Faceless (55 page)

going to be any more trouble for Marie; the poor woman had had

quite enough to contend with in life already.

Mikey and his cronies pulled into the scrapyard at twenty-past

seven. They were late and they were all quiet. Last night’s events

had subdued them all. As Mikey listened to the morning news they

all made a point of looking out of the car windows as if they found

the scenery fascinating.

Suddenly he spoke.

‘He was a cunt and cunts need to be sorted out. Trying to

fucking lie to me! To me of all fucking people!’

Old Billy nodded his head in agreement.

But he didn’t speak. He was still seeing that bloodied body as it

jerked into the air from the cattle prod. Could still hear the

screams of the man as his eyes popped out of their rightful place in

his skull. He closed his eyes to assuage the sickness rising up inside

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him. Mikey had gone over the top, there was no doubt about it.

Even the hardened criminals who worked for him had been

disgusted and frightened by the ferocity of the attack. Considering

the man had been half dead already from the beating he had been

given it had seemed unnecessarily cruel to make him suffer as long

as he had.

And all that blood … It had taken place in one of their garages.

They would have to go there often and the blood stains would be a

permanent reminder of what had occurred. They would also be

evidence if the filth ever poked their noses in.

Billy understood Mikey and the way his mind worked. His anger

had had to be unleashed at some point, and better it was unleashed

on a piece of shit than on someone far less deserving. But they were

supposed to be the new breed of criminal who used the minimum

of violence, and then only in a work-related capacity. It was one

thing killing a man because he had crossed the line inside your

manor; quite another killing someone painfully and with relish over

something that in fact had no direct connection to you, no matter

how sickened it might make you feel.

What Mikey had done last night would result in a capture. Old

Billy was convinced. The victim should by rights have been taken

well away from the smoke and disposed of quietly and with the

minimum of fuss. Perhaps he was getting too old for all this. That

thought had occurred to him more than once of late.

As they all got out of the car they saw Alan watching them from

the window. Mikey was still covered in blood and gore and looked

eerie in the bright morning light. His men could not understand

why he had not showered and changed. He was fucking crazy to

drive about looking like he did. It was as if he had gone mad or

something.

But then, he had sniffed a huge amount of coke the night before.

They wondered if he had needed it to make him do what he felt

needed to be done. But it was still fucking mad. Like a nightmare.

One of the younger men had thrown up and that had made

Mikey laugh even more, though how anyone could have laughed at

what was going on was beyond any of the rest of them.

It seemed that Mikey’s good boy mode was a thing of the past

and he was back to being the violent psycho that had made him the

rich man he was. If that murderer bird had done anything, she had

at least calmed him down. Without her around it seemed he’d

reverted back to his old self. But who in their right mind would go

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to pick up three million pounds’ worth of cocaine with the blood of

their latest murder victim still on their hands?

Old Billy shook his head sadly as he contemplated what the

upshot of all this was going to be.

‘All right, Billy?’

“Course I am, Mikey. Are you?’

He laughed good-naturedly.

‘Better than I’ve ever been.’

As he said the words the whole place seemed to go mad. There

were men coming out of every nook and cranny and they were

armed and they were also Lily Law. As they all reached for their

weapons Mikey’s men knew they were already defeated. Two police

cars and a meat wagon now blocked the only exit and trained

marksmen covered their every move.

‘Bollocks!’

Old Billy’s voice was annoyed, but he dropped his weapon and

put his hands behind his head. The younger men followed suit. It

was a capture and a half and they all knew that Alan had been

behind it. As they were bundled towards a meat wagon Mikey

looked at his men and said calmly, ‘It’s a fair cop, guv’nor.’ And

started to laugh like a drain.

No one answered him; there really was nothing to say.

Then Mikey pulled a small gun from the waistband of his trousers

and spun quickly round to shoot at the first person he could get his

sights on.

He was shot down in a second. A high-velocity rifle bullet hit him

square in the chest. And as the birds sang and the flies buzzed

around he lay on the dirty ground and felt his life’s blood drain

from his body.

He was smiling still.

Old Billy knelt beside him and took his hand. Whatever he was,

he had always looked out for his old mate and Billy had been

grateful for that over the years. He had tears in his eyes as he saw his

friend die.

Then there was pandemonium once more. They were all rounded

up and searched properly, roughly treated by the masked men. All

the time Old Billy gave out to them, his voice getting on everyone’s

nerves as he insinuated that none of them had any fathers and that

their mothers were women of dubious sexual character.

Finally they were herded once more towards the meat wagon.

This time they were all subdued. Inside it was sweltering hot from

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being parked in the sun so long. As they stepped inside they knew

they were all going away for long sentences, at least twenty years

apiece.

They were gutted.

That a capture was always on the cards they were always aware of

on some level. When it did finally happen it was still a big shock,

though. Even living with the possibility every day of their lives they

still didn’t quite believe it would happen to them. It was like car

crashes and your house burning down - it happened to other

people, not you.

But it had to happen to someone and they realised it was their

turn as they were cuffed and read their rights.

One of the younger men, Willie Forrester, had just got married

and his wife was pregnant with their first child. He was only two

years out after completing an eight-year sentence for armed robbery.

Even in their own misery they all felt sorry for him. His new

wife was a foxy piece and had a wandering eye as well. His marriage

would be over by Christmas and he would have to face the next ten

years on his tod.

When they finally pulled away, Old Billy saw Alan sitting in the

doorway of the Portakabin with his head in his hands and shouted

out, ‘You are fucking dead, you filthy grassing bastard!’

Alan couldn’t hear him but it made the old man feel better

anyway. If it was the last thing he did on this earth he would pay

Jar vis back for this act of utter cuntishness. That would be his

mantra as he sat and rotted in jail.

‘He is dead. On my daughters’ heads that ponce will breathe his

last before I ever sleep easy again.’

Even the policeman in the meat wagon was amazed by the sheer

hatred in the old man’s voice. The men listening were all glad not

to be Alan Jarvis. This day’s work would bring down the wrath of

every villain in the country on his head. He was a marked man and

from now on would have to live with that. And with himself, of

course, there was that to be considered as well.

All Alan could do was stare at the body ofMikey Devlin and know

that he was responsible for what had happened. But would Mikey

have wanted to do the time he was guaranteed if they had brought

him to trial? He thought that maybe Mikey had done what he did so

he would be shot because he couldn’t face the long years inside.

Already Alan regretted his decision to grass. At the time it had

seemed like the answer - now he wasn’t so sure. He had just wanted

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out, that was all. And Mikey would never have allowed him to walk

away. Until he was finished with you, you danced to whatever tune

he requested.

DI Stanton came over to him.

‘Bad business this, Alan. The main protagonist dead - doesn’t

leave us with much, does it?’

He shrugged.

‘Who gives a fuck, really?’

And he went back to smoking his cigarette and watching the

police ponce around his yard, going over and over in his mind

exactly what he had let himself in for. He finally decided he must

have been stark staring mad. He had grassed everyone up and now

would have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his natural life.

Maisie was amazed by Patrick’s so-called workforce. Without him

they obviously could not arrange a prayer meeting in a convent. She

listened to them talking, all bragging about what they would do

when they found Pat, and how the person who had kidnapped him

was going to suffer. Only no one seemed to have the least

inclination to go out and look for their boss. It was true, she

thought as she looked at the assembled men. If you paid peanuts

you got monkeys.

‘His car is outside so what does that tell us?’

Her loud voice commanded everyone’s attention.

Chrissie Jordan, a young mixed-race lad with a handsome face

and a natty way of dressing, answered her.

‘That he must have been here at some point?’

‘Exactly. So someone took him off the street - I think it’s safe to

assume that much, don’t you?’

They all nodded as they listened to her. They knew Pat rated her

and would give her a level of respect because of that. Especially if he

was still alive somewhere, though secretly they all doubted that.

Like a rudderless ship they needed guidance and she seemed to be

the only one offering any at the moment.

‘Then we should also assume that he’s dead.’

No one answered and Maisie carried on talking.

‘And whoever killed him is now in possession of whatever he had,

aren’t they? Which includes us lot as well.’

‘She’s right.’ Chrissie’s voice was subdued.

‘So what do we do?’ This from Winston Halliday, a quarter-caste

from Whitechapel.

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They all automatically looked at Maisie and she noted this with

satisfaction.

‘We wait, of course. Leave everything to me and I’ll see what

occurs. I have to do a drop later, still have to pick up the money

from the girls. I’ll need a couple of you to come with me in case

we’re going to be had over. Business must be seen to carry on as

usual, agreed?’

They all nodded meekly and as she looked around the room at

these so-called hard men of Patrick’s she felt the urge to laugh. Men

were so easy to manipulate. But only if you knew the magic buttons

to press. Maisie had the edge here because she actually knew what

had happened to him.

She also knew that he was dead.

As she made them all more coffee and tea she contemplated how

much easier her life was going to be from now on, and sighed

happily, secure in the knowledge that unlike most people she had

got what she wanted and it felt good.

In a couple of weeks when the furore died down she would just

take over and no one would question her doing so because by then

they’d be used to her giving the orders. She would gradually assume

control of paying them each week and they would start to work for

her without even really thinking about it. They would soon forget

all about Patrick Connor. Already he was old news.

Maisie was a clever little bunny when the fancy took her.

Ossie had woken up on the sofa in the study, as Verbena insisted on

calling the small room at the back of the house. His neck was sore

and he was not in the best of moods when he walked out to the

kitchen.

Verbena was still sitting where he had left her the night before, at

the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. She wore the ravaged

expression of a hunted animal and it annoyed him more than ever.

He was damned if he was going to be the one to make things up

this time. It had become a pattern early on in their relationship that

he was the peacemaker. He was always the one who bought her

flowers or perfume and made the first move to get their relationship

back to the happy state it was in before they had rowed.

But not this time. He was determined to make her take responsibility

for her own actions and petty jealousy.

How could she be jealous ofMarie Carter? The woman had led a

terrible life even though she looked good on it, and he was the first

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to admit she looked a bit too good for the likes of Verbena. But that

had nothing to do with the basic fact that she was Jason’s natural

mother and he wanted her to be in his life.

The worst part of it was that Ossie knew if a fat ugly woman with

no dress sense and a grateful demeanour had turned up at the door,