by Martina Cole
The two women chatted amiably while Big Paddy Donovon and his henchmen watched the house from every angle.
When Lewis’s little mates struck, they’d be ready for them.
Chapter Eight
Georgio was watching Lewis as he played chess with one of his posse. Ricardo laBrett, known as Ricky, was a large Afro-Caribbean man, noted on the Wing for his big muscles and even bigger intellect. If anyone wanted to know anything, it was Ricky they went to. It was strange that Lewis, a known racist, courted Ricky’s company. Georgio surmised that Lewis, fancying himself as an intellectual, hoped that his friendship with Ricky would put the seal of approval on it. Why he would want to impress the average lifer was beyond Georgio, but then Lewis had never done anything logical in his life so why should he start now?
Sadie waltzed into the recreation room and Georgio winked at her. After giving him the warning, Sadie had gone up in his estimation, though he was careful not to let it show. The News came on TV and there was a story about the Queen being slighted by a foreign president.
The men watching the news became aggressive.
‘Fucking Australian cunt! I’ll give him fucking snubbing the bleeding Queen! Who’s he think he is anyway! Arseholes the bleeding Aussies are.’
‘Lager-swilling wankers the lot of them. My sister emigrated there and she was home quick smart, I can tell you. Spiders bigger than Thatcher’s gob crawling all over the place there is!’
The men in the rec room were getting excited now. It didn’t take a lot to get them going. Normally it was a child sex case or a rape case on the television that really sent them over the edge.
One of the men got up and shook his fist at Paul Keating’s picture on the television screen. ‘You ugly bastard! The Queen should tell him and all the Australians to fuck off out of it. We don’t need them anyway. Load of ponces they are!’
Sadie joined in the argument. ‘I don’t know what they’ve got to shout about out there - they’ve got a bigger gay population per capita than America even.’
‘What’s bleeding shitstabbers got to do with it? You should have been put down at birth, you and that Aussie ponce!’ As soon as Arnold Da Silva had opened his mouth he regretted it.
Lewis’s voice came out in a thin hiss. ‘What’s that you just said, Arnold?’
The whole room went quiet. Even the two screws took a step towards the door.
Da Silva licked his lips nervously. ‘I never said nothing, Mr Lewis, only a load of old crap.’
Lewis smiled menacingly. ‘If you stopped to think once in a while instead of spending your days wanking you might get an insight into a bit of real life. We are all detained here at Her Majesty’s pleasure. She owns this nick so to speak; we have all allegedly broken her laws. On your court documents it had “So and So versus the Crown”. The Queen, I hasten to add, wears that crown. The Crown Prosecution Service put us all behind bars. If I met the fucking Queen I would not only snub her, I’d nut her.’
Devlin O’Grady, an Irish terrorist awaiting shipment to the Maze, clapped gently. ‘Well said, Mr Lewis.’
Lewis smiled and resumed his game.
‘As all our briefs said before we got sent down, “I rest my case”!’
Sadie’s words brought laughter even from Lewis, and the atmosphere lightened once more. The screws laughed along with the cons and peace was thankfully restored.
Georgio left the room and went to his cell, glad to find it empty. Lying down, he put his arms under his head and stared at the wooden slats of the bunk above him. He had to get out of this place. Lewis was baiting him with every word, with every movement. Knowing he wanted to hurt Donna was killing Georgio, especially since he couldn’t do anything about it. Only wait.
It was the waiting that was the worst.
At five o’clock in the morning, just as the dawn was breaking, Donna awoke abruptly. She lay in bed for a second listening. Turning over once more, she let sleep envelop her and was soon back in a dream with her and Georgio and their child. It was a fabulous dream she had dreamt on and off for over fifteen years.
As Donna snuggled down in her bed, Big Paddy Donovon and his henchmen were dragging two men off Donna’s drive and out into the lane. They bundled them into a black Transit van parked on the grassy verge twenty-five yards from Donna’s driveway.
Paddy relieved one of the men of a large brown holdall. Opening it, he took out a small package with a tiny LCD display travel clock attached to it. The men were both wearing ski masks. As they were removed, Paddy and the other men were shocked to see that the men were Chinese.
The one who had had the holdall spoke then. His voice had a thick cockney twang.
‘If I were you I’d let us go now, before this gets out of hand. You have no idea who we’re working for, and believe me when I say, you don’t want to know.’
The words were said matter-of-factly, without emotion. When Paddy crushed the man’s nose with a meaty fist, the other man blanched. Even under his sallow skin, they could all see him whiten.
‘You were sent here by Donald Lewis,’ Paddy snarled. ‘Well, Lewis doesn’t fecking scare me, meladdos. In fact, the man hasn’t been born yet who could scare me, or even make me little heart race.’
Paddy stared at the man who was bleeding profusely everywhere. ‘Was this device for the car?’
The man nodded, holding his hand under his dripping nose.
‘Was it to kill?’
The other man shook his head. ‘There’s only enough there to give a good bang. It’d frighten her, not kill her. Maybe she’d get a few cuts off the windscreen, that’s all.’
Paddy screwed up his eyes in consternation. ‘You said her! You knew this was for a woman, didn’t you? You knew this was for Donna Brunos!’
The men looked at their feet.
Paddy took a deep breath. ‘Get moving, Padraic, we’re off to Manor Park and a little firm I know to teach these two a lesson they won’t forget.’
As the Transit pulled away in the early-morning light, the youngest of the Chinese men began to sweat. Everyone knew what was at Manor Park, East London - the crematorium - and when people like Paddy Donovon took you there you rarely, if ever, came out again.
More than a few bodies had gone in with the legitimate stock, never to be seen again.
While the transit made its way up the A13 and through the early-morning traffic with its two terrified passengers, Donna was turning in her sleep, murmuring her husband’s name.
Outside in the grounds of Donna’s house were five men; three watched the back and two the front. They kept in contact with small walkie-talkie radios. This time they’d had the element of surprise. Once Lewis realised his bombers had gone on the missing list, the next lot would come back prepared for resistance.
John O’Grady lit himself a small Cafe Crème cigar and savoured the burnt taste of the tobacco. This reminded him of the old days, in the fifties and sixties, when villains were villains and all this poncing around with computers was far in the future.
Later that morning, as Donna pulled out of her drive, John slipped onto a motorbike and followed her at a distance. She was a nice little thing who didn’t deserve the flak over her old man. Unlike most of his contemporaries, John didn’t really like Georgio Brunos. Even with that bit of Irish in him, John still found it hard to actually like the geezer. Georgio was a nice enough bloke, but in John’s opinion, most of the time he was out of his league, as his nicking should have shown everyone. Lewis was a man to fear. Georgio’s greed had put his little wife in a dangerous situation and John found that hard to credit, or indeed forgive.
As Donna slipped on to the M25 on her way towards Romford, he sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Georgio ate his breakfast slowly, forcing the food down his throat. He had just finished his last piece of bread when Ricky summoned him to Lewis’s presence.
Walking nonchalantly, he followed the black man, his heart racing in his chest.
Lewis was pic
king at his teeth with a silver toothpick, the action making Georgio’s stomach heave.
‘Hello, Georgio, how are we then?’ Lewis’s voice was cold.
‘I’m all right, thanks. Yourself?’ Georgio was amazed at how relaxed his voice sounded.
Lewis seemed amazed too because he said abruptly, ‘Sit down, I want to have a little chat.’
Georgio sat down opposite him and glanced around the cell. Unlike most cells Lewis’s walls were not adorned with pictures of blonde bimbos in various states of undress. He didn’t have The Chippendales either, like other homosexuals. On the walls were nice bright prints of flowers, cottages in the country, and one large picture of a tiger. On a table by his lone bunk was a silver-framed photograph of his mother, a small woman who glowered at the camera in a bright red pill-box hat, her grey hair scraped tidily into a small bun, her lips a bright orange slash. Looking at the photograph, Georgio shuddered.
There was a black and gold continental quilt on the bunk itself, and a small, state-of-the-art CD stack unit on the table. There was also a tiny television set, and a vase containing one fresh rose.
‘Nice little place this, ain’t it? Do you like me curtains? I got one of the boys to run them up for me in the workshop. They go with the quilt set, don’t you think?’ Lewis’s voice was begging for approval and Georgio was once more surprised by the different facets to his character.
‘It looks very nice.’
Lewis smiled, pleased. ‘Once you get your appeal over, you can start thinking about decorating your cell yourself. Only I have it on good authority that you’re not going anywhere.’ This was said with a smile.
‘Don’t tell me you now run the criminal justice system, Mr Lewis? I find it hard to believe that even you could have such a long arm.’
Lewis stared coldly at Georgio, the insult taken on board and filed away for future reference.
‘How’s your wife, Georgio? Well, is she?’ The smugness of the voice made Georgio feel sick with apprehension. He was convinced Lewis knew something he didn’t and struggled to keep his voice under control.
‘You tell me, Mr Lewis. You seem to know everything else.’
Lewis sipped at his fresh Colombia coffee and sighed. ‘Be a right shame if anything was to happen to her, wouldn’t it? I mean you hear of these things, don’t you? Did you read in the paper the other day about that bird who had a bomb under her car? Her old man made it, it was a nail bomb. She didn’t die but she was pretty badly cut up. It went off right under her seat. Ripped her to pieces. The things people do, eh?’
Lewis shook his head at the malice of other people. ‘Makes you sick to your stomach, don’t it? I’d hate anything to happen to little Donna. You live out in Essex, don’t you? A nice drum, I heard, tennis court, the lot. Must have cost a few bob, your family pile. No children though, shame that. I’d have liked you to have had children at this point.’
Lewis knew that the thought of a child being hurt brought most people round to his way of thinking.
‘Remember Danny Simmonds?’ Georgio nodded, dreading what he was going to hear. ‘Terrible about his boy, wasn’t it? Only sixteen, got knocked down by a hit-and-run driver while doing his paper round. No one ever found out who did it either. Tragic that. The boy would have been better off dead really. He’s a vegetable, waiting out his days in hospital. I hear that Danny’s old woman flipped her lid. Poor cow. Only child and all, weren’t he? What was the kid’s name?’ Lewis made a show of thinking.
‘That’s it - Eric. What a bleeding name, eh? Eric.’
Georgio closed his eyes for a few seconds then stood up. ‘Look, Lewis, is there any point in this conversation? Only I don’t know about you but it’s beginning to bore me rigid.’
Lewis stared at him with a tight frown. ‘Sit down and shut your trap. When I want you to leave I’ll tell you to, all right? Until then, button your mutton and listen to what I’m telling you.’
Georgio sat down heavily. ‘Let’s get this over with, Mr Lewis, only I ain’t got time for all these fun and games.’
Lewis grinned. ‘You got eighteen years to listen to them, sonny boy, and listen you will, if I tell you to.’ He called out over his shoulder: ‘Harry, bring in some fresh coffee, and a cup for Mr Brunos.’
Harry popped his head round the door. ‘Righto, Mr Lewis.’
Lewis grinned again. ‘There, let’s have a nice cup of coffee and resume our little chat. Have you had any more thoughts on where the money is?’
Georgio grimaced. ‘I told you before. I know where the money is and I’ll get it for you once I’m out of here.’
Lewis nodded, as if this was what he expected to hear. He observed Georgio’s expression and smiled inwardly. The strain was beginning to tell.
‘I was talking about you the other day to an old crony of mine - he came up on a visit. He was telling me all about how your wife’s running the car lot with that prat Jackson and his bleached-blonde wife. How she’s running the sites with Big Paddy Donovon. I never liked Paddy, you know, too full of himself. The site in Ilford’s going on well, I hear. Your old woman’s doing a smashing job. Brains as well as beauty, eh? A winning combination. There’s men out there, on the outside, who’d like a sniff round her, I bet. And how’s your brother Stephen? Still in the sex game, is he? I hear he’s the Telephone King of Soho. Good scam that. The Old Bill can’t touch you, I hear. No legislation for it.’ He paused before adding, ‘Yet!’
Georgio sat watching Lewis’s mouth move.
‘My old mum saw your mum the other day - Maeve. They knew each other years back, when all us kids were small. She was saying the restaurant is doing very well. Be a shame if anything happened there, wouldn’t it? Your old man was a nice bloke for a bubble. Gave my brother Frankie a job when he got out of the Scrubs. So don’t you worry, your mum and dad’s place is all right - for the moment. I remember people who’ve done me a good turn. It would pay you to remember that.’
Harry came in with the cafetière and crystallised sugar and fresh cream. Two bone-china cups sat daintily on the tray with silver teaspoons in the saucers.
‘Your coffee, Mr Lewis.’
‘Thank you, Harry, you can fuck off again now.’
Harry hurried from the cell.
‘You’re not saying much, Georgio. What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?’
Georgio shrugged. ‘Nothing to say. You seem to be doing all right on your own.’
Lewis picked up the cafetière and Georgio watched him battle with himself whether to throw the contents in his face or whether to pour it into the cups. The cups won.
‘You’re getting very flash, Georgio. I don’t like flash people. I heard a whisper on the wing that Big Ricky quite fancies you. I’d watch yourself there. A few years ago him and a few other blokes lay in wait for one fella in the shower. Took him in turns they did. He was in the hospital wing for a month. They’re big old boys, ’specially that Ricky. He’s well-endowed, or so I hear anyway. Ricky likes them dark-skinned and handsome. Mr Hendry the screw likes to watch. Bet you didn’t know that. Mr Hendry also pays good money to the rapists for transcripts of their trials. It’s all there in black and white, witness statements, exactly what happened to them. Bit sick if you ask me but whatever turns you on, eh? Funny man he is, Mr Hendry. A good friend of mine. You’re not drinking your coffee, Georgio. I hope our little chat ain’t put you off?’
Georgio picked up two lumps of sugar and plopped them into his coffee before adding the cream. ‘No, I’m just listening to you. There’s not a lot I can say really, is there?’
Lewis laughed, a real laugh. ‘I admire you, Georgio, in a funny way. Listen to me. Whatever happens in the future, it’s not really personal, you know. Just business.’
Georgio sipped his lukewarm coffee. Lewis being friendly was even more intimidating than his attempts at frightening him.
So far he had threatened Georgio’s wife, his brother, his parents and his businesses - to say nothing of Georgio’s own sk
in. The pressure was beginning to tell on him, and Lewis knew it. That was the worst of it: he knew it.
Lewis’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Would you like a Garibaldi to go with your coffee?’
Georgio shook his head in despair.
He had to get out of here, he couldn’t take much more.
Two days had passed since Paddy had shown the two Chinese men off Donna’s property. He had placed people strategically all over the sites, the car lot, and anywhere else Lewis might decide to get even with Georgio. It was all low key; Stephen Brunos was paying everyone double bubble, double time.
A pair of young brothers, Colin and Charlie Webster, were watching the car lot. They were armed with baseball bats and handguns. They both sat in the Rolls-Royce Corniche, happy to be doing their little job, even happier to be doing it inside such a nice motor. They were aged twenty and twenty-one respectively. Colin was talking about his girlfriend Lila, a pretty half-caste girl from Notting Hill.
‘I tell you, Charlie, the bird’s phenomenal. I’m bringing her round to meet the old woman this week.’
Charlie, the elder of the two, laughed. ‘Love at first fright, was it?’
Colin grinned in the dimness of the car. ‘You could say that.’ He picked up a half-smoked joint from the ashtray and lit it with a bright green clipper lighter. Taking a heavy hit on it, he held the smoke in his lungs for a while before expelling it slowly. ‘Lovely puff this, where’d you get it?’
Charlie took the proffered joint and sucked on it, blowing on the end as he expelled the smoke, lighting up his face with the embers. ‘Up on the Railton Road, there’s this Rasta who sells home-grown. Brixton, home of marijuana. ’
Both boys laughed as if this was really funny. They finished the joint and Colin began to build another, his fingers rolling the three cigarette papers expertly. As he licked along the side to seal it, they were both aware of a set of headlights coming up the road. The vehicle stopped outside the forecourt and both boys were shocked into silence.