Gangsters Wives (19 page)

When Connie cornered them one morning in a cafe in Kennington, where they were enjoying breakfast and checking out the price of a new HD-TV from Dixons in
The
Sun
, they jumped at his offer. Twenty-five grand, up front, just to babysit a woman and kid for a few hours. You certainly didn't make that sort of money for a day's work on
Waking
the
Dead
for BBC1.

And that was the plan. Knocker and Charlie would turn up at Jim's door early on the morning of the raid. They'd be togged up in the uniforms, and Charlie would have made them up to look as different as possible without it being too obvious. They'd have some story to get them inside, or worst case scenario, they'd just push their way in, loaded guns in their hands, and Jim would be left with no option but to do exactly what he was told or else. Connie knew they'd have no compunction about getting a bit fisty with the missus if Jim put up any objections.

Then it was up to him to convince his mate that discretion was the better part of valour and give up the truck without a fight. Of course it was risky. But then so much in life was. Jim could inform the cops and they could go in guns blazing. But then it was Knocker and Charlie's job to let him know what could happen to mother and baby if that happened. Bad things. Very bad things.

Of course the rest of the gang would be armed that morning and if they had to do the business, so be it. This was the biggun' according to Deep Throat. Twenty million. Ten million for the chaps after the money exchange was made. And then they'd all be sitting pretty on a mountain of cash.

Whilst the plans were being formulated, Ali was feeding Kate information about the gang's master plan to get rid of the dodgy cash and replace it with brand-new. And Kate was constantly in touch with Sadie. They'd meet at various locations around East London and Essex, and compare notes.

‘I knew it would be me and you girl,' said Sadie, one sunny afternoon in the coffee shop of a bookstore in Beckton. ‘So how's it going?'

‘Crap,' said Kate. ‘I know it's going to be soon, Robbo's getting amorous all of a sudden.'

‘Is that right. And how about Ali?'

‘He wants it all the time too. I'm fucking exhausted.'

‘Lucky girl. I haven't had a decent shag in ages.'

‘No. You're the lucky one. Ali's changed since he's been with that lot. He used to be sweet. Now it's wham, bam, thank you ma'am. And he wants to do it up my… you know.'

‘Your arse, sweetheart? All men want that sooner or later. But he's still keen?'

‘Keener than ever. But different.'

‘It'll be the company he's keeping,' Sadie said, consolingly.

‘Probably.'

‘Maybe Poppy and Nik have got the right idea.'

‘What? Go the other way?'

‘Could be,' said Kate.

‘Nah. I like cock. And when this is all over, and we've got right away, I intend to have my share.'

‘You're welcome to both of mine.'

‘A Paki and a wife-beater. No thanks.' She saw the look on Kate's face. ‘Sorry love.'

‘That's all right. It'll be worth it in the end. So where are you going?'

‘It's bad luck to talk about it.'

‘You reckon?'

‘Whatever. Somewhere hot, with no extradition. Or cops you can buy off.'

‘Sounds perfect.'

‘You're welcome to come along.'

‘I might just do that. What about passports?'

‘I was going to talk to you about that. I know a bloke. Well, a mate of Eddie's really.'

‘Aren't they all?'

‘Too true. He'll do the business for a grand. Good work too.'

‘What does he need?'

‘Apart from the money? Just a name, date of birth, and a photo.'

‘You got the money?'

‘Yeah. Had to pop a bit of tom. But I managed.'

‘I'm up for it.'

‘Right. But I'll need cash up front. Sorry, love. In the old days, you know… But those days have gone.'

‘Have there been any offers on the house yet?'

‘A couple.'

‘Any good?'

‘Yes and no. I'm giving the estate agent one too, you know. String everything along.'

‘I thought you hadn't had sex.'

‘I said a
good
shag, Katie. This sod only lasts a few seconds before he shoots his load.'

‘You're mental.'

‘I try love. I try,' said Sadie, with a mischievous look on her face.

So the days passed until Deep Throat gave the final word, which, like the love-struck man he was, Ali passed on to Kate. Everything was arranged. Everything was arranged. Now all they could do was wait.

And finally it arrived. A perfect day for a white wedding, or for that matter, a big knock off. Cool, cloudy, and dry. Knocker and Charlie parked a plain blue saloon, stolen the previous day, and fitted with new number plates, in the next street to Jim Flynn's house. Charlie had disguised them both before leaving home, which they did wearing long anoraks over their uniforms. Nothing spectacular. No false beards or moustaches. Just a little face padding here and there, coloured contacts, and hair dye. Both agreed that even their mothers, God rest their souls, would have trouble identifying them, especially with the police hats on. In their pockets they had balaclavas to wear once inside the house. They adjusted their uniforms as they left the car, high visibility jackets on, and fake radios on their lapels. Inside the jackets they both wore side arms in shoulder holsters.

They walked together into Flynn's street, both aware that all sorts of things could go wrong. A nosy neighbour could spot them and wonder why they didn't leave the house. Christ, anything. But that new TV and a granite worktop kitchen beckoned. The street was quiet in the early morning light, not a curtain twitched and the pavement was deserted. Luck was with them.

Knocker rapped on the door and rang the bell. Minutes later a dishevelled looking Jim Flynn, in pyjamas and dressing gown answered. ‘Mr Flynn,' said Charlie.

‘Yes. What is it?' He was as sleepy and surprised as they'd expected.

‘It's about your mother.' Deep Throat knew that Jim's mum was an invalid, living alone.

‘Christ. What's happened to her?' said Jim, blood rushing from his face.

‘Can we come in?' asked Knocker.

‘Sure. My God. Is she all right?'

They passed through the door and Jim closed it behind them.

‘Tell me,' he said.

‘Your mother's fine,' said Knocker, drawing his pistol, and pushing Jim up against the wall. ‘It's your wife and kid you've got to worry about.'

Jim didn't have a clue what was going on.

‘Where are they?' demanded Charlie, pulling out his balaclava, taking off his cap, and pulling it on over his head, as Knocker held his gun on Jim.

‘In bed. What is this?'

‘You'll find out,' said Knocker, aping Charlie's move with his woolly disguise.

‘Who is it Jim?' came a female voice from upstairs.

‘Tell her to come down, on her own,' said Charlie, his voice muffled.

‘Come down Sue,' said Jim. ‘Leave the baby.'

‘What is it?'

‘Just come down.'

They heard movement from upstairs and a pretty young woman came down the steps belting up her dressing gown. She saw the uniforms, the guns and the balaclavas and stopped a few steps up. ‘Is this a joke?' she said. ‘Some of your mates from…'

‘Be quiet Mrs Flynn,' said Knocker. ‘This is no joke. Let's all sit down, and keep calm.'

She came into the hall and all four moved through the door on the left into a small lounge. ‘Sit,' said Charlie.

‘My baby,' said Sue. She made a move to rush upstairs to the nursery, but was restrained by Charlie.

‘Your baby will be fine,' he said calmly, releasing her shoulders from his grasp. ‘You all will be, if everybody does what they're told.'

‘The money,' said Jim, suddenly understanding.

‘Ten out of ten,' said Charlie. ‘Where's the kitchen Sue? I think we could all do with a nice cup of tea.'

Charlie took Sue into the kitchen next door to the living room. It was small, with a window looking out over a tiny back yard. Charlie pulled down a blind and switched on the overhead light. She was shaking so hard he had to fill the kettle and switch it on for her. ‘Just make us a pot of tea love,' he said. ‘And all will be well. And don't get any bright ideas about throwing boiling water at me. Remember who's in the next room, and more importantly upstairs. It's only money. And as soon as Jim does the business for us, we'll be off, and you can get back to your life.'

They were interrupted by a baby's cry from above. ‘It's his feed time,' said Sue.

‘Right. We'll go and get junior, and I'll brew up whilst you fill his face.'

They went to the staircase and climbed the short flight. Upstairs were three doors. One to the parent's bedroom, one to a box room that had been turned into a nursery, and the third was open to a bathroom/toilet. ‘Nice house,' said Charlie. ‘Worth a bob or two I suppose.'

‘To the building society,' said Sue, as she entered the nursery and picked a small child from a cot.

‘He or she?' asked Charlie.

‘I thought you'd know everything.'

‘Not everything love. So?' Although he did. He just wanted to keep her talking. Keep her sweet.

‘A boy. John.'

‘Nice name.'

‘You're not going to rape me are you?' asked the young woman.

Charlie laughed. As if. ‘Sue,' he said. ‘That's not why we're here. We're here to make some dough. Relax, and in a couple of hours we'll be gone.' He didn't tell her he was gay, and was more likely to rape her husband. That was one thing she didn't need to hear.

Downstairs again, the kettle had boiled and Charlie made four teas, clumsy in his gloves. The pistol was back in its holster. He was sure he had nothing to fear from the woman who was busy making up a bowl of breakfast for baby John. All in all thought Charlie, it was a most cosy, domestic scene.

He called the other two into the kitchen where Sue was sitting down, John on her lap, taking a spoon from the bowl to his mouth and back. They sat Jim down next to her and explained the plan.

‘Smile Jim,' said Knocker. ‘You go to work as usual. I know it's going to be hard, but you must act naturally. We don't want any harm coming to Sue and the baby.'

‘John,' said Charlie.

‘Sue and John,' Knocker went on. ‘You take out the truck, and you tell Ken what's going on. Now Ken might want to play the hero. But if he does, we'll know, and you'll be going to a funeral. A double funeral.'

Sue almost dropped the baby and started shaking again.

‘Relax Sue,' said Charlie. ‘It ain't going to happen. Jim's going to make sure his mate knows that if we go down, someone will be calling at Ken's address just like we did this morning. But they won't be half as polite as us. No tea. Just a petrol bomb through the window in the middle of the night. OK, Jim?'