In memory of a true gentleman
Richie Mitchell
1932–2009
If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
William Shakespeare
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Acknowledgments
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Prologue
Whistling ‘Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah’, Trevor Thomas felt as happy as a pig in shit as he walked the mile-long journey from the pub to his mother’s house.
As a lad, Trevor had never truly appreciated the sights, smells, atmosphere, or community spirit of the East End of London. But after years of living in Yorkshire, he sure did now. Had it not been for his good fortune on the football pools, Trevor would probably still be stuck in a loveless marriage in Leeds. Twenty-four thousand pounds was a hell of a lot of money and there was no way that miserable, greedy, nasty bitch he had got saddled with was going to get her mucky paws on his windfall. Leaving his four kids behind was a small price to pay if it meant him keeping all the money to himself. Only his mum knew about it. She had hidden it under her floorboards to keep it away from prying eyes.
What Trevor did not realize as he stopped to chat to an old pal before continuing his journey was that his run of good luck was about to come to a very abrupt and gory end.
Vinny and Michael Butler were sitting in a white Ford Transit van. Michael was in the back, Vinny in the passenger seat as though he were waiting for the driver of the vehicle to return. Both were wearing dark hooded tracksuits to hide their identities, and seeing as they only ever wore the finest designer suits and drove top-of-the-range cars, Vinny doubted even their own mother would recognize them.
‘This could be him now, bruv. Nope. Hold your horses, it isn’t.’
‘I hope he fucking hurries up, Vin, because our alibi will be blown sky high if he doesn’t.’
‘Stop panicking. We’ve got stacks of time. Like I told you, you’ve no need to get your hands dirty at all, Michael. Hold up! Speak of the devil and it appears.’
Still whistling the song he could not get out of his head, Trevor spotted the two tall men in hooded tracksuits leap out of the van. Apart from wondering if they were boxers who had been training at the gym, he thought little of it until they grabbed him from behind.
Before Trevor could shout for help, tape was placed over his mouth and he was chucked into the back of the van like a roll of old carpet. As one man expertly tied him up, the other leapt into the front and drove the van away.
Eyes wide with a mixture of fear and shock, Trevor now wished he had listened to his mother’s words of wisdom. ‘As much as I love and miss you, it’s not safe for you to be living back in the East End, son. That Vinny Butler is a real force to be reckoned with now, and he won’t have forgotten what you did to him. He isn’t the type of man to let bygones be bygones.’
As the van trundled along, Trevor shuddered as his abductor took his hood down. Vinny had been fifteen, Trevor nineteen, when he had eloped to Leeds with Yvonne. But even at such a young age, Vinny had already carved out a fearsome reputation back then. That was why Yvonne had insisted they left the area. How Trevor now wished he had never clapped eyes on Yvonne Summers.
‘Not the greatest choice of song for you to be whistling, was it, Trevor? Because, my oh my, your day is going to be anything but fucking wonderful,’ Vinny chuckled as he ripped the tape from his victim’s mouth.
It was quite dark inside the back of the van and it wasn’t until Vinny switched on a big static torch like the ones workmen used that Trevor could properly see the man whose girlfriend he had stolen all those years ago. With his mop of thick black hair Brylcreemed back, and his menacing eyes that were a piercing shade of bright green, Vinny looked even scarier in the light than the dark.
‘What you gonna do to me? Please don’t hurt me, Vinny, I beg you. I know what I did was wrong and I am very sorry, but I swear if you let me out of this van, I’ll do anything you say. I’ll even move away again, if that’s what you want. On my mother’s life, I will.’
Vinny could not help but grin. He had waited years for this moment, and intended to enjoy every second of it. Trevor had lost all of his hair, had yellow teeth, and reminded Vinny of a fly stuck to one of those sticky tape traps his mum had in her conservatory that was desperately trying to untangle itself. ‘If I was a forgiving man, I would let you jump out of this van right now. Unfortunately for you, Trevor, I am not.’
‘Please, Vinny, I’m beggin’ you not to hurt me. It will be the end of my mum if you do. She has a lot of respect for your mum and aunt, you know. She was gutted over Roy and Lenny’s deaths – she’s ordered some lovely flowers for their funerals. And I remember your dad well. I used to buy my cigarettes and booze off him once upon a time,’ Trevor gabbled.
‘So, where is the slag now? Did you marry the manipulative deceitful whore?’ Vinny spat. Yvonne Summers had been his first and only true love. Two years older than him she was, but even at fifteen, Vinny had known how to earn a bob or two and had treated that girl like a princess. Jewellery, clothes, hats, shoes – he had lavished Yvonne with expensive gifts. And how had she repaid him? By running off with the skinny little weasel of a man who was currently snivelling while resembling a trussed-up turkey.
Tears of pure fright streaming down his cheeks, Trevor nodded. ‘Yeah, we got married and had four kids. Yvonne is still in Leeds, I think. I can give you the address if you want?’
‘So, what you doing back here?’
‘We split up and I had nowhere else to go. If you want Yvonne back, you can have her, Vinny. I don’t mind, honest.’
‘Want her back! You having a laugh at my expense, Trevor? Wrong words, mate, wrong words,’ Vinny spat. He opened the tool bag next to him and pulled out a pair of pliers.
‘No, please God, no,’ Trevor screamed, wetting himself with fear as Vinny inserted the pliers into his mouth.
Vinny was no qualified dentist and as Trevor’s screams echoed around the van, Michael winced and turned the volume of the radio up.
By the time the Butlers reached their destination, a narrow rural lane that led t
o nothing but a metal gate in East Hanningfield, Vinny was splashed with blood, and after passing out Trevor was now untied, awake again and rolling about the floor in obvious agony.
‘Stop crying, you fucking wuss. Man up,’ Vinny ordered, giving his now toothless victim a sharp kick in the head.
Michael parked up next to the Datsun Cherry they’d left there that morning. Even the full volume of the radio had not been able to drown out Trevor’s howls.
‘Let’s just get the job finished, Vinny. The quicker we get away from here and back to Whitechapel, the better.’
Vinny took the small axe out of the tool bag. ‘You better go for a walk for five minutes, Michael. I doubt you have the stomach to watch what I am about to do.’
‘Don’t be insinuating I’m some pussy, Vinny. If I was, I wouldn’t be here with you. Just do what you’ve got to do, and get your skates on.’
Trevor was in too much pain to scream when Vinny dragged him out of the van by the legs. Instead, he whimpered like an injured dog and curled up in a foetal position, covering his head with his hands. He now knew how animals must feel when they were being led inside the slaughterhouse, and he just wanted death to come quickly so the pain would go away.
Vinny Butler had a different plan. In some countries it was classed as normal to chop the hands off thieves. ‘Be a good boy now, Trevor. Hold your right hand out for Uncle Vinny.’
Sobbing his heart out, Trevor did as he was told. His mother and his winnings flashed through his mind. He was never going to get the chance to spend that now, was he? And he would never see his kids again.
‘Sure you wanna watch this, David?’ Vinny joked. Michael bore a strong resemblance to the popstar David Essex. Even had the same cheeky grin. Vinny had thought it hilarious when his brother got chased down Petticoat Lane market by a crowd of screaming tourists the previous Sunday.
Michael did not want to watch what Vinny was about to do, but there was no way he was going to admit that. ‘Just fucking hurry up, will you? And if you ever call me David again, I’ll be pulling your teeth out with pliers.’
Trevor let out a blood-curdling scream as the axe tore into his wrist, then seemed to lose consciousness.
‘Those thieving hands of yours had to come off, didn’t they, Trevor? Won’t be stealing anybody’s girlfriend now, will you? Nobody messes with me, and I mean nobody,’ Vinny hissed, his face spattered with his victim’s blood.
Trying not to throw up, Michael felt a shiver travel down his spine as he heard the rustling of nearby leaves. ‘Did you hear that noise, Vin? I heard something coming from the bushes.’
‘Probably a hedgehog or a fox. This axe is shit. It’s blunt,’ Vinny complained, as he continued to hack away at Trevor’s flesh.
Averting his eyes from what reminded him of a scene out of a horror film, Michael heard another noise, turned around and nearly shit himself as two pairs of eyes met his. ‘Jesus fucking wept! I nearly had a heart attack then. There’s cows watching us, Vinny.’
‘Well, I doubt they’ll be ringing the Old Bill to give a statement,’ Vinny replied, laughing at his own wit.
‘It ain’t funny, Vin. Giving me the heebies, this place is. Let’s set fire to the van and get out of here.’
Vinny glanced at Michael, a manic glint in his eyes. ‘Not until I’ve finished chopping the thieving cunt’s hands off. He needs to be taught a lesson, taking other people’s possessions.’
‘But he’s already dead by the looks of it. He isn’t going to know whether you chop his other hand off, is he? I tell you what, give me the poxy axe and I’ll do the honours. You sort out the fire – and whatever you do, don’t leave anything lying about.’
Unlike his brother, Michael had never murdered anyone and the bile rose in his throat as he heard a whimper come out of Trevor’s mouth then saw his eyes flicker open. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he mumbled, dropping the axe in horror. He then took a deep breath, reluctantly picked the axe back up and started to chop at the man’s left wrist. Vinny would never let him live it down otherwise.
Flesh and bone was harder to chop through than Michael had thought possible. But by the time Vinny had tidied up after them and doused the van in petrol, both hands had been severed and Trevor looked as dead as a dodo.
‘Put them teeth on the front seat, Michael, then clean yourself up and get changed. Just chuck everything in the back of the van,’ Vinny ordered.
As strong as an ox, Vinny lifted Trevor’s body into the back of the van by himself. He then chucked the hands and tools in, before joining his brother in getting cleaned up. They had come well prepared; the Datsun’s boot held soap, water, towels and a change of clothes.
‘Trevor’s still alive, you know. Amazing how people die from slitting their wrists, yet you can chop their hands off and they don’t die immediately,’ Vinny said.
‘Well, he won’t be alive for much longer. I’m gonna throw all this clobber in the back. Where’s your gloves? Check all round, bruv, make sure we haven’t left anything lying about.’
For the first time in his life, Vinny Butler wondered whether Michael might actually be in the same league as him. He’d always been closer to Roy, who’d been a great sibling and sound business partner, but had never really possessed that killer instinct – until it came to putting a bullet in his own brain. Today, however, Michael had surprised and impressed Vinny immensely.
Before Vinny lit the kingsize match, he gave a little sermon. ‘Bye bye, Trevor. I hope the slag was worth it. May your soul rot in hell, you pilfering worthless wanker.’
The explosion was clearly audible as Michael drove at top speed down the narrow lane. He glanced at his brother in the passenger seat. ‘What you gonna do with the teeth?’
Vinny grinned. ‘Flick them out the window along the A13. One by one, of course. Be a bit like when we used to flick pebbles at people as kids.’
It was twenty minutes before closing time when Vinny and Michael casually walked into the Blind Beggar. Both men were suited and booted and reeked of expensive aftershave as always.
‘Vinny, Michael, let me get you both a drink. Me and the missus were so upset to hear about your Roy and Lenny. Great lads, the pair of them, and they will be sorely missed,’ Big Stan said in a sombre tone.
Vinny and Michael rarely ventured into the Blind Beggar. As they had hoped, the pub was fairly busy and already they were the centre of attention with all eyes on their grand entrance. ‘I’ll get the drinks, Stan. Ask around and see who else wants one,’ Vinny said.
‘Who shall I ask?’
‘Everybody. Just tell ’em I’m buying.’
When Stan toddled off to obey orders, more well-wishers came over to speak to Vinny and Michael, including the landlord. ‘Afters isn’t a problem, lads. You just say the word if you fancy a late drink.’
‘Actually, that is very much appreciated. Been stuck in that club all day, me and Michael have, and after everything that’s happened, we’re currently sick of the sight of the place.’
It was a good ten minutes or so before Big Stan wandered back to inform Vinny that the round had come to eighty-seven quid. ‘It would have been cheaper, but Bobby Jackson ordered a pint for himself and his pal, plus a large chaser each,’ Stan added.
Seeing his brother’s eyes glint dangerously as he turned to see where Jackson was, Michael grabbed hold of him. ‘Not tonight, Vin. We’ve had enough drama for one day,’ he whispered.
‘Big Stan should never have asked him. It’s common knowledge that I hate the cunt.’
‘But you did say ask everyone, so you can’t blame Stan. It’s only a poxy drink.’
‘I’d like to go over there and ram that glass straight down the back of his throat,’ Vinny hissed.
‘I’m sure you’ll have other opportunities to do that. For the time being, let’s just forget about Jackson and chat nicely to the locals. That was the whole point of us coming in here, yeah? We need to act normal, you said. Well, that does not include ramming glasses down the
customers’ throats, does it?’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Vinny replied. He then settled back to watch his brother charm the locals as though he did not have a care in the world.
After leaving East Hanningfield, they had dumped the Datsun not too far from Hackney Marshes, set fire to it, then jogged through Victoria Park in the second set of hooded tracksuits and trainers they had worn that day.
Nobody had seen them sneak into the back entrance of the club, and there was no way they could have been recognized while running through the park. They both had their hoods up the whole time and it was pitch-dark.
Sick of people rambling on about the funerals, Vinny led Michael over to a table. ‘I just want you to know that I really appreciate what you did for me today and I won’t forget it. You’ve got a cool head on you, bruv. We are definitely cut from the same cloth.’
Michael shook his head. ‘I’m not like you, Vin, and I never will be. You thoroughly enjoyed yourself today – I didn’t. If you want the truth, I hated every second of it.’
‘So why did you agree to help me then?’
‘Because you’re my brother, and with Ahmed in hospital, you had nobody else to ask. Nobody you could trust, at any rate. As Mum always drummed into us, once a Butler always a Butler.’
CHAPTER ONE
Autumn 1976
Queenie Butler opened her front door and cursed the latest downpour. The hottest summer on record was now just a distant memory, but the weather was the least of Queenie’s problems.
‘Don’t put that up in here. You always said it was unlucky to put a brolly up indoors,’ Brenda reminded her mother.
Glaring at her daughter, Queenie ignored her wishes. ‘As if we could be any more bastard well unlucky, Bren. Our family has had the heart ripped out of it already, so excuse me for not being overly superstitious these days.’
‘Where you going?’
‘To check on Vivvy again, and while I’m gone I want you to have a bath, young lady. You ain’t seen soap or water for three days, you dirty little mare. I expect Roy and Lenny’s send-off to be perfect tomorrow – which includes you making an effort to smarten yourself up.’
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