re women. He had no doubt D.I. Khan was right and the place would be soon be swarming with coppers.
Leroy looked back across at the young police woman. Yes, she was just the type the police would see as a headline waiting to happen; young, female, and Asian. Shit, Leroy thought, someone gonna get some fucking medal out of this rescue—and I’m probably gonna end up banged up again. Fuck, he thought, cursing his luck.
He started to think more about how to get the hell out of this place when the raid kicked off, rather than trying to get out of the Blake’s clutches.
Leroy looked across at the stairwell; he could hear men’s voices getting closer. The Blakes were back.
The first to enter the cellar was the man Leroy now knew to be Nick, the one that looked like a dead eyed zombie; he still had a crazy grin on his face. He was followed by the other brother, who had been talking to him moments earlier, and finally one more. You could tell they were related by their similar features, but this one looked quite different from the others. He didn’t seem to have the same crazy swagger that the other two had.
He could see the one who’d been doing all the talking was now wearing gloves; there was no good reason why he should be wearing gloves, which worried Leroy.
“Billy,” Khan shouted at the man who had been talking to Leroy earlier. “It’s not too late to make a deal. I told you I’m not interested in the three of you!”
Shit! What the fuck need to happen then, to make you take an interest, bitch? Leroy thought to himself, looking at the tied-up woman.
“Sorry, you talking to me Pakie?” Billy asked, glaring towards Khan.
“Yes Billy, it’s not too late,” Khan continued calmly.
Billy pulled a gun out of his pocket and smiled.
Khan’s eyes widened with fear. “What are you going to do with my gun, Billy?”
“Billy, think about it…” the more normal looking brother started to say.
“This bitch is giving me such a headache!” Billy shouted to the ceiling.
Billy raised the gun towards Khan and fired. The bullet went straight through her forehead, Leroy looked away quickly, hardly able to take in what he had seen. The police officer was dead; Billy had just killed a fucking copper! Leroy hadn’t had to look at the woman long to know she was dead. The remains of her head were now just a mess of blood.
“Shit!” the other brother screamed.
“Some women just don’t know when to shut the fuck up!” Billy shrugged.
The man seemed emotionless.
“Honestly,” Billy said, turning to Nick. “Some women just go on and on.”
Nick started to laugh and the other man, who now had his head in his hands, sunk into the shadows out of sight.
Leroy stared at Billy, who was waving the gun around like it was a toy. They’re fucking psychos! Leroy thought. He began to think he had seriously under estimated the Blakes and could well be in deep shit.
Where the hell was that stupid bitch’s backup?
Billy turned to Leroy grinning. “Now for you Leroy Elkins. You can be another notch on my belt.”
“Billy, we don’t have to kill anyone else!” the other Blake brother said, stepping out of the shadows. “Don’t you see? You've just shot a policewoman; what the hell were you thinking?”
Billy looked at the other Blake and his face hardened. “John, you just don’t get this do you?”
John stared back at Billy.
“You can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs; we’re serious fucking people now,” Billy growled and pointed the gun at his older brother.
“But Billy, she was a policewoman,” John replied, glassy eyed.
“If you weren’t my brother,” Billy shook his head and lowered the gun then turned to Leroy. “Elkins has got to die, simple as that.”
Serious People Page 31