Payback

by Kimberley Chambers

  ‘What shall we do first, Viv? We’re bound to need some bits from the little shop, so shall we pop to the amusements, then get some shopping on the way back?’

  ‘Ooh yeah. The prize bingo should start soon,’ Viv replied.

  ‘Can I go and see if Gary and Steve are here, Dad?’ Little Vinny asked. There hadn’t been any room in the car for him to bring Ben Bloggs, and Little Vinny was already sick of being surrounded by adults and a screaming baby.

  ‘No, not yet. You’re coming out with me somewhere first.’

  ‘Where?’

  Vinny took no notice of his son’s question and turned to Joanna. ‘You’ll be all right on your own with the baby for a bit, won’t you?’

  Joanna nodded, then grinned. She’d had butterflies in her stomach all day. Life at home was hectic, what with Molly to look after and Vinny working nights, but life in Eastbourne was different. Queenie and Viv were bound to go over to the clubhouse this evening, and Little Vinny would be out playing with his pals, which meant her and Vinny would have the bungalow to themselves. It had been a long time since Joanna had been ravished by her man and she couldn’t bloody wait.

  Michael Butler rarely got drunk, but today he was steaming. After leaving the restaurant he couldn’t face going home, so had driven straight to the club instead.

  The knock on the door had been a welcome surprise. Matthew Palmer had been Michael’s pal as a young child, and they hadn’t seen one another for years due to Matthew’s parents moving to Australia. Michael hadn’t needed much persuasion to go on a pub crawl, but now he could barely stand up.

  ‘Matt, it’s been great seeing you, pal, but I’m gonna have to shoot off. I’m lagging,’ Michael slurred.

  Matthew put his arm around Michael’s shoulders. His accent had a slight Australian lilt to it now, and he had done well in life, just like Michael had. He was the lead singer with a rock band, hence his trip to London. ‘You can’t go home. I haven’t seen you for years. Have a livener,’ Matthew urged, pressing something into Michael’s hand.

  Apart from taking some blues when he was a Mod, Michael had never touched a drug in his life. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Cocaine. It’s cool, man. You won’t get addicted to it. It just sobers you up and makes you feel damn good.’

  After the day he’d had, Michael would have done anything to feel good, so when Matt suggested they go to the toilet and take some cocaine together, Michael eagerly followed his pal.

  Back in Eastbourne, Vinny Butler drove towards the Moorings pub in silence. He hadn’t had the best of days and he was not looking forward to what he had to do next.

  ‘You got the hump with me, Dad? I ain’t done nothing wrong,’ Little Vinny said when his dad slammed his foot on the brake.

  ‘Get out of the car. We’re gonna have a little chat on the beach,’ Vinny spat.

  Little Vinny followed his father, then sat down opposite him on the sand. It was getting dark now and, apart from a couple of dog walkers, the beach was empty. ‘What’s wrong, Dad?’

  Vinny grabbed his son by the shoulders and stared him straight in the eyes. ‘I’m gonna ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth. If you do that, I won’t be angry with you whatever your answer is. But if you lie to me and I find out, I will be fucking fuming. Now, do we understand one another?’

  Little Vinny nodded.

  ‘Did you throw or get Ben to throw that brick through our window the other night?’

  ‘No! ’Course not, Dad.’

  Vinny knew he had to keep calm to extract the truth, so did his utmost to keep his notorious temper in check. ‘Look, Vin, I’ve had my car done over, my club door sprayed with graffiti, and now my window put through. As you well know, boy, I ain’t silly. All that stuff is the work of a kid. Please tell me the truth and I promise I won’t shout at you. I realize it’s been difficult for you with me and Jo getting together and Molly arriving in your life, so in a way I will understand why you did it. You’re a growing lad and I had many temper tantrums like that when I was your age.’

  ‘But I ain’t done nothing, Dad. I swear on your life I ain’t.’

  Unable to stop himself because he was positive his son was lying, Vinny put his hand around his son’s throat and squeezed it gently. ‘Unfortunately for you, I don’t fucking believe you, boy, and I’m warning you, if you ever put Molly’s life in danger again, I will break your fucking neck, comprende?’

  Little Vinny burst into tears. If he had ever needed proof that his dad loved Molly more than him, then this was the moment.

  Over in the East End, Michael had now forgotten his woes, sobered up, and wanted to carry on partying. ‘Let’s go back to my club, Matt. We’ve got a good singer on tonight. She doesn’t sing rock, but does plenty of other stuff, and she’s a babe.’

  Matt chuckled to himself as they walked back towards the club. Michael had taken to cocaine like a duck does to water. He only hoped his pal didn’t ask for any more as he had virtually run out. ‘Hey, man, look at that smoke.’

  The cocaine had made Michael more alert than usual, and he immediately sensed that the smoke was rising from a location very near to his club. ‘Come on, let’s jog.’

  When they reached the club there were three fire engines, two ambulances, and a police car parked outside. The building was on fire. Not at the front, but at the back. ‘Paul, what the fuck has happened?’ Michael asked his doorman.

  ‘Some kid got in the back and set fire to it. Pete just spoke to the ambulance man and they reckon the kid’s in a bad way. Loads of people have been injured, Michael. They tried to save the boy.’

  Michael looked around at the mayhem. There were shocked women, dumbstruck men and quite a few people were being given oxygen, probably for smoke inhalation. ‘My brother is gonna fucking kill me, Matt.’

  ‘Why man? You wasn’t here. This isn’t your fault.’

  Vinny had a rule that when the club was open on a Friday and Saturday night, at least one of them had to be there. The fact Michael had been on the gear was making him more paranoid than ever. He knew there was no way he could speak to the police in his current state. He felt good, but out of his nut. ‘Matt, let’s go. I need to get away from here.’

  ‘You can’t, man. Your club’s on fire.’

  Feeling like he was about to have a heart attack, Michael turned on his heel and ran.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Vinny Butler had driven back to London as soon as Pete had rung him. Thank God he’d had the brains to have a phone installed in the bungalow, else he would still be none the wiser.

  Joanna had pleaded to travel back with him, but she was the last person Vinny wanted around him in a crisis. He’d insisted she stay in Eastbourne for the time being, saying he would call her in the morning.

  When he arrived at the club, the police and fire brigade were still milling around. Spotting one of his trusted doormen, Vinny led him away from listening ears. ‘What exactly happened, Paul? And where’s Pete?’

  ‘Pete’s at the hospital being treated for burns. I think he’s feeling a bit guilty.’

  ‘Why? He never started the fire, did he?’

  ‘No, course not. He ran out the back when the smoke started billowing through the club. He ain’t told the Old Bill this, but the kid who must have started it was climbing out of the window. Pete grabbed his legs and pulled him back in, then the ceiling collapsed on top of the kid. The whole storeroom was on fire by this time, so Pete had to leave the kid in there.’

  ‘Good! And I hope the little fucker is burnt to cinders. Was the kid alone?’

  ‘No. Pete said he had a mate outside. He heard him shout something out. A few of the customers tried to help the kid, but they couldn’t get to him either.’

  ‘More fool them. They should have just left the little cunt to die. Did you catch a glimpse of him?’

  ‘No, he was covered over when they put him in the ambulance. I could smell the burnt flesh though. Horrible, it was. A few of the cu
stomers had to be treated for burns as well. I don’t think any of them are critical though. I got your thingy out the safe, by the way. It’s well hidden. The police wouldn’t let Pete out of their sight, so he gave me the code and I sneaked in the office.’

  Vinny breathed a huge sigh of relief. He knew how much the Old Bill hated him and had been frightened the fire would give them an excuse to have a good old root around. Obviously, they wouldn’t have known the code to his safe, but Vinny wouldn’t put it past them to bring an expert in to open it. A firearms charge was the last thing he fucking needed.

  ‘How bad is the damage? I told the Old Bill that I needed to collect some personal belongings from upstairs, but they said it was too dangerous for me to go in there.’

  ‘It’s pretty bad. The fire spread from the store room into the club itself. It never got as far as the stage or the bar, but some of the furniture went up in flames. The firemen said that it’s not structurally safe any more.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. I bet we’re gonna be closed for months. If that kid ain’t dead, he will be when I get my hands on him, and so will fucking Michael be for going out on the lash. I wonder who the kid is. Did Pete say how old he looked?’

  ‘He reckoned he was about sixteen.’

  Vinny racked his brains, trying to remember if any of his enemies had sons or grandsons of that age. He couldn’t think of any off the top of his head. ‘Right, you wait here while I go to the phonebox. I’ll only be five minutes and then we’ll shoot up the hospital and see Pete.’

  ‘Who you gonna ring this time of the morning?’

  ‘Geary. I wanna know that kid’s name and find out if he’s alive or dead.’

  George Geary was anything but happy when he was woken by the phone at five a.m.

  ‘What the fuck, Vinny! You have just woken my wife up. This had better be important.’

  Vinny went back years with Geary. Before he retired, Chief Inspector Geary had pocketed thousands in backhanders. He still had pals in the force and would happily exploit those connections in exchange for a bung, which was why Vinny had rung him.

  ‘This is extremely important, George. Some kid burned my club down tonight. He was taken to hospital in a bad way. I want to know who the cunt is and if he’s still alive. I’ll ring you back in an hour.’ Without waiting for a reply, Vinny ended the call.

  After visiting Pete and urging him to keep his trap shut about grabbing the boy’s legs as he tried to escape, Vinny dropped Paul off, then headed home himself. The club was insured for fire and contents, so he was well covered, but that didn’t include wages and he would still have to see Pete and Paul all right, plus a few of his other more important staff. He wasn’t too bothered about most of the barmaids as they were easily replaced.

  Relieved that he hadn’t flown into a rage and ballsed the drug deal up the previous day, Vinny let himself indoors and poured a large Scotch. At least while the club was shut he would have plenty of money coming in. Knocking his drink back in one large gulp, he picked up the phone. ‘Well?’ he asked Geary.

  ‘You might want to sit down, Vinny.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, the boy was dead before they even got him to hospital. His name is Mark Preston. He’s Johnny’s sister’s boy.’

  Thanking George for the information, a shell-shocked Vinny ended the call. To say he was stunned was putting it mildly. He’d only ever seen Mark Preston once, when he had visited Judy at home to instruct her to abort his father’s child. Mark had been a fresh-faced toddler then and Vinny could barely believe that, all these years later, the kid had come back to haunt him.

  Pouring himself another drink, he collapsed onto the sofa. The flowers, the graffiti, his car being done over, the window being smashed, must all have been Mark Preston’s handiwork. And no doubt Johnny had been the one who’d put him up to it.

  Wondering how Joanna would react to the news, Vinny tried to look on the bright side. At least now his mystery stalker had been identified, he could stop worrying about the safety of his family and looking nervously over his shoulder the whole time. And the little shit was dead, that was another bonus. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as they say.

  Annoyed with himself for accusing his own flesh and blood of such terrible crimes, Vinny silently vowed never to disbelieve his son again. He also vowed that one day he would torture and kill Johnny Preston in the most excruciating way possible. Perhaps he should pull Johnny’s teeth out, chop his hands off, then set fire to him like he had Trevor? Or was there a more painful way to kill someone? Vinny smirked. He would have to do some research.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Summer 1980

  Queenie Butler made herself a cup of tea and sat on the step of the bungalow. Vivian was still fast asleep in the bedroom and Queenie was glad of some peace and quiet for once. Since Michael had bought the bungalow opposite it was usually like Casey’s bloody Court with the grandkids running in and out.

  Kings Holiday Park had changed for the better since Vinny had first purchased the bungalow in 1976. The clubhouse now had a posh upstairs to it, and Queenie and Viv loved nothing more than getting glammed up, then rushing over to the club early to ensure they got the best seats.

  Coachloads of visitors would arrive from far and wide at weekends to watch the fabulous entertainment. The Drifters, Boney M, Les Dawson, Des O’Connor and Jimmy Jones were just some of the wonderful acts that Queenie and Vivian had seen, but being staunch royalists, nothing beat the evening a couple of years ago when Prince Charles and the Three Degrees appeared there. It was a royal charity event and Queenie and Viv had been so keen to meet Charles and have a photo taken with him that they had nearly pushed the poor prince over.

  Seeing the next-door-but-one neighbour walking along whistling with his newspaper, Queenie darted inside. Her and Viv had nicknamed him and his wife ‘the notrights’ and both were sure that he was a pervert. He had a habit of standing in front of them while they were sitting in deckchairs with Speedo trunks on and his bulge on show. Viv had sworn she had once seen his helmet poking out of the top and vowed if she ever saw it again, she would chop the fucking thing off.

  Queenie put the TV on, then turned the volume down. The news was all about strikes and unemployment lately and she found it bloody depressing. So much seemed to have changed over the past few years. Elvis Presley had died, Margaret Thatcher had become the first ever female prime minister, there was sod all worth watching on TV, and today’s fashion left a lot to be desired. Skinheads were the current craze and Queenie thought they looked vulgar. If her Vinny, Roy, or Michael had ever come home with shaved heads, Doctor Marten boots, tattoos or rings dangling from their earlobes, Queenie would have given them such a good hiding they wouldn’t have been able to sit down for a month of Sundays. Much to her disgust, Little Vinny was now a skinhead. He’d recently had his hair cut without his father’s permission and Vinny had gone ballistic when he had seen it. He had punished his son by smashing up his record collection and burning every single item of skinhead clothing he owned – quite right too, in Queenie’s opinion.

  ‘Morning, Queen. Nice day, isn’t it? How long you been up?’ Vivian asked.

  ‘I didn’t sleep well again, Viv. I got up at five. I was just sitting here thinking, ain’t times changed? I wish we could go back to the sixties sometimes. Apart from being married to Albie, life was good back then. Like a load of sheep youngsters are these days. They have to be part of a flock.’

  ‘Don’t you remember when your Michael was a Mod back in the sixties? Kids go through these phases. First time my Lenny saw a punk, he wanted to be one. It’s what youngsters do. Anyway, this isn’t the real reason why you’re miserable. You’re worrying about those boys of yours again, aren’t you? I know it’s difficult, Queen, but they’re adults now, and if you don’t stop fretting and start sleeping, you’ll end up in that funny farm where I was.’

  Queenie sighed. Brenda had always been her biggest worry in the past, especially after
Dean disappeared, but since losing three stone in weight and having her hair cut and dyed blonde, her daughter was much happier in herself.

  ‘I’m determined to get the truth out of my Vinny and Michael, Viv. They are definitely hiding something from me, and seeing as I gave birth to the bastards, I have every right to know what the bloody hell is going on.’

  Vinny Butler sat stony-faced as he counted up the week’s takings. Once again, they were poor and even though bringing in strippers on a Sunday lunchtime had worked a treat, ever since Denny McCann, another known villain, had opened up a similar type of club in Shoreditch, Vinny and Michael’s earnings had dipped dramatically.

  Vinny blamed a mixture of things for his and Michael’s misfortune. Their run of bad luck had begun with the fire, which had closed the club for four months. Unbeknown to Vinny, the insurance had run out so he’d had to pay for all the damage out of his own pocket. Michael had offered to chip in, but Vinny refused. It had been his job to renew the insurance, therefore his mistake. It was during that terrible time that Denny’s club had opened. Then, last year, there’d been a shooting inside the club. Mitchell Moran had not been the most popular of men, but when a gang of masked gunmen ran in firing shots galore and blasted Mitchell’s brains out in front of a club full of terrified punters, business had taken an almighty dive.

  Checking out his appearance in the full-length mirror, Vinny put some Brylcreem into the palm of his hands and ran it through his jet-black hair. He still had that mafia look off to a tee.

  ‘Morning, bruv. Has Nancy rung?’

  Staring at his dishevelled brother, Vinny shook his head. Michael was currently bedding one of the strippers and was spending more nights at the club than he was at home. He was also more than partial to a line or two of cocaine these days and although he never usually took it during working hours, Vinny knew he had last night. His pupils had looked enormous and he had been talking utter shit.