The Goldsworth Series Box Set

by Davie J Toothill

  “Let’s hit the road,” Dante said. His voice was quiet. Perhaps, Bolton thought, his friend was more bravado than brave, and felt reassured.

  They drove in silence, the radio on a low volume, and parked as close as they could get to Uncle Jasper’s. They turned off the headlights and radio, and stared out into the darkness.

  After half an hour, they watched a car pull to the curb nearby and Ritchie get out. He locked his car and disappeared in the direction of the flat. Bolton felt his heart beat faster, and knew that Dante was experiencing a similar adrenaline rush. The plan was underway now.

  “Here he comes,” Bolton said, catching sight of Ritchie as he passed under a streetlight.

  “Time for action,” Dante whispered.

  Ritchie returned to his car and started the engine. As he pulled away from the curb, Dante waited a few moments before starting up the car and following. Uncle Jasper had insisted that they not blow their cover. If Ritchie guessed he had a tail, he would know the game was up and might not lead them to the stolen money, and that meant that Uncle Jasper might never recover his money. And that was not an option as far as he was concerned, and Bolton had been left in no doubt that he and Dante would be held responsible if it all fucked-up. He shuddered at the thought of Uncle Jasper’s retribution.

  They followed the car across London, keeping a safe distance between them, but always making sure that Ritchie was within eyesight.

  When Ritchie turned off the road and pulled down a narrow side street, Dante parked adjacent to the alleyway, on the side of the road, and waited. Bolton watched as Ritchie got out of his car and looked over his shoulder. He resisted the urge to duck in his seat, and Ritchie continued down the alley on foot, and disappeared through a large white door.

  Bolton looked at Dante and they both nodded. It was time. Bolton gritted his teeth and got out of the car. They walked quickly, heads down, across the road and down the alley, passing Ritchie’s car and letting themselves in through the white door.

  They heard footsteps on a higher level, and crept up the stairs. On the third floor, they saw an apartment door closing. This was Ritchie’s hiding place. Room 3B.

  Bolton pulled out his phone, turned it on and dialled Uncle Jasper to give him the location.

  “Well done boys,” Uncle Jasper said, smiling down the phone, after the message had been relayed. “I’m on my way. Just make sure Ritchie can’t go anywhere.”

  Bolton knew what he meant and hung up. He kept guard whilst Dante returned to the car to retrieve their tools, and when he returned a few moments later, they opened the satchel and both pulled out crowbars. Bolton felt the weight in his hands and gripped it tightly.

  He took a few deep breaths, willing himself to carry on. They were half-way through tonight. It would soon be over. Dante seemed to be doing the same beside him.

  Bolton led the way down the corridor to 3B, and pushed through the door into a dingy room with moth-eaten furniture and windows concealed behind dirty shades. The room was empty. Ritchie peered around a doorway to his left, and Bolton dived forwards, Dante at his heels.

  Ritchie was nearly at the window when Bolton struck him with the crowbar. He let out a scream of agony as it connected with his shin and dropped to the floor. Dante hit him again, and another howl filled the room.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Bolton said, nudging Dante on the shoulder as he raised his crowbar again, “You look around, make sure the missing money’s here somewhere.”

  Dante looked as if he was going to protest, but he nodded and lowered the crowbar. He disappeared back into the first room and Bolton heard the sound of cushions being torn open and tables being knocked over.

  He turned his gaze to Ritchie, who was lying on the filthy floor clutching his knees, his face screwed up in pain.

  “You brought this on yourself,” Bolton said, trying to justify himself, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him. “If you hadn’t stolen from Uncle Jasper, none of this would be happening.”

  Ritchie eyed him, his face still screwed up in agony, and to Bolton’s surprise, he let out a mirthless bark of laughter.

  “You really think that?” he said through gritted teeth, hands clutching his knees tightly against the pain. “God, you really are just a stupid little kid, aren’t you?”

  “I ain’t stupid enough to steal from Uncle Jasper,” Bolton said, his voice loud in the small room. “You’re the one who looks stupid from here.”

  Ritchie remained quiet, eyes closed, and Dante returned.

  “You find the money?” Bolton asked, looking around at him.

  Dante shook his head, looking agitated.

  “Shit, where the hell is it then?”

  “Fuck knows,” Dante said, hitting the wall with the crowbar, sending a chunk of plaster flying across the room. Ritchie remained silent.

  “Do you know where it is?” Bolton asked, nudging him with his foot.

  Ritchie’s eyes opened, but he didn’t respond.

  “Fuck this,” Dante said, pushing past Bolton, crowbar raised.

  “We should wait for Uncle Jasper –”

  “No,” Dante interrupted.

  He brought the crowbar down hard on Ritchie’s right leg and this time a loud cracking sound reverberated through the air. Bolton looked away. Ritchie screamed again.

  Dante was swearing now, and Bolton heard the sound of repeated blows. Loud cracks and snaps mingled with Ritchie’s screams. After a minute, Bolton turned around again and put a hand on Dante’s shoulder.

  Dante paused, brought the crowbar down on Ritchie’s left arm, ripping a chunk of flesh off the bone and cracking his elbow, and then stepped away, panting heavily. Ritchie was sobbing silently, eyes rolled up in pain, clutching the fresh wound on his arm. Bolton looked at his legs and saw a mess of blood, bone and gore where his jeans had been ripped open. He glanced at Dante, who was still catching his breath but looking pleased with himself.

  “I’m going out for a fag,” Dante said, wiping blood and flesh off the crowbar with his hands. “I’ll be back in a minute. He gives you any trouble, start on his other arm. Uncle Jasper said to keep him incapacitated, so as long as he ain’t dead when the boss arrives, we can break as many bones as we want.”

  Bolton nodded and watched Dante leave the room.

  “You know this is nothing compared to what Uncle Jasper’s going to do if you don’t tell him where you’ve hidden the stolen money,” Bolton said, turning to Ritchie’s trembling form.

  “Fucking idiot,” Ritchie stammered, “You’ll be in my situation in ten, maybe fifteen, years’ time. Just you wait.”

  “No chance.”

  “If I were you, I’d get out whilst you have the chance. Before you do something to piss Jasper off, or mess up somehow, or start getting greedy, and then it’s you getting body parts ripped off by a couple of stupid kids.”

  Bolton looked down at him and struggled to remain composed. He couldn’t let Ritchie get into his mind. Hadn’t Uncle Jasper warned him and Dante about that this morning? He’d said a desperate man would say anything to save himself.

  “You know Uncle Jasper wants me to kill you?” Bolton asked, as Ritchie’s face continued to pale and blood trickled steadily across the wooden floor, thickening as it congealed with dust and grime. “If you just tell me where you hid the money, I promise I’ll make it quick. You won’t suffer.”

  Ritchie snorted, sending flecks of blood from his mouth.

  “I’m already suffering, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Come on, tell me before Uncle Jasper gets here.”

  “It’s in the other room, the one your mate was searching. In a cushion. All of it was there.”

  Bolton considered him for a moment and realised that Uncle Jasper had been right. He was trying to work his way out of trouble by lying.

  “Don’t move,” Bolton said, waving the crowbar warningly at him, as he backed into the first room.

  “I ain’t going anywhere fast,” R
itchie called after him, “Your pal’s seen to that.”

  Bolton looked down at the sofa and saw the cushions, the material torn off and the white fluff inside pulled out, now littering the floor. There was no money.

  He stepped back into the smaller room and glared down at Ritchie.

  “There ain’t a fucking penny in that room,” Bolton said, feeling his irritation mount. “You’re a filthy thief and a fucking liar.”

  “That he most definitely is,” Uncle Jasper’s voice boomed from the doorway. Bolton jumped, and turned. Dante hovered in Uncle Jasper’s shadow as they stepped into the room. Uncle Jasper considered Ritchie and sneered. “You won’t tell us where the money is, I take it?”

  “In the other room,” Ritchie repeated. “Cushions…Hidden.”

  His voice was quieter now and it appeared hard for him to talk. Uncle Jasper loomed over him.

  “I won’t ask you again,” he said, kicking Ritchie hard in one of his mangled legs.

  Ritchie groaned, “I’ve told you –”

  “Very well, if that’s how you want to play it,” Uncle Jasper said, shaking his head. He spat on him, and stepped back from him. “I’d have thought even you could see this is the end game for you. If you tell the truth, I might let you die quickly. And you know the other option. You’ve helped me perform many yourself.”

  “Other room –” Ritchie groaned, “Cushion –”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Uncle Jasper shouted, raising a hand, face filled with rage. “You’ve shown me disrespect.”

  He stepped aside, motioning for Bolton to step forward.

  “Bolton, please proceed,” he said.

  Bolton hesitated, the crowbar slipping in his sweaty palms. Uncle Jasper was staring at him, an expectant look on his face.

  “Let me,” Dante said, stepping forward, but Uncle Jasper threw out a hand and caught him in the chest. Dante stopped, looking disappointed.

  “You’ve done enough, my friend,” Uncle Jasper said, returning his gaze to Bolton. “Now it’s Bolton’s turn to have some fun. Show this piece of shit what happens when people disrespect me. Disrespect us.”

  Bolton stepped forward, aware of all eyes on him. He gripped the crowbar tighter, until his knuckles were pale and his palms stung. He raised it over his head and brought it down hard on Ritchie’s other arm. Another howl, and Ritchie seemed to crumple, attempting to curl up into a ball.

  Bolton struck again and again. The screeches of pain were animalistic now. Ritchie’s parting words echoed in his mind. Uncle Jasper was watching with a pleased, greedy expression on his face.

  As he struck again, Bolton felt his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat. He hastily swallowed it back down and raised the crowbar once again. He couldn’t continue. Ritchie’s moans were ringing inside his head. He brought the crowbar down on top of Ritchie’s head, the blow sending fragments of skull and brain across the wall.

  The pitiful moans stopped at once, leaving in their wake a shocking silence.

  Uncle Jasper stared at Bolton for a moment, surprise registering in his eyes.

  “You killed him,” he said.

  “That…that’s what you wanted…isn’t it?” Bolton stammered.

  “Eventually,” Uncle Jasper growled. “Not when the fun was just getting started.”

  Bolton stood frozen to the spot, wondering whether Uncle Jasper was going to strike him.

  “I’m sorry,” Bolton lied, his voice shaking as much as the rest of his body. “I didn’t mean to. I meant to get his shoulder, but I hit the wrong place.”

  Uncle Jasper stared into his eyes, as if searching for the truth. Bolton didn’t drop his gaze, as much as he wanted to. The silence rang out for a few more moments, then Uncle Jasper’s shoulders relaxed.

  “I suppose I can’t hold it against you,” he said, though his voice was still tight with anger, “We can all get a little overexcited when wielding a crowbar. You’ll soon learn the right technique. Practice makes perfect, they say.”

  Bolton let his words wash over him and felt horrified. He had assumed that this would be the only time he would have to prove his loyalty. Now he realised that Uncle Jasper would keep testing him, would keep demanding unswerving loyalty and proof of it, and that there would never be a last body, not until it was his turn to die.

  “What should we do with the body?” Dante asked.

  “Leave the scum here,” Uncle Jasper said, spitting on the remains of Ritchie again. “He doesn’t even deserve a swim in the Thames or a trip to the woods, the piece of crap.”

  As they left the hideout, Uncle Jasper took him aside at the entrance to the alleyway, whilst Dante went to start the car engine.

  He was half-smiling, but Bolton could feel anger coming off him, and when Uncle Jasper grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer, until Bolton could smell the tobacco on his breath, he began to shake.

  “I don’t know where that money went or where it was hidden,” Uncle Jasper hissed, the half-smile on his lips looking maniacal in the glow from the nearby streetlight, and Bolton resisted the urge to pull away. “But if I found out you helped yourself to so much as a penny, God is my witness, I will cut you up and spread you across five counties. Do you understand that, Bolton?”

  Bolton nodded, unable to speak, his throat dry.

  “Are you sure?” Uncle Jasper asked, his voice softer, but none less threatening.

  Bolton nodded again.

  “Good,” Uncle Jasper said, resuming his normal tone and letting go of Bolton’s jacket. “Excellent, in fact. And before I forget, well done tonight. You’ve definitely proved yourself worthy of my employment, for now at any rate.”

  He winked, and retreated down the street to his own car, where a driver sat behind the wheel awaiting his return. Bolton stood at the entrance to the alleyway, struggling to catch his breath. Uncle Jasper waved as his car drove off down the street.

  A car horn beeped and Bolton saw Dante motioning furiously to him. Bolton crossed the road in a daze and collapsed in the passenger street, discarding the crowbar in the backseat.

  “Some night, eh?” Dante grinned.

  Bolton couldn’t bring himself to answer.

  The journey passed in silence and Bolton was relieved when Dante dropped him at home. He waved as Dante sped off, and only realised that his trainers and tracksuit bottoms were covered in blood and small flecks of flesh when he reached the flat door. He listened at the door, but couldn’t hear the sounds of the television.

  He wondered if Charley was asleep, but decided he couldn’t take the risk. He rang Dante and got a lift to his mum’s flat. He avoided the CCTV cameras he knew were nearby the entrance to the block of flats, and jogged up the stairs to his old home.

  As he let himself in, he found his mother in the lounge. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped open when he walked in and she took in the state of him.

  Leaping to her feet, she rushed towards him.

  “What happened? Oh my God, are you all right?”

  Bolton stepped back and waved her off.

  “I’m fine,” he said, “I just need a place to crash for tonight.”

  His mother didn’t seem convinced.

  “But, what about the blood, and –”

  “It’s not my blood,” Bolton snapped. “And right now, I need a shower.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped.

  “There’s about twenty minutes of hot water left. If you need more than that, you’ll have to put it on. You know where the gizmo is.”

  Then she retreated to the lounge, and Bolton stood in the hallway for a moment, before his stomach leapt and he rushed to the bathroom, making it just in time to vomit all over the tiled floor.

  * * *

  In his car, Dante sat behind the wheel and lit a cigarette. He pulled a small sachet of coke out of his pocket and dipped his finger in, then rubbed it into his gums. He shuddered and did it again, before taking a deep drag on his fag.

  He had par
ked at the top of a multi-storey car park and he knew from past experience that he would not be disturbed here. He looked out over the twinkling lights of the city surrounding him and thought about tonight.

  It had been a thrill and far more fulfilling than he had expected. Then again, he reminded himself, he had got a little more than he had bargained for.

  He finished his cigarette, resealed the sachet of coke and shoved it back into his pocket, and opened the car door. He rounded the car and flipped open the boot.

  Two large plastic bags of money looked back up at him, filled with stacks of twenty-pound notes. He grinned and licked his lips.

  Yes, he had definitely gotten more than he’d bargained for tonight. Whilst Bolton was keeping guard over Ritchie, Dante had ransacked the room and had quickly found the bags of money hidden in the cushions of the sofa. It hadn’t been hard; he had too much experience of hiding drugs and other paraphernalia to be fooled by that. He’d been about to call out to Bolton that he had found the cash when something had stopped him. The sight of so much money was a powerful adrenaline rush, an excitement that was almost physical, had almost gotten him aroused.

  And for a second he’d considered just taking the money to his waiting car and keeping it for himself, and once he’d considered it, he couldn’t think of any other alternative. He doubted anyone would believe Ritchie, even he did tell the truth. So he’d spun Bolton a lie about going for a fag, grabbed the money and hidden it in the car, and gone back up to carry on the charade. He’d nearly shat himself when he’d seen Uncle Jasper arrive, just seconds after he’d stashed his hidden loot, but Uncle Jasper had bought it all too.

  God, Dante thought, shutting the boot again, he’d make a damn better gangster than Uncle Jasper. He’d have pulled the car and the flat apart until there was nothing left if it had been his money that had gone missing.

  Still, he had to be careful, and not flash too much cash, at least not yet, not until he was sure the coast was clear and Uncle Jasper and Bolton wouldn’t get suspicious.

  He slid behind the wheel and started up the car again. He needed another fix and he’d heard about a house party nearby, which he planned to crash once he’d found a clean pair of jeans. He could buy a few bottles of vodka from an all-night store and get some more coke from someone he knew, and he’d be set to have a good night.