Faceless Page 21

  ‘All right, Kal?’ His voice was nervous and that placated her a bit.

  She answered aggressively.

  ‘What do you fucking think? What’s the story then, on the street?’

  She had the prison patois already and her husband was impressed. He was her second cousin on her father’s side and they actually looked alike. The Blacks had a reputation for marrying in the family and her sister’s two children were accredited to her own father as opposed to errant boyfriends.

  Karen and Petey looked like brother and sister as they sat holding hands across the table.

  ‘Everyone is talking about it, Kal. Fucking hell, you’re a legend, mate! All I get all the time is, How’s Karen? How’s she holding up? Especially in the pub.’

  She was practically preening. This would pat down her ruffled feathers and her husband knew it. He could not tell her the truth: that people were cold towards them all. That the public consensus was she was well out of order. That she was as bad as, if not worse than Marie Carter, who in fairness had been out of her brains.

  ‘How’s me mum? Is she over the temper yet?’

  ‘Well, she’s upset obviously.’

  In fact Rita Black had publicly washed her hands of her daughter. Unlike Karen she had an idea of how far you could and should go in the pursuit of revenge. Especially on a council estate filled with like-minded people. But Petey knew that now was not the time to mention any of this. Not unless he wanted to start looking for someone with a bollock donor card anyway.

  ‘Love her heart. Tell her I’ll drop her a line, OK?’

  He nodded once more.

  ‘Have you retaliated yet, Petey?’

  He had been dreading this question. As he shook his head Karen frowned.

  ‘What do you mean, no?’

  She sounded upset now.

  ‘Listen, Karen, we need time to see how the land lies before we all end up inside, don’t we? If we do anything now then they’ll suss it’s us straight away.’

  Karen didn’t answer.

  ‘Like I said, Kal, everyone is talking about you. I mean, you are like fucking Marilyn Monroe, an icon.’

  She was placated once more. Felt a rush of adrenaline at the knowledge that she was top girl. That she was being talked about, that she was someone.

  ‘Kevin Carter is on the missing list . . .’

  She laughed at that.

  ‘Sorted that cunt and all, ain’t we? Fucking do that to me! Now people know what they get if they fuck with the Blacks.’

  She was glad she had burned Louise Carter. It had helped her achieve her aim to be the baddest woman in her own little world, and it seemed she had achieved it with flying colours. Kevin Carter had run away. She wished she had done something like this before now.

  Petey knew exactly what she was thinking and wondered what the hell was going on in his wife’s head. They had even gone to Lucy Carter’s workplace to try and make amends but he couldn’t tell his wife that. They had received threatening letters and calls. The police were watching them all like hawks, and his wife was sitting in her own fucking fantasy world where she was the dog’s gonads. Kevin Carter had disappeared all right, but he was also known to be looking all over the smoke for the men of the Black family. Petey had been told that by many people. Kevin Carter wasn’t going to let his daughter’s beating and his wife’s injuries go unpunished. And who could blame him?

  Yet Petey’s wife thought she was Don Corleone and could do as she liked with no repercussions. He could smash her one himself for all the trouble she’d caused. But he knew he couldn’t burst her bubble. Not yet. Karen had enough on her plate. Instead he smiled and got her another cup of tea and a king-size Kit-Kat.

  Alan Jarvis was tired out, emotionally and physically. As he loaded another twenty keys of grass into the trunk he yawned loudly, making the two men with him start ribbing him.

  ‘You are one lazy ponce, Alan.’

  He ignored them. Used to their way of carrying on now, he didn’t bother to retaliate. A key was 2.2lb. Loading in twenty at a time was over 40lb each lift and he was not used to manual work. Hated it in fact. But he wanted this load out of sight as soon as possible and that was why he was working fast and hard. The black bags were also awkward to lift and slippery from the sweat on his hands - sweat that had more to do with nervousness than physical exertion.

  He hated these swaps, they made him nervous. It was still early evening. If anyone came to the yard they would suss the situation out in a few seconds. He had so much money now it frightened him, but in the process he had put himself in a situation he couldn’t escape.

  If he once voiced even a hint of negative thinking he felt the animosity from everyone concerned. They were all taking coke and all suffering from the Nick Leeson syndrome. All were in a drug-induced dream world where they felt and believed they were invincible.

  Hence this daytime swap, in the open, in his yard where people dropped in and out all the time. Scrap-yards were like that. Other mettlers would shoot in for a chat and a cup of tea or a beer. Talk about the prices they were getting or new contacts they had made. It was a sociable business, always had been. And they looked out for one another. Everyone scammed somehow, usually the taxman, but drugs were an anomaly these days. The sentences frightened people. No one wanted to be associated with them if they had half a brain.

  Not the people Alan knew anyway. He had the money to buy a shorter sentence if he had a capture, he was aware of that now, but he didn’t want to do six years, six months or even six days.

  He had to have a proper talk with Mikey Devlin. He was losing it. It had been bad enough doing the swaps at Thurrock services, but at least they’d had a chance of escape from there. In his own yard it was the capture of a lifetime for Old Bill. Especially where Alan was concerned.

  As if his thoughts had conjured him up Mikey screeched into the yard in his Mercedes sports.

  Davey and Jonas both stopped what they were doing. Alan felt the tension and wondered briefly what was going on. But these days Mikey Devlin made everyone nervous just by looking at them.

  Mikey jumped out of the car, wrapping a bicycle chain around his fist. He looked demented with anger. Even his bald head looked angry. Alan felt his heart sink down to his boots. He racked his brains to think what he could have done to bring down Devlin’s wrath on him.

  But it was Jonas who was the recipient of the violence this time.

  ‘Jonas, you slag!’

  As Jonas tried to run, Mikey brought the chain down across his head with gusto, and pulled the boy to his knees. Then he began to lay into him. As Alan and Davey saw the blood and skin raining from him they moved away from the spray. They were powerless to stop it. The beating went on for over five minutes. Finally spent, Devlin threw the chain on to the boy’s bleeding body and kicked him in the guts.

  ‘Get that cunt out of my sight, Davey!’

  He was breathing heavily, his blue eyes with the glazed look that was usual for Devlin these days. He was coked out of his brains and it showed. His heavy body heaved from his exertions and his head glistened with sweat. He looked the bully boy that he was.

  Davey dragged the unconscious man towards his Lexus. He was shaking with fear. Mikey was going off more and more lately, for the most trivial reasons.

  ‘What was all that about?’

  Mikey didn’t answer but walked into the Portakabin. Alan followed him warily. Mikey was cutting himself a line within seconds. As he snorted it he brought his head up and closed his eyes.

  ‘He’s grassed us up. That little cunt grassed us up.’

  Alan felt his face drain of colour, so acute was the fear.

  ‘Grassed us up?’

  Devlin nodded. Then, seeing Alan’s face, he started to laugh.

  ‘Not to the filth, you prat. He’s discussed us with the fucking coons in Brixton. Larry Marker told me this morning. He was approached by them to do a drop.’

  Alan was nonplussed.

  ‘
What’s wrong with that?’

  Devlin looked at him as if he was a lunatic.

  ‘What’s wrong with that? Are you fucking stupid or something?’

  Alan didn’t answer, he wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘He arranged a drop but never mentioned it to me, did he? So that is two fucking bastard things he’s done, ain’t it? One he gave them an in on what we are doing, and two the ponce was going to tuck me up.’

  Alan didn’t answer. Devlin had lost it big time and this fact alone terrified him. He finally took a deep breath and said, ‘He told you about it, Mikey. You gave him a drink, remember? Last weekend, right here in this yard.’

  Devlin’s face was a picture as he tried to remember.

  Then he shook his head like a mad dog and shouted, ‘Did I fuck? What you trying to do, Jarvis, fucking wind me up or what?’

  He was bellowing now.

  ‘You taking the piss? You stuck up his arse or something? Is he your bum chum?’

  Alan closed his eyes and hoped against hope that when he opened them the man in front of him would somehow have disappeared.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Mikey, calm down before we have Old Bill on the doorstep.’

  As he spoke Marie walked into the cabin.

  ‘You can hear you two shouting down the road.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  Devlin’s voice was calmer now.

  ‘I’m Marie, Alan’s secretary, and you are?’

  Mikey stared at her intently for a few seconds before saying, ‘You have a secretary, Jarvis? Is this a piss take?’

  Marie raised her eyebrows slightly.

  ‘This is a business, a scrap business. I have to have someone to do me books and that so the taxman don’t come sniffing round,’ Alan told him.

  The logic of the argument and Alan’s deliberate way of talking penetrated the coke-induced haze. Mikey nodded and Marie could see him physically fighting to calm himself. Finally he forced a smile and walked from the office. She felt the tension seep from the room at his departure.

  When she heard his car screech off she looked at Alan and said calmly, ‘You bloody fool. What are you involved with now?’

  Louise was in a haze of pain but she would not let it get the better of her. The strength she had always prided herself on served her well as she fought her way to health. The nurses and doctors were amazed by her. She hardly grimaced at the constant changes of dressings and only took morphine when the pain was overwhelming. But they didn’t know that what kept her going was pure hatred.

  Marshall’s whole existence had been destroyed once more by Marie. Louise had only a few photos left of him now and she took that very personally.

  The loss of the house and everything in it was as nothing to her. But her son’s clothes were gone. His childish toys and paintings. Little stories he had written at school. All gone. And it was Marie’s fault. Louise’s husband had walked away from her, had taken her side as usual. Marie had always had her father in the palm of her hand and it would never change. Louise was better off without him. As she was better off without her daughter. The shame of Marie’s prison sentence had been hard to bear but she had held her head up high and if anyone asked after her daughter would give them a look that should have floored them and kept silent. People had soon learned she had disowned her eldest child.

  She tried to clench her fingers underneath the covers but the pain reminded her that she had to keep still. Stop moving around. She breathed deeply. Stilled the erratic beating of her heart. She might be a medical miracle, but that was nothing as far as she was concerned. She wanted out of here and into the world again.

  Then she would pay them all back one hundredfold for everything that had happened. She had seen her bitch of a daughter off once and she would do it again.

  Marie had tried to drag Marshall into her dirty life but her mother had stopped her. And she would stop her. Marshall had been as disgusted with Marie as her mother was. Having those bloody kids, humiliating the family over and over again. They were respectable yet Marie had dragged them into the dirt as if it meant nothing. Every time Louise thought of how her daughter had taunted her, the pain was as fresh all these years later as it had been at the time.

  That deep voice of hers that sounded like a whore’s. ‘Oh Mum, get a life. Who cares what the fucking neighbours think about me? I don’t, so why should you?’

  But Louise did care, she cared deeply what people thought about her. She had to run the gauntlet at the gates, at the shops, even at church. It was the pitying looks she had hated more than anything.

  Other women with daughters, good girls who kept themselves to themselves and didn’t give their bodies to any man with a pleasing smile and a few pills, looked at her with such sorrow she could have beaten them to the ground. She didn’t want their sympathy. She was better than them, better than them all.

  She went to Mass every morning of her life, took communion, she was clean. It was her daughter who was tainted, not her. It was Marie who had made them into a laughing stock. Marie who had dragged their name through the dirt. Had taken her family and destroyed it without a second’s thought.

  She stopped the tears from flowing, enjoying her own strength and mental stamina. Enjoying the hatred because it kept her going.

  Once she was out of this bed she would stop that bitch once and for all. Of that she was determined.

  ‘Wake up, love.’

  The voice was penetrating and Tiffany struggled to open her eyes. Patrick was staring down at her, looking concerned.

  ‘You all right, Tiff ? I’ve been worried out of me mind.’

  She blinked at him a few times before she croaked, ‘Where am I?’

  Patrick kissed her tenderly on the forehead before he answered.

  ‘You’re in hospital, Tiff. Don’t you remember?’

  She shook her head and the action made her wince. Her pretty face was grey and haggard, her eyes like a dead fish’s. There was no life in her any more. The Librium he had dosed her with had left her with no memory of what had happened to her.

  ‘You took an accidental overdose, Tiff, though they think you tried to top yourself. One of the neighbours heard the baby screaming and called the police. They’ve took Anastasia away, love. Social Services.’

  As Tiffany took in what he was saying to her she pulled her lips back over her teeth. Before she could scream he had placed one hand over her mouth to quiet her.

  ‘Shhh! Listen, Tiff, they’ll do you for child neglect and endangering the baby. They’re going to nick you, sweetheart. I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about but they won’t listen to me, will they? I said what a good mum you was and that. But someone has stuck the knife in, love. Probably one of the neighbours.’

  Tiffany’s world was tumbling around her ears and Patrick watched her with morbid fascination. She believed everything he said. That fact pleased him. On another level she disgusted him with her weakness. He hated weakness even though he played on it in everyone he came into contact with.

  ‘What am I going to do, Pat? Poor Anastasia, she’ll be so frightened without me.’

  ‘Put this coat on and these shoes and we’ll just walk out of here before Old Bill arrives. Then I’ll get you a good brief, OK? I’ll sort it out, I promise. She’s my kid and all, you know.’

  He sounded so sincere she believed him. She allowed him to help her sit up and drink a glass of water, then he put on her coat and shoes and they walked sedately from the busy ward and out of the hospital.

  It had been so easy.

  In Patrick’s BMW she broke down crying and he petted her as he would have done a puppy or a kitten. She was absolutely in pieces and this knowledge made him feel powerful and in control. On the way to his flat he stopped and picked up wages from girls and lumps of cash from his dealers.

  Business went on no matter what happened. Tiffany understood that so didn’t wonder at a man who was still carrying on his nefarious enterprises while supposed
ly distraught over the loss of his little daughter.

  He gave her a medicinal rock and she sagged against the leather upholstery of the car and felt her body relax and her mind empty.

  ‘That’s the way to go, Tiff. Put it all out of your mind for a while and chill, girl.’

  She smiled tentatively and drew the smoke into her lungs once more. If ever she’d needed a lift it was now.

  Patrick dumped her at his flat in Docklands and, after warning her not to burn the carpets or make a mess, left her to go about his daily business.

  He had a living to earn as he frequently pointed out, and now they had the court case to get the baby back he needed as much poke as he could get. Tiffany was grateful and it showed.

  As he kissed her goodbye he said quietly, ‘Have a bath, Tiff. You fucking stink, love.’

  She nodded sadly and watched him walk away from her when she needed him more than ever.

  She clutched the small bag of rocks Patrick had given her and sighed heavily. One hit to get her head together and then she would plan what she was going to do. Alone in the big apartment overlooking the Thames she felt lost. She wanted her little girl and Anastasia was gone, taken from her like everything had been all her life, starting with the loss of her mother and culminating in the loss of her child.

  Tiffany was completely obliterated by crack within fifteen minutes of Patrick walking out on her.

  Petey Black was locking the door on his D-reg Ford Sierra when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

  He froze in fear and terror.

  ‘All right, Pete? Burned anyone’s house down today?’

  Kevin Carter’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  Petey turned around, eyes scanning the street to see if he could do a runner.

  ‘No escape, mate. I made sure of that.’

  Kevin’s voice was almost friendly.

  ‘It was nothing to do with us, Kev. I swear on me mother’s grave, mate. It was that mad bitch Karen. You know what she’s like. I told her and all . . .’

  ‘Shut the fuck up!’

  Petey saw the shotgun. It registered instantly as Kevin took it out of a Sainsbury’s carrier. He shook his head in disbelief.