Payback (2 page)

‘It ain’t funny, Vin. Giving me the heebies, this place is. Let’s set fire to the van and get out of here.’

Vinny glanced at Michael, a manic glint in his eyes. ‘Not until I’ve finished chopping the thieving cunt’s hands off. He needs to be taught a lesson, taking other people’s possessions.’

‘But he’s already dead by the looks of it. He isn’t going to know whether you chop his other hand off, is he? I tell you what, give me the poxy axe and I’ll do the honours. You sort out the fire – and whatever you do, don’t leave anything lying about.’

Unlike his brother, Michael had never murdered anyone and the bile rose in his throat as he heard a whimper come out of Trevor’s mouth then saw his eyes flicker open. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he mumbled, dropping the axe in horror. He then took a deep breath, reluctantly picked the axe back up and started to chop at the man’s left wrist. Vinny would never let him live it down otherwise.

Flesh and bone was harder to chop through than Michael had thought possible. But by the time Vinny had tidied up after them and doused the van in petrol, both hands had been severed and Trevor looked as dead as a dodo.

‘Put them teeth on the front seat, Michael, then clean yourself up and get changed. Just chuck everything in the back of the van,’ Vinny ordered.

As strong as an ox, Vinny lifted Trevor’s body into the back of the van by himself. He then chucked the hands and tools in, before joining his brother in getting cleaned up. They had come well prepared; the Datsun’s boot held soap, water, towels and a change of clothes.

‘Trevor’s still alive, you know. Amazing how people die from slitting their wrists, yet you can chop their hands off and they don’t die immediately,’ Vinny said.

‘Well, he won’t be alive for much longer. I’m gonna throw all this clobber in the back. Where’s your gloves? Check all round, bruv, make sure we haven’t left anything lying about.’

For the first time in his life, Vinny Butler wondered whether Michael might actually be in the same league as him. He’d always been closer to Roy, who’d been a great sibling and sound business partner, but had never really possessed that killer instinct – until it came to putting a bullet in his own brain. Today, however, Michael had surprised and impressed Vinny immensely.

Before Vinny lit the kingsize match, he gave a little sermon. ‘Bye bye, Trevor. I hope the slag was worth it. May your soul rot in hell, you pilfering worthless wanker.’

The explosion was clearly audible as Michael drove at top speed down the narrow lane. He glanced at his brother in the passenger seat. ‘What you gonna do with the teeth?’

Vinny grinned. ‘Flick them out the window along the A13. One by one, of course. Be a bit like when we used to flick pebbles at people as kids.’

It was twenty minutes before closing time when Vinny and Michael casually walked into the Blind Beggar. Both men were suited and booted and reeked of expensive aftershave as always.

‘Vinny, Michael, let me get you both a drink. Me and the missus were so upset to hear about your Roy and Lenny. Great lads, the pair of them, and they will be sorely missed,’ Big Stan said in a sombre tone.

Vinny and Michael rarely ventured into the Blind Beggar. As they had hoped, the pub was fairly busy and already they were the centre of attention with all eyes on their grand entrance. ‘I’ll get the drinks, Stan. Ask around and see who else wants one,’ Vinny said.

‘Who shall I ask?’

‘Everybody. Just tell ’em I’m buying.’

When Stan toddled off to obey orders, more well-wishers came over to speak to Vinny and Michael, including the landlord. ‘Afters isn’t a problem, lads. You just say the word if you fancy a late drink.’

‘Actually, that is very much appreciated. Been stuck in that club all day, me and Michael have, and after everything that’s happened, we’re currently sick of the sight of the place.’

It was a good ten minutes or so before Big Stan wandered back to inform Vinny that the round had come to eighty-seven quid. ‘It would have been cheaper, but Bobby Jackson ordered a pint for himself and his pal, plus a large chaser each,’ Stan added.

Seeing his brother’s eyes glint dangerously as he turned to see where Jackson was, Michael grabbed hold of him. ‘Not tonight, Vin. We’ve had enough drama for one day,’ he whispered.

‘Big Stan should never have asked him. It’s common knowledge that I hate the cunt.’

‘But you did say ask everyone, so you can’t blame Stan. It’s only a poxy drink.’

‘I’d like to go over there and ram that glass straight down the back of his throat,’ Vinny hissed.

‘I’m sure you’ll have other opportunities to do that. For the time being, let’s just forget about Jackson and chat nicely to the locals. That was the whole point of us coming in here, yeah? We need to act normal, you said. Well, that does not include ramming glasses down the customers’ throats, does it?’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Vinny replied. He then settled back to watch his brother charm the locals as though he did not have a care in the world.

After leaving East Hanningfield, they had dumped the Datsun not too far from Hackney Marshes, set fire to it, then jogged through Victoria Park in the second set of hooded tracksuits and trainers they had worn that day.

Nobody had seen them sneak into the back entrance of the club, and there was no way they could have been recognized while running through the park. They both had their hoods up the whole time and it was pitch-dark.

Sick of people rambling on about the funerals, Vinny led Michael over to a table. ‘I just want you to know that I really appreciate what you did for me today and I won’t forget it. You’ve got a cool head on you, bruv. We are definitely cut from the same cloth.’

Michael shook his head. ‘I’m not like you, Vin, and I never will be. You thoroughly enjoyed yourself today – I didn’t. If you want the truth, I hated every second of it.’

‘So why did you agree to help me then?’

‘Because you’re my brother, and with Ahmed in hospital, you had nobody else to ask. Nobody you could trust, at any rate. As Mum always drummed into us, once a Butler always a Butler.’

CHAPTER ONE

Autumn 1976

Queenie Butler opened her front door and cursed the latest downpour. The hottest summer on record was now just a distant memory, but the weather was the least of Queenie’s problems.

‘Don’t put that up in here. You always said it was unlucky to put a brolly up indoors,’ Brenda reminded her mother.

Glaring at her daughter, Queenie ignored her wishes. ‘As if we could be any more bastard well unlucky, Bren. Our family has had the heart ripped out of it already, so excuse me for not being overly superstitious these days.’

‘Where you going?’

‘To check on Vivvy again, and while I’m gone I want you to have a bath, young lady. You ain’t seen soap or water for three days, you dirty little mare. I expect Roy and Lenny’s send-off to be perfect tomorrow – which includes you making an effort to smarten yourself up.’

Umbrella in hand, Queenie made the short journey to her sister’s house next-door-but-one. She let herself in with her own key. ‘Cooey. Where are you, Viv?’ Queenie fully expected her sister to be sitting in the lounge staring aimlessly out of the window as she had been for the past few days since hearing about the car crash that had killed her only son.

‘I’m up here.’

Queenie hurried up the stairs and found Vivian in Lenny’s room, sorting through his things. ‘What you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m clearing Lenny’s room out. The dustmen come in the morning.’

Shaking her head in disbelief, Queenie sat down on the edge of Lenny’s bed. Her nephew’s nickname had been Champ and how very apt that had been. Starved of oxygen at birth, Lenny had overcome his disabilities and grown into a fine young man. His mental age might have been less than his years, but that hadn’t stopped Lenny being loved by everybody. He really had been a special lad. ‘Viv, please don’t chuck his stuff away, love. You’re not thinking rationally at the moment and I know you’re going to regret what you’re doing. Why don’t we go downstairs and have a nice cup of tea, eh?’

Ignoring her sister’s suggestion, Vivian yanked open a drawer and angrily tipped the contents onto the floor. Mumbling obscenities, she then began to put her son’s belongings into a dustbin liner.

Queenie’s eyes welled up. ‘Viv, I really need you to snap out of this silly behaviour. I’ve lost a son too, remember.’ Queenie had given birth to four children, and her middle son, Roy, was being laid to rest tomorrow after taking his own life. Wheelchair-bound since 1971 after a shooting outside the nightclub he owned, he’d suffered a miserable existence the last five years, finally ending it all by blasting himself in the head with a gun.

‘But you’ve got three other kids, and your grandchildren. Hardly the fucking same, is it?’ Vivian spat.

Queenie bowed her weary head. At forty-nine, she was three years older than Vivian. Both women were thin, had deep facial wrinkles due to their love of cigarettes and the sun, and with their dyed blonde hair and similar features, were often mistaken for twins rather than sisters. This past week, however, Queenie had felt as though she did not know her sister at all. Grief did strange things to people and Vivian was acting stranger than most.

‘How can you say such a thing, Vivvy? No matter how many kids or grandchildren I have, nothing takes the pain away of losing my Roy. I’m equally upset about Lenny, he was like a son to me too, but I watched my Roy suffer for years. At least your Lenny led a happy life.’

Her face contorted with anger, Vivian stood up and flew at her sister. ‘Get out! Go on, get out of my house.’

Being pushed and prodded was not something Queenie would usually allow, but she knew her sister didn’t mean it. It was the grief that was making her doolally. ‘Please let’s not argue. The funerals are tomorrow and our boys deserve the best send-off ever. If they’re looking down at me and you fighting, they’ll be devastated.’

‘Looking down! Looking fucking down! Don’t make me laugh, Queen. There is no bastard heaven. If God existed, why would he have taken my Lenny away from me, eh? It’s all a load of old bollocks.’

Desperate to give his brother and cousin the best send-off the East End had ever seen, Vinny Butler had spent the day preparing for the wake. The nightclub he part-owned with Michael had now been transformed into a shrine for their dearly departed.

Satisfied that his mum and aunt would approve of his handiwork, Vinny poured himself a drink and flopped onto one of the leather sofas. It had been three days since he and Michael had disposed of Trevor Thomas and there had not been any mention of a body being found or Trevor’s disappearance in the news.

Vinny grinned as his brother appeared. After the car accident that had killed Lenny, relations had been strained between himself and Michael, but thankfully carrying out their plan to kill Trevor seemed to have papered over those cracks. ‘You’re looking particularly dapper today, bruv. That another new suit?’

‘Yep. No flies on you, is there? This is the latest Savile Row addition to my ever-expanding wardrobe.’

Michael was five years Vinny’s junior. Both brothers had inherited their father’s jet-black hair, piercing green eyes and tall build. But they did not particularly look alike. Michael had a round face with a cheeky smile, whereas Vinny’s features were thinner and more chiselled, his lips usually twisted in a sinister smirk. They wore their hair in different styles as well. Michael used far less brylcreem and had what his mum referred to as a ‘short back and sides’. With their dark skin tone, both Vinny and Michael were often assumed to be of Italian or Irish descent, but as far as they knew, their ancestors had all been cockneys.

‘Well? Notice anything different?’ Vinny chuckled, indicating the numerous photos of Roy and Lenny that he’d had blown up to poster-size and displayed on the walls.

‘I don’t know, Vin. It’s a bit much, perhaps? Do Mum and Auntie Viv know you’ve done all this?’

‘No. I wanted it to be a surprise. Why shouldn’t we have photos of Roy and Champ on show? It is their special day. The one in the middle – I’m gonna keep that up after the funeral too.’

Michael stared at the photo Vinny was pointing at. It showed the three Butler brothers, and it was the last photo taken before Roy had got shot. They all had dark suits on and were smiling broadly, their arms draped around one another’s shoulders. It was a lovely photo, but it made Michael feel very sad. Feeling slightly lost for words, he was relieved when the phone started ringing, giving him an excuse to turn away. ‘I’ll get that,’ he said.

‘What’s up?’ Vinny asked, seconds later. He could tell by Michael’s face that something was wrong.

‘That was Ahmed. He’s out of hospital and wants to see you. He said to meet him at three at his house.’

Vinny felt the colour drain from his cheeks. This was the first time he had heard from Ahmed since the fateful night of the crash. The state Ahmed was in, Vinny thought he’d be burying his best mate as well as his cousin. ‘What exactly did he say?’

‘Not much. I got the distinct impression he didn’t really want to talk over the phone. I did tell him you were here, but he just said to meet him at three. What’re you gonna say to him, Vin? I hope he isn’t going to cause us grief. I’ve got Nancy and the boys to think of.’

‘I know far too much about Ahmed for him to cause us any grief, Michael. Anyway, he’s a mate and I’m sure once I explain things properly, he’ll understand why I did what I did,’ Vinny replied, sounding far more confident about the awkward situation than he actually felt.

Michael was worried. He was currently trying to win his wife back and another drama just might tip her over the edge. ‘But say he don’t understand, Vin?’

‘Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

Mary Walker brushed her husband’s lapels and gave him one final warning. Donald could be irritatingly cantankerous at times and, for Nancy’s sake, Mary was determined that today must go smoothly.

‘I have already promised you that I will be polite to the children, dear. But please do not expect me to welcome their criminal of a father into our home as well, because I just wasn’t raised that way.