“You said, ‘not these days’. What happened to change the Tribe’s direction?”
“A new boss took over, a new Top Man. After that, things turned serious.”
The pale sunlight flowing through the window brightened the eyes behind Ryan’s coloured contacts, lightening the green and making them almost translucent.
“In what way ‘serious’?” she asked, already suspecting the answer.
“The new Top Man brought in a fresh command structure, a new Second Man by the name, Demarcus Williams. He acts as the prime enforcer. He brought in a few others, too. All hard men from outside the area. And I mean ‘men’. Damian said the new guys—he called them the Goons—were a few years older than the existing gang members. Adults. They intimidated the younger members. Threatened. Cajoled. Bribed. In the end, they hospitalised any who tried to stand up to them or leave the Tribe. In short, they frightened the original Tribe members into submission.
“In business terms, it was a hostile takeover. The Tribe became more professional. Better organised. Currently, the original members are being used as little more than street-facing gofers. They don’t have a say in how the Tribe is run. Quite sad, really. Don’t you think?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. A bunch of thugs is a bunch of thugs. They pretty much get what they deserve. So, I suppose your plan is to pay the latest Top Man a social call? Going to show him the error of his ways and encourage him to toddle off and leave the good citizens of Walthamstow in peace … after asking him what he knows about Glenmore Davits’ death?”
“Ah, you make it all sound so easy. However …” Kaine grimaced.
“Oh dear. Does there always have to be a ‘however’?”
“Apparently so, love. It seems that no one’s ever seen the new Top Man. Nobody has any idea who he is or what he looks like. For all anyone knows, Top Man might even be ‘Top Woman’. Stranger things—”
“What?” Lara stiffened. “That’s ridiculous. How can anyone run a street gang without being directly hands on?”
“That’s what I asked my new friend, Damian,” Ryan added.
“And he said?”
“Top Man, or rather, TM, communicates indirectly, through Demarcus Williams and the other Goons. Whenever he talks directly to the Tribe, he uses a TV monitor attached to the wall of their clubhouse. The image is pixilated and the voice modulated electronically. As I said, no one knows who TM is, but the fellow seems to know everything that happens in the area.”
Ryan stopped talking, maybe to allow her enough time to absorb the information, or maybe to start making plans in his head that didn’t include her. No way was she going to let that happen.
After draining the last of her tea—cold and unpleasant—Lara nodded, almost to herself.
“Okay, simple enough. We follow this Demarcus Williams chap, until he leads us to TM. Then you can use your … subtle powers of persuasion. Alternatively, we can involve the police—indirectly, of course. Wouldn’t want anyone recognising you.”
Ryan sighed. “Hell, girl. There you go using ‘we’ again. It’s not going to happen. I’m working this alone.”
“Ryan,” she whispered. “Stop being so darned … stubborn. If you won’t let me help, at least wait until we can bring in Rollo, or Danny.”
“We’ve already discussed this. Rollo’s on the other side of the world, and Danny’s otherwise engaged. I can’t keep butting into their lives like this. They need a break, too.”
“What about Slim or Paddy?”
“They’re in Las Vegas. Apparently, they’re planning to invest some of their hard-earned money gambling and watching the dancing girls. The rest, they’ll waste on trivialities.”
Lara closed her eyes and tutted her disapproval. “And you told me off for my poor sense of humour. Surely, there are others you can call?”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. It’s short notice, but I’ll see who’s available. In any event, whoever I call, it’s likely to take a couple of days for anyone to reach us.”
“Meanwhile, you’ll keep safe?”
He placed a hand on his heart. “Of course. Until I have some backup, I’ll keep nothing more than a watching brief. I’ll even try to do it remotely, through strategically placed surveillance cameras.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He raised his hands to show her his uncrossed fingers. “In the meantime, young Damian Baines will be my ears on the inside.”
“Sure you can trust him?”
“Don’t be silly. Of course I can’t trust him.”
He smiled disarmingly, but her expression must have given away more anxiety than she intended, and his smile quickly faded. “Not funny, Ryan. Not funny at all.”
“Sorry, lass.”
“You will be, Mister.”
“Ooh, scary.”
Ryan grinned and held up his hands in mock surrender, and everything was good again.
“Good. Anyway, you’re right,” he said. “I can’t just sit back and do nothing. Especially when our original good intentions might have led to Glenmore Davits’ so-called accident.”
“Sending him the bank draft, you mean?”
He nodded. “Glenmore might have told someone about it.”
“The neighbour, Primula Johnston?”
“Well, she did send that anonymous tip to the Trust’s hot line. Which is what led us here in the first place,” he said, lowering his voice even further and shooting a quick look at the door when the noises above their heads stopped suddenly.
“No such thing as ‘anonymous messages’ with someone like Corky on the case,” Lara said, equally quietly.
“Which reminds me,” Ryan said, easing smoothly to his feet, “it’s about time someone visited the ever-so-helpful Mrs Johnston.”
Despite their agreement, Lara couldn’t help worrying.
Even though Ryan was, without doubt, the most competent and resourceful man she’d ever met—her late and equally wonderful husband included—he was still only one man. Surely he didn’t think he could take on the whole Tribe single-handedly and come through unscathed?
He knew nothing about the full scope of their operations or their numbers. This new revelation about a mysterious TM pulling the strings behind the scenes with the help of a bunch of Goons, made the issue significantly more dangerous.
After receiving the email from Primula Johnston, Lara was the one who’d insisted they visited London together right away, and she had to shoulder most of the blame for whatever happened. She shouldn’t have encouraged Ryan to check on Darwin Moore in person. In the safety of their French hideaway, things had seemed so straightforward. Visit London and find out why one of The 83—a crippled old man with no family apart from a grandson in university—passed away, apparently by accident. What could be so simple?
Yet, here they were, in the middle of danger again.
The moment Ryan learned that Glenmore Davits’ death might relate to the money, and that Darwin Moore lived in what might well have been a war zone, at least part time, she knew what he’d do.
Ryan would never allow the situation to continue unchecked. Oh no, not Ryan Kaine, who had vowed to spend the rest of his life protecting The 83.
Even though he tried to hide his guilt from her, she could see it in his eyes and sense it in his dreams. When they lay together in the dark of the night, she’d feel his body tense, and she’d listen to his ragged breathing as he relived the moment in his sleep. The moment he pulled the trigger that ended the flight and killed all those innocent people.
Poor Ryan.
From his position by the window, Ryan flinched.
“Hello,” he said, “if I’m not mistaken, here’s our anonymous informant.”
“Who, Damian?”
“Not unless he’s taken to wearing drag. This will be the neighbour, Primula Johnston. Saves me a trip around the corner.”
The letterbox handle rattled, the lock on the front door clicked, and the door sq
ueaked open.
“Hello, Darwin?” a woman’s voice called out loud and bright. “It’s only me! I’ve let myself in.”
Upstairs, towards the back of the house, Darwin’s bedroom door squeaked open and his heavy footsteps moved along the landing.
“Come in, Primula. I’ll be right down. Go straight through to the kitchen. We’ll have a cuppa.”
Lara jumped up. “How do you want to play this?”
“With a straight bat, love. Let Darwin take the lead and introduce us if he likes. If he mentions the Trust and Primula wants to admit emailing us, all well and good. If not, we can talk to her later. Independently.”
Ryan opened the sitting room door and allowed Lara into the hallway first, but only after having checked it was safe. Damian, wearing a clean sweater and jeans, and a slightly annoyed expression, skipped down the stairs. He stopped when he reached the bottom step.
“This’ll be fun,” he whispered. “A word of warning. Apart from being a busybody and a total fantasist, Primula Johnston is the biggest gossip in the universe. By now, every person on the street will know I have visitors. They’ll also know a plumber’s working on my boiler. Treat everything she says with a large pinch of salt, and please … no talk of the money.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I don’t want the whole world knowing my business.”
He hurried through to the kitchen, brushing past Lara in his haste. She and Ryan exchanged telling glances and followed him down the hallway.
“That answered one of our questions. This’ll be interesting,” Ryan whispered.
Chapter 9
Saturday 18th February – Lara Orchard
Walthamstow, NE London
The bulbous and voluminous Primula Johnston filled the kitchen, practically sucking all the air out of the room when she spoke. The woman sat at the table, teacup in one hand hovering over a saucer held in the other, trying to drag information out of a reluctant Darwin. No one witnessing the event would ever have called her subtle.
Darwin introduced her as a wonderfully helpful neighbour who would run little errands for his Pops, which included grocery shopping and the like.
“Oh yes,” she said between delicate sips from a cup which never seemed to empty, “my husband and I like to do our bit for the less fortunate amongst us. Glenmore was such a lovely man. Suffered terrible bad wit’ his hip and back, but rarely complained. Not like Mr Lubbock at number thirty-seven. Oh dear me, no. Why, only last week—”
“Pops was really grateful for all your help, Primula. As was I, of course. He wouldn’t have been able to survive without your support, especially when I left for college.”
When she smiled, her cheeks bulged, her eyes narrowed, and her crow’s feet extended to her ears. She’d entered the house wearing a hat and a heavy coat, and kept them on, despite the rising heat in the kitchen.
“T’was our pleasure, dear. And”—she looked over her glasses at Lara and Ryan—“who, might I ask, are your friends?”
“Dr and Mr Griffin are here from … The 83 Trust. They just wanted to make sure I’m doing going okay since Pops … you know.”
Primula Johnston’s beady little eyes opened, and the cup trembled in her hand. She centred the cup on the saucer and lowered them both to the table.
“The 83 Trust? Oh, how excitin’. You received my message, then?”
Ryan shot a look at Lara that said, “Over to you,” and she took the lead.
“Your message?” she asked.
“Yes, dear. I typed it into that lil’ box on your website. Suggested you investigate Glenmore’s passin’.”
“You did what?” Darwin demanded, raising his voice and displaying real annoyance for the first time.
If Primula noticed Darwin’s irritation, she didn’t let it show. The woman had the thickness of skin a rhinoceros would have been proud of.
“Yes, dear. Didn’t I tell you?”
“No, Primula. You didn’t.”
“Musta slipped my mind.”
“Why on earth did you do it?”
“Well, you know. Wit’ all the trouble we’ve been havin’ aroun’ here. … with that Barcode fellow and the Tribe … Glenmore was worried for his life.”
“He was?” Lara asked.
“Yes, Glenmore tol’ me about how Barcode kept hangin’ aroun’ outside his door. In the alleyway. Sellin’ his drugs. Glenmore wasn’t happy. Not at all. Kept shoutin’ at him to move away.”
“Did you have any specific reason to contact the Trust?” Lara asked.
Primula shuffled in her chair. “Well, not as such. But since he died the day after gettin’ that registered letter, it got me to thinkin’.”
“Thinking what, Primula?” Darwin asked, clearly struggling for patience.
“Well now. One day after receivin’ a suspicious letter …”
“Did Pop tell you what was in the letter?”
Primula’s bloated face crumpled. “No, but—”
“But nothing, Primula. Your imagination’s running wild again. Remember the time you claimed to have seen a UFO, only to discover it was a police helicopter?”
“Looked like a flyin’ saucer to me. Bright light in the sky. Hoverin’ over all the houses—”
“That was its searchlight, Primula.”
“Anyone can make a mista—”
“But you called the police and the BBC.”
“Like I said. Anyone can make a mistake. But with Glenmore dyin’ the day after gettin’ that letter, that wasn’t no mistake.”
“Nothing but a coincidence, Primula.”
Darwin looked from Lara to Ryan. His expression seemed to ask, “See what I have to put up with?”
A double-rap on the kitchen door made them all turn.
“Yes?” Darwin called.
The door opened and the plumber stuck his head through the gap. “Hi, sorry to disturb. Can I come in?”
Lara remained seated at the table beside Primula, and Ryan huddled into a corner near the pantry, trying to remain inconspicuous. Darwin stood and beckoned the plumber into the overcrowded room.
“Come in, come in,” Darwin called. “Any news?”
Primula looked as though her birthday had arrived early. Her grin was almost wide enough to split her cheeks. Surprisingly she kept quiet, absorbing every exciting morsel of information.
Brian pointed towards the ceiling and cocked an ear. In the silence, an anaemic rattle interspersed with the occasional bubbling pop reverberated through the floorboards.
“Boiler’s older than my dad and nearly as obsolete,” Brian started, grinning widely. “Never worked on anything so decrepit, but … as you can hear, I’ve managed to coax some life into her. To be honest, I’m not sure I should leave it running, but this house is freezing. I’ve given it a quick health check. No apparent problems with the exhaust gasses, they’re venting to the outside, but … Well, there’s no telling how long my patch is going to last. I’ll hang around for an hour until the system reaches temperature, just to make sure the thermostat—”
Upstairs, after a heavy thump, the rattling stopped, replaced by a hissing gurgle.
Brian shouted, “Darn it,” spun around, and dived back out through the door again. His footsteps thumped up the stairs and, with her eyes, Lara followed the clomp of work boots crossing the bare boards above their heads. Moments later, the hissing slowed and eventually turned into the regular drip-drip of water filling a bucket.
“Oh, dear. Sounds terminal,” Ryan said, unnecessarily.
“Perhaps you should stay in a hotel until the heating’s been fixed,” Lara suggested.
“A hotel!” Primula spluttered. “How’s he gonna afford that? He’s a student, don’t you know!”
“It’s all right, Primula. I’m only here weekends. I can cope with a little cold.”
“Nonsense, boy. Why don’t you come stay with me and Albert. We got a spare room since Petunia moved in with her … woman friend.”
Primula’s sneer and the air she su
cked between her teeth made her disdain for Petunia’s choice of lifestyle perfectly clear.
“No, no,” Darwin said, the words gushing from his lips. “That’s really a very generous offer, but I’m comfortable here. Really, I am. It’s only for a few days a month. The college dorms will fill in the rest of the time. Thank you, but no.”
Ryan saved Darwin’s further blushes by saying, “I’ll ask young Brian if he knows where to source some electric space heaters.”
He turned towards the door. “Beth? Why don’t you carry on chatting with Darwin and Primula while I pop upstairs and have a word with the plumber? Then I’ll go fetch the car from the hotel, to save you having to walk back in case it rains.”
He winked at Lara, nodded to Primula and Darwin, and closed the kitchen door behind him.
Minutes later, water from the bucket emptied into the toilet and the cistern flushed. A short while after that, Brian Able returned to the kitchen, an expression of defeat etched into his youthful face. Toolbox and electronic clipboard in hand, he stood in the open kitchen doorway.
“I guess you know what I’m going to say?” he asked Darwin.
Ryan hovered near the front door, ready for a rapid escape.
“Knackered?” Darwin suggested.
The plumber nodded. “’Fraid so. Main combustion chamber is corroded and the electronic interface is bugg—uh, shot. Not worth spending any more time or money on it, I’m afraid. Best I can do is pop back to the warehouse for some temporary heaters. Won’t take me long. Be back inside the hour.”
“Good idea,” Lara answered. “The quicker we get some real heat into this place the better. You’ll be able to start the installation on Wednesday?”
“As promised, Mrs Griffin.”
“And how long will the job take?”
The young plumber’s eyes scanned the screen on his tablet.
“Not easy to tell for certain. We’ll have to remove and replace all the old pipework and the radiators before laying the new stuff. Probably best to allow at least a week, maybe a fortnight.” He cast his eyes along the hall, looking towards the front door.
Ryan Kaine: On the Money: (Ryan Kaine's 83 series Book 5) Page 9