“Wait.”
They stopped. Eva didn’t look back, or look up. The concierge, a wrinkled man with a fat pink face, was holding the car keys. Eva looked into the night, attempting to work out what part of the city she was holed up in. The streetlamps illuminated the typical mixture of glam, soot and trash, which marked out the city, but signs of wealth and glamour were abundant here too, with expensively decorated restaurants, Italian, Lebanese and Spanish, spread across the wide street and the people walking by wore smart quality clothes. This was a well to do place. Kensington? Bayswater? She couldn’t pin it down.
“I’m coming with you.” It was Maggie. Of course it was Maggie.
Gillespie didn’t sound pleased. “Not on your life. This is business.”
“You said we’d already won. The thing was over.”
“I did, didn’t I? And I was right. Listen, whatever you are about to say, don’t. Not here. Say nothing at all,” said Gillespie gruffly. For a split second, Eva wanted to cheer the evil bastard for taking on his wife. Another part of her waited for the bitch to strike him down. There were a few seconds of awkward silence among the men. Still, Eva did not look back at the woman - after all, it was what she wanted. All her looks wore strongly dark, sordid with violent undertones. Instead of looking back, she wondered how she could get a gun from one of the men. And if she got one, she wondered - would she have to shoot Mad Maggie dead? Mad Maggie was one she could kill without a pang of remorse.
“I’m coming, Brian.”
“You’re making a spectacle of yourself. They know why you’re coming with us.”
More awkward silence.
“You promised me.”
“I did.”
Maggie’s heels clattered along the marble until she drew up with Eva. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Eva wouldn’t look at her. With most people, avoiding eye contact signalled a psychological weakness. But Eva knew Maggie’s eyes were demanding, as needy as they were forceful. Eva was going to deny her what she craved. Instead, Eva stonewalled. Eva guessed it would drive the bitch mad. Maybe then she would make a mistake.
They put Eva in a car with Terry, a driver, and Maggie beside Eva. Obviously. They started from the kerb and merged into the traffic, and Eva felt Maggie’s eyes on her twice already, and then ignored her some more. Eva heard Gillespie and Maggie’s words in her head over again. You promised me. Eva was determined she would never find out what all that dark promise meant.
The bar at the Hammersmith Luxury Inn was closed. But the hotel had another area set out like a cheap college canteen, a blue wipe-clean room where the only service to be had was from vending machines serving over-priced fizz and snacks. Coffee was available, as was every kind of chocolate, peanut, crisp and soft drink, but the three large men who were sitting like small mountains around a Formica table were not consuming coffee or cheesy crisps. They were drinking neat shorts from a bottle of Jack Daniels, most of the content already drained using toothbrush plastic cups taken from their en-suite bathrooms. Gillespie never permitted drinking on the job, but these boys had worked so hard since the very beginning of the mission to take out Marka. And before that, they had been fighting on the home front which meant the Mitkins and the Somali boys. The Mitkin brothers had played both sides for so long they had ended up slack, thinking they were bigger than the game itself. They were gravely mistaken. If Marka hadn’t beaten them to it, the Mitkins would have been toast within a fortnight anyway. Gillespie was more subtle than Marka of course. With Gillespie the Mitkins would have gone for a midnight swim into the waters off Shoeburyness. The three sitting around the hotel table had been working with and against the Mitkins for months now, and the old man had already told them the Mitkin’s days were over in Southend. They were on a countdown to extinction when Albany Park suddenly blew up in everyone’s faces, the Mitkin’s corpses left in the centre of the smoking crater. Now the Somalis were the main issue left behind, and they weren’t going to vacate easily. Most people in the business knew the Somalis had an understanding with Marka. Men and boys without any code of honour, the Somalis were an evil chaos unto everyone but themselves. And Marka had intended to use that to his advantage. Now that wouldn’t happen, and their chaos still remained. Even so, using only the strength and wits which had been instilled through decades of living on Roe Park, these boys draining the JD dry had been with the team to cut the head off the legendary Marka dragon. No matter what Gillespie thought of their drinking, the boys knew they deserved it. And as much as they feared Gillespie, these boys enjoyed breaking rules and drinking toxic levels of slosh as much as the next man. But when the text message came in from Terry that the caravan was on the way, they knew they had to sober up quick or face dire consequences. They had been kidding themselves all night.
“Shit. They’re coming. Ten minutes, boys. Shall we save the last bit?”
“Feck no. Drink, you lightweight. You’re an embarrassment.”
The first man’s phone buzzed again. He scanned it and his smile dropped away.
“Jaysus. Bad Brian’s going to be in a stink. Terry says Mad Maggie is coming to keep an eye on the skirt.”
“The old man should lock her up. Or shoot her. She’s demented.”
“The redhead doesn’t deserve it.”
“Maggie can read minds, you know. Thinking like that, she’d finish you as well.”
“You’re fecking scared of everything, you maggot.”
They swigged the bottle and tucked their shirts back into their trousers. The other late-night drinkers had been scared out of the canteen long ago, which was just as well, because if any had stayed, they would have easily seen the glints of pistols and knife handles as the boys put on their suit jackets and fastened the buttons. They looked at each other silently, seeing the drunkenness on their partners’ faces. Shit, there would be trouble after they’d finished this fool Dan Bradley.
Not knowing whether they were being watched from the hotel, or what direction Gillespie was coming from, Dan and Jess were left with few options. They walked back along King Street doing their best to blend in with the meandering drunks of the early morning. Jess was still wearing the sliced dress Terry had damaged before, and her thin coat afforded her little protection from the night cold. So she allowed Dan to loop an arm around her waist so they walked like two oddly matched lovers walking back from a late night out. Dan’s body helped her fight the cold. He didn’t hold her too keenly, he wasn’t trying to feel her up, and his touch was light and respectful, ready to be withdrawn at any moment. Yet close to him like this, she could sense something of what Eva had seen in him. He was confident, masculine and strong. He was direct and aggressive, had a sarcastic wit, but was gentle too. That Eva had been so vehement about not getting back with him, gave her a mischievously unlikely stirring of hope. She wondered what this rough, wiry man would be like to kiss. And for a fraction of a second, she wondered what he would be like as a lover. As she blushed, her body warmed too. It was wrong, of course. It was an absurd thought for such a dangerous time, but Jess assured herself such thoughts were needed at times like these. She put the thought away again. She was too young for him. And thinking like that was disloyal to Eva. It was never going to happen. And, yes, Eva did still have a thing for him, whatever was left of him, no matter what she said to the contrary. A girl just knew. Dan saw Jess glance at his gauze laden stump, a patch of blood still peeping through.
“You like?” he said, waving his fingers. He wished he didn’t, as it suddenly seared with pain.
“Oh, yeah. I love bloody stumps pressing my hip. You show me a girl who doesn’t.”
They were across the road from the Luxury Inn. There it was, as bleak as a 1960’s Eastern Bloc state landmark, claiming to be a luxury hotel, but as hotels went, this was as cheap and nasty as an old tart in a too-low dress. Dan peered at bright windows, looking for watchers, but he couldn’t see any silhouettes up there. Black cabs passed them by, people laughing o
r looking ashen-faced ill as they passed by. There were a couple of packed night buses, but by London standards, even at two in the morning, it was quiet. Eerily quiet. The roads were pretty empty and Dan didn’t like it because it played straight into a killer’s hands. More than ever, he needed this over - all of it. Dan was weak and tired, but knew Jess would need him to seem strong and able if she was to survive. He had now learned Eva could fend for herself no matter the problem. Perhaps he had never given her enough credit. She had faced the greatest challenges they had ever known, she had come through on top. So far. He wondered if she was the toughest of the both of them; a long while back, he admitted she was the professional one in their outfit. But he only ever admitted it to himself.
His arm was draped around Jess’s back, his palm and fingers lightly nestled against her far hip. He noticed the gentle swing of it. He felt the gentle pressure of the side of her body against his. It reminded him of the short sweet time with Eva in the hotel room. He blinked the memory away. Danger was coming. There were two sets of headlights coming up ahead, one closely following the other as if they were separated by a magnetic repulsion. The speed and serenity of these cars were different to all of the recent traffic, and they made Dan slow his pace.
“Is it them?” asked Jess.
He nodded. There was a shop nearby, one of the big glass fronted kind with a long recess doorway. It was a standard shoe shop calling itself a boutique. The hotel was diagonally ahead, no more than a hundred yards away. If someone was standing in the grounds of the hotel car park, Dan knew he would be able to hear every word from this vantage point on the other side of the quiet road. They ducked into the shop entrance recess and watched safely from behind two layers of glass as the two saloons slowed down, pulled into the wide open gates of the hotel car park without indicating. Three figures, their gait not quite steady, their bodies big and wide, emerged from the light of the lobby and shambled down the stairs. Dan allowed himself a thin smile. Those three were steaming drunk. Dan was dead tired, and his hand was still hurting, but he was still going to be faster than a drunk every time. Three men were already not as dangerous as they thought they were. Gillespie must have seen it too, because he got out of the first car, and Gillespie growled at them.
“You’re pissed. Look at you. Bloody messes, what good are you now?”
The men said nothing, staying in a meek huddle as they moved down the concrete steps towards him.
“We’re sound, gaffer. Really.”
Gillespie chuckled indulgently, moving closer to them. He reached out to the man who spoke, then swung his fist. The man doubled over in pain from Gillespie’s sucker punch deep into his gut.
“Don’t give me any shit. You see him yet?”
They all shook their heads.
“He’ll be around somewhere.”
Dan stared at the second car, it was near impossible to see into the car through the shop glass; besides, the cabin was dark inside, yet he still could see there were people in the back, it was full, and Eva had to be one of them. His bet was that she would be tucked in the middle away from the doors. They weren’t going to give her up easily, at least all the way up until the hand-over. And then would come the attempted double-cross.
Eva was tied up, of course, had to be. But he wished they’d overlooked that. He had his wits, and his strength was returning, but Dan knew the odds. He was just one man against several lifetimes of fighting and weight training plus guns, ammo and knives. Everything he could deliver was basic, minimal, predictable. Maybe his luck would hold, maybe once or twice at the most before they brought him down. He hoped and wondered and looked for the weakest link. He kept looking.
“Now what?” said Jess, sensing Dan’s hesitation. Irritated, Dan batted it away:
“What do you think? It’s time to face the music and dance.” He let go of her body gently, and walked out into the open air brazen, like the yob who starts a riot. Another car rushed past him, presenting Dan in a hyper-speed curtain reveal, unveiling his approach to the men standing in the Luxury Inn car park. They all turned and saw him now. He knew Eva and all those in the car would be watching too. Jess’s thoughts told her to follow Dan. But something deeper – was it fear? – told her to wait and watch. Whatever it was, she obeyed, and she cringed at her own horrible weakness. She was failing Eva. Yet again.
“Here he comes. The pretty boy with the long reach and the glass jaw. How the devil are you?” said Gillespie. Dan’s feet had not touched the kerb before Gillespie’s words were finished.
“I boxed twenty bouts, and didn’t get put down more than three times, Brian. Are you sure senile dementia hasn’t kicked in?”
Dan was in the car park now, smiling grimly and counting off all the men before him and those sitting in the car. Eight, plus Mad Maggie. Three of them were drunk, which meant their judgement would be off, but they were no less lethal if they were given time to aim. In fact, they were wild cards now. They might be slow. They might also do something random enough to catch him off guard. It was all out there now, ready to go off. He kept waiting, watching, and biding his time. He stared into the car, saw silhouettes, but it was Mad Maggie who was staring him down the most, her hard big black eyes fixed on him. He blew her a little kiss, and saw her eyes narrow with almost comic hatred.
“Why all the backup, Brian? I thought this could be very easy on both of us. It looks like you want trouble.”
“Nah. Not me. I’ve had my belly full tonight, Bradley. I want this wrapped up double quick, so I can go home and celebrate. The boys in blue are busy somewhere else tonight, but they’ll still have their tail up, their ears pricked. They’ll be itching for something else to happen now. It won’t happen here.”
“I heard about that. Is he dead?”
“Who?”
“Someone we both have issues with.”
Brian looked over at the tattooed man, Terry. Terry nodded.
“He’s gone.”
Dan took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Risky business. You’ve stuck your neck out, Brian.”
“Not at all. He was pushing into my back yard. Taking my territory and my business.”
“Funny. That’s the same complaint half of Essex has about you lot.”
“I’m not biting, Bradley. Not yet. We just saw what was coming with him. And we gave him what he intended to give us. Pre-emptive justice, that’s all.”
Justice. It wasn’t the kind of justice Dan wanted with Marka, but it was a kind of justice all the same. Dan nodded. “What you did tonight is still in a different league to what you’ve been doing up to now.”
“Sometimes a new fighter wins the belt. A concept you wouldn’t be familiar with, Bradley. But it isn’t any business of yours either way.”
“I’m an interested layman, Brian. A punter. Would you like to hear an outsider’s opinion on what it all looks like?”
“I couldn’t give a rat’s arse, son. But you like talking, so go on…”
“What you’ve done is very brave, really. Now you’ll either have to expand into the vacuum left behind by Marka or there will be others who will quickly size you up and take their pop. If you don’t act quickly enough, the other pretenders will get the idea they could seize the opportunity you’ve made for them. And if you don’t act quick enough after that, then they believe their own hype, and another Marka, or another Chalker, is born. Just like the heavyweight division, Brian. And what next? Well, after the new champion conquers London, believing his own hype, he looks to the unspoilt, easy pickings just to the east in Essex, like the foreign gangs have done, and he’ll turn it over. In short, if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, Brian, you might have just made your problems worse.”
“You mean the Somalis? They think they are ruthless? Watch me. I’m going to wipe them out.”
Big talk. Dan wondered if Gillespie could match his word. Then he thought about Roe Park who had taken on the police for decades and won every time. Anything was possible.
“Right. But who rises up among the London gangs in the space you left behind?”
“You’re looking at him. I might look old, but in this game, I am in my prime. Look at these boys. Forget those drunken piss ants over there.” He gestured towards the gang of three, who bristled at Dan in response.
“I have an army of boys like these who love to earn and love a scrap. We’re proud and we have no fear. Do you get it? These whistle and flute boys love the cars, the women, the lifestyle, but they just haven’t met anybody like us. Believe me. Our time has come.”
Dan nodded. He believed most of what Gillespie was saying. Maybe he could pull it off, for a time at least, maybe the Essex gypsies could rule the roost. But there would always be others waiting to claim the title and take the purse. It was their nature. It would never end, and for now, Dan felt his own vacuum inside. Marka was dead. The game he was burning to finish had come to an end without his own play. But whatever the outcome with Marka, he had come to collect Eva whatever the price.
“Enough, Brian. I didn’t want your car. Or your man Eddie. I only want Eva back. That’s all.”
Gillespie nodded. And looked back at the second car, Maggie stared back at him with her hard dark eyes.
“Your car is safe. So is your man.”
“Where?”
“You can have them in a minute. They’re very near here.”
Already the others began to look around, but they didn’t see anything.
“They had better be. And you mentioned something else on the phone, Bradley.”
“Your partner in Brixton.”
“What of him?”
“Let Eva out of the car. Then I’ll tell you. Come on, Gillespie. You’ve won. Just let us go free.”
The old man looked with a slow and even stare.
“Let her out, Terry.”
Crossing the Line Page 18