Slamming the door behind him, his word, as always, was final.
Chapter Eleven
Staring down into his pint with vague amusement, Billy Stackhouse laughed in the face of the pitiful man standing next to him at the bar.
Tony Daley was nothing more than one of life’s wasters. A leech. Traits that Billy normally depended on when building his long list of clientele.
Usually, the more needy and desperate the punters were the better; only, today those same qualities weren’t standing Tony Daley in good stead at all.
The man was begging. It was pitiful to listen to him pleading so desperately for a bit of gear on tick. The sound of his whiney fucking voice was starting to grate on Billy, making him want to jump off his bar stool and smack the fucker around the head with it, just for his blatant fucking piss-taking.
The only thing that stopped him was the fact that Tony Daley had his little kid in tow.
He man wasn’t as stupid as he made himself out to be.
What sort of a parasite would hide behind his three-year-old son?
Billy took a deep breath. Aware of the child, Billy was trying his absolute hardest to rein in his temper. Despite what most people around these parts thought about him, he wasn’t a complete arsehole. He wasn’t about to start toe-punting people in front of their kids, no matter how much money they owed him.
‘You must be having a fucking giraffe, Tony!’ Billy snarled as Tony continued to try his luck tapping him up for yet another score. Tony hadn’t even paid for the last three times that he’d weighed him in.
‘You already owe me a monkey, and now you’re asking me to give you another bag of gear on tick? What do I look like, eh? Your fairy fucking Godmother? You’ve got bollocks mate, I’ll give you that.’
Shaking his head in utter disbelief at the gall of the man in front of him, Billy couldn’t disguise the venom in his voice.
Tony Daley was nothing more than a useless ponce. One of life’s freeloaders, sponging off the social for every benefit the bloke could get his hands on. Tony Daley hadn’t done a single day’s honest graft in his life.
He didn’t give a shit who he fucked over as long as he got a hit. His only hope of doing that, according to him, was to beg – only, Billy had other ideas.
‘You all right, mate?’ Billy said, eyeing the kid that stood at Tony’s side.
The kid didn’t need to be dragged round to dives like this pub while his dad tried to score. What hope did he have with Tony for a father?
‘Look at the state of your boy, Tony! What are you playing at?’
The boy was filthy, still dressed in his pyjamas despite the fact that it had just gone midday. His little blue pyjama bottoms stopped way above his ankles. They looked at least two sizes too small, as if they’d been shrunk in the wash.
‘Fuck me, Tony, ain’t you got more important things to spend your money on, mate! Like some decent clobber for your kid. He looks like a fucking street rat.’
Billy ruffled the hair of the little boy, trying to ease the fear on the kid’s face. It wasn’t the boy’s fault that his dad was a complete fucking numpty.
‘Why don’t you go home, Tony. Give your boy a nice hot bath. Get some grub inside him.’ Billy shook his head then as he was reminded why he hated smackheads so much.
They lost sight of themselves.
That’s what the drug did to them. It stripped them bare. Of their morals, their dignity. By the time it was done with them, there was nothing left. Just an empty shell that didn’t give a flying fuck who they needed to cunt off in the process, as long as they got their gear.
Wives, kids, grandparents. No one was sacred. No one mattered. Only them and their selfish, twisted obsession of getting high.
That’s what had attracted Billy to dealing in the first place. It was such a lucrative business. All it took was a couple of times and the punters were hooked on the gear, and he had a loyal customer for life.
The money was good, but Billy had grown to despise his customers.
‘Have some fucking respect for yourself, mate, and for your kid, yeah? You’re a fucking embarrassment, Tony, do you know that!’ Billy spoke through gritted teeth, but he could see that his insult hadn’t even touched the man. ‘Even your boy looks fucking mortified to be seen out with you.’
Tony didn’t blink an eye at the insult. Instead, he shamelessly persevered.
‘Please, Bill. All I want is enough to get me through the next couple of days. I promise I’ll get you your money.’
Billy stared over towards the barmaid, Rita, who’d been hovering around the optics nearby, pretending to restock one of the bottles. Billy knew that the bird was just having a nosey, so he gave her something worth listening to.
‘I’d love to help you, Tony. Only, you’ve already put me in a bit of a predicament, ain’t you?’
Tony shook his head, pretending he didn’t know what Billy was talking about.
‘Oh, what’s the matter? You suffering with memory loss as well as being a complete and utter twat. Do you not remember sending your old dear out to the door to feed me a load of bullshit about not knowing where you were when I popped round for my money the other day? Bit convenient, don’t you think? You doing a vanishing act the day you’re due to pay up what you owe me.’
Billy knew when he was being played; he had known it when old Mrs Daley had stood at her front door and barefaced lied to him; no doubt the gutless piece of shit had hidden himself away down behind the sofa, whispering silent prayers to himself that Billy wouldn’t come into the house looking for him.
Seeing him now, it was obvious Tony had believed that Billy had actually swallowed the story.
But Billy was too shrewd for that.
He’d heard just about every excuse known to mankind over the years. Skagheads were the worst kind of liars. They were desperate, and desperate people always showed their true colours, eventually.
Billy had chosen to walk away, deciding to play the long game, knowing full well that Tony would come looking for him eventually.
And, as predicted, the fucker had.
That was the beauty of this game. You didn’t have to go looking for smackheads, because they always came looking for you. Crawling all over you like cockroaches when they needed their next hit.
‘I wasn’t dodging you, Billy, I swear. I had to go away for a bit to sort some stuff out. I told her to tell you that I’d be getting your money. She mustn’t have heard me properly. She’s getting on a bit, my old dear; she sometimes gets her facts wrong; there must have been some kind of a communication problem.’
‘A communication problem? Is that so?’ Billy nodded, and saw Tony physically relax next to him as he thought he was in the clear. That he could blame the fact that he was a gutless piece of shit on his elderly mother.
‘So you’ll sort me out?’ Tony said.
‘Oh, I’m going to sort you out, mate, yeah. Consider it done.’
Tony visibly relaxed, relief written all over his face.
‘I’ll give you until Friday to get me my money. No later, do you hear me?’ Billy said sternly.
‘Whatever you want, Bill.’ Tony nodded his head, eager to get his gear now and get going.
‘I’m glad we’re finally on the same page, Tony,’ Billy sneered, the malice to his tone suddenly apparent as he continued: ‘Because I want every penny that you owe me and a ton on top.’
Tony shook his head, confused.
‘That’s six hundred quid?’ Billy said, speaking slowly so that the idiot in front of him could understand what he was saying.
‘But I thought you were happy with me paying you in instalments?’
‘Oh yeah, I was.’ Billy nodded ‘Only, you broke that little arrangement, didn’t you, by trying to pull a fast one on me and not paying up. So you’re going to have to cough up the full amount now. I want every single penny that you owe me.’
Tony nodded, reluctantly.
There was no way he was going
to be able to find that kind of money but, right now, he was willing to agree to anything that Billy Stackhouse demanded. As long as it meant that he would get his gear. He was so close now that he could almost taste it.
‘I’ll have it. I swear.’
‘Good.’ Billy smiled now; picking up his pint he took a sip. ‘See you Friday then.’
‘What about my gear? You said you were going to sort me out?’ Tony asked, confused as Billy turned back to the bar.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, there must be some kind of confusion. Another one of those little “communication problems”. Fucking awful things they are, ain’t they?’
Billy grinned, smug that he possessed the kind of power that could make or break the man in front of him.
‘When I said I’d sort you out, what I meant was that, if you haven’t got my money together in two days’ time, with a ton on top, then I’m going to come around your house and, in front of this poor little sod here, and your old dear, I’m going to break both of your fucking arms and legs. How’s that sound for sorting you out?’
Tony stared at Billy, dumbfounded. He looked down at the floor, knowing from Billy’s tone that there would be no changing the man’s mind.
Billy was sick of the sight of him. ‘Go on, then. Fuck off out of it. Your ugly mug is putting me right off my lovely cold pint.’
Billy watched as Tony turned to leave.
‘Oi, numb-fucking-skull!’ He pointed down to where the little boy was still standing next to his barstool. ‘You forgetting something?’ Watching as Tony walked back and picked up his son, Billy shook his head in dismay before downing the rest of his pint.
‘Can you believe the fucking audacity of some people, eh?’ he said, knowing that Rita Gregory, the barmaid, had been listening to every word, and had seen Billy get the better of the man.
Rita shook her head in agreement, but kept her own counsel as she took Billy’s glass from him.
‘You want another one Billy?’ Refilling it before he had a chance to refuse. ‘There you go: it’s on the house.’
‘Thanks, darling.’ Billy smiled. Rita didn’t normally give him the time of day, but he’d obviously impressed the woman by putting that low life firmly in his place.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was going on here.
The old bird had the hots for him.
It was hilarious.
Rita Gregory wasn’t really Billy’s type. He liked his women younger. But lately he hadn’t really had much in the way of offers, if he was totally honest, other than the quickie with that skaghead Josie the other night, and that was hardly the stuff dreams were made of.
Taking in the sight of Rita now, she wasn’t too bad as older birds went. Dressed in a pair of ill-fitting jeans and grey baggy T-shirt she was a bit frumpy-looking, compared to the usual sorts that Billy managed to get a leg-over. Rita had a face on her that could make an onion cry, in all honesty, but she had a rack on her to die for, and by the way she was lingering around him, Billy reckoned that she was well up for it. One thing he did like was a keen bird.
‘Some people really are a joke, ain’t they,’ he said, carried away being the big I am. ‘Letting something like smack fuck everything up for them… ’
‘You’re right there, Billy. Some people really are a joke.’
Hearing the main doors go behind him, Billy ignored it, too distracted by Rita.
She sounded suddenly off with him. Maybe he was reading it wrong but it was as if her entire demeanour had suddenly changed.
‘The real scumbags are the dealers, though,’ Rita snarled. She was glad that she didn’t need to listen to the constant barrage of crap that Billy Stackhouse was spewing now the cavalry had arrived. ‘People like you that feed people their poison and then sit back and watch as their lives fall to pieces around them.’
The venom in Rita’s words stopped Billy in his tracks.
‘You what?’ He laughed nervously, thinking that maybe he’d misheard her. One minute the old cow was giving him free drinks, the next she’s mugging him off?
Only, he hadn’t misheard anything.
Hearing the noise directly behind him, Billy turned, clocking the sight of Delray Anderton and his sidekick, Lenny Oldham.
‘All right, lads,’ Billy said, determined not to lose face as he realised he’d been set up. That the conniving bitch behind the bar had been acting on Delray’s orders. She must have given Delray the heads-up that he was here. Now the free drinks suddenly made sense.
‘As it happens, Billy, I ain’t all right. No.’ Delray screwed his face up in distaste as he pulled up a bar stool right next to Billy and sat down: so close that the two men were almost touching.
Picking up Billy’s pint from the table, Delray took a large mouthful, all the while glaring at Billy, before he finally put the drink back down again.
‘I hear you’ve been giving one of my girls gear again?’
Billy tried to keep a straight face. Bloody Josie Parker. She’d sworn blind that she wouldn’t let it get back to Delray that Billy had sorted her out. What was it with these bloody women and their big mouths?
‘Delray! Mate! I’m just doing my job; if the girls want a bit of gear, who am I to say no? I’m just trying to earn my way, mate. I don’t mean you any malice.’ Billy he knew that he was out of his depth. If Delray Anderton and Lenny Oldham had come looking for him, then he had already dug his own grave. It was too late for excuses.
‘Billy. “Mate”,’ Delray replied, ‘me and you have already had words about this, haven’t we? I told you not to give Josie any more gear. I warned you what would happen if you did, didn’t I!’
Delray was staring at Billy like he was nothing more than shit on his shoes. Vermin.
Which, of course, was exactly what the man was.
Delray might be into a lot of dodgy shit, but drugs were a mug’s game. He’d leave them for the likes of Billy here.
‘She begged me, Delray. I told her that I couldn’t do business with her, but she wouldn’t drop it. She kept hassling me. She was desperate.’
Billy didn’t mention just how desperate and persuasive Josie had been. He didn’t think Delray would appreciate hearing any of the graphic details… unless the silly old tart had opened her mouth about that too.
‘Clearly a friendly warning ain’t good enough for you though, is it, Billy-boy? Such a shame.’
‘Is Davey still down at the cash and carry?’ Delray directed his question to Rita as the woman shrugged her coat on, getting ready to make herself scarce.
Rita nodded her head. ‘Yeah, he’ll be a good while yet,’ she said, knowing that was exactly what Delray wanted to hear. ‘Mel’s gone with him.’
Delray nodded, glancing at Lenny to sort Rita out with some cash, he added: ‘Go on you, shoot off. Lenny will show you out.’
Rita didn’t need to be asked twice. Grabbing her handbag, she swiftly made her way over to the pub’s main doors, smug in the knowledge that not only had she just earned herself a few more brownie points and an extra bit of cash by helping out Delray, but she’d also managed to shaft Billy Stackhouse in the process.
She hated scum like Billy. They were the lowest of the low as far as she was concerned. It was about time someone taught the man a lesson that he wouldn’t be forgetting in a hurry.
Billy sat and watched as the bitch strutted out of the pub and Lenny Oldham bolted the door behind her.
Taking a final sip of his pint, he figured he was going to need it.
He cursed Josie Parker. The quick fumble he’d had with her the other night had not been worth any amount of aggro, certainly not of this magnitude.
His ego had got the better of him. He’d started to think he was invincible. Only now it was really dawning on him that he had fucked up.
Delray Anderton wouldn’t be letting him off easily.
Chapter Twelve
‘You can’t have eaten your sandwiches already?’
Josie stared at her two daughters question
ingly. She’d sent them both downstairs not even five minutes ago and already they were back, slouched on the end of the bed, both looking gormless as they stared at her reflection in the mirror, watching Josie attempt to do her make-up.
She wasn’t in the mood for this evening, in all honesty, but she had to make herself look at least half decent.
‘We don’t have any butter so I just did jam for Marnie,’ Georgie said, twisting a lock of long brown hair around her finger like she always did when she was irritated. ‘Only, Marnie won’t eat it; she doesn’t like jam, and the bread’s gone stale. We’ve got nothing else to eat.’
‘They were ’scusting!’ Marnie pouted. She held Mr Snowflakes tightly as her bottom lip trembled and her eyes, red and blotchy, threatened tears once more. ‘I only like chocolate spread or Weetabix, but Georgie said there’s nothing else to eat, and I’m hungry.’ Feeling sorry for herself, Marnie started to cry.
Josie rubbed her temples. Today had been a long day.
Now Delray had outed her she was beyond skint.
Georgie was right. The cupboards were bare, and Josie had lost count of the number of tantrums that she’d endured over the past few days. Still, hopefully, that would all change very soon.
She was counting on tonight, and the last thing she needed was Marnie having another meltdown.
‘Jesus Christ, Marnie. It’s a sandwich, not the end of the world. You’d think I asked you to eat dog poo the way you’re acting.’ Rolling her eyes, Josie knew that her youngest daughter’s picky eating habits were down to her. Lack of money and pure laziness had made the option of chocolate spread sandwiches, and bowls of Weetabix a staple food in this household. Quick and easy, and cheap too. Only, Josie had made a rod for her own back now, it seemed, as she couldn’t get Marnie to eat anything else.
‘What about the microwave dinners that are on the kitchen side?’ Georgie said knowing that her mother was saving them for ‘her friend’ Trevor tonight.
Her mum was acting as if the bloke was royalty.
The Promise Page 9