Bolton considered her for a moment. She was right. He thought about yesterday morning and how he had been in bed with Sapphire whilst Charley met with her father. He had not told her nearly half of everything, but he still felt resentment towards her.
“If you’re stuck with nothing to do, why don’t you ring Leigh-Ann?” he said, turning away from her and opening the front door. “You obviously care a God damn lot more about her than you do about me.”
“Bolton, that’s just stupid, you know I love –”
He threw himself out the door and slammed it, cutting her off mid-sentence. He heard her shouting his name, but he continued down the stairs and out of the building. He knew that he had been unreasonable, but the frustration he was feeling towards her was becoming hard to control.
Knowing that he had to meet Uncle Jasper didn’t improve his mood and he kicked an empty can hard across the street, getting a nasty look from a neighbour. He ignored her, setting off down the street. He glanced up at the top floor and saw Charley watching him from the window. He quickly turned away and tried to focus on what was coming next.
* * *
Uncle Jasper sat in the flat and watched as Ritchie Masters counted out a pile of notes on the table in front of him. When he was finished, Jasper dismissed him and looked down at his hands. The gold rings glinted in the dim sunlight coming through the blinds and he sighed.
Profits were steadily increasing and he knew that he was a lucky man. His dealings in firearms were proving to be a big money-spinner. It seemed that everyone, from small time pimps to foot soldiers to teenage boys, was looking to get their hands on a gun.
It was this intuition, an ability to sense what people in his circles needed and provide it at a nice profit for himself, that had enabled him to get so far in the industry. He had started out as a yardie, running small errands for the Jamaican mobsters in north London. He had risen through the ranks surprisingly quickly, from selling a bit of coke on the side to running an operation within a few short years. When turf wars had torn apart the gang, Jasper had seen his opportunity and taken control. Nobody had seen it coming, but it seemed that no one dared to argue with him. It was his street smarts that had made him so wealthy, but it was his propensity for extreme violence and retribution that had established him as a fixture in his old neighbourhoods. His former superiors soon either accepted his leadership or found themselves at his mercy.
For a time, he had ruled north London with his drugs trade and army of young recruits. He let some younger lads run their own stuff; he had let the Banks brothers run the Goldsworth because he had eyes on the bigger prize. None of them seemed to last the distance anyway. The Banks brothers were history. Now that he was getting older, some people were wondering whether he would retire from the life and give over his businesses to younger associates.
Uncle Jasper had no intention of retiring, but he was well aware that he had distanced himself too much from the running of his empire. He had known what he was doing, protecting himself from police detection and letting more junior men take the rap when things got messy. Now he was beginning to regret his decisions.
Somebody was stealing from him. He would not have realised, if it weren’t for the fact that he had noticed a few discrepancies when he had looked over the books. It had taken a few months to deduce exactly how much had trickled out of his pocket and into someone else’s, and he still wasn’t sure who was behind the thefts, but he was determined to find out.
He knew that the culprit had to be somebody high up in his organisation. A foot soldier would not have had the brains, or the bravado, to do such a thing. It was someone that he trusted. That made it all the more difficult to swallow, that somebody was taking him for a fool and had the nerve to smile to his face.
What he needed was a disciple, someone young and fresh, whom he could train up to be his right hand man and who would owe him everything, and therefore never betray him. He had sons and daughters, all from different mothers, but none of them had seemed interested in his businesses. A few of his sons had helped him out on occasion, but they were all more interested in spending his money than making it, and he knew that they had neither the brains or the drive to let him guide them.
He thought about Bolton Smith. He was young and he had a baby on the way. It seemed like he needed the money and he had a good head on his shoulders. He had impressed him in the tasks he had been given so far. Uncle Jasper considered it. The boy would make a good disciple for him. He would take some persuading, but Uncle Jasper knew that only a fool would turn down an offer this lucrative from him.
Ritchie appeared in the room and told him that Bolton had arrived. Uncle Jasper nodded and smiled as Bolton walked in. His face was, as Dante had informed him, a mess. He had seen far worse but it still looked painful. Bolton sat down awkwardly in front of him, but he didn’t show the nerves that his friend did.
“How are your injuries today?” he asked, smiling at Bolton over his crossed hands.
Bolton shrugged.
“They’re not too bad,” he said. “And I’m sorry I didn’t come to the meeting. They were pretty sore yesterday and -”
Uncle Jasper held up a hand and Bolton fell silent.
“There’s no need to apologize,” he said, shaking his head. “These things happen. They are a nuisance, no doubt, but life goes on.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“What were the circumstances under which you received these injuries?” Uncle Jasper asked, keeping his voice officious.
Bolton looked uncomfortable, but Uncle Jasper nodded in encouragement, and he explained what had happened. Jasper listened intently. In his mind, a plan had begun to form and he knew that he had found a way to ensure Bolton was his man through and through.
“You’ve had a shock,” he said, when Bolton had finished. “I’m pleased you felt that you could confide in me about what has happened.”
Bolton smiled in relief and Uncle Jasper dismissed him. Alone in his office, Uncle Jasper couldn’t help but smile at the brilliance of his mind.
He called in Ritchie and gave him instructions.
“I think it’s time that we pay this Chris Germaine a visit.”
* * *
Sapphire Cortez knew that something was wrong when she answered the door. She didn’t recognise either of the men who stood before her but she didn’t need telling twice when they told her to make herself scarce.
She grabbed her purse off the end table and hurried down the street, not daring to look back to see what was happening.
The two men went inside and closed the front door behind them. The sound of the television was coming from the living room, but nobody was there. One man picked up the remote and turned up the volume. The ceiling creaked above them and both men looked up, before glancing at each other and nodding.
Chris Germaine was lying on his bed watching porn. When the two men walked in, he jumped off the bed and hastily pulled on his boxers.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked, his voice shaking. He had known one of the men from his time in juvenile hall, and he knew who he worked for. “Where’s Sapphire?”
“Your girlfriend went out,” one of the men said, “She ain’t going to be back for a while.”
The colour drained out of Chris’ face but he remained defiant, squaring his shoulders, readying himself for a fight.
The two men were more than a match for him and had him pinned to the ground within moments. He struggled against them but he knew that it was a futile effort.
One of the men pulled out a hammer, and Chris eyed it with mounting horror.
“Uncle Jasper sends his regards,” he said.
Chris tried not to show his panic or his pain as the hammer connected with his legs and arms. His eyes watered and his jaw ached from keeping his mouth firmly shut. He knew that his arms and legs were broken. Whatever happened now, he was going nowhere. He just prayed that this was all the punishment he would get. He thought about Sapphire and wheth
er she had called the police, but he knew that she wouldn’t have. She wasn’t a grass. That was one of the things that had so attracted him to her. It seemed ironic now.
The two men stopped and stood up, surveying the damage they had done. Both were smiling and Chris closed his eyes, praying that they would leave now.
“Don’t look so pleased for yourself,” a deep, low voice said.
Chris opened his eyes and knew that he was going to die.
Uncle Jasper stood between the two men, looking down at him with distaste. He nudged his leg with his foot and laughed.
“You won’t be going anywhere,” he said, exchanging grins with the other men. “That will just make this all the more sweet.”
He reached behind him and placed a black box on the bed. The porno movie was still playing out on the screen behind them, the noise muted. Chris eyed the box. It looked like a workman’s tool box and he knew that it meant nothing good.
A few moments later, Chris saw what would kill him. Uncle Jasper lifted a blowtorch up and gave a short demonstration. The flame coming from the nozzle burnt white hot. Chris began to sweat just at the thought of such heat. His bladder weakened and he felt urine trickling down his thighs, the sodden material of his boxers sticking to his skin. One of the men noticed and they all laughed.
The two men stepped back as Uncle Jasper wielded the blowtorch.
“Please,” Chris begged, as he stepped closer. “I’ll do anything.”
Uncle Jasper smiled, gold teeth glinting, his eyes cold.
“There’s nothing you can do for me,” he said, his smile widening. “The only way you are of any use to me is dead.”
Chris tried not to scream, determined to prove what a hard man he was. His face contorted as he felt the hot air draw closer to his leg. He kept his eyes firmly closed, tears pooling behind his lids.
Within seconds, he let out a scream so high that one of the men turned up the volume on the dirty movie. When the heat subsided, the pain remained, but he kept his eyes closed, knowing that he wouldn’t like anything he saw. His stomach churned and he fought the urge to vomit, the smell of burnt flesh suffocating him.
As Uncle Jasper lowered the blowtorch again, this time directing the flame to his other leg, Chris prayed to God that he would die.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bolton listened to the news and froze in shock.
Charley continued talking and he gestured for her to be quiet. She protested and Bolton turned up the volume, listening intently. Charley looked mutinous and slammed her glass down onto the counter and stormed out of the room.
He caught the end of the news report and felt his heart beat rapidly. He was sure that he had heard right. Chris Germaine was dead. The news reporter had said that his body had been found on Clapham Common and that his family had been informed. They had said nothing about the investigation or any suspects, apart from that police were looking for anyone who might have seen something suspicious in the area last night.
It had been a few days since his meeting with Uncle Jasper and Bolton had thought he was just getting back into his good books. At the meeting, Uncle Jasper had been warm but Bolton had sensed that something was going on behind his eyes and had worked hard to prove that he still had what it took to work for him. Now that Chris had been killed, Bolton wondered if Uncle Jasper would react badly.
Surely Bolton would come under suspicion, and even though he knew that he had played no part in his murder, Uncle Jasper would not appreciate any police interest in him.
Charley returned to the room and looked questioningly at him.
“You mind telling me what that was all about?”
Bolton shrugged, turning his back on her and lowering the volume on the radio again.
He heard her heels clattering on the wooden floor and turned, finding her inches from his face, anger in her eyes.
“Are you ignoring me now?” she demanded.
“No, I just wanted to listen to the news.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What’s going on?” she insisted. “I can tell that something’s wrong. I’m not stupid, you know.”
“You could have fooled me,” Bolton snapped.
Charley hissed and drew herself up to her full height.
“Whatever problems you’ve got going on, there’s no reason to take it out on me.”
Bolton opened his mouth to apologize, but Charley was already walking out of the room. He stopped himself from following her. His apologies could wait.
He rang Dante and got his voicemail. He left a message, asking him to call him back urgently and telling him to check out the news.
A few minutes later, Dante called him.
“What’s going on?” he asked when Bolton answered. “I got your message.”
“You listen to the news?”
“Nah, can’t be bothered with all that.”
“You should,” Bolton said, lowering his voice so that Charley would not overhear anything. “I just heard that Chris Germaine’s fucking body turned up. Someone killed him and went over him with a blowtorch.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Exactly,” Bolton said, blowing out some air. “They’re going to think it was me.”
Dante was quiet for a moment, and Bolton found himself holding his breath.
“Not if Sapphire doesn’t say anything about the fight,” Dante said, and Bolton could hear the wheels turning in his brain. “Then the police won’t have any reason to think it was you. I’ll go round there now, have a word with her.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“It’s all I can think of,” Dante said.
“What do you reckon Uncle Jasper’s going to say?”
“I dunno, but he can hardly say anything. The amount of people he’s whacked.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think he’ll be pissed at me? He might think I did it.”
“He might be, but I reckon if he does it’ll just make him like you even more. I mean, he’s always saying how we’ve got to prove ourselves. He’ll probably give you a promotion.”
Bolton groaned. He appreciated Dante’s positivity, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be so confident. If he was honest, he was shitting himself.
He hung up and ran a hand through his hair. The police would have no proof, because he hadn’t been involved in Chris’ murder. Still, the thought that the police could turn up at any minute had him on edge. And Charley would find out if he was arrested, and she would probably find out that the reason he had been involved in the fight was because he’d been caught in bed with Sapphire. He was pissed off with Charley, but he didn’t want her to find out about him cheating on her all the same.
Charley remained in the lounge, her eyes fixed on the television. Bolton watched her from the doorway for a moment and retreated to the hallway. He felt edgy here and he knew he had to get some fresh air and feel like he was doing something. He pulled his trainers on and was heading to the door when the doorbell rang.
He froze. The thought of the police turning up now made him break out in a cold sweat. He crept to the door and looked through the keyhole. He sighed in relief and opened the door to Leigh-Ann.
She gave him the once over and didn’t look impressed.
“I’m surprised to find you here,” she said, frowning. “From what I’ve heard, you’re like a cat nowadays. Always off somewhere, creeping in and out as you please.”
Bolton swallowed down a reply and glared at her. She stepped around him and he resisted the urge to grab her by her hair extensions and throw her out. She had some nerve, disrespecting him in his own flat.
“Tell Charley I’m going out,” he said, opening the door wider and stepping into the corridor.
Leigh-Ann shot him a dark look and sauntered off into the lounge. Bolton closed the door behind him and tried not to think about what bullshit Leigh-Ann would be pouring into Charley’s ear about him.
He would have to
have a think about that later. He didn’t think it was a good idea for Charley to spend so much time with her, not when she so obviously had an issue with him. Still, he had more important problems to deal with first.
Out on the street, he paused and tried to decide what he should do first. He wanted to see Sapphire and try to persuade her to keep quiet, but he didn’t want to tread on Dante’s toes and he thought there was a good chance that the cops would be at her house anyway.
He flagged down a taxi, knowing where he had to go. He gave the driver directions and fastened his seatbelt, unable to stop his nerves. He had to go and see Uncle Jasper.
* * *
“He’s just stressed out from work,” Charley said, taking the drink Leigh-Ann handed to her and they both sat down on the sofa.
“You can’t keep defending him,” Leigh-Ann said, shaking her head. “I know that you’re not happy. I’m your best mate, remember? Come on, what’s wrong?”
Charley sipped her drink and looked at Leigh-Ann. She was right, there was something wrong but she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to talk about it. The person she really needed to sit down and talk to was Bolton, but he wasn’t here. He had left without even saying goodbye to her.
“I guess we’re just getting used to living together,” Charley said. “You know, you have all these expectations about what it’s going to be like. I just didn’t realise that Bolton would have to work so much.”
“If you’re not happy, you can always come and stay with me,” Leigh-Ann said.
“Thanks, but things haven’t gotten that bad. I guess I just put too much pressure on him and he’s getting stressed out. Maybe I should ease up on him a bit.”
“You can’t blame yourself. He got you pregnant, he should be supporting you.”
“He is, Leigh-Ann.”
“Financially, maybe, but you need emotional support too,” Leigh-Ann said, lines appearing on her forehead as she frowned. “Why don’t guys seem to understand that?”
Charley was quiet for a moment. The truth was that Bolton had been emotionally supportive. Despite their arguments, her faith in him never wavered. She trusted him and had no doubts that he would always be there for her.
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