East End Trouble (26 page)

B
ig Tim stood
outside The Three Grapes, swaying. It was still only mid-afternoon, but he was absolutely plastered. He hesitated at the doorway and then decided to make his way around the back, as he didn't want anyone to see him enter the main bar.

Martin Morton’s fierce face loomed before him in his imagination, and it almost made him turn around and leave, but then that image was immediately followed by one of Kathleen’s pleading eyes, staring up at him as his hands wrapped around her neck.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered.

He stepped through the doorway and into the little passage at the back of the pub. The landlord was just walking in to get a container full of pork scratchings, and when he looked up and saw Big Tim, he flinched.

Big Tim put a hand out against the wall to steady himself. “Where are they?” he asked, his voice slurred.

The landlord raised his eyes and pointed upstairs.

So Tim started to ascend the stairs steadily, taking them one at a time with his thudding steps.

When he reached the top, a door opened, and cigarette smoke swirled out. There in front of him stood Gary Carter.

“Hello, Tim. Nice of you to pop by. Come in here and take the weight off.”

Tim had heard rumours about Gary Carter. Namely that he was partial to certain drugs. The other thing he’d heard was that he wasn’t trustworthy. But Tim told himself that didn’t matter. He was only here to see what Gary had to say, that was all.

He followed Gary inside the room. He was surprised to see they were not alone.

Sitting at a large, laminate-topped dining table was Dave Carter.

Tim stopped and blinked. Dave Carter was the absolute opposite of Martin Morton. He looked fresh-faced, trustworthy and honourable. Tim wasn’t green enough to think you could tell that by a person’s appearance, but although Dave Carter might be ruthless, Tim was sure he didn’t have the vindictive downright nasty nature Martin did.

“Mr. Carter,” Tim said with a nod, suddenly feeling far more sober.

Dave smiled at him. “Take a seat, son.”

Tim did as he was told, and the wooden chair squeaked beneath his weight as he sat on it.

“What’s all this about then?” Tim asked. “I ain’t no grass, and I’m not talking about the girl.”

He said the words all in a rush as he raised a shaking hand to rub his short, spiky hair.

“This isn’t about the girl.”

Tim was intrigued. He couldn’t figure out Dave Carter’s angle. Did he want to know what happened to Frank the Face? Tim would never tell him that.

Finally after a long silence as he tried to work out why the Carter brothers had asked him to meet them, he said, “What do you want to know then?”

Dave smiled again. It wasn’t a dazzling, handsome smile like Martin’s, but it was friendly. It gave his face a warm and genuine expression.

“It was something that happened a while ago now,” Dave said. “It’s not really a big deal. I wanted to ask you about Keith Parker.”

Tim frowned. Keith Parker, that little worm! Why did Dave care about him? Keith had been was playing the two men against each other, so Martin had really done Dave Carter a favour.

Big Tim shrugged. He was very ashamed of what he’d done to Kathleen, and he wasn’t particularly proud of watching Martin Morton torture Frank the Face, but he felt no remorse at all for what he’d done to Keith Parker. In his opinion, Keith Parker had deserved everything that he got.

“He was cheating. Playing both sides. Martin ordered a hit. But he got one of his men to pull the trigger.”

It had been Henry the Hand who’d shot Keith straight between the eyes, but Tim wasn’t about to grass him up.

Gary turned to stare at his brother, looking almost as confused as Tim.

Dave nodded encouragingly. “And have you still got that gun?”

“Or did you dump it?” Gary asked.

Tim shook his head. “I don’t know where all this is going. I don’t even know why you’re talking to me. If Martin was to find out—”

“He won’t find out,” Dave said. “You’ve been working with Martin for a while. You’re loyal, and I admire that quality. But you have to put yourself first for once. An honourable man like you, Tim, must find it hard to talk to us like this.”

Tim swallowed and looked at the carpet. “You have no idea.”

“I’m not going to ask a lot of you, Tim; I’m giving you a friendly warning. Martin Morton is going down. I’m going to make sure of that. I know he was involved in Frank the Face’s disappearance.”

Dave held up as Tim went to speak. “No, I’m not asking you to grass him up on that. I’m not asking you to grass, at all. All I want is that gun. Now, you can choose your side carefully. You’re no coward. I know that for a fact. All I need from you is the gun. If you get it for me, when Martin is finished, there will be a place for you with us.”

As Tim frowned, Gary turned to face his brother, the shock plastered all over his face. He hadn’t been expecting him to say that.

“You don’t want any information?” Tim smothered a hiccup, and Dave shook his head.

“The only thing I need from you is the gun.

Tim thought about it for a moment. Despite everything that Martin had put him through, and the fact he knew for certain the man was evil through and through, he hesitated. Once his loyalty to Martin would have been impenetrable, but now…

Martin had ordered Tim to get rid of Kathleen. If her mother hadn’t taken the baby to Essex, Tim was sure the little boy would have met the same fate as his mother.

Martin was evil. He deserved to lose everything.

Tim shrugged. “All right.”

“You’ve still got it?” Gary asked, looking mistrustful.

Tim nodded. He kept it along with other weapons in an abandoned house that had been bombed in the war.

That particular row of houses on Victoria Road hadn’t been demolished and replaced yet, and it was as good a hiding place as any.

Martin had told him to get rid of the gun, meaning to dump it in the canal or something similar, but guns cost a lot of money, and they weren’t easy to come by. So Tim had taken to stashing his weapons in the abandoned house on Victoria Road.

Sometimes kids played around there, but he wasn’t worried about them stumbling over anything they shouldn't because he kept all the weapons in a locked metal case.

Tim rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a ring of keys. With fumbling fingers, he selected the smallest.

He smiled at Dave and Gary. “Yes, I’ve still got it.”

G
ary Carter followed
Big Tim along Victoria Road. The abandoned, bombed-out houses loomed over them and gave the street an eerie feel. Gary was as jumpy as hell and very agitated. He shouldn’t have taken quite so much coke. There was such a thin line between feeling bright and alert and a nervous wreck.

It was a freezing cold night, but Gary wiped sweat from his forehead. Jobs like this made him nervous.

He watched Tim’s huge frame lumbering up the road ahead of him and eyed him warily. Who was to say this wasn’t all an act to get Gary alone?

He’d never had Big Tim down as much of a mastermind or that great an actor, but he couldn't be too careful.

Gary looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. The street was deserted and dark.

“It’s this one,” Tim said.

Gary noticed he had stopped slurring his words. That made him nervous, too. Was he just slowly sobering up? Or had it all been an act?

Tim nodded again and gestured for Gary to go in the derelict house first.

“Not on your Nelly,” Gary said.

Tim studied him carefully, and Gary realised that his nerves were showing. It wasn’t a good idea to show fear in front of your enemy.

“Age before beauty and all that,” Gary said, forcing a chuckle.

Big Tim had to stoop to get through the doorway, and Gary followed him in.

He fumbled in his pockets for some matches, lit one and then almost wished he hadn’t as he caught sight of the shiny eyes of a rat, staring right at him from a broken cabinet.

“Jesus.”

“It’s just a rat,” Tim said. “Or are you worried I’m going to double-cross you?”

“Just hurry up. We haven’t got all night.”

“It’s upstairs,” Tim said.

Gary looked up at the rickety staircase. It was wooden, and half the banisters had fallen down. It didn’t look like it could hold Gary’s weight let alone Big Tim’s.

“That doesn’t look safe.”

“If you’re scared, I’ll go up and get it and bring it down.” Big Tim grinned. “You can wait here.”

Gary considered that for a moment and then shook his head. “No way. Go on, you first. I’ll follow.”

As Big Tim ascended the stairs, they creaked noisily under his bulk. Gary’s match flickered out, and he quickly lit another one, so he could see and avoid the gaping holes in the staircase.

Luckily the main part of the stairs seemed pretty solid, and they made it up to the top in one piece.

“It’s through here,” Tim said, lumbering into a bedroom.

Gary followed him and watched as Tim levered up one of the floorboards. He pulled out a black metal case and used the tiny key on his key ring to open it.

Gary took a step closer, looked at the contents of the case and gave a low whistle. “Bleeding hell. You’ve got a lot of stuff there.”

From his position on the floor, Tim looked up at Gary and gave him a gruesome smile.

“True enough. I’ll have to find somewhere else to stash it now. I can’t have you knowing where I keep my secrets, can I?”

Gary suppressed a shiver. He did not want to know Tim’s secrets. He had a feeling they would give him nightmares.

“Is that the gun?” he said, looking down at a small, black hand piece.

Tim nodded, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapping around the gun before handing it to Gary. “It ain’t loaded, and I wiped it off for fingerprints.”

Gary nodded. “Fine. Thanks. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Tim locked his case, but instead of putting it back under the floorboards, he stood up and held it under one arm.

“You’re bringing that with you?” Gary asked, looking suspiciously at the metal box.

Tim nodded. “I’m not leaving it here now that you know about it. I’ve got somewhere else it can go.”

Gary shook his head. Big Tim was mental. He was going to carry that down the road as if it were a bag of groceries. He had knives and all sorts in there.

As they walked down the stairs and out onto the street, Tim said, “So, tell me, what does Dave want this gun for?”

Gary grinned and tapped the side of his nose. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Truthfully, Gary had absolutely no idea what Dave had in mind. It irked him that his brother hadn’t trusted him enough to confide his plans, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Big Tim.

He wanted Tim to believe he was his brother’s second-in-command because admitting he didn’t know anything about Dave’s plans would make him look like a complete foot soldier.

To Gary, appearances were important, especially in front of people like Big Tim.

Outside the abandoned house, both men turned to each other.

“So what now? Big Tim asked.

“Now, we wait,” Gary said.

He looked up and down the deserted Victoria Road and then gave Big Tim a nod. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

“Is that it?” Big Tim asked. “Do I just get on with life as normal now?”

Gary nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what you do.”

“And Martin won’t find out about this?”

“That’s the plan.”

Maybe it was Gary’s imagination, but he thought Big Tim looked a bit anxious. He’d never imagined Tim to be the type of man to get nervous or to even have feelings.

After a moment’s hesitation, Gary reached out and slapped the big man on the shoulder. “He won’t find out from us, Tim. He’ll never know it was you that gave us the gun. But he’s going down. Once Dave has made a decision, nothing stands in his way. I know people think of Martin Morton as the dangerous, ruthless one, but once my brother forms a plan, there is no stopping him. Martin Morton doesn’t stand a chance.”

T
he following day
, the landlord of The Lamb, Barney Newell, was flushing through the lines of the new barrel when there was hammering at the front door.

“All right, I’m coming. Don’t break the door down.”

He wasn’t supposed to open for another five minutes. Barney expected it to be one of his regulars, one of the old blokes who were here every lunchtime as soon as he opened.

But when he unbolted the door and opened it, he was horrified to see that he was staring into the face of Martin Morton. Behind him, loomed the huge figure of Big Tim.

Barney felt his bowels loosen as Martin Morton gave him a dazzling, evil smile.

“Hello, Barney. Is it all right if we come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Martin pushed past Barney and Big Tim followed.

Barney staggered backwards. His mind was reeling with all the possibilities that could have brought Martin Morton to his pub.

It was widely known that Barney was under the protection of Dave Carter, and he had been for years. He paid Dave a little bit of money every month and knew that his interests were safely looked after.

So he didn’t understand what the hell Martin Morton was doing here. But whatever the reason for Martin Morton’s presence, Barney knew it couldn’t be good.

His wife was out back, preparing sandwiches for a quick lunch before they opened. Barney didn’t want her involved in all this.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Barney said, trying to smile at the two men, but his mouth wouldn’t quite turn up at the corners, and he ended up giving them a grimace rather than a smile.

“We are expanding. And luckily for you, you’re slap bang in the middle of our expansion. We’ve come to offer you a little bit of protection.”

Barney shook his head, opened and shut his mouth a couple of times, and then he said. “But I pay Dave Carter. You know that, Mr Morton.”

The charming smile left Martin’s face, and he took a step closer to Barney. “Not anymore you don’t, Barney. From this day on, your pub is mine. I’m taking over all of Carter’s premises.”

Barney frowned, frantically trying to wrack his brains for a way out of this mess. He kept his ear to the ground, and as landlord to a pub, he was privy to plenty of gossip. If there really had been a takeover coming, he would have heard something about it.

Was Martin Morton simply chancing his luck?

Barney decided to tough it out. He’d get them to leave, and then he’d go straight round to Dave Carter and explain the situation. Dave could sort it out.

Dave was a far more reasonable man, and although dangerous in his own way, Barney felt he could trust him and that he was a fair man. Barney wouldn’t have trusted Martin Morton as far as he could throw him.

“Sandwiches ready, darling,” Barney’s wife’s voice carried out into the bar.

Barney paled as he saw Martin’s smile widen.

“Your wife is here. How lovely. How is she?”

Barney’s eyes opened wide in panic, and then he quickly leaned over the bar and called out to his wife. “Go and get some milk from the corner shop. I’ve got some visitors.”

Barney’s wife wandered into the bar. A blowsy blonde, she was the apple of Barney’s eye, and he would have done anything to protect her.

“What are you talking about, you daft sod? We’ve got plenty of milk…”

She suddenly stopped in her tracks when she saw Martin Morton and Big Tim in the bar. She exchanged an anxious glance with her husband and then gave a little nod. “Gentlemen, I’m just off to get some milk.”

Barney nodded, and when his wife had left the bar, he turned back to face Martin Morton.

“Look, I don’t know where this confusion has come from, but I’m under Dave Carter’s protection, and I am loyal to Dave.” Barney’s voice faltered as he saw the glare he got from Martin Morton.

With his lips trembling slightly, he continued, “You’ve got to sort this out with Dave. I can’t give you any more money. I can’t afford to pay the two of you.”

Martin was silent. His intense eyes bored into Barney.

Barney started to babble. “I’m sure you can see my point of view. Now, if you don’t mind, I got a pub to run, and I’m going to have to ask you both to leave,” Barney finished up, trying to keep his nerve.

“You what?” Martin looked at Big Tim. “Did you hear that? He’s asking us to leave.”

Big Tim shook his huge head. “That’s not very polite, Barney. Martin doesn’t like to be asked to leave.”

Barney put both his hands in the air in a placatory gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect. You know that. It’s just that my hands are tied. I can’t do anything.”

“You can open up your till and pay me the money you owe me,” Martin said.

Barney shook his head rapidly. “No, I can’t.”

Martin gave an evil chuckle. “Did he just say no to me, Tim?”

“I think he did, boss.”

“He obviously needs a little bit of persuasion.”

Big Tim made a move for Barney, who yelped and jumped out of the way. He fled up the stairs, running as fast as his little legs could carry him, but he was no match for Big Tim. Despite Tim’s size, he could move bloody quickly for a big lad. He grabbed hold of Barney by the scruff of the neck and half-pulled and half-carried him into the front room above the pub.

Barney was now a blubbering wreck. He was so glad his wife wasn’t here to see this.

“Be reasonable, please,” Barney begged.

He knew he was about to get a hiding, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. If he paid Martin Morton, he wouldn’t be able to afford to pay Dave Carter, so he was in for a beating either way.

It wasn’t fair. He’d paid Dave Carter good money to make sure that things like this didn’t happen.

He could hear Martin’s footsteps as he slowly climbed the stairs. Barney’s stomach churned in response. He’d heard that Martin Morton could be a sadistic bastard.

When Martin entered the room, his eyes fixed on the sash window, and he grinned.

He turned to Tim. “It’s a bit stuffy in here. What do you think, Tim? Shall we open the window?”

Understanding his boss, Tim carried a squealing Barney over to the window. Opening up the window as wide as it would go, he then shoved Barney’s head outside.

Martin joined them by the window. “Breathe in that nice, fresh, East End air, Barney. Isn’t that nice?”

Tim was holding Barney so he couldn’t get his feet on the floor and the top part of his body hung out of the window. His arms waved manically.

“I think he needs a bit more fresh air, Tim. Fresh air can be ever so persuasive.”

With a grunt, Big Tim scooped up Barney’s legs and stuffed him out of the window. Hanging onto his ankles, he dangled Barney over the street.

Barney screamed like a girl. He could see the paving slabs beneath him and knew his skull would crack like a coconut if he were to fall.

Then to his horror, he saw his wife returning from the shop. She dropped the bottle of milk on the pavement, and her hands went up to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God. Let him go!”

Martin stuck his head out of the window. “Do you really want us to let go? That’s not very nice.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying every moment of the entertainment.

Thoroughly humiliated and scared out of his wits, Barney conceded. “All right, all right. I’ll pay you whatever you want. Please, just get me back inside.”

Martin nodded, and Tim heaved Barney back inside, scraping his ribs all along the frame.

Barney collapsed into a heap on the floor. He was a quivering wreck.

“Get up,” Martin said with disgust. “Get your arse downstairs and get my money. This better not be a sign of things to come, Barney. The next time I visit, I don’t want all this fuss, do you understand me?”

Barney had been rendered speechless with fright, but he managed to nod and scrambled to his feet and then hobbled down the stairs.

After he had paid Martin Morton, they left, and Barney poured himself an extra-large brandy and flopped onto one of the chairs. This was not fair. He was a pub landlord, not a bloody gangster. He paid Dave Carter for protection, and he hadn’t bloody got it.

Now he was going to be broke.

His wife ran into the pub, her heels clacking on the wooden floor as she rushed up to him.

“Oh, Barney. Thank God you’re all right.”

But Barney was far from all right. He was slap bang in the middle of a gang war, through no fault of his own.