Matilda Wren (17 page)

A huge, oil painted, portrait of Kenny’s late wife Audrey hung above a mantel piece. Sean hated the painting. He found it eerie. Her eyes followed you around the room. She was an ugly woman too, who bore the traditional Jewish nose. Sean couldn’t understand the fascination Kenny held for her. She reminded Sean of a dead fish, before it had time to stiffen.

The love he professed for her was just a joke, as far as Sean was concerned, considering he and Kenny’s first meeting was about the possibility of Sean supplying him with a constant stream of young men to satisfy his wayward sexual tendencies; the bottom line being that Kenny was a full blown homosexual. Although, this was common knowledge, it was rarely spoken about and would be in hush tones if it was.

“You would benefit just as much by having Anderson off the street. You just don’t like it cos it weren’t your idea.”

Sean blasted back at him knowing full well he had hit the nail on the head.

Kenny ignored him and sipped more of his drink. The thick dark liquid burnt the back of his throat. He knew Sean was right, but it didn’t make him feel any less covetous. He didn’t like Sean pointing out that he didn’t work for him either. As much as Kenny liked to think Sean was one of his boy’s, right now, it was quite clearly obvious this was not the case.

This aggravated Kenny. He had done a lot for Sean in the year and a half that he had known him and saw this as having it all thrown back in his face.

“Silent treatment?” Sean goaded him. “Because I won’t toe your line? Get over it Ken. This jobs happening, whether you like it or not and I will be the one that brings Anderson down. You mark my words.”

Kenny gave a deep sigh and then half smiled at Sean.

He didn’t want to row with the boy. It wasn’t something he enjoyed. He could never stay mad at him for long either. But he was determined to try and knock some sense into him.

“Jarvis’ word is as good as anything I have ever come across but the clever gits are the ones out here boy, not rotting away on the inside.” He eventually said in a resigned tone. The solemn look then appeared in his eye. A look which showed the vast difference, in knowledge and wisdom, between student and mentor.

“But we are talking murder here Sean. Premeditated murder. That’s if you manage to pull it off and what if you don’t? What if it all goes tits up and you end up with two of the biggest organised crime families in the fucking country wanting your blood?”

Sean stared into the old man’s eyes and in what he thought was a moment of clarity, he saw a lack of faith which, in his demented brain, signalled total lack of respect.

“You don’t think I can do it…do you?” Sean’s voice was incredulous. He slammed his glass back down on the bar and stormed into the centre of the room. He stood in front of Kenny who was still sitting in the armchair.

“I fucked up once. Once! But you can’t let it go; you throw it out there whenever I disagree with you.” He was offended and was determined to show it. “How many jobs have I carried out for you with meticulous precision… eh?

Fucking hundreds without so much as a fucking glitch.”

Kenny felt the intimidation Sean rendered. He wasn’t scared by him, he was too confident with his own aggression that he cleverly kept buried to be actually frightened of the boy, but he became aware of how terrified his victims must be when they were on the receiving end of Sean’s fury.

“Fucked up? Fucked up? That wasn’t just a fuck up son that was an almighty howler. I won’t be able to get you out of this one sonny Jim, I can tell you.” He took another gulp of his whisky. “There will be no cleaning up your mess this time. It wasn’t that long ago I had you on that blower, don’t matter how many other jobs you’ve done since, at the end of the day you fucked up big style. I don’t give a cats whiskers if it was only once. Once is one too many boy!”

“I aint your boy Ken. I’m no one’s boy. You’re fucking deluded. You don’t own me and you’ll never have me…”

Before Sean could finish his ranted sentence, he felt the full effect of his nose spreading across his face from the force of Kenny’s headbut. The pain was so immense he was surprised to still be standing.

The attack had been so sudden and immediate, that Sean hadn’t even seen Kenny stand up. He instinctively put his hands to his face and winced as his fingers touched his broken nose.

“Fucking hell!” He exclaimed, punching the air with his fists, in reaction to the pain.

“Don’t you ever forget who I am and what I did for you.” Kenny voice was quiet but the venom was clearly evident. “Kidnap… rape… I covered it all up, for a kid I barely knew.”

He pushed past Sean and walked over to the mini bar, grabbing a clean towel from under the counter and a handful of ice cubes from the ice bucket. He wrapped it up in the towel, silently cursing his protégé under his breath.

He had completely lost it, just for a second but he had lost it all the same.

Kenny didn’t like losing control of his behaviour. It scared him, what he could do if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t manage the side of him that was dangerous. Unlike most gangsters, Kenny hated the violence with a passion, yet the destructive and hostile monster that is the essence of all villains was also in him. No matter how hard he fought not to use it.

He walked back over to Sean, who was by now sitting on the sofa with his head between his legs. Kenny bent down in front of him and offered the ice bundle. He was surprised to see the eyes and face of a young boy, as Sean looked up at him. It was the look of an errant school boy being scolded by a teacher; sorry yet resentful at the same time. Even his bottom lip slightly protruded.

Kenny offered the ice again and, like Ray had witnessed a few days before, he saw the chameleon-like change in the boy’s facial expressions. After a few seconds of staring at each other, Sean snatched it out of Kenny’s hand and plonked it on the bridge of his nose.

Kenny stood back up and stepped back a little. He wiped his face with his hand and realised he was sweating.

His forehead felt tender from the connection with Sean’s nose and he was sure that he felt something in his right hip tear when he had leapt from his chair. He was getting too old for this, he decided, too old to suddenly lose his normally cool exterior to a blind rage.

“I guess I deserved that” The sudden confession from Sean completely threw Kenny. He wasn’t expecting that.

Sean jumped to his feet and moved towards Kenny with his hand already out in gesture of an apology. He needed to rectify the hostile atmosphere between them and needed to do it fast. As much as he professed to not needing anyone, he kind of needed Kenny. Why, he wasn’t so sure, but he had come to rely on the wisdom the old man had. He had begun to see him as a safety net.

Kenny took the hand that was available and pulled Sean in to a tight embrace, slapping his back to signify all was well between them again. But neither really felt it.

Something shifted in their relationship that day. An uneasy truth that now hovered between them.

For Sean, it was knowing that somehow he was beholden to Kenny, maybe for the rest of his life. It was an uncomfortable feeling. For Kenny, it was the reality of knowing the boy was never really his, that he was too much of a wild spirit to ever be tamed; by him anyway.

Chapter 11

Bonita Mashek reached for the telephone. Dialling a number with her long, perfectly manicured and deep red nails, she purposefully licked the front of her teeth and waited to be connected. The voice that answered at the other end was abrupt and coarse.

“Mr Anderson? It’s Bonita Mashek.” She listened to the unfathomable intonation of the voice change to a more suitable softer one. She smiled to herself. She always had had that infl iction on men. It had made her the successful lawyer she had become; that and her thorough knowledge of the entire legal system.

“Miss Mashek, I’ve been waiting on your call.

Everything’s according to plan?”

“Yes, everything was fi nalised a few moments ago. All of your assets are now in the hands of your nephew, a Mr Peter Mambridge. When Inland Revenue come knocking at your door, all they will fi nd is what you want them to.”

She heard the deep exhalations which indicated to her that he was relaxed in his mind.

“He aint me nephew, he’s my niece’s husband. Not like us Andersons at all. That’s why I chose him. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose. He’ll hand everything back when I tell him too.” “Your judgement is impeccable Mr Anderson. I am just glad I could assist you.” Bonita responded in her smooth velvety drawl.

“Oh, you assisted me no end Miss Mashek. You appeared like the angel Gabriele, just when I thought my empire was about to come crashing down. Forgive my language but you totally saved my arse. Wish you would allow me to show my appreciation.”

She felt her stomach lurch. She knew what he had in mind and it certainly wasn’t an experience she would like to partake in. Forcing away the contrite comeback she wished she could unleash onto him, she forged a giggle into the receiver.

“Mr Anderson, you have paid me well over the norm for my services already and, I have already told you, I make it an unbreakable rule not to socialise with my clients. Besides, all I did was expose you to a legal loophole. You did all the hard work.”

“All the same, I wish you would reconsider. Goodbye Miss Mashek.”

Bonita placed the telephone back into its holder and resisted an urge to gag. She detested George Anderson more than anyone else she had ever met and she had met a lot of villains in her life time.

They fascinated her; their lifestyle, their money, their violence. It all gripped her attention solidly. She picked up the telephone again and made one more phone call.

Opening her desk drawer, she pulled out a small mirror and checked her make-up. It was flawless as always. She opened a few more buttons of her dazzling white blouse, to expose a small glimpse of her huge breasts. She slightly hitched her skirt a little and crossed her long slender legs.

Then she waited; her eyes fixed firmly on her office door.

Bonita was in her late forties but didn’t look a day over thirty. Her father, a former foreign diplomat, had been of Lebanese decent and her mother was Spanish, giving her a striking European appearance. She had jet black hair, which she wore wrapped up in a bun and her dark brown eyes were encased with thick, curly lashes that gave her the sultry elegance men craved for.

She was raised in a wealthy, devoutly Roman Catholic family and had travelled the world due to the nature of her father’s occupation. She studied International Relations at university in Mexico and worked for three highly established law firms, before she ventured out on her own fifteen years ago. Her complete working knowledge of the legal system, her intelligence and her extreme beauty however, were not what had attracted her to Britain’s Gangland. Her ability to find a get-out clause in almost everything had given her credibility with the hard men. Her reputation for discretion and acumen was renowned and trusted.

She managed to knock back villainous suitors, of which there were many, with such graceful and endearing style that, most of the time, the hardened men were not aware they had been slighted.

All but one particular one; she didn’t want to knock him back. He fuelled the fire that burned between her legs.

He always had, ever since she first met him almost twenty years ago. But this man was a loose cannon and none of her feminine wiles had managed to tie him down. She had tried them all and, where most men would normally succumb on the first, this particular man had resisted every step of the way.

He flitted in and out of her life, normally in it only when he wanted something or she was useful to him. He spoke to her with no regard for her feelings and showed her absolutely no respect and she let him; she had no other choice.

Why? Because she was hopelessly in love with him and nobody else had ever come close. He invigorated her every time he touched her, even when he was rough and demanding. When it came to him, Bonita’s cool and professional persona turned to a complete jellified mush.

If the other villains who vied for her attention knew what this man did to her, she was sure she would not be held up quite so high, on the pedestal they put her on.

He had kept her a secret for two decades. Nobody knew of their alliance. She was more valuable to him that way.

She knew the financial ins and outs of the majority of the south-east most prolific gangsters and that information was gold dust; especially to her man.

Bonita repositioned herself on her swivel chair and glanced down at her watch. It was almost eight o’clock and the street lamps outside had just come on. Her office was a quaint one storey building in Braintree, close to the Freeport shopping outlet. There was no signage advertising the business she ran; that, combined with owning the property, ensured privacy for her clients.

She got up to close the venetian blinds and as she lowered the last one, her office dissolved into darkness. As she turned, to walk towards the light switch, she felt his hands grab hold of her waist.

“Ray!” She breathed huskily.