The Victim (6 page)

Babs caught her breath and asked the all-important question. ‘Are you sure it was Jed that killed your grandfather?’

‘Absolutely positive. I recorded the evidence on tape, but Jed’s cousin ran off with it, so I have no proof.’

Both girls stared at one another. Neither knew what to say next, but it was Babs who broke the ice by laughing. ‘Wow, man, that is some heavy gangster crap, but Frankie, my sweet child, if we don’t laugh about the shit God threw at us, we will go mad and fucking cry.’

Pat the Pigeon was having one of her nostalgic, melancholy evenings. In the daytime she was quite a happy person. She would spend time with her family, tend to her pigeons and she had the added bonus of Stanley’s habitual visits. However, once darkness fell, Pat’s mood changed. It was only then that she realised what a lonely fifty-five-year-old woman she really was.

Flicking through the TV channels, Pat stared at BBC1 with a glum expression on her face.
Waiting for God
was on, a programme about people like herself who had no spouse and ended up in one of those poxy retirement homes, sitting in their own piss and shit. About to turn the depressing programme off, Pat was stunned to hear the doorbell ring. She glanced at the clock, it was just gone half-nine and nobody ever visited her at this time of the evening. Pat put on her fluffy slippers and cautiously walked towards the front door.

‘Who is it?’ she shouted nervously.

‘Pat, it’s me, Stanley.’

With her heart leaping out of her chest with excitement, Pat undid the chain-lock and opened the front door. ‘Are you OK? Whatever’s the matter, Stanley?’ she asked as she clocked the dismal expression on poor Stanley’s face.

Stanley nodded to the suitcase beside him. ‘I’m really sorry for turning up here this late, Pat, but I didn’t know where else to go. Joyce has betrayed me in the worst way possible, so I’ve left her. I’ve got the pigeons in the back of the car. I couldn’t leave ’em at home ’cause she’s such a wicked old bag. She threatened to cook ’em in a pie once. Is it OK if me and the birds stay here for a few days? We’ll be out of your way in no time, I promise.’

Pat looked into Stanley’s distressed eyes. She rubbed his arm and smiled. ‘Of course it is, my love. My home is your home, Stanley, and you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like.’

CHAPTER SIX

Eddie Mitchell was having another little bout of insomnia. He had to meet O’Hara at lunchtime to hand over the dosh and the guilt he felt at what he was about to do was eating away at him. Picturing his brothers’ faces once more, Ed turned onto his side and forced himself to think about Gina. He’d sent his fiancée away to her friend’s house while he sorted out the sorry mess his brothers had made, but she was coming back home this afternoon and Ed couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her.

At thirty-four years old, Gina was nineteen years younger than Ed. They’d originally met when he had found her in the Yellow Pages. Gina was a private detective and Ed had hired her to follow his son, Joey. It was through Gina that Ed had found out the truth about his son’s homosexuality and his relationship with Dominic.

Months after Ed had got arrested for murder, Gina had written to him in the nick and stood up in court as a witness at his trial. They’d sort of got together soon after that. Gina became a regular visitor to Wandsworth Prison and they’d planned their future in the odd hour they snatched together every week. It was a gamble coming straight out of the slammer and moving in with a bird he barely knew, but the gamble had paid off. They had originally rented, but had since bought the cottage in Rettendon and, until all this shit had kicked off with the O’Haras again, had been as happy as two pigs in shit.

Picturing Gina’s naked body, Eddie smiled. Facially she was a ringer for the famous Page Three girl, Linda Lusardi, everybody said so. She was tall, with long, dark hair, legs up to her armpits and a pair of tits to die for. Feeling himself getting harder, Ed lifted the quilt, looked underneath it and smiled. He might be fifty-three, but his king-sized attribute was still in fine working order. Seconds later, Ed heard an enormous crash coming from downstairs. His erection deflated like a burst balloon and he gingerly got out of bed and grabbed the baseball bat he kept underneath it. Ever since he’d been a young man, Ed had slept with a gun nearby, but recent events had made him hide it away from the cottage. Another long stretch for a firearms charge was the last thing he needed.

Eddie put on a pair of shorts and crept down the wooden stairs. He held the bat firmly in his right hand, ready to strike if need be. Daylight was just breaking, so he could easily see where he was going without falling arse over head. The front door was shut, so Ed moved cautiously towards the kitchen. He could have sworn that he’d heard the sound of breaking glass and, if that was the case, the kitchen was the easiest form of entry for an intruder. He checked the windows and door; there was nothing untoward, so he headed into the lounge. Ed’s stomach lurched as he spotted the culprit. His dad’s framed photo that hung on the wall opposite Jessica’s had, for no apparent reason, fallen onto the floor and smashed.

Eddie sat on the sofa and put his head in his hands. It must be a sign, a sign that his father disagreed with his decision-making. Well, he couldn’t go through with what he had arranged now, not after this, and if it turned out to be his own poisoned chalice, then so fucking be it.

Joey Mitchell dried himself with a towel, then looked at his watch in dismay. He liked to have a strong coffee in St Paul’s before he ventured into work, but he was running late this morning, so wouldn’t have bloody time.

Dominic had an important meeting with an investor up in Hammersmith at lunchtime and was still lying in his pit. As the phone rang, Dom answered the one in the bedroom.

‘Joey, it’s your nan,’ he shouted.

‘Tell her I’ll ring her later,’ Joey yelled back.

Stark bollock naked, Dominic ran out of the bedroom with the phone in his hand. ‘You’d better talk to her now, Joey, she sounds in a right old state.’

Silently cursing his dysfunctional family, Joey snatched the phone. ‘What’s the matter, Nan?’

‘Your grandad’s gone. He went last night.’

Feeling his legs go from beneath him, Joey sank onto the bed. ‘Oh my God! What did he die of?’ he whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

‘He ain’t bleedin’ dead, although I wish the bastard was. He’s gone, left home, wants a divorce, the silly old sod. You’re gonna have to come over, Joey. I can’t stop in this house on me own. I’ve already had a large brandy and I’m worried I’ll do something silly and end up back in that nuthouse again.’

‘I can’t come over, Nan. I’m really busy at work at the moment and I need to go in.’

Joyce was an expert at making people feel guilty – she’d practised for years on Stanley. ‘Oh well, if your job’s more important than your poor old nan, best you get off. But, if and when something bad happens to me, don’t you dare come crying round my grave. If you do, I shall come back and fuckin’ well haunt ya.’

Joey felt his conscience pricking him. ‘Can’t you ring Raymond, Nan? My boss will kill me if I don’t go in today.’

‘Already rung him. Since that tart of his has been up the spout, he’s had no time for his poor old mum whatsoever. He says he’s got an important meeting with your father. Knowing what a lying bastard Raymond is lately, I bet his important meeting is at one of them poncy antenatal clinics with that stuck-up prat he married.’

Joey sighed. The last time his grandad had left home, his nan had completely lost the plot and ended up in Warley Hospital. If that were to happen again, Joey knew he would never forgive himself for not being there when she needed him. ‘Don’t drink no more, Nan. I’ll ring work, tell ’em I’m ill and I’ll be with you within the hour.’

After he’d found his father’s photograph lying horizontal on the living-room carpet, Eddie had knocked back a large brandy to calm his fragile nerves. He had then taken it upon himself to call an emergency meeting. None of the lads were very happy at being woken at 7 a.m., but that was tough shit; he was the boss and he called the shots.

As per usual, Eddie had ordered the meeting to be held at his Auntie Joanie’s house. These days he would never chance any of their important gatherings being held anywhere but. He was too worried about the Old Bill; they weren’t so backward as they used to be. The filth had been well pissed off when the jury had found him not guilty of the murder and manslaughter charges against Jessica. He’d still done bird for unlawful possession of a firearm but knowing how desperate the rozzers were to lock him up and throw away the key, Ed would never put it past the bastards to bug his, Gary’s, Ricky’s or Raymond’s home addresses. Joanie’s house was by no means foolproof, but it was definitely the best for security purposes and also better than meeting in a café or some poxy boozer.

Ed had called the meeting for 9 a.m. He had to meet O’Hara at twelve in Upminster, so he’d had no choice but to call it on so early. Due to the decrepit state of the A13, Eddie arrived at his aunt’s at twenty to ten. Joanie answered the door and, pushed for time, Ed gave her a quick peck on the cheek and darted straight up the stairs.

‘Shall I make you a pot of tea and some sarnies?’ Joanie shouted out.

‘No thanks, Auntie. We’re fine, sweetheart,’ Eddie replied.

Raymond, Gary and Ricky were already sitting around the big mahogany table with glum expressions on their faces. Gary and Ricky had both been on the piss until the early hours and felt like crap, and Raymond had had an earful from Polly, as he’d had to tell her that something important had cropped up and he couldn’t attend the antenatal clinic with her.

‘This better be fucking important, Dad,’ Gary said, thoroughly pissed off that he’d been woken so early then his old man had had the audacity to turn up late.

Eddie grabbed a bottle of Scotch from the bar and ordered everybody to drink one.

‘For Christ’s sake, Ed. It ain’t even ten o’clock. I was meant to go somewhere with Polly and she’ll annihilate me if I go home smelling of booze.’

Not in the mood for Raymond’s marital issues, Eddie knocked back his drink in record time and slammed the empty glass on the table. ‘Fuck Polly, this is business and what I’ve got to say is far more important than anything your old woman will say to ya later.’

Raymond immediately shut up and, as Ed began to tell the story of what he’d agreed with Jimmy O’Hara, Gary and Ricky sat open mouthed.

‘So, when your grandfather’s picture fell off the wall, I just knew I’d done the wrong thing. Call it fate, but I know now I can’t go through with it,’ Ed said remorsefully, concluding the tale.

Ricky knocked back his Scotch and looked at his father in outright disgust. ‘How could you pay to arrange your own brothers’ deaths in the first place? That is sick, Dad, fucking proper sick. Say O’Hara gets to them somehow?’

Gary shook his head in disbelief. ‘I know Paulie and Ronny are a pair of useless cunts, but they’re still family, Dad.’

‘Yes, I know they’re family, but they ballsed up, not us. All I was trying to do was keep the rest of us safe. O’Hara ain’t gonna let this rest, you know. If he can’t get to them, he’ll come for us, I just fuckin’ know he will.’

Gary gave a sadistic smirk. ‘Worried about your new fancy piece, are ya?’ he asked sarcastically.

As Eddie grabbed his eldest son by the neck, Raymond intervened and dragged Eddie away. ‘For fuck’s sake, arguing and fighting amongst ourselves ain’t gonna solve this, is it? Let’s get a grip and sort this out sensibly, shall we?’

Ray turned to Gary and Ricky. They were good lads, but they were also playboys. Gary was twenty-nine now and Ricky twenty-seven. They were both handsome boys, but neither had settled down. Therefore, they had no idea about what it was like to worry about a wife or kids.

‘Your father has got a point, you know. If anything happened to my Polly or the baby, I couldn’t deal with it. Yous two are single: once you settle down and have kids of your own, you’ll understand where your dad’s coming from.’

Gary shrugged. He had no intention of settling down. Tarts were a pain in the arse and ‘love ’em and leave ’em’, was his motto. ‘So what happens now, then? Are you just not gonna turn up to meet O’Hara?’

Eddie rubbed the stubble on his face. He used slow movements from his cheeks to his chin like he often did when he was deep in thought. ‘I’ve got the dosh on me. I think I should still meet O’Hara and pay him the thirty grand. It sounds big bucks but it’s peanuts to me. Let him think he’s still got a deal. He won’t get to Ronny and Paulie, not if I put the word about.’

‘And how you gonna stop him fuckin’ getting to ’em?’ Ricky asked wisely.

‘Ginger Mick, Lee Adams, Scouse Lenny – they’re all banged up in Belmarsh and they all owe me a favour or two. I’ll get word to Paulie and Ronny to spend as much time as possible inside their cells. Any time they come out, I’ll have someone watch their backs.’

‘It’s an impossibility to get someone to watch over Ronny and Paulie all the time, Dad. I mean, how do you know that your pals are even on the same wing as them?’

‘Because I made phone calls on the way here. Flatnose Freddie knows everything; he also told me that Paulie and Ronny are sharing a cell. He reckons if they hadn’t have spilled their guts to the filth, the system would have definitely split ’em up, but they did, so no one cares. Also, the screws don’t wanna be bothered clearing up Ronny’s shit and piss. They ain’t got a lot of time for cripples, I know that for a fact. That poor raspberry who was a few cells away from me in Wandsworth, the one that had strangled his mother, he was left to rot. That’s why Paulie is sharing with Ronny; the authorities want Paulie to take care of the cunt, save them a job.’

Raymond was worried, very worried. ‘Jimmy O’Hara ain’t no mug, Ed. I know he’s been out the frame for a few years, but don’t underestimate him. His son and grandkid have been killed, for Christ’s sake and he ain’t gonna be happy if he can’t get revenge of some kind.’

Eddie poured himself another large Scotch. ‘Look, these pikeys are backward bastards deep down. There is no way O’Hara will think I’ve parted with thirty grand if I ain’t in agreement of the deal. Yes, in the end, chances are he will clock on, but for now the dough should be enough to keep the mug sweet.’

Raymond shook his head. He had the same feeling as he’d had the night that Jessica had died. This was a bad idea and he half-wished he’d stuck it out in the jewellery trade and never come back to the family firm. ‘When Jimmy O’Hara finds out you’ve crossed him, he’ll come gunning for you, Ed,’ he warned.

Eddie looked at his watch and stood up. ‘Not if I go gunning for him first, he won’t.’

Gary smashed a fist onto the table. ‘Why are we giving these pikeys the time of day? Why don’t we just get rid of the whole lot of ’em in one fell swoop, Jed included?’

‘Because of them kids. Once Frankie is out, we can do what we want, but if we strike now, not only will the Old Bill know that we’re behind the O’Hara’s disappearance, there’s a good chance Georgie and Harry will be taken into care. The filth have got it in for me big time, they always have had, and more so since Jessica’s death. James Fitzgerald Smythe reckons he can get Frankie off her charge and I believe him,’ Eddie replied.

‘You’re off your head. Frankie admitted to what she’d done and won’t even tell no one what really happened. She’s going down, I know she is,’ Ricky reminded his father.

Eddie stood up. He truly believed that it was not the snapped string on the frame that had caused his father’s photograph to crash to the floor; he believed it was a sign from above. It was Harry Mitchell’s way of telling him that what he was about to do was wrong and, with his dad’s guidance, Ed knew things would work out OK. ‘I’ve gotta go and meet O’Hara now. We’ll talk again later in the week.’