The Jade Garden (The Barrington Patch Book 2)

by Emmy Ellis

  “And they are?”

  Li Jun prided himself in getting to know his customers on a first-name basis. It made for many return visits if he got people thinking they were his friends. “Graham, the customer who bought the big order before this happened—I do not think it was him, he is round, not skinny. Brett, a thin man who always looks dirty. Greasy hair and—”

  “Brett Davis, the druggy?”

  “Yes. And Jimmy Lews.”

  “The scrote with the face like a pizza?”

  Li Jun winced. The poor boy couldn’t help his acne. “Yes. Brett and Jimmy sound the same, their voices. And Jimmy’s just as thin as Brett.”

  “I’d agree with that. Are you sure you can only think of three who ask for that order regularly?”

  “That is all I have.” He tapped his temple, thinking of how his sons would put it. “I am not firing on all cylinders.”

  Cassie moved as if to pat his shoulder then dropped her hand to her side. “I’ll find whoever it is, and I’ll fucking kill them.”

  She walked out, and he didn’t doubt her. That weapon he’d heard about would get an airing, and if Jimmy had been the one with the machete, he’d have a face that was worse than pizza come midnight.

  Li Jun stepped into the kitchen and went to the cleaning cupboard. Took out a metal bucket and scrubbing brush. Bleach.

  Time to fill the pail with hot soapy water and remove the remaining proof of Jiang’s murder. Then Li Jun had better leave the takeaway, a chef short or not, and nip round the corner to visit Mei. He didn’t relish telling her Jiang was dead and the story she must tell, but for all their sakes, that was how it had to be.

  Chapter Four

  The Barrington Life – Your Weekly

  THE JADE GARDEN LOSES JIANG!

  Karen Scholes – All Things Crime in our Time

  Sharon Barnett – Chief Editor

  EVENING EDITION - FEBRUARY 2021

  Cassie has asked me to send this as an emergency leaflet due to many people using the Jade Garden. She doesn’t want anyone putting their foot in it, asking where Jiang is and why he isn’t cooking his excellent spare ribs anymore. Unfortunately, he’s decided to live in China now and flew there this evening. His marriage has been breaking down for some time, and he can’t pretend everything’s all right any longer. No one, and I mean NO ONE must mention him if you’re going in the Jade. The family are well cut up about it, and they don’t need the bloody hassle.

  And don’t go bothering Mei. She’s upset, as you can imagine, so no chatting to her at the school gates or whatever. I know what you lot are like, you’ll want to help her, but wait for her to approach you for that help, don’t push to offer it.

  If Cassie finds out anyone has ignored these rules, you know the drill. While she won’t get Marlene involved, she WILL let you know how annoyed she is by other means. So, mind your own and be grateful Li Jun’s spare rib sauce is just as nice as Jiang’s.

  Over and out.

  Karen Scholes was royally pissed off, to be honest. This was a ridiculous waste of time, not to mention she was traipsing round the streets delivering The Barrington Life, getting Sharon Barnett out of her nice warm cocoon beneath a blanket on her sofa and rounding up the lads who also helped deliver the flyers. She doubted many would give a shit about the lack of Jiang’s fucking rib sauce, but Cassie had stressed how devastated the family were about him leaving Mei and their kids, and Karen grudgingly supposed it was a nice thing to do on Cassie’s part, given how long Li Jun had worked for Lenny. She was saving them the hurt at having to explain time and again why Jiang wasn’t there.

  Maybe she had a heart after all.

  Karen battled to press ahead, the wind with a mind to send her in reverse all the way home. She cursed the day she’d thought of writing The Life, especially now, when she’d been ordered to do this one and had to deliver it at such a ridiculous hour. With Lenny, she had obeyed without question, secretly seething inside that he’d stepped in and taken over what she still considered her patch, her leaflet, but with Cassie? Fucking hell, she was a slip of a girl who’d bounced into her role once Lenny had died, letting folks know her brand of punishment, not giving people a chance to come to terms with her calling the shots. No easing in gently. She was a punch to the face and a kick in the bollocks.

  Blimey, Lenny carked it, then there she was, lording it about.

  Karen shrugged off a chill that wiggled down her spine. She was getting on in years now, or it felt like it anyroad. She creaked more than a newlywed’s bed.

  Mind you, she lorded it before he’d even died, acting like the bee’s bloody knees. Right hand, my arse. She took on the leader role as soon as he went downhill, couldn’t wait to stick her oar in.

  She ignored the fact Lenny would have demanded it, Cassie having no choice in the matter, and Francis wouldn’t want to take over until Cassie gained her gangster wings. No, she preferred giving her input in the background.

  Well, Karen had ideas of taking the Barrington back. Years past, before Lenny had come on the scene, Karen and her buddy, Sharon, had fixed messes and dished out threats. All right, it wasn’t to the level of Lenny or Cassie, they didn’t have that much influence, but they’d managed the residents well enough, kept things orderly.

  Karen was already sick of bowing down to Cassie, and she’d barely taken the reins, so fuck knows how she’d feel later down the line when the young woman’s feet were so far under the table she was horizontal. It was all well and good, working out how to approach people Cassie paid to stay loyal to her, asking them to switch allegiance, but the nuts and bolts of it would be difficult to carry out. There were some who’d run and tattle to Cassie, and Karen and Sharon would get shut down inside a second. Permanently.

  Unless Cassie was dead.

  Yesterday, Karen had suggested offing Cassie to Sharon, who’d stared at her like she was a mental case, saying she’d changed her mind and didn’t want to go down the route of reclaiming what Karen thought was theirs. They were too old for this lark, she’d said, but despite their age, Karen reckoned they could manage it. They’d be the ones coining it in, not that trumped-up little madam, and people would be afraid of them, not her.

  As with most things in life, shit rarely ran smoothly for the likes of Karen. There was a fly in the ointment in the form of Doreen fucking Prince, who Cassie had insisted should ‘help’ Karen and Sharon with The Life—why, Karen had no idea, but now she came to think of it, maybe Cassie had got wind of the proposed takeover and Doreen was a spy. She had to be, didn’t she? Why did they need a helper when they’d been doing The Life for years quite fine on their own, thank you very much?

  Karen certainly hadn’t told anyone what she was planning, so the only other person who knew was Sharon. Oh, and Brenda, Karen’s best friend—she’d forgotten she’d nattered about it to her. They’d been pals for decades, so surely Brenda wouldn’t have whispered in Cassie’s ear, would she? Brenda was well in with the Graftons but had always said she’d go with whoever led the Barrington.

  Doubt crept into Karen’s mind, and she tromped down a gravelled garden path, slipping on the stupid stones. God, she’d almost landed on her arse then. She stuffed a flyer through the letterbox, uncaring that the flap rattled and could wake the resident. It was getting on a bit now, coming up to ten, but she’d be finished by half past, she reckoned, then she could climb into her own bed and seethe in private beneath sheets she’d hung on the line earlier and finished in the tumble dryer.

  She entered Doreen’s street, smug the woman wouldn’t know about this flyer until it landed on her doormat. It was the small things that pleased Karen. The lights were off in the house—Doreen was probably under the duvet with that Harry—so contrary to her thoughts, Karen made a meal out of clattering the flap, just because she could.

  She moved towards the bedsits where Richie, Doreen’s son, used to live and approached the main door, startled at Doreen calling out to her from behind.

  “Loud eno
ugh, were you?” she shouted, which was ironic, considering she was moaning about the noise. All right for her to wake folks up but not for Karen. “What’s all this about Jiang?”

  Karen turned. Doreen, in a red dressing gown held closed by what appeared to be a pair of American Tan tights—what a skank—waved the flyer from the rise of her doorstep.

  Karen sighed and ambled back to Doreen’s, opening the gate and pushing her weary arse up the path. All right, she’d hoped she’d wake Doreen, but now she had to deal with her, she wished she hadn’t. “Did you not read it? Everything you need to know is on there.”

  Doreen’s bottle-blonde hair was squashed on one side from a pillow. “But why is it an emergency that we get told he fucked off to China, like?”

  Karen had wondered the same thing herself and thought something untoward had gone on. Lenny used to get her to write flyers when he made someone ‘disappear’, like The Mechanic, who’d snatched little Jess Wilson all those years ago. The Mechanic had apparently left his wife, too, poor Alisha who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. This news smacked of that. Cassie must have had reason to send Jiang to that bloody Marlene—and that was another thing. How come no one but Cassie’s closest allies knew who that woman was?

  “I don’t know, do I?” Karen held back a snarl of irritation. “I just do what I’m told. The ins and outs of the cat’s arsehole are nowt to do with me. If Cassie wants everyone to know, then that’s none of my concern.”

  Doreen nodded to herself, as if coming to a conclusion. “I’ll have a word, see if she’ll tell me owt.”

  Karen scoffed. “What, you think she’ll take you into her confidence because you work for her now? Good luck there.”

  Doreen gave Karen a funny look, like that was exactly what Cassie would do, and it got right on Karen’s threepenny bits. How come Doreen could know the secrets when she’d only just started taking wages off Cassie? Karen had been here forever, and the redheaded bitch had never taken her into her confidence.

  That’s given me the right hump now.

  “Whatever, Doreen,” she said. “I have to go. Some of us still have work to do.”

  Karen stalked off with her remaining flyers clutched in her fist, so tight she crinkled the paper, the sound of it a crack in the night. The click of Doreen’s door closing gave her a measure of satisfaction, though, a reply to what she’d said hopefully lost inside Doreen’s big fat gob.

  She pushed a few flyers into the bedsit letterboxes, mumbling, “Like anyone who lives here will read the fucking things, the drugged-up bastards.”

  Only the rest of this street to go, then she could bugger off home. She swivelled round, jolting at a car without headlights on coming towards her. It went past, slowing outside that little prat’s house, Brett Davis, then moved on, veering left at the end. It was too dark to make out who it was. It wouldn’t surprise her if whoever was in that car was after Brett. He owed money all over the shop for drugs. Maybe he’d borrowed from some loan shark or other. That’d piss Cassie off, seeing as she was the main one round here. Karen would bet they’d come back once she’d gone. They wouldn’t want any witnesses if they planned to go into his hovel and beat the shite out of him.

  She hurried with the last few flyers. She didn’t fancy being around if the car returned. While she’d enjoyed being a bully when she’d run the Barrington, she didn’t want to observe anyone being walloped. Not tonight, at least. She was too tired to give a fuck what happened to him, the oily sodding weasel.

  Chapter Five

  Lenny lifted his pint of lager in The Donny and sipped, watching the other customers but making out he wasn’t. He liked to show his face here, let people know he was around, could walk in any minute and catch them doing something they shouldn’t. It kept them on their toes, didn’t it, reinforced the fact he was their leader and they’d fare well if they obeyed him.

  Joe Wilson came back from the loo, Lenny’s best mate and someone he trusted, so much so their families got together for meals in fine restaurants—a far cry from before, when a chippy tea was the order of the evening, washed down with mugs of Tetley. One day, when Lenny owned a big house, he’d have them over there instead, and they’d sit around a big dining table full of the best crockery and whatnot. He had the money for a new pad, but nowt had caught his fancy yet. He wanted to stay on the Barrington, and there weren’t many decent gaffs there.

  Maybe he’d buy some land on the outskirts and build one. Failing that, he could purchase a couple of the better properties and knock them into one.

  Their girls, Cassie and Jess, were the same age—two and a half—and loved playing together. Sometimes, Francis and Lou met up in the park while Lenny was busy with his flourishing side business, although it was fast becoming the main. Grafton’s Meat Factory was a front these days. Joe managed that for him, Lenny running the Barrington. Joe, when he had spare time, helped his old man on Handel Farm, where he mucked out the pigs and did the jobs his father was getting too old and ill to do.

  One day, the farm would become Joe’s, and Lenny would be minus a decent factory manager, but until then, they’d continue as normal. He’d face finding a replacement later down the line. No point crossing bridges until you had to, was there.

  That reminded him. Handel Farm had a shitload of land. Joe had always mithered about having to keep it mowed, that his father hadn’t ever done owt with it. Once Joe took over, perhaps he’d sell it to Lenny, then he’d flog it on to a developer for a tidy profit and get his nice big house.

  Another bridge for later.

  Joe picked up his lager and took a hefty swig. “Just heard something in the men’s.”

  “What’s that then?” Lenny leant across to hear better.

  Geoff Davis, the landlord, had given in to the karaoke craze, and someone currently belted out I Will Survive by that Gaynor bird, doing it a massive injustice—and offending everyone’s eardrums if expressions were owt to go by. Sucking lemons came to mind.

  Joe spoke by Lenny’s ear. “Some Chinese bloke, asking old Warren at the urinal if he knows whether the takeaway’s available to run. Says he hasn’t got any money but can work off the rent as he goes along.”

  Lenny perked up at that. Someone with no money meant they’d be grateful if he offered them a gig. He’d recently bought the Jade Garden down the road, had done it up, and needed someone to run it. The thing was, he wanted someone who knew how to keep their gob shut, one who didn’t mind selling drugs with the food—and they had to know how to cook a banging Chinese, that was a given. Just because that bloke was Asian, didn’t mean he knew what he was up to in the kitchen, did it, but if he’d enquired about it, maybe he did. You didn’t offer to paint someone’s portrait if you weren’t an artist.

  “I was thinking about that venture you mentioned,” Joe said.

  Lenny grinned, nice and wide. “Yeah. Talk about fate playing a good hand, dumping this right in my lap. I’ll go in the bogs now and have a chat.” He placed his glass on the bar and moved to walk off.

  Joe tapped Lenny’s arm, stopping him. “No need. He’s just there.” He jabbed a thumb to his left, towards the front of the pub.

  Lenny looked over at one of the booths beside the main doors. A couple sat close together, their clothes the worse for wear, their eyes somewhat sunken in faces that showed the world they were tired as fuck and needed a break in life. Skint, too, he’d bet, no two pennies to rub together. They had the air of poor about them, the sort that meant they went hungry more often than not and couldn’t afford to keep the heating on for long, scared of a big bill. Seemed they shared a glass of lemonade, and that sight had the potential to soften Lenny’s heart if he’d let it.

  He’d been boracic lint once, on the bones of his arse, and knew how it felt. That was why he’d become so intent on making money so his stomach never griped again. He’d told himself to scam and connive if he had to. And he had.

  He walked over there and leant on the newel post that had bannisters between the top
and bottom rails to separate this booth from the next. A hint at privacy, but anyone could listen in on your conversation if they were that way inclined. Thankfully, no one occupied it.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

  The man, all five-foot-one of him, stood and held out his hand. “I am Li Jun.”

  Lenny shook it, pleased the fella had manners—or did he know who Lenny was and thought he’d better behave his fucking self? People talked, and this Li Jun could have picked up who ran the estate. “Lenny.” He smiled. “Grafton.”

  Li Jun’s eyes widened, but he covered his shock by guiding the woman to stand, his palm curved beneath her elbow. “This is Nuwa, my wife.”

  Lenny shook her hand, too, her skin rougher than her husband’s—a skivvy’s hands—and it boiled his piss, reminding him of his old dear having to clean people’s bogs for a living back in the day. Until he’d bagged a mortgage for the meat factory and changed her life. She was dead now, but he’d given her a good few years.

  “I hear you’re looking for work.” He released Nuwa’s hand, hoping, if they took him up on his offer, she’d have riches and could afford cream to smooth away the washerwoman effect.

  Li Jun nodded. “Yes. We come from China. Arrived a month ago. We work as cleaner.”

  Lenny couldn’t stand their gaunt faces any longer. “Hungry?”

  Li Jun flushed, his pride taking a bashing, and Nuwa bowed her head. Seemed they were ashamed of their circumstances, and he’d tell them to never berate themselves for doing an honest day’s work—nor a dishonest one if they accepted employment from him. Work was work, and all money looked the same no matter how you earnt it.

  He swallowed a lump in his throat. Fucking thing. “Sit your arses down. I’ll get you some grub.”

  Lenny left them and ordered bangers, mash, peas, and gravy, plus a nice bottle of house white wine. They could share that instead of the bloody lemonade.