by Kerry Kaya
All the while, his mind was working overtime. He’d just killed a kid. He could barely recollect seeing the lad before, and didn’t even know his name, yet the boy’s face was burned into his memory.
Gulping at the brandy, which had been placed in his hand, Danny shook his head in a bid to clear his thoughts. He just needed to think through the dilemma he now found himself to be in. He knew, instinctively, he had just made the situation ten times worse. It was highly unlikely, Freddie would allow him get away twice. The price on his head had been raised.
Andrew took the empty glass from Danny’s hand and automatically refilled it. Handing it back, he watched the big man gulp it down, as if his life depended on it.
“There’s a price on my head, Andy,” Danny stated, as he wiped his hand across his mouth.
Taking the empty glass out of his friend’s hand, Andrew sat down opposite him.
“Then you do what you do best. You sit and you think through your next move.”
Reluctantly, Danny nodded his head. If truth were told, he’d just used up his one and only move. There was no back-up plan, so sure was he, that his plan to kill Freddie would be fool-proof. Now, he wanted to curse himself. Why had he not thought through the possibilities of the shooting going wrong? Why had he been so cocksure of himself?
“You need time to think, and you need to rest,” Andrew stated, nodding his head toward the sofa. “You look done in, mate.”
“I don’t think I could sleep, even if I wanted to.”
“Get some rest,” Andrew repeated, “and things will look clearer.”
As his friend walked out of the room with the weapon carefully wrapped in a cloth, Danny wearily pulled his hand through his dark hair. He then poured out a generous measure of brandy and gulped it down, before hesitantly walking across to the sofa. Sinking down, he closed his eyes for a few moments. Almost immediately, the boy’s face flashed in his mind’s eye. Bolting upright, Danny leapt up off of the sofa, ran out to the yard, and emptied the contents of his stomach.
As he heaved, he could hear the whirl of machinery from inside the outhouse. Man the fuck up, he scolded.
Straightening up, Danny walked over to the outbuilding. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, while watching from the doorway, as Andrew cut the gun down into small pieces. Satisfied that Andrew was capable of the task he had set him, Danny returned to the lounge. He sat gingerly on the edge of a chair and held his head in his hands once again.
No one had seen him fire the gun, he was pretty certain of that, and with the weapon soon to be disposed of, it therefore, ceased to exist. The only real problem he had was Freddie, and the price on his head. All he needed to do was keep his nut down for a few days, until he could put a plan of action into place. Happier now, Danny closed his eyes. Andy was right, he needed to sleep.
* * *
Four hours later, Danny woke with a start. For a brief moment, he felt disorientated.
He sat up, and swinging his legs around, he reached inside his jacket pocket and took out his mobile phone. Thirteen missed calls from Big Tone. He switched his phone off once again and stretched out his arms. He couldn’t deal with this, not yet anyway.
He needed food and a shower, in that precise order, and then the day’s events could unfold.
Wandering through to the kitchen, the scent of eggs and bacon simmering on the stove had never smelt better. He gave a grin, as Andrew glanced over his shoulder at him.
“Hungry?” Andrew asked.
“Marvin,” Danny replied, using the slang word for starving.
“There’s tea in the pot,” Andrew stated, as he nodded his head to the teapot. “Help yourself.”
Danny poured out two cups, and drank deeply, quenching his thirst. “The gun?” he enquired.
“Cut down, and residing in a bucket of bleach as we speak. Later on this morning, I will go and see my brother. He has a boat moored here, in Southend. I will make sure what’s left of it is thrown overboard.”
Danny nodded his head. “I need these clothes burned, too,” he said, looking down at the crumpled shirt he wore.
“Eat, and then we will take care of that,” Andrew smiled. “I already have a small fire burning over on the back field.”
Satisfied, Danny took the plate of food Andrew handed him, and sat down at the table. He ate heartily, mopping up the juices with thick slices of buttered bread.
With his stomach full, and now freshly showered and changed, Danny felt better in himself. His head felt much clearer, and now that he was over the initial shock of the events, which had taken place the previous day, it was time to get back to business.
He shook Andrew’s hand, and thanked his friend for everything he’d done for him, then left the farm.
* * *
Maxine was going out of her mind. She hadn’t heard from her husband in over twenty-four hours. She had repeatedly called his mobile phone, and was becoming more and more panic stricken each time she reached his answering machine.
What with the shocking story of a young lad being shot dead on the local news, she was beside herself with worry. A child prodigy, the news broadcaster had stated, his face solemn, could have been the next Ronnie O’Sullivan, apparently.
Tapping in Danny’s phone number again, Maxine anxiously waited for him to pick up. She chewed on her fingernail, her eyes trained on the comings and goings on the road outside the lounge window, hoping, praying she would see her husband’s car pull into the drive.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as she switched off her phone. “It’s still going straight to his answering machine.”
“I’m sure he will turn up soon. So I will wait for a while, if that’s okay with you? And how about making that tea now?” Big Tone smiled.
Stood in Danny’s kitchen, his large frame dominating the space, Big Tone watched, as Maxine set two mugs out on the marble worktop. He smiled reassuringly at her, as she glanced nervously toward him.
“How did you say you knew Danny?” she asked.
“We’ve worked together for years,” Big Tone replied. “I was in the area, so I thought I would pop in and see him.”
“Oh I see.”
“Nice fella.”
“Yes he is,” Maxine answered, realising she knew so little about the people Danny surrounded himself with.
She handed over a steaming mug of tea, then began wiping the worktop down. Within moments, she heard Danny’s key turn in the lock. Throwing down the cloth, she ran out to the hallway to meet him, unsure if she wanted to hug him or hit him for scaring the life out of her.
“Where have you been?” she cried. “I’ve been going out of my mind.”
“I was at a mate’s,” Danny answered, as he pulled his wife into his arms.
“Your friend is here. He’s been waiting ages for you to get home.” Her voice a mere whisper, Maxine glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen.
Danny narrowed his eyes, then walked along the hallway, his body suddenly taut.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed, as he came to enter the kitchen. His voice was low, so his wife couldn’t hear.
Big Tone smiled to take the edge off of his words. “I’ve been calling you for hours. If you had picked up, I wouldn’t need to be here, now would I?”
Indicating for Big Tone to follow him out to the garden, Danny rounded on him.
“What the fuck do you want?”
They were standing on the patio, the vast lawn spread out before them. Toward the end of the garden, was an open air swimming pool.
“Unless it’s escaped your notice, someone tried to take Freddie out last night.”
“What are the Old Bill saying about it?”
Confusion flashed across Big Tone’s face. “Do I look like a fucking copper? How would I know what is being said?”
“I just thought maybe something had been mentioned?”
“No,” Big Tone answered, waving his hand to dismiss the conversation. “There is a meet tomorrow n
ight. Freddie wants you there.”
Danny shook his head. “I’ve already told you, once the meeting with the Greeks was over, I’m out.”
“Things have changed. The attempt on Freddie’s life, and the kid being gunned down, changes everything.”
“Not to me it doesn’t,” Danny said, shrugging his shoulders.
“It’s not a fucking request, mate. It’s an order, and Freddie want’s you there.”
Danny stared at the big man, a menacing expression crossed over his face. His eyes were instantly hard, dangerous. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Tone. I’m not some muppet. Now, you can run back to Freddie and you can tell him what the fuck you like. I’m done with the firm.”
Big Tone cleared his throat. “Fair enough. I will tell Freddie that, but you know that isn’t going to go down well, you know he …”
“Piss off, Tone, before I end up lamping you one,” Danny interrupted.
Big Tone, held up his hands. “Okay, I’m going.”
Danny watched, as the big man walked back through the house, and he stifled the urge to kick the garden table across the lawn. He’d had a gutful of Freddie Smith and the poxy firm.
* * *
“For Christ’s sake Danny, what is wrong with you?”
Danny ignored the rising panic in Maxine’s voice, as he resumed his position in front of the living room window. Immediately, his eyes strained to look inside the car, which had been parked outside his house for the past three hours. In any normal circumstance, a parked car outside his home wouldn’t have bothered him in the slightest, but everything had changed. These were not normal circumstances anymore.
He knew who the occupants were, and more importantly, he knew exactly why they were parked just yards from his front door. Any other day, he would have laughed at the sheer audacity of the two men Freddie had sent to intimidate him. They were hardly worth him worrying about. He could take them out in seconds, and they were just as much aware of that fact as he was.
It was the fact that they had been sent at all, which was worrying him—the fact that these two men had been chosen to give him the cold stare, rather than senior ranking members. It was more an insult than anything else. It had been done to wind him up him, and was Freddie’s way of getting the point across that he thought he was nothing, a no one, a mug. Well, that point had been well and truly understood, and as a result, he was livid.
“Danny!” Maxine jiggled little Danny on her hip, as she stood in the doorway to the lounge. Her eyes were wide. “What is going on?”
Danny glanced back at his wife. He could see fear spread across her face, and knew, instinctively, that like most mothers, Maxine’s first concern would be for their son.
“It’s nothing, babe, don’t worry. Why don’t you go and bath little Danny?”
He could see confusion spread across her face, and when she walked out of the room, he almost felt his body sag with relief.
This was more than a joke; it was an absolute fucking piss take. All he wanted was out of the firm, and Freddie was giving him this grief.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Maxine and his son were in the house, he would have dragged the two muppets out of their car and battered them to within an inch of their sorry lives, just for the sheer fun of it.
Danny stood contemplating this. He was still a face in the firm, and he knew the two occupants would shit themselves if he did. It was only his Maxine, who was stopping him from doing just that.
He had kept so much of himself a secret from his wife. She had no idea what he was actually capable of, or for that matter, just what he was really involved in. His gut instinct told him that she would leave, and would take little Danny with her, if she were to ever find out just who and what he really was.
He fingered his mobile phone in his pocket. All he had to do was make one telephone call, tell Freddie he would be at the meet, and then he would call off the two pricks sat outside his house.
Pulling out his phone, he sat down heavily on the sofa. He punched in a number, and his finger paused over the dial button.
The problem he had, was that he knew revenge would be plotted, and damage would be done—some serious damage at that. How was he going to pull it off? All the while, knowing it was him. It was him, who had shot and killed the kid, and not one of the Greeks. His life was in danger as it was, and if they ever found out it was him, they would have him hung, drawn and quartered.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This would be the performance of a lifetime. He then pressed dial on the keypad.
* * *
Freddie specifically chose the disused industrial unit that he had recently purchased, due to the sheer volume of men he expected to turn up for the meet, and he wasn’t disappointed. The fact that it was in a remote location was an added bonus.
He held up his hand to quiet the men down, knowing full well they would be eager to get down to business. The Greeks had taken a liberty, by trying to take him out. Now, more than ever, the cheeky cunts needed sorting out.
“What’s the low down on the street?” he asked.
The men looked around at each other, before answering, their voices loud, each having their own theories as to who exactly was responsible for the shooting.
“I want the facts,” Freddie shouted. “Not your fucking conspiracy theories. Who was responsible?”
“What does it matter?” Mick Johnson asked, his voice hoarse from years of smoking too many cigarettes. “They took one of ours, so we take one of theirs.”
Freddie watched, as the men nodded their heads in agreement. His eyes fell upon Danny, and a bubble of irritation rose within him. “You’re fucking quiet for once. What are your thoughts on the matter?”
Danny looked Freddie in the eye. His voice was loud and confident, giving away no tell-tale signs of his involvement. “As Mick said, what does it matter? They took one of ours, so we do the same … an eye for an eye, and all that bollocks.”
Freddie snarled, as he watched the men he’d worked with for a number of years, nod their heads in agreement, clearly agreeing that this was the route they should take.
He lit a cigarette while thinking this through. Yes, taking one of the Greeks made sense, yet his pride wanted the man responsible. The cunt, whoever he was, had tried to kill him, and that was something he couldn’t swallow.
“Look at it this way. We take one of the Greeks, and Christos will have one of two choices. He either hands over the cunt who did it, or he doesn’t. Either way, he will be a man down. It’s a no-win situation. We still get to take out one of his boys.”
Freddie nodded his head, realising this was the only option he had. He’d put enough feelers out over the last few days that even MI5 would be proud, and still, no one was talking.
“Okay, this is what we do then. I want Big Tone, and you, Mick,” Freddie said, as he turned to look at Mick Johnson, “to nab one of the Greek bastards. And the rest of you, I want your eyes and ears to the ground. Report back to me, personally, if you hear of anything, no matter how small it is.”
He waited for the men to nod their heads in agreement, then dismissed them. The meeting was over.
They walked out of the unit, and the cold air hit them, as they made their way to their own cars.
All the while, Freddie’s beady eyes remained focused on Danny McKay. “What has that cocky little bastard had to say about this?” he asked Big Tone, his voice low.
Big Tone, shrugged his shoulders. “Fuck all. He knows as much about any of this as we do.”
Freddie’s face was hard, as he watched the man who had been his number two for more years than he could remember, climb into his car. He hadn’t forgotten about McKay, and once the problem with the Greeks was done and dusted, he would have him taken out.
He watched, as Matty Payne was about to climb into Danny’s passenger seat, and called out to him.
“Matty, I’m giving you a lift.” Freddie’s voice broke no arguments. He watched Ma
tty pause, clearly unsure of what he should do, and he swallowed down his anger. He would need to have a serious word with the kid, and remind him of exactly who it was in charge.
* * *
Danny was annoyed, as he watched Matty Payne run across the car park to Freddie’s car. He’d wanted to put the hard word on the lad about the firearm he’d helped him to acquire. More than anything, though, he knew it was only sheer luck that allowed him to walk out of the warehouse in one piece. That, and the fact that, as of yet, Freddie hadn’t pieced everything together.
Realising the moment was lost, he started the ignition and sped out of the industrial area, all the while cursing Freddie Smith, Matty Payne and the entire firm. He drove toward Romford, where he had a meeting set up with Moray Garner. It was time to put the second phase of his plan into action, and this time, there would be no mistakes.
* * *
Matty Payne’s small frame seemed tiny, as he sat in the passenger seat of Freddie’s car. As usual, he was quieter than normal when he was in Freddie’s company. This man scared him in more ways than one.
Staring out of the window as Freddie drove down the A13, Matty instantly realised that Freddie wasn’t driving him back to his bedsit, in Barking. Instead, Freddie was taking him to his own home, in Hainault.
“I’ve got a nice bit of weed, thought we could have a smoke,” Freddie grinned, as he turned up the volume on the radio.
Silently, Matty nodded his head, not liking this turn of events.
“What did McKay want with you?”
“Nothing.”
“What’s wrong with you? You miserable little fucker, we’re going to have a party, so fucking cheer up,” Freddie snapped, as he roughly grabbed hold of Matty’s chin and forced the boy to look at him.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Matty answered, his voice small.