The Betrayer (32 page)

Johnny laughed. ‘Yes, Nanny, you told me to.’

Maureen playfully punched her arm. ‘Fancy telling him to do that, Mum.’

Ethel laughed, ‘I’ve hated that miserable cow for years, but tonight I actually quite liked her.’

Maureen shook her head. ‘Poor Kenny, he never reappeared, did he?’

Hearing the start of ‘Ballin’ the Jack’, Ethel forgot about Wendy and leaped off her seat. Dragging Johnny up, she lifted her skirt up to show him the moves.

Grabbing Maria, James dragged her towards his nan. He loved this song – it was his childhood favourite.

Seeing Tommy staring at the newlyweds, Freddie nudged him.

‘I know it’s a bit awkward with what happened between you and Maria, but you’re gonna have to get up and say something,’ he said.

Tommy glared at him, ‘What the hell am I meant to say? Shall I tell all the guests that I fucked the bride?’

Aware of the girls coming back from the toilet, Freddie shushed him.

‘You’re the best man, Tom. You’ve gotta say something: it’ll look well funny if you don’t,’ he whispered.

Tommy went to the toilet. Drugs weren’t normally his scene, but tonight he needed the shit. Mustapha had suggested the idea and provided him with the stuff.

‘Pure cocaine,’ he assured him. ‘It’s the shit they mix it with that fucks you up. This stuff’s proper: it’ll get you through the day.’

He hadn’t meant to tell Mustapha about his problems, but they’d all come tumbling out last night. He’d been dreading the wedding and had got steaming drunk with his new pal.

‘Take this, snort it and forget the slut,’ Mustapha advised.

Since meeting Mustapha just over a week ago, Tommy had been out with him a few times. Freddie was all familied up now, and his new pal was a breath of fresh air. Freddie was wary and had been asking lots of questions.

‘What does he do, Tom? You must know what he does.’

Tommy had kept schtum. ‘He ain’t really said. I think he just sells a bit of gear, like we do.’

Freddie didn’t like the sound of him. ‘Do yourself a favour and don’t get too involved. That nightclub must be worth millions and you don’t earn money like that from selling a bit of puff. The Turks are always involved in the brown – you ask my uncle Bobby. Heroin dealers they are, the lot of ’em.’

Entering the cubicle, Tommy shoved as much gear up his nose as he could fit. Feeling it run down the back of his throat, he unlocked the door. Looking in the mirror, he admired himself. He was one handsome bastard. Smiling, he ran his fingers through his hair. Time for his speech!

As Tommy grabbed the mike, Maureen poked Ethel. ‘He’s giving a speech, bless him. I know he’s a bit of a rogue, but he ain’t all bad, is he?’

Ethel snorted. She’d heard many a story about her eldest grandson and none of them were nice. He was trouble, a fucking wrong ’un, but there was no point telling Maureen. One day she might take off her rose-tinted glasses, but for now she was still wearing them.

Maria looked on in horror, as Tommy smirked at her. Surely he wasn’t going to ruin their wedding day? Please God, no.

Tommy cleared his throat.

‘Being chosen as my brother’s best man is a wonderful honour for me and it’s my duty to say a few words. Jimmy boy and I have always been close – he’s the best brother a man could wish for. Now he’s married, flown the nest and is gonna spend the rest of his life with the classy, beautiful, loyal Maria.’

Hearing the viciousness and sarcasm in his voice, Maria shot to the toilet. He had a dangerous expression on his face and if he was going to blurt out Christ knows what, she couldn’t be present.

Seeing her bolt, Tommy smiled. Gutless, fucking slag, he thought.

‘And all I’ve got left to say is congratulations and good luck for the future. Jimmy boy and Maria make a wonderful couple and I’d like everybody to raise their glasses for a toast.’

Seeing Maria come out of the toilet, Tommy smiled at her.

‘To the happy couple.’

THIRTY-TWO

Susan was busy sucking Dave Taylor’s penis as the front door opened and closed. ‘That you, Johnny?’ she shouted, as she covered his hard-on with the quilt.

‘Don’t fuckin’ stop, I was just about to come. Tell shoeshine boy to fuck off and come back later,’ Dave Taylor said venomously.

Ignoring her boyfriend’s nastiness, Susan put on her old dressing gown and walked out of the bedroom. ‘Johnny, be a good boy. Me and Dave never get much time to ourselves. Can’t yer go and play football for a bit and come back later?’

Johnny shrugged his shoulders, ‘I’ve been playing footy all day, Mum. I’m starving, I need something to eat.’

Susan found £2 in her purse and handed it to him. ‘Go and get something from the chippy, and nick us some drink on the way back.’

‘Do I have to, Mum?’ Johnny asked sulkily.

‘Do as yer fuckin’ mother says. You’ve just taken our beer money for yer grub,’ Dave Taylor shouted.

Johnny felt close to tears as he left the flat. His mum and Dave had recently become an item and his home life had gone from bad to worse. Whenever he went home they seemed to be in bed together, and he often heard them having sex, which made him feel ill. He’d walked in on them last week. His mum had been making terrible noises and he’d thought Dave Taylor had been beating her up. The sight of his mum with her legs wide open, and Dave Taylor licking her mary-ann would live with him for ever. Annoyed with himself for being unable to stop thinking about what he’d seen, Johnny broke into a sprint and headed for the chippy.

Susan handed the joint back to her boyfriend. She propped herself against the pillow and stared at his handsome face. ‘Why don’t yer move in properly, Dave? I mean, yer stay here most nights anyway, so it’d make sense if yer moved all yer stuff in.’

Dave Taylor sat himself up, and reached down the side of the bed for his cider. He took a swig and turned to face Susan. ‘Yer know I like yer and all that, Suze, but I’ve told yer before, I ain’t bringing up no black kid.’

Susan kissed him. ‘Oh please, Dave. I mean he’s not that black, and Royston was yer mate years ago.’

Dave Taylor shook his head. ‘I’ve never had black mates. Tibbsy and Benno were pals with him, I barely spoke to the cunt. I mean it, Susan, I won’t live with him. It’s your choice: me or the kid, understand?’

Susan nodded. She understood perfectly.

As the plane landed on British turf, James squeezed Maria’s hand. Sun, sand, sea, sex, their honeymoon in the Caribbean had been amazing. Maria hadn’t wanted to come home at all.

‘I wish we could stay here for ever, James,’ she kept saying.

‘We have to go back to reality, babe, build for our future,’ he told her.

They’d talked and talked and planned and planned while away. It had been a joint decision for Maria to come straight off the pill; they’d discussed that before the wedding. Both of them wanted kids and felt more than ready to start a family sooner rather than later. The only thing they couldn’t quite agree on was whether to buy a house just yet. Maria was desperate to move to Essex as soon as possible. With the shop and her job, they could easily get a mortgage, but James would rather they bided their time instead of jumping in feet first.

The takings in the shop were shit, but it was handy to keep as a cover. With the cannabis selling like hot cakes, Bobby had been talking about adding an extra run here and there. James and Maria had spoken at length about this and they both agreed that the extra money would be a blessing, as it would enable them to move sooner.

‘As soon as we get home, I’ll sort it,’ James assured her.

Nice houses cost money and he was determined to buy Maria the best that he could afford.

Tommy Hutton counted the ten grand, shook hands with the Indian bloke and walked away happy. Mustapha had been dead right – the big money was definitely in heroin. He’d only been punting the stuff for the last ten days and he’d earned far more than he earned in a month from selling puff.

Mustapha had advised him not to include James and Freddie in their business arrangement.

‘Work it yourself. All you need is a lackey to carry it. Find yourself someone half sensible, you’d be mad to share the profits.’

Tommy had agreed. He had no intention of including anyone on this particular little money-spinner. Deep down, he knew that James and Freddie would be dead against it. Selling puff was one thing, flogging smack was a different ball game. He couldn’t risk telling Freddie or James, and Bobby Adams would have a cardiac if he knew. He’d given the smackheads a real hard time in nick and he hated the dealers with a passion.

‘Fucking scum they are. One level behind the nonces,’ he’d voiced on numerous occasions.

Tommy’d found a runner to work for him. Jason was a bit of a plum, but seemed trustworthy enough.

Looking at his watch, he saw he was running late. Picking up his phone, he rang Mustapha’s number. ‘I’m stuck in traffic; I’ll be about forty minutes.’

‘Hurry up. I’ve got four beautiful women and as much cocaine as you could possibly snort.’

Tommy smiled as he ended the call. Mustapha had introduced him to the high life and he was loving every fucking minute of it!

Within a month of returning home from honeymoon, James met with Freddie and together they set up the extra run with Bobby. He’d flown home in person to sort out the details and they’d met at an Essex restaurant.

‘Never trust talking on any kind of phone, boys. They fucking bug ’em, I’m telling yer. There’s been many a good man caught out by the art of technology. Now, where’s Tommy? Is he running late?’

Not wanting to get him in trouble, James and Freddie said as little as possible. ‘He ain’t been home all night – probably with some bird,’ James joked.

Bobby was furious. He’d managed to make the meet on time and he’d come from the Costa del fucking Sol. Tommy lived within spitting distance and in Bobby’s eyes was taking the piss. ‘I take it he knows where we’re meeting? Bird or no bird, business comes first. Give him a ring and tell him to get his arse in gear.’

As he saw his uncle’s nose turn red, Freddie turned away. Bobby’s hooter always gave a warning of what was to come and when it spread to his cheeks, he lost it completely. Thankful that the waitress appeared, Freddie smiled at her.

‘Shall we order?’ he asked his uncle.

Bobby nodded. He wasn’t about to go hungry on account of some cunt who couldn’t be bothered to turn up. ‘Have you rung him yet?’ he asked Freddie.

Pretending he had no signal, Freddie went outside with his phone. He was in a dilemma and didn’t know what to do for the best. Tommy had been on the missing list for three days now, his bird and son were frantic and Lucy had been ringing him non-stop.

‘I don’t know what to do, Freddie. I’ve rung all the hospitals and all the pubs he drinks in. What if he’s been arrested or he’s lying dead in a ditch?’ she sobbed.

Freddie felt sorry for Lucy. She was a nice girl, she was pregnant, and she didn’t deserve to be treated like dirt. Tommy was a cunt to her. He was always messing about with other birds behind her back, and when he was at home, he spoke to her like shit.

Ringing his pal’s mobile, Freddie wasn’t surprised to hear it go straight to answerphone. It had been like that for the last three days. Running his hands through his hair, he debated what to do for the best. His uncle Bobby was a powerful man and he dare not lie to him. It wasn’t just that: they worked together, had a tidy little earner and he couldn’t risk them all getting arrested by Tommy’s stupidity.

His pal was bang on the gear, he knew that. Ever since he’d met that Mustapha geezer, he’d changed completely. He hadn’t even turned up for their last job; him and James had done it alone. Obviously, they hadn’t told Bobby. He’d have gone apeshit, so they covered his arse.

Taking a deep breath, he walked back into the restaurant. Blood was thicker than water, and it was time to tell Bobby the truth.

James sat in silence as Freddie did all the talking. He needed this job desperately for his and Maria’s future. If Bobby got the hump and called a halt, he’d be well fucked financially, that was for sure.

With Tommy being his best pal, Freddie tried to play down the situation as best as he could. ‘He met this new mate a couple of months back and I think he’s gone off the rails a bit. No one’s seen him for the last few days and we ain’t got a clue where he is. I know he ain’t happy at home. He was planning on leaving Lucy, but she got up the duff again. He feels a bit depressed and trapped, I think.’

Bobby was concerned. He didn’t deal with anyone off the rails and he certainly didn’t want them working for him. ‘Is he doing drugs?’

Freddie shrugged his shoulders, ‘He’s been doing a bit of coke, but only recently, since he met this new mate. He can’t be hooked – he’s only been taking it for a couple of months. He was never on it before, when he was knocking about with me.’

Bobby lit a cigar. ‘What’s the geezer’s name he’s knocking about with?’

‘Me and James have never met him. All we know is that his name’s Mustapha and he met him in the Ville.’

Bobby’s nose went bright red when he heard the name. A fucking Turk, wonderful! He hated the bastards and didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them.

‘I don’t remember any Mustapha when I was in the Ville. Don’t you know anything about him?’

Freddie shook his head. ‘Not really.’

James knew more, but kept schtum. His brother had told him that Mustapha owned the nightclub they’d gone to on his stag night. He had no choice but to keep quiet. His brother was in enough shit without him sticking his oar in.