The Reckoning (Carter Brothers), page 8
‘Then what about the other blokes on the door?’ asked Mitchell, one of the middle Carter brothers. ‘What about the bar staff, what about the fucking cleaners? One of them could have planted the shooter.’
As he traced his thumb down the six-inch scar that ran the length of his face, Moray sighed. He had to admit the same theories had run through his mind. What if it was one of their employees responsible, someone they trusted?
‘Mitch is right,’ said his twin brother Sonny. ‘How certain are you that everyone was searched?’
‘We have Callum’s word,’ Danny said, ‘and he swears blind everyone who walked through those doors was searched.’
‘Well, that can’t be right.’ Jonny screwed up his face. ‘Weren’t your boys both there, they wouldn’t have been searched, would they, and what about their pals, were they searched?’
Standing up straighter, Danny stabbed his forefinger forward, and there was an edge to his voice that was enough to warn Jonny to back off. ‘I can tell you now, my boy would never do something like that, me and him are like this,’ he said, crossing two fingers to emphasise his point.
All eyes turned to look at Moray.
As he rubbed at his temples, Moray shifted his weight from one foot to the other and inwardly groaned. Only one name resounded inside his head and that was the name of his eldest son, Aaron. It was no secret that they had had their problems in the past, in fact still did, and if he was being entirely honest with himself, they always would, but his son wouldn’t go that far, would he? He wouldn’t have attempted to kill him? ‘No,’ he finally answered, ‘my boys have no reason to want me dead.’ Even to his own ears, his little speech sounded flat, almost as though he was admitting it was plausible that one of his sons could have been behind the shooting.
As he leant back in his chair, Jimmy scratched at his chin. ‘It’s a fucking mystery, then, but for what it’s worth, I think Jonny is the closest to the mark. Either the gun was smuggled in beforehand by a member of staff, or,’ he said, stringing out the word, ‘it was brought in by someone you both trust.’
As he looked down at the floor, Danny was deep in thought. Jimmy was right, there was only one way the gun could have been smuggled into the club, and that was by someone they not only knew but also trusted. The burning question was: who?
8
As he waited in line to be served at a local takeaway, Skinny’s mouth was salivating. It had been hours since he’d last eaten and his stomach was protesting loudly about the lack of food that had passed his lips.
After receiving his order, he slammed the exact change down on the counter and, eager to get stuck in, delved his hand into the cardboard box containing the piping hot food before he’d even stepped out of the shop.
Walking through the dark streets in the direction of his home on Harts Lane estate in Barking, he stuffed the fries into his mouth, savouring the taste of the grease and salt. He was about to start on a southern fried chicken leg when he heard the screech of tyres as a car slammed on its brakes.
He turned his head, peered through the windscreen of the black Audi that had skidded to a halt beside him, and instantly groaned. Joey Mann and Carlos Christos. Brilliant, this was all he needed.
With the chicken leg held aloft in his hand, he looked casually around him. ‘All right, fellas,’ he asked, resisting the urge to squirm under their hard stares.
‘Funnily enough, we ain’t all right.’ As he climbed out of the car, Joey’s expression was one of contempt. ‘And I’ll give you two guesses why not,’ he growled.
Skinny swallowed deeply and, taking a second glance around him, weighed up his options. It would take him at least another ten minutes to walk to his flat, maybe five if he ran. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered, careful to keep the tremor from his voice.
‘Well, in that case, let me enlighten you.’ As he stepped up on to the pavement, Joey swung out his fist.
There and then, Skinny made the decision to make a run for it and, ducking out of the way of the punch, he threw the chicken leg and takeaway box up into the air and sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him in the direction of the estate.
As he ran, Skinny’s heart was pounding so hard and fast that he could barely breathe and, as ice-cold fear edged its way down the length of his spine, he let out a terrified shriek. Behind him, he could hear Mann and Christos’s heavy boots pounding the pavement. Considering they were lumps, they were fast, much faster than he’d given them credit for.
Up ahead of him was a bricked alleyway that led to the heart of the estate. From there he could easily lose them in the vast network of walkways that centred around the tower blocks. In his mind, Skinny calculated if he had enough time to propel himself up and over the seven-foot brick wall before they were upon him and decided he had to try – it could well be his only means of escape. Entering the alley, he launched himself forward, his scuffed trainers scrambling against the brickwork to get a grip.
He’d almost made it over the top of the wall when a hard tug on his shirt left him dangling in the air. Twisting his body this way and that in a bid to free himself, the small of Skinny’s back grazed against the rough brickwork. ‘Fuck off,’ he screamed.
‘You bastard.’ From the other side of the wall, Joey roared, ‘I’m gonna fucking have you, you skinny little runt.’
Fear pushed Skinny on and, kicking his feet against the bricks, he used every ounce of his strength to tear the shirt from Joey’s grasp. Moments later, there was a loud rip and he tumbled heavily to the ground, the impact as he landed on the hard concrete making him wince. ‘Fuck you, Mann,’ he muttered to himself. Getting to his feet, a searing pain exploded through his foot and ankle. ‘Fuck,’ he cried, lifting his damaged foot off the floor and hopping several paces away from the wall.
Taking a deep breath, he cautiously took a step forward. The pain that tore through him was so intense it was enough to bring tears to his eyes and, screwing up his face, he looked over his shoulder. Mann and Christos might have been able to move fast but there was no way they were going to haul their hulking bodies over the wall without some difficulty. He gritted his teeth and, trying his best to ignore the agony, he began to hobble towards the road. He had to keep moving and, more importantly, he had to get away from the two men. They might not have known the estate as well as he did, but it wouldn’t take them long to find him if he didn’t make his getaway.
There was only one thing for it, he decided, only one place that he could go where he would be relatively safe, and that was Aaron’s house. Pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket, he took one final glance behind him, checked that the coast was clear, then dialled for a taxi.
Walking across the scrapyard forecourt, with only the moonlight illuminating their path, Danny and Moray were quiet, both men contemplating the night’s events.
Clearing his throat, Danny motioned towards the Portakabin. ‘What do you reckon?’ he asked.
Moray shrugged and, pulling out his car keys, he twirled the keyring around his index finger.
‘I think they’ve got a point,’ Danny continued, ‘whoever did this is someone we know, someone we trust.’
Screwing up his face, Moray shook his head. ‘That’s bollocks,’ he answered, ‘anyone could have smuggled that shooter in, and you know it. It’s not like we haven’t done it ourselves in the past, is it. Come on,’ he said, spreading open his arms, ‘how many times did we sneak into a club tooled up back in the day. You know yourself it’s easy to do; distract the door staff and, before you know it, you’re in.’
‘Nah.’ Snaking his tongue across his teeth, Danny shook his head. ‘You heard what Callum said, he swears blind everyone was searched, and we both know that he runs a tight ship when it comes to the doors. There’s no way the culprit would still have their kneecaps intact if Cal had had even the tiniest of inklings that he was carrying a weapon, it just wouldn’t happen, Moray, and you know it.’
‘What are you trying to get at?’ Pulling himself up to his full height, Moray’s back was instantly up, and he pushed away the sense of unease that had been plaguing him ever since his eldest son’s name had popped into his mind. ‘Well, come on,’ he said, ‘spit it fucking out.’
Holding up his hands, Danny took a step away. ‘All I’m saying is, whoever this was, they weren’t searched and the only reason they wouldn’t have been searched is if they were known to you or me personally.’
‘And?’ Moray growled. ‘What’s your point?’
‘All right.’ Danny nodded his head, his expression hard. ‘I’ll tell you what I think, this was something to do with Aaron, and I think the exact same thing crossed your mind back there,’ he said, jerking his thumb behind him. ‘I saw your reaction, I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re feeling trouble, and I saw it in your eyes; you think Aaron could have been behind the shooting.’
‘I’m not listening to this.’ Turning away, Moray unlocked his car. ‘You’re out of order,’ he said, stabbing his finger in Danny’s direction, ‘bang out of fucking order.’
‘I don’t like this any more than you do,’ Danny answered through gritted teeth, ‘but even you have to admit he looked shifty at the meeting.’
‘Shifty,’ Moray exclaimed with a hard laugh, ‘he always looks fucking shifty, that doesn’t make him guilty of trying to top me, does it?’ He made to turn away then paused and spun back around. ‘Do yourself a favour, if you wanna point fingers, then point them at your own boy. From my understanding, he wasn’t searched either, was he, and you never know,’ he said, giving a nonchalant shrug, ‘just maybe you and him ain’t as tight as you think you are.’
For a long moment, the two men stared at one another, the animosity between them growing in intensity with every passing second.
‘This is personal,’ Danny growled, breaking the silence. ‘Lexi almost died, and I can tell you now I’m not going to let this drop. I’m gunning for this bastard, and believe me, I will have him, and you better than anyone else should know that to be a fact.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Slamming his car door closed, Moray bounded forward, the bulging muscles across his shoulders and biceps tense. They had never come to blows before, they’d never had a reason to, had always had too much respect for one another, but like everything else in life, there was always a first time. ‘Because, from where I’m standing, that’s exactly what this sounds like.’
‘Nah, it’s no threat,’ Danny said, taking a step closer so that their noses were within touching distance, ‘it’s a fucking promise, mate.’
Not taking his eyes away from his friend, Moray kissed his teeth and stepped away. ‘Yeah, well,’ he said as he walked back to his car, ‘you’re barking up the wrong tree, pal; Aaron had fuck all to do with this.’
It was only after he’d climbed into the car, started the ignition, and then sped out of the scrapyard that Moray dragged a hand across his clammy forehead. Danny on the warpath didn’t bode well for Aaron and, as much as his boy was a major pain in his arse, he was still his son. There and then, he decided to pay Aaron a visit, and as he drove towards Dagenham, he could only hope and pray that the sickening feeling of dread that was lodged deep inside his chest was somehow wrong.
As he threw open his front door, Aaron took one look at Skinny and narrowed his eyes. ‘What the fuck happened?’
‘Mann and Christos,’ Skinny answered through gritted teeth as he hobbled over the threshold. ‘They tried to do me over.’ He leant his weight against the back of the sofa and breathed heavily through flared nostrils, hoping that the throbbing pain in his ankle would subside. ‘I’ve busted my poxy ankle, trying to get away from them.’
Aaron stepped outside the flat, scanned the street in both directions, then turned back to look at his friend. ‘Did they follow you?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Skinny answered, manoeuvring himself around the sofa and flopping heavily down. ‘What do you reckon,’ he groaned, prising off his trainer and pulling up his trouser leg to reveal the damage, ‘does it look broken to you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Aaron shrugged. Skinny’s ankle and foot was a mass of purple and black bruises and had swelled to at least three times its normal size. ‘Maybe,’ he said with a grimace, ‘it doesn’t look good, I know that much.’
‘The bastards.’ Leaning forward, Skinny pulled up his shirt and reached behind him to gingerly run his fingers along the small of his back. The raw skin that been scraped against the brickwork was sticky to his touch and stung like a bitch. ‘They could have killed me,’ he said, looking up. ‘They mean business, mate, they ain’t playing games; they’re gunning for us and all because of that fucking deal you made with them. I told you, didn’t I,’ he spat, ‘not to get involved with them, that I didn’t trust them. Right from the off, I said there was something weird about all of this.’
Aaron nodded and, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, he turned back to look at the front door. Paranoia was beginning to set in; what if Skinny had been followed, what if Mann and Christos knew where he lived, what if they turned up on the doorstep?’ ‘Have you still got the gun?’ he asked.
‘Of course I haven’t,’ Skinny answered, his eyes widening, ‘what do you take me for? I did what you asked, I threw it in the Thames, I couldn’t wait to get fucking rid of it.’
‘Bollocks,’ Aaron muttered. Thinking the situation through, he moved across the lounge and switched off the light, then went systematically through the flat, doing the same in every room.
‘We can’t sit in the dark,’ Skinny called out to him.
‘Yes, we can,’ Aaron retorted. ‘I need to think and if they do turn up here, the last thing we want is for them to have the upper hand.’
Leaning back against the cushions, Skinny squeezed his eyes shut tight. ‘I think I need to go to hospital,’ he said, his voice a lot higher than usual. ‘I’m in fucking agony, mate.’
Aaron rolled his eyes and, making his way into the kitchen, he used the light on his mobile phone to rummage through the drawers and cabinets. ‘Paracetamol will have to do,’ he said, locating a blister pack at the back of what was the junk drawer.
Greedily, Skinny swallowed the pills down dry, then, shifting his weight to make himself comfortable, he turned his head, his eyes wide. ‘What are we going to do, man?’
‘What else can we do?’ Resisting the urge to shrug, Aaron took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, screwed up his face and kept his gaze firmly fixed on the front door. Beside him, he placed a six-inch carving knife. ‘We wait it out, and if they turn up, we take the no-good bastards by surprise.’
It had taken just ten minutes for Moray to drive from Barking to where his eldest son lived at Becontree Heath in Dagenham. Switching off the ignition, he gave the flat a quick once-over before opening the car door and stepping outside.
As he made his way down the path, he took note of the fact that the property was in darkness and, pulling out his mobile phone, he scrolled down to his son’s telephone number and pressed dial. There was no answer, not that he’d actually expected one. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time Aaron had answered the phone to him, and more to the point, Moray couldn’t remember the last time he had actually taken the time and effort to call his son. A pang of guilt hit him; maybe he should have made more of an effort, maybe he should have looked past the attitude and the chip on his son’s shoulder and tried to help him settle back into life on the outside instead of leaving him to his own devices. As quickly as the thought sprang to his mind, he pushed it away. Of course he knew why he hadn’t given his son the time of day, he still blamed Aaron for dragging his younger brother into his seedy world with him.
Reaching the front door, he lifted the door handle and hesitated. From the look of things, there was no one home, it didn’t take a genius to tell him that, but still he allowed the brass handle to clatter back down, just to make sure.
When there was no movement from inside the property, he contemplated giving the door a swift kick just to make sure the lazy bastard wasn’t stoned out of his nut, but instead he walked back towards his car and, after giving the flat one final glance, he climbed inside, started the ignition, and drove away.
Aaron’s heart was pounding so hard and so fast that he could practically taste his fear. Through a slit in the curtain, he watched with bated breath as his father retreated back to his car.
‘Was it Mann and Christos?’ Skinny whispered as he slowly hobbled across the lounge to join Aaron at the window.
‘No.’ With the knife clutched at his side, Aaron shook his head, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘It was my old man.’
‘Your dad?’ Skinny exclaimed. Leaning his weight on the windowsill to stop himself from tumbling to the floor, he peered through the chink in the curtain. ‘What does he want?’
‘I don’t know.’ Biting down on his lip, Aaron shook his head and moved away from the window. ‘We can’t stay here,’ he said matter-of-factly. His father’s unexpected visit had unnerved him far more than Christos and Mann turning up on the doorstep ever could. Moray never visited, ever. In fact, Aaron couldn’t remember a time when they had been able to spend more than two minutes in each other’s company without almost coming to blows. Even when he’d been a child, they had never been able to see eye to eye, and once he’d hit his teenage years, their relationship had all but broken down, and he couldn’t see the situation changing for the better any time soon.
