Deadly Obsession (30 page)

T
ommy's mind
felt like a
piñata
. One strategically placed hit and all of its contents would come flying out. It was rammed to every last corner with thoughts that just a few short days ago hadn't been there. So much had changed in such a minimal space of time. And there was no doubt in Tommy's mind that he was reaching a volatile breaking point. He was spinning out of control.

What had happened to the glory days where he was proud to stand alongside Cazwell Hart? Everything had seemed so effortless back then. If a problem needed solving, it would be solved. Without question. No fuss, no nonsense, just action. Cazwell was a master of his trade, the king of his locale. Those had been the halcyon days all right. Working alongside his idol. But with his unbecoming weak and feeble death had come change and as Tommy sat in his office at Dirty Cash staring at the calendar on his office wall, all he could think was that Cazwell's death had been where the rot had started to set in. Just a few years earlier.

Riley Hart had caused the rot. Cazwell's once-great empire had begun to crumble under its new owner, foolish decisions had been made and it had been down to Tommy to try and pick up the pieces, both financially and professionally. He'd done it all, as requested, in memory of Cazwell, just so the Hart family name could live on in gangland history. He'd bailed out the errant son time and time again to preserve the dynasty, in order to stop Riley's canker from destroying the strong roots of the Hart family tree.

He'd been glad when Riley had died. There, he'd said it. He hadn't been sorry to see him go. Life was easier. Tommy and Jemima gained everything, Tommy had made sure of that. Tommy would never know what Cazwell would have thought of it all. He hoped he would have understood why he'd done what he needed to do to make sure that he and Jemima were catered for.

Jemima. They'd been so strong, or so Tommy had thought. They'd been able to cope with everything together. The laughter and the tears. It was to have been their names which would be spoken of with respect throughout Manchester. How had he been so blind?

People would say that Cazwell had taught him well. But now, the whole world was probably laughing at him. Word had doubtless spread that the reason behind Jemima's death was because of her love for Winston Curtis; because of Tommy's failure as a husband.

Riley was back. Word had spread about that too. He'd been seen. If it was true, that changed everything for Tommy. Anything he'd been left in the dead man's will would revert back to a very much alive Riley. Tommy would be left with nothing. The loss of Dirty Cash would be added to the loss of Jemima ... what else was there? He'd be left with nothing but memories.

And now Jarrett Smith was in town, seemingly hell-bent on revenge. He'd killed Lily … Tommy knew it. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he knew about Adam's involvement in Weston's death? Maybe he knew about Riley's. Nobody was safe anymore. They were all guilty by association. Jarrett was getting closer. Too close for comfort. That very morning had proven it. One of his staff had told him. He cast his mind back to the conversation.

‘Boss, can I have a word?' It had been Lester, one of his more reliable bar workers.

‘Shoot.' Tommy had been in no mood for meaningless chat.

‘Jimmy's gone off now. That means we're another pair of hands down.'

‘Gone off? Where's he gone? Not another one who's decided to fuck off home early for Christmas? If he has I'll fire the little prick anyway!' Tommy had had enough of his staff disappearing without so much as an explanation.

‘I don't think so, some blokes came in here earlier and they seemed to march him off. I can't be sure but I think one of them had a gun. Jimmy looked petrified.'

Tommy froze in horror at the mention of the word gun. ‘What did the man with the gun look like? Can you describe him?'

Lester did. There was no doubt, the man was Jarrett Smith. But what the hell did he want with Jimmy? Tommy didn't need to guess. He already knew. Jarrett would be circling around Tommy, killing off those around him. Jimmy was clearly a warning to Tommy that Jarrett was back. The poor boy was probably already dead, his body face-down in a Manchester canal or his head spiked on some inner city railing, displayed as a gangland trophy.

Everything was moving in on Tommy. Jemima's death, Riley's reappearance, Jarrett abducting his staff from under his own roof, Amy's interfering. Tommy felt out of control. What would Cazwell do if he'd still been alive?
He wouldn't have let this all get the better of him. No way. He'd react.

Tommy needed to finish the job in hand. To emulate his former employer. Live up to Cazwell's legacy and to end what had already been started. What did he have to lose? If he did nothing, then he could end up losing everything. Slipping on his coat, Tommy grabbed his gun from the top drawer of his desk, checked it was fully loaded with bullets and left Dirty Cash. Some new ideas had just squeezed themselves into his already overloaded brain and he was determined to put them into action.

‘
W
ould
you care for another drink while you're waiting, madam?'

Tempting though it was, Dolly had already downed two rather generous gin and tonics and a third would not have been an overly wise idea. She dismissed the waiter with a shake of her head. She needed to keep her thoughts treading the precarious tightrope line between Dutch courage and perfect definition. She had things to say and she was hoping that she'd be able to verbalise them sooner rather than later.

Dolly had spent the last two hours sitting patiently in the lobby of Amy's hotel. Sitting there was alien to her. There had been many occasions when she'd breezed through the very same Reception, heading off to one of the hotel's eight floors in order to satisfy another eager client, but today was different. This wasn't about lying on her back and thinking of England, this was about standing up and being counted. Dolly needed to do everything she could.

It was another twenty minutes before Amy pushed her way through the hotel's revolving door and into the Reception. She was wrapped up against the winter cold but even hidden under her hat and scarf, Dolly could see that she'd been crying.

Dolly rose from her seat and grabbed Amy's arm as she walked past, making sure that she had her attention. The wide-eyed expression on Amy's face portrayed more than a modicum of surprise. After their last meeting she hadn't expected to see the prostitute again. She was not totally displeased to see her.

‘Oh, hello ... what are you doing here?' Amy pulled off her hat and unhooked her scarf from around her neck. ‘I thought I'd made myself clear. I have nothing to give you, Dolly, even if I wanted to.'

‘I know. I'm not here for that,' said Dolly. ‘I've been thinking a lot since we met and I figure I have a way that both of us could come out of this with at least some kind of positivity. You've been used as much as I have. I'm sorry I asked you for money. I didn't realise everything that had happened. It just seemed the easiest thing to do. I now know it's not.'

Amy believed her. Despite everything, there was something about Dolly she liked. There was a real air of genuineness about her. She obviously did what she did to make life better for herself and if Amy could help her with that then her own sixth sense and sisterhood spirit told her to listen to what the woman had to say.

Dolly began. ‘Can we talk, Amy? I have an idea about what we should do. Why don't we sit down? You look like you could share a few problems yourself. You've obviously not had the best of days.'

‘It's not been good, but then none of them are lately, to be honest.' Amy rubbed her eyes. ‘Look, why don't you order us both a drink, and I'll just go and tidy up a bit in the bathroom. And tell the waiter to put them on my account, okay. This one's on me,' she said, giving a weak smile.

Dolly sat herself back down and beckoned to one of the hotel staff to order some drinks. She hadn't been sure how Amy would react to seeing her again, but the smile put her at ease. Something inside her, call it female intuition, was sure that she and Amy could make a perfect team.

F
licking
through page after page of his script for a forthcoming episode of
Ward 44
, Grant was not exactly learning his lines. In fact, for an actor who prided himself on usually being able to memorise the dialogue of Dr Eamonn Samms with an almost photographic memory, Grant was hardly taking in a word.

He was missing ‘the team' he'd inadvertently formed with Amy during their brief time together. His mind was racing with thoughts of how soon it would be before maybe they could be together again.

But Amy had shit to sort out, that was clear. She needed to see Riley, work out what was left of their ghost of a marriage and to see if anything could rise, phoenix-like, from the already lukewarm embers of her trust in her husband. Grant knew that for now he would have to take a back seat. But taking a back seat to that man had always irked him, ever since their schooldays together. The man was bad through and through, he could have told Amy that. Always happy to crush and abuse others. He didn't deserve happiness with anybody.

But now wasn't the time to charge in and say so. He knew what he wanted to say to Amy, how he wanted to hold her, but until the moment was right, there was no point in even considering what might be. For now, Grant would have to wait, to be patient and to not run before he could walk.

Trying to push all thoughts of Riley, and more importantly Amy, from his mind, Grant focused back on the script in his hand. But something told him that the dramatic medical actions of Dr Samms were going to remain a complete mystery to him for a long time yet.

A
my couldn't quite believe
what Dolly was suggesting to her.

‘You seriously think we should take the information about the body underneath Dirty Cash directly to Jarrett Smith? The man is a crazed criminal.'

‘And so are half the people you and I hang out with, including your absent-without-leave husband, Amy. And from where I'm sitting, I'd say you and I are in a pretty strong position to bargain.'

‘He'd kill us ... the man is an animal.' Amy wasn't convinced that Dolly had thought the idea through.

‘Why would he? We'd be giving him the information he needs about his dead son. All the man would have to do is pay us for it. He may be a psychotic nutcase but he's bound to be a businessman too. We'd be on his side in this, finally laying to rest an emotional struggle he's lived with for years. Solving the mystery of what happened to his son, Weston.'

Amy still wasn't won over, despite Dolly's certainty. ‘But we'd be condemning Adam and Riley. I don't give a shit about Adam but Riley is still my husband, the man I loved.' Amy stopped herself, suddenly aware that she'd used the past tense. ‘That I love ...' Her words were far from assertive. Her uncertainty made her think. Again the perfect memories of days gone by washed through her mind. But that was another lifetime now, and maybe one with a person she could never relate to again. There could never be a repeat performance, as the channel had changed. Had it changed beyond all hope? She was still unsure.

‘So, we play down Riley's part in it all. Stick all the blame on Adam. If Riley is still alive and you want to be with him then that's up to you, only you can decide that, but we walk away with a cash hand out from Jarrett Smith and he gains closure and the chance to wreak punishment on Adam. We both need money, Amy. I want to start a new life. I'm fed up of parting my legs for a living.'

There was more than a ripple of sense in what Dolly was saying. ‘And you'd gladly screw Adam over? Jarrett would kill him, you know that.'

Without a hint of remorse, Dolly replied. ‘How many people do you think Adam Rich has killed in his life? Dozens of them, hundreds for all I know. An eye for an eye and all that. If that's what it takes for you and me to come out of all this with the chance of a new life, then so be it.'

Amy hated to admit it but Dolly's idea, harsh though it seemed, was winning her over. ‘But there's a chance that Jarrett won't pay up and then we're back at square one. He could kill us.'

‘I'm willing to take the chance, Amy. My life is pretty fucked up as it is. If this is my one chance to improve myself then, d'you know what, I'm happy to take the risk. You should too. And if Adam goes squealing to Jarrett that Riley was involved then it's just his word against ours. I think we can be more convincing. Act the helpless pair of naïve females.'

‘But you like Adam, don't you? You'd be condemning him to almost certain death.'

‘I like Adam Rich's cash, but that's all, if I'm honest. He'll be trading me in for a younger model before too long anyway. She'll be the one getting humped to pay her rent. And there is the small matter of Adam's wife. Not that they have much of a relationship, judging by some of his pillow talk with me. A bumper pay out from Jarrett means I don't need the likes of Adam any more. I can put all of that behind me. Adam's spent a lifetime fucking me, so I figure it's time I repaid the favour, don't you?'

Amy sat in silence, her brain fizzing at Dolly's proposal. It could work. She needed money – even if she and Riley became one again there was no guaranteeing what state his finances would be in – and Dolly needed money too. Adam would take the rap for Weston's death, Jarrett Smith would be appeased. Riley could remain disconnected from Weston's shooting.

But could she condemn a man to death? That's what Amy would be doing if she agreed to the plan and it worked. From what she'd heard about Jarrett, he'd hardly let Adam off with a slap across the back of the legs. Would Amy be able to be at peace with herself if she had Adam's blood on her hands? He'd looked so crestfallen when she'd seen him earlier at Lily's funeral. As did Caitlyn. If Adam died, that would be the diva's entire family gone within a few days. And Amy had nothing against Caitlyn.

Amy couldn't do it. Her mind was made up. Taking a life would lower her to the level of those around her. To Adam and Tommy and Riley. No, that couldn't happen. She'd not been raised by Enid and Ivor Barrowman to believe that murder was ever a good thing.

‘I can't, Dolly. You do it if you want, but I can't. Leave Riley out of this. He didn't pull the trigger, after all, but I can't be a part of this ... I can't send a man to his grave.'

Dolly was not going to take no for an answer. ‘But what if he was the man who tried to have Riley bumped off in the first place? You told me Adam was one of Riley's suspects. I wouldn't put it past him. He had so much to gain by having Riley dead, didn't he? The secret of Jarrett's son died forever with Riley.'

A fog of confusion spread across Amy's mind. If Adam was behind the plot to kill Riley, then he'd had no qualms about seeing her husband dead, seeing her a widow. Or about seeing her without a best friend. Even if Riley hadn't died that night, Laura had. If Adam was behind the shootings then maybe making him pay for his sins was the right thing to do. And even if he wasn't, he had admitted within earshot of Dolly that he was indeed the man who had taken Weston's life. How many others had he taken?

Amy's thoughts swung like a pendulum. Maybe Dolly was right?

‘We need to find Jarrett Smith, Amy.' Dolly was resolute. ‘He's our chance for survival in all of this. We can do this ... you and I ... together. Sisters united and all that ...' Dolly raised her fist in solidarity. ‘We just need to find out where he is.'

Before she had a chance to decide what she wanted to do, Amy's thoughts were interrupted by one of the staff from the hotel Reception. It was a middle-aged man carrying a small brown cardboard package in his hand. ‘Excuse me, Miss Hart. This package has been left for you. The man over at Reception who left it said it was quite urgent ...'

He handed her the square shaped box.

‘Which man?' Amy quizzed as both she and Dolly stared over towards the Reception desk.

‘The one wearing the—' The man turned and pointed as he spoke, but his words cut short. ‘Oh, he was just there. He's gone. Quite thickset, your kind of age, I would imagine ...'

It was a fruitless description. It could have been anybody. The messenger returned to his post.

‘An early Christmas present, maybe?' smirked Dolly.

‘Doubtful,' smirked Amy back. The smirk lasted no longer than the time it took her to open the package. It was replaced by a scream, which Amy tried to suffocate as it escaped from her mouth, aware of fellow guests sitting around her.

‘What is it?' asked Dolly.

Silently Amy handed the box to Dolly. Placed inside it, on a sea of red tissue paper, was a human ear. The note alongside it read ‘Miss Hart, please find enclosed a piece of your friend Jimmy, who might not be hearing “Jingle Bells” with much clarity this Christmas. If you want to make sure the rest of him doesn't end up the same way then I suggest you come and pay me a visit. And no police. Jarrett Smith.'

Listed underneath was the address of a warehouse in one of the industrial parts of Manchester, and a time. Amy was being summoned.

It was a horrified Dolly who spoke first. ‘Well, at least we know where to find Jarrett now.'

Amy had made up her mind.