Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama (22 page)

A BMW pulled up directly in front of the pub and a youngster in a tracksuit, trainers and a baseball cap got out. The cap was pulled low, which made it impossible for Dee to see his face. He was subjected to an interrogation and pat down by the guard who eventually allowed him in.

Finally, at 7.30 on the dot, a sleek, black Jag appeared. The driver jumped out to open the back doors. Slowly, Chris and a bit of muscle got out. They scanned the street like they were the Prime Minister’s protection duty and only when they were satisfied did John emerge. He straightened the tie that was the same colour as his black suit. The bodyguard stood at a respectful distance while John and Chris stood huddled close, no doubt having a quick, pre-meeting chat. Dee was frustrated she couldn’t hear what was being said. The heavy on the door virtually bowed to John and held the door wide open for him.

Dee let the flap of canvas fall back. She assumed that the plonker in the pinstripe suit must be Mickey Ingram but that wasn’t really helping much. In fact, none of this was helping very much and she was beginning to wonder why she had come. But then her interest was aroused again when she heard someone shouting so loud, inside the pub. She knew that voice: John.

‘So anyway, these three geezers come down to this boozer in Hackney, right?’ John was not happy that he could hear that fat cunt Mickey Ingram’s voice, as he and Chris made their way through the empty public bar to the saloon bar at the back. Who did that twat think he was? A cross between Al Capone and Jack the Ripper?

Mickey’s voice got louder as they got closer. ‘Mouthing off about some money I owed them, they were. So I says to them, You want your money, boys? I’ll give you your money. So I reached inside my jacket, pulled out my shooter, shot the fuckers, two bullets each. And down they go – bosh, bosh, bosh – stone cold dead, right? Straight up. So I has a look around the pub so everyone sees my face, and I say, My name’s Mickey Ingram, if anyone’s interested. And then I walk out, cool as you like. Old Bill comes down there, mob-handed, and they interview all the pricks who was in the pub. And you know what? No one saw anything, no one heard anything. A hundred people that was – straight up. Thing is, right, people know better than to grass on Big Mickey. You know what I mean?’

The tosser juggled a pint and a whiskey chaser in his hands, and John was fucked off to see him with his two-tonne arse at the head of the table. John considered that his place.

Mickey waved his arms wide when he clocked him. ‘Great to see you, pal – what can I get you to drink?’

John looked around the bar to make sure there were no unfamiliar faces. ‘Orange juice and lemonade.’

Mickey started grinning. ‘No, come on, John, don’t muck about mate. Have a proper snifter; it’s all on me this evening.’

John wasn’t grinning back. ‘No thanks. I’m like the police, I don’t drink when I’m on duty.’ He looked at Mickey’s two drinks which were nearly empty already and added, ‘It’s sloppy and unprofessional.’

Mickey’s smile slipped slightly, letting John know his nose was well and truly out of joint. Mickey heaved his bulk up and walked over to the bar to collect John’s bevvy from the landlord. While he was gone, John made himself nice and comfy in Mickey’s chair at the head of the table. When Mickey spotted what John had done, the tension in the room heated up.
Go on,
I fucking dare ya,
John thought,
I’ll rip your brainless head off.

But Mickey played it safe and took another chair on the other side of the table. He was soon holding forth on the shipment he was organising for John and how the tentacles of his operation reached everywhere; he even had people at Tilbury who would keep everything cushty.

John listened to him in silence before saying, ‘Don’t worry about Tilbury; I’ll have my guy Chris down there, keeping an eye on that.’

Mickey looked none too pleased as he eyed up Chris. ‘I thought we were here to talk about Tilbury?’

John stared hard at him. ‘No. I’ll tell you what we’re here to talk about. I asked you to take care of a simple job for me. Find a courier to pick up my paperwork for me and then keep it safe until I need it for the shipment.’

Mickey still didn’t understand. ‘That’s right. And . . . ?’

John brushed his fingers lightly against the bottom of his tie. ‘Thing is, bruv, obviously I left the choice to your discretion, because you have to trust people – no matter how crap they are. But now I hear you chose a sixteen-year-old kid, with a reputation for being a bit of an off-the-trolley merchant, who’s constantly getting pulled up by the law. In other words, just about the worst possible person you could have picked.’

Mickey brightened. ‘But that’s the beauty of the plan, John. Thing is, my family have been in a major league strife with her family for years and she don’t know who I am anyway. If she gets lifted by the Plod, there’s no way she could be traced back to me. Good eh?’

John’s hand smoothed against his tie. ‘Well, as long as you’re alright, Mickey, we won’t worry about it.’

The sarcasm went flying over Mickey’s head. ‘Exactly!’

John looked Ingram squarely in the eye. ‘You really are a fucking idiot, aren’t you?’

Finally, the penny dropped for the Shadwell gangster. He spread one hand on the table and started jabbing a finger from the other in John’s direction. ‘No, I’m sorry, John, you can’t come down here to my manor, shooting your mouth off to me like that, thinking you’re the dog’s bollocks.’

‘Your manor?’ John shoved his drink to the side with an impatient sweep of the back of his hand, while his other gripped his tie. ‘Your manor’s the four walls of this pub and you don’t even boss that. Let me put you in the picture here. You finish this job for me, and then I never want to clap eyes on you or your keystone cops’ outfit again. And if anything goes wrong with my job, whether it’s your fault or not, I’ll be holding you personally responsible.’

This was too much for Mickey. ‘No, I’m sorry John, in that case bollocks to your job – and I’m going to have to ask you—’

In two quick moves, John pulled out a razor blade hidden inside his tie and had it pinned between Mickey’s spread fingers on the table. The sharp edge touched the inside of one of Mickey’s fingers ready to slice. The air filled with the sound of chair legs scraping against the hard floor, as both men’s people shoved out of their seats.

‘You were saying, Mickey?’ John said very slowly and calmly.

Sweat pooled on the other man’s forehead and started dripping down his face. Mickey looked at John’s minders. They were smirking. Then he looked at his own, who were avoiding his gaze. They were realists, well aware of the pecking order of London’s underworld; they weren’t interested in taking on the much bigger man.

‘Alright, mate, alright,’ Mickey finally uttered, his tone filled with panic. Out of the corner of his eye, Mickey could see that his security detail had decided they had other business to attend to and were leaving. ‘We go back years, to when we were nippers. Let’s not destroy a good friendship over some teenage halfwit. I’ll do the job, you’ll see, you’ll see.’

The tension sizzled. Finally, John straightened up and placed his razor in his pocket. As soon as he turned his back, Mickey was up, out of his chair and heading for the door. But John spun around: ‘Oi, Ingram – back here, I haven’t finished with you by a long shot.’

Dee was watching the entrance closely. Two guys appeared and bolted down the street quickly followed by Mr Pinstripe who was also in a mighty hurry to get away.

John appeared at the door to the pub and yelled, ‘Oi, Ingram – where do you think you’re going? I’m talking to you.’

Mickey Ingram picked up his pace and didn’t look around. John shouted after him. ‘Hiring sixteen-year-old head-cases for a job like that? What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you go back to shoplifting, you ignorant little fucker.’

But he made no attempt to follow; he obviously didn’t think Mickey was worth it.

Dee felt a surge of pride at her man’s behaviour. This was the kind of thing she liked to see in her guys – not the horse-whipped pussy, wringing his hands over dopey cow girlfriends. But then, both sides worked to her advantage. She needed a wealthy man who could go head-to-head with men but not with women. And in John, she’d found one.

Chris and the bodyguard came out of the pub and exchanged a few words before Chris walked up the street to hail their Jag and John slipped the heavy a few quid from his pocket. The car reversed down the street and John and his party climbed in. The Jag stood motionless for a few minutes before it slowly crept up the road and disappeared into the night.

Dee got out of the skip, walked around to her car, got changed and went back to the Bad Moon. She knew it would be empty now and was hoping to catch any gossip the bar staff might be swapping, or, if she got lucky, she might strike up a conversation with them. But it proved to be a wasted journey. The pub was empty alright and the bar staff were relieved and relaxed now that the boys were all gone. But they were going about their business quietly. They didn’t seem bothered about a black woman being here anymore.

Dee ordered her favourite tipple – rum and coke, iced to the max. She downed it quickly and got ready to get back to the Alley Club. As she turned, she bumped into a young man, the same one who’d come into the pub wearing a baseball cap.

He looked at her with surprise. ‘Mizz Dee? What are you doing here?’

Twenty-Eight

Dee was struck dumb as she stared at the man in front of her, thinking that the game was well and truly up. Without his cap on, Dee pegged him immediately – Knobby, one of John’s boys. He gazed at her with suspicion.
Shit.
All of John’s people knew that Dee wasn’t involved in the bizz side of things. She was just supposed to handle security in the club, and was happy to give that impression. But with her plan about to come to a climax, she felt like a trapeze artist. If she lost her grip now, she would plunge towards the ground and there would be no safety net to catch her. This boy was not going to disrupt her smooth landing.

‘What’s your real name, son?’ He wasn’t that much older than her, but she needed to maintain the hierarchy of their different positions on John’s power ladder.

The kid was clearly embarrassed. ‘You know that everyone calls me Knobby.’

‘And how did you get that nickname?’

‘It’s just what John calls me.’ He looked even more embarrassed before admitting, ‘It’s short for knob head.’

‘Your real name, honey.’ She needed to keep him sweet.

His face got even redder. ‘It’s Leonard.’ When he saw the look on Dee’s face, he added, ‘I know. I prefer Knobby if I’m being honest.’

Dee hustled him over to a table. Once they were seated she made a real, slow drama of leaning forward so that her crop top with the bondage studs around the neck put some skin on display. It did the trick because the lad couldn’t take his baby blues off the top of her breasts. Poor boy looked hungry: obviously not getting a big enough portion indoors. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but John asked me to wait around the corner and then to come in and double-check no one’s called the cops or are saying anything out of turn.’

Knobby got suspicious again. ‘Eh? No one in here is going to call the law, are they? If they did that they wouldn’t have any punters left.’

Dee had already discovered an effective way to shut this Doubting Thomas down. ‘You questioning John’s orders?’ His face went pale. ‘I don’t ever utter “why” when the boss tells me to do something. Word of advice, Knobby love, saying nothing about anything is a good policy where your boss is concerned.’

‘Leave it out, Mizz Dee, I don’t put my bugle where it don’t belong. The guv knows that; that’s why he chose me. He knows I keep this,’ he pointed to his mouth, ‘shut.’

‘So Mickey Ingram fucked out of the meeting with John?’ Dee asked. She was putting herself right in the shitter if this info was wrong.

Knobby looked puzzled again, then cocky. ‘You just told me not to say anything about nothing.’

He was smirking at her. The little prick. She needed to make him understand that he was dealing with his worst nightmare if he crossed her. Abruptly Dee stood up. She shook her head sadly at him. ‘I thought you were brighter than this. That’s what the boss says to me: “That boy is one clever spark.” Now I’m going to have to go back and tell him – right now – that he got it totally wrong, that you’re trying to mug him off—’

‘That ain’t true—’

‘That’s not what I’m hearing, Knobby.’ Dee sat back down again. ‘I’m in the loop. I wouldn’t know about Mickey Ingram and the Pied Piper, otherwise. Plus, you don’t seriously think John’s hired me just to keep the bouncers in order, do you? You couldn’t get a bit of fag paper between John and me.’

Knobby’s voice lowered. ‘Well, that’s certainly the rumour going round John’s crew. Word is, he’s lining you up to replace Chris as his right-hand man. I mean bird. Oops, woman.’

Dee’s glee knew no bounds, until Knobby added, ‘But I don’t believe it. Chris has been with him for aeons. They’re as thick as thieves – so to speak. Anyway, the boss came down here to have it out with Mickey Ingram. I mean, Mickey’s a nice enough bloke but he’s a bit out of his depth. You know what I mean? To cut a long one short, John let Mickey hire a bird to look after the documents for the shipment—’

‘Tiffany?’

His blue eyes nearly jumped out of his skull. ‘How did you know that?’

She gave him a lazy smile. ‘Told you, John tells me everything.’

‘Only now, word has got back that this girl’s a nipper and keeps having run-ins with the law and that she’s not the full ticket. If Mickey had admitted he’d made a mistake, it would all have been sweet, but instead he starts mouthing off about how John can’t come down to his manor, giving it large. So John squares up to him and then Mickey does a runner with his pathetic boys, which has pissed John right off, even more. I mean, if a bloke can’t look after himself, he’s no good to anyone, is he? Anyway, John gave him the old heave-ho.’