Heartless (19 page)

Chapter Thirty

Jono cut through the long alleyway, his fists clenched at the thought of Trevor alone with Dolly. Dolly was a mouthy little trollop; Jono had no time for the girl. He couldn’t understand why Trevor stuck up for the little bitch.

He tried to banish the thoughts of the two people that he had left in the car, and what they were doing in his absence from his mind as he psyched himself up for his task. It was early in the morning and therefore still quiet, so he could see, as he drew nearer, that the man he was looking for was asleep in his usual spot. Despite being so het up, Jono was impressed that the man had survived another night on London’s bitter streets.

Timing was crucial to this mission. Jono tiptoed so as not to disturb the sleeping man, moving in closer so that he could get a better look at him. He spotted the half-empty bottle of whiskey that lay discarded on the ground next to him. Even in his obviously heavily intoxicated state after gulping down half the bottle, he had still padded out his clothing with sheets of screwed-up newspaper before drifting off. Dodge, he was known as, due to spending every waking minute avoiding those he owed money to. And that was pretty much everyone he came in contact with these days, seeing as he clearly didn’t have a pot to piss in anymore.

Staring down at him in the cardboard den that he had built, Jono was finding it hard to believe that this pitiable man had even worked for Trevor let alone been one of his busiest and most reputable dealers. He was in a sorry state now, unrecognisable from the man he had once been. His facial hair had grown unruly, making him look fifty rather than thirty.

Wrinkling his nose up at the strong stench of piss, Jono tried not to gag. The man’s demise was a waste but Jono couldn’t allow himself to feel any sympathy, his downfall had been all his own doing. Dodge had committed the ultimate fuck-up as a dealer by dabbling in his own goods. His addiction had quickly grown and it hadn’t taken him long to leave himself wide open to not only his punters and also his suppliers. The more stoned he became, the less enthusiastic people were about doing business with him and the slacker he got at collecting his money. Dodge had become desperate as word got out he was a junkie himself, no longer the threat he once had been, his clients stopped paying him. It wasn’t long before Dodge wasn’t able to score himself a fix, let alone pay his debts, and when he heard that Trevor Creevy had a price on his head he had been left with no choice but to go on the run. Everyone knew that Trevor was a nutcase, and the word lenient wasn’t in the man’s vocabulary. Now, living on the streets and begging for loose change to fund his new addiction to alcohol Dodge spent his days drinking whatever he could get his hands on before pissing it all away again.

Jono had been tipped off that Dodge was hiding away in this secluded patch of wasteland at the back of the industrial estate. The man must have stupidly thought that he would be safer out here.

Jono picked up the whiskey bottle that had been cast aside onto the grass next to the man’s plot, and inhaled the fumes. Cheap and nasty, but strong enough to leave Dodge sparko, Jono thought to himself as he carefully tipped the remnants of booze into the box; no wonder the man was comatose.

Dodge snored loudly. He was entombed under numerous layers of clothes and newspapers, so padded out that he looked like the Michelin Man. This was a real social outcast, Jono thought. No-one would care, or notice if he no longer roamed the neighbourhoods at night.

Jono took a few minutes to enjoy the man’s peaceful and oblivious expression. Then he pulled out a box of matches, leaving his knife in his pocket: this way, his hands didn’t need to get dirty.

This was his favourite part of his job. He loved the power that just one strike of a match gave him, whilst putting men like this at his mercy.

Watching the flame sparkle on the end of the match until it had burned right down to his fingers Jono finally tossed it into the box. Small flames flickered at first but they became bigger as they met the alcohol, as he had expected. Jono, a pyromaniac, stood mesmerised as the blaze engulfed the cardboard.

Dodge woke when the flames reached his clothes. Desperately trying to pat them out, he let out a panicked scream and rolled around in agony as the fire lapped up around him.

“Did you think that you were invisible, Dodge?” Jono tutted, “Did you think Trevor was just going to scrub out a thirty grand debt?”

The odour of burning flesh filled Jono’s nostrils; he moved further away, in case he was seen by anyone alerted by the smell.

Screaming for help as he realised Jono wasn’t going to let him live, Dodge howled in pain.

“Don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” Jono lit up a cigarette and enjoyed the show.

Chapter Thirty-One

Dolly felt emotionally and physically drained. The last bloke had been a nightmare. He had been so fat that Dolly was surprised he could even find his cock, let alone muster up the energy to use it. That heavy load pumping on top of her for fifteen minutes solid had been hard going. Still, she thought, as she walked to the car, her day must be almost over. She prayed that now Trevor had dragged her halfway round the houses he would let her go home and have a rest. It had been a long day.

“Money,” Trevor demanded, twisting around to face her from the passenger seat, holding out his hand for the cash that she had earned.

Dolly placed the notes in his hand, before sinking back against the cool leather of the back seat. Jono started the car. No one spoke.

“What’s up with you two?” she asked.

She could feel she had interrupted an argument: Trevor’s lips were pursed and Jono was glaring. She should be the one with the hump after what she had been through today. They had obviously just had a lover’s tiff, she thought to herself; they were always bickering like an old married couple. It was hilarious that Trevor thought that no-one knew about his relationship with Jono. She didn’t know why he was so insistent on hiding the fact that he swung both ways, most people in this day and age didn’t really care what sexual preference you had. If Trevor didn’t want to draw attention to his sexuality he was going about it the wrong way. The more he tried to hide it, the more he got people’s tongues wagging.

“Mind your own business,” Jono sneered and shot Trevor a dirty look.

Dolly guessed that Jono was annoyed about what Trevor had made her do to him that morning. Jono was the possessive type, and there was no way he would have been happy with Trevor’s idea of punishment. She wasn’t too pleased about it, either. She had been shocked when Trevor had told her to take her clothes off, but as always had done as she was told. She hadn’t slept with him since they had first met. Not once, in all the eight years, had he so much as looked at her as if he wanted a repeat performance. And he had seen her in all sorts of compromising positions.

Today, he had taken her roughly and quickly. Grabbing her from behind he had panted for a few minutes but Dolly could tell that he hadn’t been enjoying it. It was like he was forcing himself to touch her. It had only lasted a few minutes and she could tell by the way that Trevor hadn’t said a word to her about it afterwards, that he had probably found their encounter just as peculiar as she had.

Dolly thought it was amusing that the punishment Trevor thought he was dishing out to her had clearly backfired. She was almost certain that Trevor hadn’t reached an orgasm, let alone enjoyed the sex. He had obviously just been on a power trip and had had to be coked-up in order to do it too. She knew that he had only fucked her to put her in her place and remind her who was boss. But Dolly had a feeling that she hadn’t been the only one who had been taught a lesson. And as for Jono, she couldn’t help but feel smug if she had made him jealous. If they wanted to play their little game of make believe, who was she to call them on it?

Shrugging, she rested her head back against the seat, tempted to close her eyes. However, she knew that if she did fall asleep now she wouldn’t wake for hours.

“Where are we going?” Dolly recognised the familiar streets. Trevor’s house was around the corner, and Dolly imagined getting into a hot bath, putting some clean underwear on and getting into her own bed. She hadn’t been home for three weeks: it felt like an eternity.

Trevor being a complete and utter control freak, with a very acute dose of OCD thrown in for good measure, he would no doubt have kept the house spotless while she had been away. As homes went, this place was one of the nicest places she had lived. Her room was her very own sanctuary; somewhere she could go to get away from everyone.

“Jono’s dropping us home,” Trevor said, as he counted the pile of money that Dolly had earned him. “But he’s picking you up first thing tomorrow. He’s got one last bit of business to attend to in the morning and you’re going with him.”

Dolly nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was spend any time alone with Jono, especially in the mood he was in. She saw the way that he looked at her, making no attempt to disguise the fact that he hated her, and the feeling was mutual: Dolly couldn’t stand the man. Dolly had always considered Trevor was a force to be reckoned with, but since Jono had come on the scene Dolly had realised that in comparison Trevor was a pussy cat. Dolly would never let on that she was scared of him though. She did as she always did and hid her fear with humour and sarcasm. Trevor would never let Jono do anything to hurt her anyway.

Jono was Trevor’s wing man. He was his minder as well as his driver, and if Trevor needed any form of problem sorted Jono was only too happy to oblige. Dolly hated the rare times that she was alone with him. Trevor often instructed him to drop Dolly off with punters and to wait outside until she had finished; Jono would drive her in silence and when she came out she was usually met with a contemptuous stare.

The car stopped outside Trevor’s house. It didn’t look anything special outside, just an average two-bedroom house. The paintwork looked tired and the blinds were nearly always drawn, but that was where Trevor was smart. The outside was just a front. Inside was a different story. Trevor’s house was immaculate. Never shit on your own doorstep was a phrase he lived by. He paid every single bill up front, he kept himself to himself in regard to the neighbours, and he never had any punters back at his house.

“Right, we’ll see you nice and early. You make sure you sort him out good and proper, okay,” Trevor warned Jono, before getting out of the car.

Following behind Trevor as he made his way up the front path, Dolly wondered who they had been talking about. Whoever it was sounded like they were in deep shit. Dolly had witnessed first-hand how dangerous Jono could be on more than a few occasions over the years and if Trevor had sent him to sort someone out, then that is exactly what he would do. Dolly had seen how the man had ruthlessly inflicted pain on others. A couple of times Jono’s vicious temperament and willingness to do anything had actually saved her life, not that she liked to admit that very often. Jono had only ever done what he was paid to do; it wasn’t as if he had protected her as a personal favour. The worst incident, which was always in the back of her mind, was the night some nutter had locked her inside his flat. The punter had been a friend of one of her regulars, and Dolly had been happy to oblige when the man had offered her a ridiculous sum of money to sleep with him. Clearly, with no idea how the game worked, the man had been oblivious to the fact that Jono was sitting outside waiting for Dolly the entire time. Thinking back now Dolly felt that he must have been off his head on something with what he had in store for her: either that or he was a psycho. Dolly never got to find out which. The last thing that she remembered was the thudding pain on one side of her head as he punched her, knocking her off her feet. When she regained consciousness, she found herself tied to a chair in his kitchen. As she looked around the room for some way of escaping, her eyes rested on a brown leather bag open to display shiny and sharp implements inside. She had known instantly by the evil look on the man’s face as he stood over her that he intended to use his collection of tools on her to get his kicks. Dolly had tried to scream, but the man had covered her mouth with duct tape and her wrists were strapped so tightly to the arms of the chair that she was unable to get away. Trapped, she imagined dying in the flat without anyone realising. Then she remembered that Jono was outside. Looking up at a clock on the wall, she saw that she had already been here longer than she would normally spend with a punter. Forty-five minutes was the maximum time allowed and most of her punters barely needed half of that. Jono would have known that too: that was his job. Where the fuck was he?

She didn’t have to wait long. As if on cue, as she sat there with tears trickling down her face while she silently prayed for Jono to save her, he did. After a few unanswered knocks on the front door, he kicked it in. Jono had then grabbed the man by his throat and swung him forwards before proceeding to beat the man’s head repeatedly off the exposed brick wall until all that remained of his face was a bloody pulp of flesh. He then untied Dolly, and she had grabbed her clothes and fled to the car. Jono had remained in the flat for another ten minutes, and Dolly had been too scared to ask him what he had done to the man when he finally returned covered in blood. The smoke that she saw billowing from the building as they drove off gave her a good indication that she wouldn’t be seeing that man again. Jono had never mentioned the attack since; neither had Dolly. She felt a shiver down her spine at the thought of what would have happened if he hadn’t been there.

But Dolly remembered feeling something apart from gratitude. She had recognised the look in Jono’s eyes: it mirrored what she had seen in the nutter’s. Jono had scared the life out of her since then.

Trying not to think about him, she waited while Trevor opened the front door to the house. “Here we go, Dolly darling; welcome home.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Do you fancy some scrambled eggs and bacon, love?” Bernie asked, as she poured out a mug of coffee.

Her son looked tired, sitting at the dining table in his jogging bottoms and vest as he listened to the radio as if in a trance. She hoped there was nothing wrong that a large coffee and one of her nice big cooked breakfasts couldn’t sort out.

Jonathan had been working harder than ever lately, and although Bernie was proud of how well her son was doing at the company he worked for – he always had money in his pocket and his car was top of the range – she thought that he was doing too much. He seemed constantly tired.

“Nasty business that, isn’t it?” Bernie nodded at the radio, as the news reporter talked about the badly burnt body of, they thought, a local homeless man. “Jesus Christ, as if that poor bugger wasn’t already down on his luck. What sort of sick individual would do such a thing?”

Bernie shook her head. Thanking her lucky stars that her world felt like a million miles away from such sickening acts, she switched off the radio. Every single day, the news was plagued by acts of violence and negativity and listening to the horrendous stories each morning was enough to leave her feeling depressed.

“Hey, I was listening to that,” Jonathan protested.

“You don’t want that sort of thing on when little Rosie comes down,” Bernie said softly. “Poor girl doesn’t want to hear something like that. So, you didn’t answer my question: do you want something to eat?”

“No, but I’ll have another coffee,” Jonathan said, as he took a large gulp.

Stanley came into the dining room and sat at the table. Bernie glared at her husband, but Stanley ignored her. She knew what he was going to say. He looked like he couldn’t wait to break the news about Sophia’s visit to Jonathan.

“We need to talk, Jonathan,” Stanley said, in a matter-of-fact tone, as his son stared at him over the rim of his mug, bracing himself for another of his father’s rants about something Rosie had said or done that his old man didn’t approve of. He always had to moan about something, and Jonathan was getting bored of the sound of his pathetic voice. “Sophia came to the house last night. She saw Rosie.”

“Stanley!” Bernie reprimanded her husband, as Jonathan choked on a mouthful of his drink. Tact wasn’t her husband’s strong point and Bernie was hoping that she would have been able to gently break the news to Jonathan before Stanley had got up.

“You what? She’s out? What do you mean she came here?” Jonathan demanded. “What the hell were you doing letting that cunt come into this house to see Rosie?”

Jonathan rose to his feet, seething. What the hell did they think they were playing at? “That fucking bitch can’t just turn up here without warning. She lost her rights when she gave Rosie away like she was a broken fucking toy.”

Jonathan was so angry that he felt breathless. Sophia giving up their baby had been the ultimate insult, as far as he was concerned. For her to hate him so much that she treated their baby like she was nothing was unforgiveable. And if that bitch thought that she was going to swan back in here and see Rosie, she had another think coming.

“Calm down, love,” Bernie said. Even though it hadn’t been the way she would have broken the news to him, at least Rosie was upstairs out of the way; they may as well have this conversation with Jonathan now while she was out of earshot. Last night had been distressing enough for the girl having her mother turn up out of the blue. Bernie had spent at least an hour stroking the poor mite’s head as she soothed her off to sleep. The last thing Rosie needed right now was to hear her father going off on one and shouting obscenities. “We didn’t let her do anything, Jonathan, I promise. She just turned up. We told her that she wasn’t welcome here and to sling her hook. Rosie heard the commotion and came down to see what was going on. She knew who Sophia was straight away.”

“She is the image of her,” Stanley added, “and whatever you feel about her, Jonathan, she has got rights.”

Stanley liked the fact that Jonathan appeared rattled; for once, he was showing some emotion. Normally nothing fazed him: clearly Sophia’s release had.

“She hasn’t got any fucking rights. She’s a murderer. Is that what you want, is it? Give Rosie to some fucking psycho for weekly outings? Maybe she will be the one who ends up with a knife sticking out of her chest next, huh?” Jonathan banged his fists on the table. He could tell by the look on his dad’s face that he was enjoying every moment of this. Well, no-one was getting their hands on his Rosie. She belonged to him, and there was no way Sophia was going to worm her way in and start playing mummy now after all these years. “Bet you’d be over the fucking moon, wouldn’t you, Dad, if I just palmed your grandchild off on to her? You’ve never had any time for her, have you? You haven’t for me, either.”

“Do you know what, Jonathan, you are absolutely right,” Stanley shouted back. Jonathan didn’t care how anyone else felt, and Stanley would put money on the fact that the only reason he was playing the ‘poor me’ card now was to get sympathy from Bernie. Stanley, as always, could see right through him. He had had enough of his son’s games. “I can’t stand the bloody sight of you. You’ve always been a horrible little shit. Even when you were a small boy you knew exactly how to manipulate everyone around you with your nasty bullying ways. Your mother is blinded by your bullshit, but I’m not.”

Stanley felt liberated as he said everything that he had been thinking for so long. He continued, “And to top it all off, you drove my Tommy away with all your deceit. Sleeping with his girlfriend and then rubbing his nose in it when you found out that she was pregnant… I spoke to Sophia. She told me what you did to her. I’d bet my life on the fact that you filled Tommy’s head with bullshit too. Could you not stand to see your brother happy?”

“What are you talking about?” Bernie demanded.

“Sophia told me that you tricked her, Jonathan. She thought you were Tommy that night at the party. You broke your brother’s heart.”

“She’s lying,” Jonathan said.

“I don’t believe you. You tricked that poor girl; you got her pregnant and you drove Tommy away. I’d swap a million of you for just one of our Tommy, do you know that? He’s a good boy, a decent boy. And I’ll tell you something else, Rosie’s just like you: I can see it in her eyes.”

Jonathan’s hands gripped Stanley’s throat. He slammed his dad into the wall, knocking one of Bernie’s framed photos onto the floor with a crash as he did so. Stanley reacted instantly, grabbing Jonathan, pushing him with all of his might so that he would release his grip.

“Stop it, please. Think about Rosie,” Bernie implored, aware that at any moment the child could walk in and witness her father and grandad literally at each other’s throats.

The two men stared at each other as they gripped each other’s bodies, their faces so close that they could feel each other’s breath as they panted. Jonathan was the first to let go. Then Stanley did the same. Rubbing his throat, he watched Jonathan pacing the room.

Bernie slumped down on her chair and held her head in her hands. Her husband and son’s feud had been a long-drawn-out battle over the years, and she had felt like she was forever in the middle of them. But it had gone way too far this time.

“Please, this has got to stop, both of you,” Bernie begged, then began to cry.

“Yeah, you’re right, Mum, it does. And if that’s the way he feels, then me and Rosie will be moving out. We ain’t staying where we’re not wanted,” Jonathan said quietly. His blood boiled in anger as his dislike for his father grew even greater than normal.

“No, darling, you can’t leave,” Bernie pleaded, just as he had known that she would. His mother would be heartbroken if they left, and she would make his dad’s life hell: that seemed the perfect solution for the miserable old fucker.

“Tell that to him. He’s as good as admitted that he hates our little Rosie,” Jonathan sneered. “What sort of a man says shit like that about their own granddaughter?”

Jonathan shook his head in disgust. He was sowing enough seeds in his mother’s mind to make her crucify his old man.

“Your dad doesn’t mean it; do you, Stanley?” Bernie pleaded with her husband. She couldn’t let Jonathan and Rosie leave: not like this. “Tell him you don’t mean it, Stanley.”

Stanley stared at his wife. Her tear-filled eyes were wide open, desperate and beseeching. “No. I can’t tell him that because I did mean it: I meant every damn word. Your son is sick in the head, Bernie. We should have taken him to a shrink when we found those videos of him torturing those animals. But no, you made up excuses for him, just like you’ve done ever since. And now look… look where denial’s got you. You’re breeding another one upstairs.”

Stanley was shaking. “How can you stand by him and pretend that he didn’t drive Tommy away? I believe Sophia.”

“Stanley, you can’t really believe that girl over your own son. She’s nothing but a brazen little hussy. Jonathan’s told us she’s lying,” Bernie shouted.

“Oh, I know what Jonathan told us.” Stanley glared at his son, who smiled at him. “Well, I don’t believe him. Do you know why? Because he could never stand that his brother was everything that he would never be. Go on, admit it, Jonathan. You were jealous that your brother and Sophia were together, weren’t you? You always wanted what other people had. And if you couldn’t have it, you went out of your way to destroy it. Is that what happened, Jonathan? You were jealous that your brother wasn’t a bloody crackpot like you are?”

Stanley realised by his son’s facial expression that he had hit the nail on the head. “What, were you frightened that if Tommy had a girlfriend he would leave you behind? It wasn’t like you had any friends of your own, did you?”

“Shut up,” Jonathan shouted. How dare his father speak to him like this?

“Your mother thinks the sun shines out of your arse, boy. Proud as punch you are, aren’t you, Bernie, that Jonathan has such a great job? What is it again, Jonathan? This high-flying job of yours?”

“I said shut up.” Jonathan was seething. Whatever his current thoughts, his father had no idea what he was capable of. If he kept pushing him he would find out.

“No, I won’t shut up. I’m done with pretending. And you, Bernie; your obsession with keeping up appearances for your ignorant bloody friends’ benefits is a joke. That boy there is nothing but a thug. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He works for some lowlife scumbag who rents out girls as whores. Isn’t that right, Jonathan?” Stanley had made it his mission to find out what Jonathan did on the nights he had told them he was at work in an office. “I followed you Jonathan. Working in an office, my arse! Some of those girls you and that other thug were dragging around London and pimping out looked like school kids. You have a daughter yourself, how the fuck could you, Jonathan?”

Bernie shook her head. “Stanley, why are you saying this?”

Jonathan was high up in his company; he had a nice car, he earned a good wage. He had nothing to do with prostitutes.

Stanley looked at Jonathan, who stood there snarling like a dog. Then he looked at his wife as she stood there frowning at him like he was crazy. “Go on, Jonathan, admit it. Tell your mother how you make your money. How the local hookers fund Rosie’s dresses and toys.”

“Fuck you,” Jonathan said.

“You can’t deny it, can you?” Stanley got up. “As for moving out, good idea. I want you gone today.”