by Emmy Ellis
“I need a word,” he said. “All right if I flip the closed sign for a bit?”
Nuwa nodded. Lenny locked the door and turned the sign over, and Li Jun lowered the heat on the boiling rice and joined his wife behind the counter. He picked up a packet of chopsticks they sold and gripped them tight.
Lenny stepped up. “More gear’s being brought here in ten minutes, round the back—we don’t need people in the street or the houses opposite being nosy, do we. I want the other three shelves filled, then you’ll get people coming in and asking for it. Word’s been spread, if you catch my drift, rules laid down. There are code words you need to remember that the punters will tell you.” He smiled. “’Extra salt’ for the coke, ‘extra herbs’ for the weed, got it?”
Li Jun bobbed his head, chanting extra salt, extra weed inside his mind.
“If we start dealing heroin—not sure about that lark at the minute—people will ask for ‘extra brown sauce’.” Lenny propped his elbows on the counter, and they pointed to crispy duck and a portion of chips on the menu beneath the glass. He cupped his face. “I’ll stay here this first time, you know, when the bloke comes with the stash, then you’ll take in the deliveries once a month after that—if you run low, get on the blower to me, texting: More. I want you to deliver the takings to me once a week—in The Donny, Friday evenings, nine o’clock. You’ll hand me a takeaway bag, the dough inside the tubs, a packet of prawn crackers on top.”
“Right.” Li Jun’s legs wobbled—this was too much information at once. Thank goodness there was a safe in the office, otherwise he’d have worried about having so much cash on the premises. They took the food takings to the security box in the wall outside the bank in the evenings, and he panicked every time that someone followed him, ready to steal it.
“Here’s your first grand.” Lenny took a brown paper package out of his inside jacket pocket and, keeping his body facing them, placed it down so no one outside could see.
So much for not having money lying around. Li Jun couldn’t put this in the bank. Such large amounts might raise questions and eyebrows. He slid it across and hid it beneath the counter, his blood going cold at the enormity of what he was doing. “Thank you.”
A loud knocking came from the kitchen, startling him.
“That’ll be the delivery.” Lenny gestured to the hatch. “I’ll come through, shall I?”
Li Jun couldn’t say no anyway, but again, he was happy at the level of respect. He raised the hatch, still clutching the chopsticks in one hand, and stepped back so Lenny could come through. Nuwa opened the kitchen door, pressing her body to it as a prop. She smiled away as if they weren’t involved in bad things, like she’d been born into this way of life.
“Chuffed with the flat?” Lenny asked, all jovial. “If you need owt else up there, you just let me know. Likewise with any kitchen equipment.” He went into the cooking area and sniffed. “I’ll buy me and my missus a curry after. Smells well mint, that does.”
He walked over to the back door, drew the bolt across the top, and opened up. Li Jun followed, as did Nuwa, and they stood beside each other, staring at a big man in dark clothing, his width filling the frame so formidably that Li Jun swallowed. His eyes were near black, deep-set, his hair the same shade, shorn close to his scalp so his skin was on show. Muscles sat upon muscles, turning him into a package as large as a barn.
Li Jun blushed at his exaggerated thought and nodded at him in greeting.
The newcomer entered, a bulging navy-blue holdall in hand, and he kicked the door closed behind him. It banged shut from a suck of wind, Nuwa jumping, and Li Jun held her fingers tight, placing the chopsticks down on the steel work surface next to him.
“This is Glen Maddock, what’s known as my right hand.” Lenny patted the man on the shoulder. “I trust him with my life, so you should trust him an’ all. He’s the middle man who’ll deliver the drugs from the supplier for now. If he’s in The Donny in my place for receiving the takings, you can hand it to him. Same if Joe Wilson’s there, or my wife, Francis. Joe’s the bloke I was at the bar with the night we met—remember him?”
Li Jun nodded.
“This is Francis.” Lenny took his wallet out and flipped it open to show a picture behind a plastic window of a beautiful brown-haired woman holding a redheaded child. “Now, Joe and Francis, they won’t ever be there unless me and Glen are held up, but I wanted you to be aware of who you could hand the dosh to other than me. Anyroad, I’ll always text you if there’s a change of plans.” He smiled at Glen. “Supplier all right, pal?”
Glen sniffed much like Lenny had done earlier. “That smells right handsome.” He poked a finger towards the pot of curry sauce simmering. “And yeah, he’s fine. The chain’s intact—I had to ask him, seeing as we need regular packages.”
Li Jun supposed he meant the supply chain, but that was none of his business. His part in this was to hand over the little bags, take the money, then give Lenny the proceeds.
“Magic.” Lenny bent and opened the holdall. “I take it everything’s there.”
“I wouldn’t have left his place if it wasn’t,” Glen said, a little gruff. He scooped up the holdall handles. “In the fridge, is it?”
Lenny smiled. “Yep.”
Glen disappeared into the office, and Li Jun swallowed again. His throat had gone tight, his stomach lurching. Glen scared him somewhat.
Lenny opened his wallet again and produced forty pounds. “Three chicken curries, chicken fried rice, two plain noodles, and a couple of portions of spring rolls—bag up one lot for Glen. Keep the change.” He winked.
Much as Li Jun wanted to dislike this man, what with him being a drug dealer, amongst other nefarious things, he couldn’t help but like him and look upon him as their saviour.
Like Nuwa had said this morning, Lenny was a god amongst men.
* * * *
The week following that first delivery had seen many folks coming in for extra salt and herbs. The takeaway orders had gone through the roof, swelling Li Jun and Nuwa’s personal coffers, and they’d earnt enough to pay for a whole month of food supplies instead of him ordering bits and bobs as they ran low. Handing the little bags over had been terrifying at first, although Nuwa behaved as though it were the most normal thing on the planet. Maybe she told herself they really did contain salt and herbs.
His wife had the family reunion as a goal, and that spurred her on to do whatever Lenny wanted. She had him high on a pedestal and wouldn’t hear of Li Jun casting doubt on him. So Li Jun remained secretly wary and would until he trusted Lenny completely. It wasn’t for Li Jun to question how the leader kept the residents from blabbing about the gear, but he suspected threats were involved, ones where he told them they’d ‘disappear’ if news ever wormed its way into the wrong ears.
He’d told Li Jun the same during that first encounter in The Donny.
Six months had passed since they’d stepped inside the Jade, and Zhang Wei and his wife now helped in the kitchen. What a relief to have another cook.
They employed a babysitter to mind the kids and occupied one of Lenny’s high-rise flats. Li Jun had paid for all the furniture. After all, he had those grands which had accumulated, hidden beneath his and Nuwa’s double bed inside a holdall much like the one the drugs arrived in.
Zhang Wei had listened solemnly to Li Jun’s story about how he’d come to run the Jade, and thankfully, he hadn’t admonished him for taking such a huge risk. The tiny town they’d grown up in offered no prospects, and coming to the UK had always been their goal, brothers together in a quest for riches. Li Jun had cooked food on the market there, his rickety stall made from planks of splinter-riddled wood, his gas stove, spatula, and one wok his sole equipment. Their mother had taught him her special recipes, and to create such food and sell it in the takeaway was his dream becoming reality.
“It is a good life,” Zhang Wei said. “We are doing wrong but for the right reasons. With Mother and Father dead now, we have nothin
g in China anymore.” He gestured around the kitchen. “We will teach my Jiang and Yenay, and your child when it arrives. We will have a family empire. I plan to open a shop of my own one day.”
Li Jun smiled at the thought of the baby in Nuwa’s belly. It would be raised alongside Jiang and Yenay, and hopefully, another would soon follow. Li Jun loved his brother and wanted his unborn child to also have a sibling.
That those children would one day understand exactly what the ‘family empire’ entailed was a sour taste on the back of his tongue—but one he’d continue to sup in order to live the life they’d always wanted.
Money and security trumped all, it seemed.
He could only pray it wouldn’t be their downfall. Greed was a sin.
Chapter Eleven
In the gnaw-at-your-cheeks cold, snow falling, the wind whooping between fence slats, Cassie and Jason stood in the yard behind the laundrette, staring up at the lit window, the curtains open. A shadow had flitted past when she’d knocked, but so far, Helen hadn’t deigned to answer. It got Cassie’s back up, that did, and she gritted her teeth. It was too late to be fucking about, and she wanted to question Helen then go home to tell Mam what had gone on. She also had to update the latest ledger, adding her father’s code words to keep a record of tonight’s events.
“She’s probably off her face,” Cassie muttered and whacked the door again. She bent to open the letterbox—bloody odd to have one, when to get into the yard they’d had to go down an alley then climb over the fence. The gate bolt was too far down for Jason to reach his hand over. She couldn’t see the postman doing that on the daily. “Helen, it’s Cassie Grafton. Fucking open up. Now.”
“I’ll break in if she doesn’t come down, shall I?” Jason sounded weary, as pissed off as her, and no wonder, they’d put in a full day’s work then had their evening and a few hours of sleep stolen by this load of bollocks.
“Yep. Mam owns the place, so whatever, I’ll arrange to have the damage fixed.” What was a door compared to Jiang’s life?
A minute of tense waiting later, footsteps thudded in an uneven pattern, and Cassie bent once again to peer through the letterbox, shifting her hair aside as it’d draped itself across her face. A light snapped on, a low-watt bulb but enough to see well enough. A pair of bare feet appeared, bunions as adornments, then shins in skinny blue denims, and the rest of the body followed, ending with scrunched features. Helen looked tired, gaunt, and in need of a holiday. Had she been involved and this evening had taken it out of her? Worry would do that, especially if you were going against a Grafton. Sleepless nights and hiding out was sensible, so how come she was here to open the door?
Stupid bint.
The chain scraped, then the door creaked wide, the base shuddering against the lino floor. Helen stared at them, the glow from the bare bulb above her head casting a spot of yellow on her greying brown hair, showing up her parting and some wayward flakes of dandruff hanging around for the duration. Her eyes were glazed, and she swayed. “The takings aren’t due yet.”
Cassie resented her sullen tone. “I’m not here about the fucking takings. Get inside. We need to talk.” She barged her out of the way and entered, wedging herself against the left wall of the small hallway.
Helen staggered back to the opposite wall, her hand to her chest in shock—and maybe a little fear creeping in. Cassie ignored her and waited for Jason to enter.
“Go and check we’re alone,” Cassie told him. “Who knows if she’s got some lowlife up there.”
Jason trudged up the stairs, scowling, pushing open one side of his jacket, probably to take his gun from the holster. He glanced over his shoulder—to check if he was allowed to use it, she reckoned—and she nodded.
Cassie eyed Helen, who gave her a filthy look, one she’d regret if she kept on.
“Stop staring at me like that. I’ll wipe that snark right off your fucking face in a minute, then we’ll see who’s really got a set of balls. Now go up there so we can chat.” Cassie pointed to the stairs, the urge to kick Helen’s arse rising inside her. Beating the woman up might come later, though, if she didn’t give them the information they needed—if Cassie didn’t believe her story.
Helen lurched off the wall. “Comes to something when you’re badgered in your own home.”
She stumbled up the steps, and Cassie nudged the door to. She wanted it ajar in case she needed to call reinforcements. One of the lads who specialised in torturing people lived over the road with his mam. Normally she’d use Jason, but he was dead on his feet and could just about use that gun of his.
Cassie followed her up, and they congregated in a nice enough living room that faced the rear of the property. The scent of Persil and whatnot was ingrained in the walls, which beat some of the household smells she’d encountered when visiting all the residents. Cabbage and bacon had been the order of the day there, and lots of stews.
Helen plopped onto the brown leather sofa, unfazed by the look of her, mainly grumpy, probably from Cassie’s treatment. Either she was good at hiding her involvement or she was innocent. Cassie would soon find out. Helen lit a cigarette and inhaled so deeply she coughed. She took a sip of clear liquid in a glass on a nearby end table—voddy, most likely. The woman was so casual about it, Cassie reckoned this visit was a waste of time.
But she’d have to go through with it all the same.
“Did anyone, specifically your nephew, Brett, pay you a visit recently about turning a blind eye tonight?” It was past midnight so technically a new day, but Helen probably hadn’t noticed the time, considering she’d been on the sauce.
If that was lemonade, Cassie would eat her hat.
“I haven’t seen Brett for about a month. And I know it was a month because he tapped me for a tenner—on my birthday, the cheeky sod.” Helen sucked on her fag again, gentler this time. “He’s been scarce around here even before that. I thought I’d done something wrong to be honest, but he’s not a kid anymore and doesn’t need his aunt wiping his arse for him.” She folded her arms over her flat belly, the glowing end of her cigarette precariously close to a pink throw cushion. “He only ever comes when he wants money, fags, or booze anyroad, so I took it he was all right in that department. His mother would turn in her grave, the state he’s turned into.”
Cassie laughed, and it sounded cruel. Scathing. “And your mother wouldn’t with the likes of you?” She indicated the booze and cigarette.
Helen snorted and stared at the fireplace, continuing to smoke as though Cassie didn’t bother her in the slightest. “Whatever. So what’s Brett done if you’re here asking about him? Got to be something bad if it’s you. I read about your weapon, you know, in The Life. Got it hidden somewhere, have you, ready to whip it out and slash my face up?”
Cassie wasn’t about to answer that and opted for a lie instead. “He’s done a runner, owing Mam a month’s rent. Last week, he said he was pissing off to Yorkshire tonight and he’d drop the cash round, but word on the street is, he was here earlier, stopping people from going into the Jade for some reason. Chatting them up, like, being annoying.” The lie might trip Helen up.
The woman shrugged, flicked some ash onto a side plate with what appeared to be toast crumbs all over it, then fixed her gaze on Cassie. “Like I said, he hasn’t been round for ages.”
I believe her. She’s too relaxed, like Jimmy was. “Fine.”
Helen stubbed her cigarette out with half still to go. “Does Geoff know he’s buggered off?”
“No idea.” Now to cement the moving-away story. “If you see him or he contacts you, get his new address off him and give it to me. I’ll pay him a personal visit at his new place, no matter the travel time, and remind him he needs to pay Mam what he owes. If he gets hold of you and you don’t tell me, I’ll find out, then you’ll have to pay what he owes for lying to me.”
Helen straightened. “That’s not fair. What Brett does isn’t my fault.”
“It’s just insurance so you do pass any
info on.” Cassie shrugged. “So, did you see owt weird going on out the front this evening?”
“Nope. I had dry-cleaning to get done, so I was in the back room.” Helen’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by weird? Has it got something to do with Jiang?”
Cassie’s stomach clenched. “What about Jiang?”
“Him flying to China.” She wafted a hand at The Barrington Life propped up on the mantel behind a wooden candlestick. A fat church candle topped it, wax dribbles hardened on the outside, the wick black and curved from use. “That came through the laundrette letterbox earlier.”
“No, it’s nowt to do with Jiang, just that some kids were fucking about apparently, and I want to know what they were up to, same with why Brett was bothering people.”
“What kids? Those two lads larking around by the lamppost?”
Jason coughed and dipped his head.
“Who were they?” Cassie asked.
“One of them was that hairdresser’s kid, I know that much. The other one? Fuck knows.”
“Which hairdresser?” Cassie’s patience was on the road to becoming so thin it snapped.
Helen sighed. “The one up by The Donny. Cheryl someone or other.”
My stylist. “Was it now. What were they doing by the lamppost?”
“Like I said, larking about, shouting at people until they walked away.”
“Did you hear what was said?”
Helen laughed, her head tilted back, an alarming amount of silver fillings caked into her top back teeth. “Have you ever been in that bloody laundrette when the machines are on? No, I heard nowt.”
“Did you get any customers in?”