Toxic Page 3

  Vaughn, unable to help himself, snapped at Lola. ‘In less than a month’s time we are supposed to be finalising the deal with Reginald Reynolds’ widow to buy his pitches, pay off who needs to be paid off to get the bookies’ licences, as well as recruit and pay a trusted team of men that we can have around us. Tell me Lola, how the fuck are we supposed to do that now? More to the point, how are you expecting me to keep calm when some bird is floating round the Costa with two million big ones in her back pocket?’

  ‘Vaughn, love—’

  ‘No, Lola! Hear me out. Reginald did us a favour by putting us first in line for his business. Everybody wanted it, and you know that. Once we get it up and running – if we do – it’ll mean we won’t have to think about money again, but now, thanks to this muppet, there’s a chance we could lose this opportunity.’

  Alfie glared at Vaughn. ‘Stop winding yourself up, mate. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Will it? It better be, because I’ve risked everything on this. Sold everything I had right under me missus’ nose and because of that, she’s gone and left me. That money is all I’ve got.’

  ‘It ain’t only yours.’

  ‘No, but it wasn’t me who gave the money to Franny, was it?’

  Alfie, always one to be hot headed, said, ‘Look, so she’s delayed, it’s no biggie. You’re acting like someone’s robbed your fucking grave. And as for Casey, maybe you should’ve been more honest with your missus, perhaps that way she might not have done a runner, or maybe it was just her excuse.’

  Vaughn went to swing at Alfie but pulled back as Lola stepped in his way. She smiled at him, hating seeing them argue. ‘Vaughn, lovie, please. Alf’s right, you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing. Franny will be here soon, and as for Casey, she’ll come round and see sense. Once she understands you did it for your future, she’ll be fine about it. I’ll have a word with her if it helps. Look, how about instead of all this arguing, which ain’t going to do any of us any good, why don’t I make you all some breakfast?’

  The resounding cry of ‘no’ was heard round the room as everyone present remembered the days of Lola’s café, which she’d run in Soho for years. Her breakfasts had been infamous.

  Lola shrugged. ‘Then at least kiss and make up. Come on, Vaughn. Alf, how about you?’

  Neither of the men moved and Lola sighed. She’d known and loved Alfie and Vaughn for as long as she could remember, meeting them in Soho back in the day. In all that time she’d never known the two men have so few options, but then, they may never have come back to England otherwise. She hid a small smile. Every cloud.

  Vaughn, ignoring Lola’s plea for reconciliation, spoke to Alfie, his voice full of hostility.

  ‘And what are we supposed to do for money until Franny comes? What are we supposed to tell Reginald’s widow?’

  ‘We tell her nothing because there’s nothing to tell. And in the meantime, we stick to our plan. We let everybody know we’re back and we mean business. Essex is ours for the taking.’

  ‘Just the two of us?’

  ‘Yeah, because they won’t know that, will they. We give it large like we always did. And in a couple of days Franny will be here, and then we’ll have the money to recruit some of the people who used to work for us. It’ll be sweet.’

  Vaughn looked at Alfie. ‘Okay, but I’m telling you, Franny needs to be here by the end of the week.’

  Janine, who’d been unusually quiet, piped up. ‘And you’ve got here. You can both stay here with me.’

  ‘See, there’s an offer no man can resist.’ As he said it, Alfie rolled his eyes causing Janine to let out a screech.

  ‘I saw that! Did you see that, Lola? Bleedin’ fucking cheek. I don’t know why I bother. You should be thanking me, Alfie. You should be grateful.’

  ‘Grateful! I’d be more grateful to an arse full of piles.’

  Seething, Janine turned to Lola. ‘I knew this was a bad idea. I should never have listened to you. I’m a mug. That’s what me mates said when I told them I was going to let you stay. They said, Janine. You. Are. A. Mug.’

  Lola pushed Janine and Vaughn gently out of the door. She smiled at Alfie. ‘Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs for a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘Thanks Lola, I’ll be there in a minute.’

  ‘And Alfie, it’s good to have you back … I missed ya. Both of ya.’

  Hearing the others heading downstairs, Alfie pulled out his phone. He stared at the text from Franny.

  Please don’t be angry Alfie, but something’s come up. It’s probably better if you don’t know what. But trust me when I say, I wish it could be different. I won’t be coming to England. One day you’ll understand why I’ve done this. If it’s any consolation, I do love you. F.

  Dialling Franny’s number, it switched straight onto voicemail. Speaking quietly Alfie hissed through his teeth. ‘Franny, it’s me. You better start picking up the fucking phone, you hear me? Just pick up the fucking phone. I want my money.’

  He clicked off the call before hurling the phone against the wall, wondering which was greater, his broken heart or his anger.

  3

  Stepping out of his silver Audi Q5, which had seen better days, Eddie Styler lit a cigarette, admiring as he always did the mock-Tudor cladding he’d had fitted last year on the large, five-bedroom property on the private gated estate, just south of Emerson Park, Essex.

  The place was a far cry from the run-down council block in South London he’d been born and brought up in, where drug addicts shot up on stairwells and anyone passing who cared to used the lobby as a giant urinal.

  Unlike his childhood home, which he’d been ashamed of, number 25 Colney Close impressed, making him the envy of his family, most of whom still resided in the same shit hole they were born in and no doubt would be carried out in a box from.

  It’d been the double garage feature of the house which had excited him, and within minutes of seeing the place, he’d put in an offer, well over the asking price, much to his wife, Sandra’s disgust. But then, when wasn’t the moany cow disgusted at him for one thing or another? And God, didn’t she just like to remind him how it was her money and not his that had bought the place.

  But they were married, so by rights that made it his whether she liked it or not. To have and to hold. For richer, for poorer. His home. His castle.

  Irritated at the thought of her, Eddie gritted his teeth too hard, causing the white filling that’d cost him near on three hundred quid last week, start to throb, making his present mood considerably worse.

  Stomping towards the house and having inhaled deeply on the cigarette, which made his green eyes water, Eddie opened the front door, being hit immediately by the nauseating smell of Sandra’s constantly burning vanilla and honeysuckle scented candle, causing his eyes to water some more.

  He clenched his fists feeling the stress catapult through him. How long he’d resented Sandra he didn’t know. Maybe it was the moment he’d said ‘I do’ and had lifted her wedding veil to see her dark, cold beady eyes staring at him as she chewed down on a piece of gum. But no matter when it was, Eddie knew he resented her now … hated the stupid cow now.

  They’d made an odd-looking couple; her at six foot three – all pale skin and jutting bones – and him, barely five foot tall of rounded Greek heritage. But it hadn’t mattered, because money had been the reason he’d got together with her in the first place, desperate to escape the poverty of his life, and Sandra, with her flashy car and expensive shoes, had been his ticket out. Well, that’s what he’d thought she was. But rather than having money at his fingertips as he’d imagined, she’d held onto her bank accounts tightly like they were a life raft.

  Despite her, over the years he’d tried to make a name for himself, wheeling and dealing, using old contacts and being the middle- man for the Mr Bigs, but each time he’d thought he was making a reputation, each time he could smell success, each time he thought he could finally leave Sandra, someone or som
ething came along to squeeze the balls out of whatever deal he was trying to make and he’d be left with nothing at all.

  But a few years ago, things had started to look up. He’d got the call from Reginald Reynolds, the number one face in Essex, who made the Kray twins look like something out of a children’s storybook. And he’d worked hard for Reginald. Becoming his right-hand man. Setting up the beatings, the tortures, the paybacks, the deals, and with Reginald Reynolds’ men behind him, his own name had become synonymous with fear. There wasn’t a man alive who’d say no to him. He could run up debts at casinos, debts with pimps, he had money at his fingertips. That was, of course, before Reginald Reynolds had popped his clogs at a very inconvenient time.

  At first though, he’d been pleased that Reginald had finally snuffed it, assuming he was going to take the Essex crown. But after discovering from Reggie’s widow, Reenie, that rather than him – after all his loyalty – being the natural successor to his empire, he’d arranged that the scumbags, Alfie Jennings and Vaughn Sadler, were going to take over, he’d gone to the cemetery in Chigwell and pissed on Reginald’s grave.

  But there was one thing that Reginald hadn’t managed to finalise before he’d died. A deal which only he really knew about. And once he’d pulled it off, things were going to be different. What he had lined up would change everything and no one was going to mess this up. And unlike all the other times, there was no question he wasn’t going to pull it off. Because everything was riding on it. Everything.

  Even though Reginald had left some outstanding money to pay on the goods, thankfully he was able to find some cash himself by forging Sandra’s name on a remortgage application, getting the readies transferred into a bank account she didn’t know about, which had given him enough to finalise the deal of all deals, and all without any of Reggie’s men or family knowing about it. And the beautiful thing was, even if Sandra did eventually find out about the loan, it wouldn’t matter because they’d literally be rolling in it. Or rather he would. And then? Well then, it’d be adios Sandra.

  Tiptoeing along the dark, oak wooden hallway to the cupboard under the stairs, he glanced up towards the bedroom, pausing and checking for any sound. He opened the stair cupboard door, quickly rummaging in the large box of tools he never used, and pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey. The screw top couldn’t come off fast enough for Eddie and he knocked it back in one; wincing at the burn.

  Content and preoccupied in his thoughts, Eddie absentmindedly stepped backwards, knocking over one of Sandra’s glass candle holders, shattering shards of glass all over the dark wooden floor.

  ‘Bollocks!’

  Sighing and feeling the effect of the alcohol, Eddie heard Sandra, her voice grating through the silence of the darkness.

  ‘Eddie, is that you? What time is it? Eddie! What the bleedin’ hell are you doing?’

  Walking up the stairs, Eddie thought it best to knock a couple of hours off, knowing that his wife would start to complain and ask a dozen questions about where he’d been if she knew the real time.

  Gritting his teeth, he gave a saccharine reply. ‘It’s one o’clock, teddy bear. Go back to sleep.’

  Immediately, the bedside light flicked on, and Sandra, sleepy eyed and messy haired, stared at him accusingly. ‘How the fuck am I supposed to sleep when you’re banging about like a brass band?’

  Knowing it was best not to reply, Eddie undressed and slipped into bed, feeling the cold as if the sheets were made of a thin layer of ice. He shivered as he lay on the very edge of the super king size bed, which was mostly taken up by Sandra and all her cushions.

  ‘Is Barrie in okay?’

  In no mood to go on an early morning hunt for the cat he hated – who perpetually seemed to have a supercilious smugness on his face – and having seen him wandering down the street yesterday morning and not since, Eddie answered casually, pushing down the sense of loathing towards Sandra that immersed his whole being.

  ‘He’s curled up on the sofa …’

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  Too quickly, Eddie shook his head and answered, ‘No.’

  For the next few minutes Sandra continued to stare, looking for a giveaway tell-tale sign as Eddie Styler smiled reassuringly at his wife, trying to push down his hatred, thinking as he so often did how like her brother, Alfie Jennings, she looked.

  4

  Great Dunmow, like so many other small market towns across Essex, was surrounded by picturesque countryside and as Alfie Jennings drove through the rural location, sitting on the River Chelmer, once home to the Romans, his mind thought back to yesterday. To the woman in the woods. She’d looked terrified, running away from something or someone, but she’d dashed away before he’d had a chance to speak to her. He was certain he knew her from somewhere, he was sure of it, her face looked so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. It would come back to him, he was certain.

  Driving past the small shops and museum on the winding, pretty high street, Alfie turned left, flicking his cigarette out of the window as he tried not to let himself think about Franny. He couldn’t get his head around the text. He didn’t know what he was supposed to think. But what he did know was he needed to sort out the shit she’d landed him in.

  Pulling up his Range Rover by a large thatched yellow house, set by a private lake and standing in several acres of pristine grounds, Alfie got out, resisting the temptation to call Franny again. That could wait. He didn’t want to wind himself up any more than he had to because if he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose it. Big time.

  Trying to crick the tension out of his neck as he pressed the buzzer on the gates, Alfie waited, the heavy rain trickling down the back of his coat.

  Eventually he heard a man’s voice crackling through the intercom, speaking in the broadest of Yorkshire accents. ‘Hey up Alfie, you look like you could do with a brolly.’

  Alfie looked up to the CCTV camera, his face curled up in a snarl. ‘Just let me fucking in.’

  He heard laughter as the electric gates duly swung open but before Alfie could get to the house, a large man with a protruding forehead and a Bryllcreamed sweep over, came around the corner armed with two golfing umbrellas.

  ‘Here take this, we’ll go into the garden and talk.’

  Alfie stared at Lloyd Page. Lloyd had come down from Sheffield fifteen years ago to become one of the biggest drug traffickers in the East of England, as well as one of the boldest swindlers around. The man wouldn’t lose any sleep over robbing food from his own baby’s mouth if it meant him getting a few more quid.

  ‘I ain’t partial to country walks, Lloyd. I’d rather talk here.’

  Lloyd belched loudly, sending the smell of pickled onions into Alfie’s face. ‘Suit yourself. You’ve always been a stubborn bastard.’

  Alfie narrowed his eyes, gazing coldly and evenly at Lloyd. ‘I’m not here to do niceties, I’m here to find out if there’s anything going on.’

  With the umbrella in one hand and a cigar in the other, Lloyd smirked, holding Alfie’s gaze.

  ‘This is what I couldn’t understand on the phone when you called. You see, I was under the impression that you were supposed to take over Reginald Reynolds’ crown. You and Vaughnie were supposed to be the next Kingpins, the whole of the East thought that, yet here you are, begging me for a touch.’

  ‘I ain’t begging no one.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  Lloyd shrugged. ‘I don’t believe you Alf, I think something’s not quite right. I reckon you’re a bit desperate, otherwise why would you be here without your sidekick? Funny that.’

  Alfie stepped in close to Lloyd. ‘Do I look like I’m laughing? And you don’t need to worry about the ins and outs of my business. All you need to know is that I need a job, and quick. And you also need to keep your mouth shut about me being here.’

  ‘And why would I do that? I think a lot of people would want to know, don’t you?’

  ‘Because, Ll
oyd, you ain’t stupid and you like your life too much. You and me, we go back a long way, which means I know everything that you’ve done. I know everyone that you’ve turned over, everyone you’ve ripped off. Wasn’t it only a couple of years ago you pulled one over on the Peterson brothers. Robbed over a ton of heroin right from under their noses. To this day, Smithy Peterson and his brothers want to know who it was. And rumour has it, they like burying people alive.’

  ‘You wouldn’t snake?’

  ‘Oh, I would, Lloyd. I’ll do what I have to. I’ll take no prisoners, son.’

  Lloyd’s face turned into a picture of anger. ‘It’s quiet at the moment, there isn’t anything much about.’

  ‘Then unquieten it, because I need something.’

  Sighing, Lloyd said, ‘Look, there might be a shipment of coke coming through in the next few days. It’ll be on a lorry and I was hoping to get my fingers on it. I’m speaking to my sources at the moment. It’s not certain yet, but it sounds like it could be an easy job.’

  Alfie stared out towards the immaculate landscaped garden. Jacking lorries of coke was a young man’s game, often a mug’s game, and it certainly didn’t help that it was Lloyd Page he’d be working through. He was, as Vaughn had always described him, an idiot of the biggest kind. But then, it seemed like it might be his only option if he couldn’t sort out the problem with Franny. Not that jacking a lorry full of blow would give them the money they needed, but it was a start.

  ‘Then I’ll have that.’

  ‘Alf, come on, I needed that myself …’

  ‘I said, I’ll have that.’

  ‘But it might not even happen.’

  ‘So, you better make sure it does.’

  5

  Bree Dwyer felt her husband’s breath before she saw him in the dark of their cream-walled bedroom. Her body ached and the ropes tied round her hands and ankles cut deeply into her, burning and rubbing. The dried blood from her nose sat in crusty lumps above her mouth, and with the air of a priest, Johnny smiled warmly, kissing Bree calmly on her head before untying her from the wicker chair that had dug and scraped into the back of her bare legs.