Matilda Wren (3 page)

Once used as a slaughterhouse, until the Foot and Mouth epidemic swept across the country, environmental health officers had made a spot check inspection in Barking and closed it down due the unsanitary conditions the animals were being slaughtered in.

A drainage system criss-crossed the uneven concrete surface leading to the centre point of the warehouse. Above this, a hose pipe on the ceiling, that was formerly used to wash away the blood and guts from the butchery hung from a conduit.

Sean Fergus looked down at the man that was crumpled on the dented fl oor. Both his legs were broken, as were his arms. His face was a bloody mess and at some point during his beating he had soiled himself. Sean felt disgust and anger, nothing else. The two emotions were what he experienced daily.

It felt completely normal to him and in Sean’s eyes the man lying before him deserved it; he had mugged him off.

Translated, this meant that the man had used the services of one of Sean’s girls and thought he didn’t need to pay. This had offended Sean greatly.

He was shocked that someone felt brave enough to take the piss out of him like that; as if he was nobody.

The handsome face was screwed up like a twisted wolf, as he let the anger and sheer annoyance loose. His near six foot frame, significantly well-built, yet defined and toned, expressed the power and dominance he held.

At twenty-one, Sean believed he had accomplished a great deal. He was known to some of the larger faces of Essex and London, due to his sheer enjoyment of violence. He was useful to them as an enforcer and from time to time, Sean would take on the more nasty jobs for them. The sort of jobs that they themselves didn’t want to do yet had to be done.

He would dish out the beatings to people who owed money and didn’t pay up when he arrived to collect. He would find those who went into hiding to avoid the people who hired his services. It was a lucrative job for Sean and it put his name on the map. That is, it put his name on the criminal underworld map.

He had come a long way in a very short space of time, starting off as a ‘runner’ for a small time drug dealer. He would pick up drugs from one address, pass them onto another address, collect the money and take it back to his dealer. It was easy money, and at seventeen it suited Sean down to the ground.

The longer he did it the more he realised just how much money his man was making and he wanted a slice of that pie. He resented handing over a big wad of cash only to receive a small portion back himself, especially when he was the one taking the risks. By the time he turned nineteen, he had pushed his dealer out of the game.

He went to all the guys’ customers and undercut his prices. This enabled him to take all the customers away from the original dealer.

Obviously this wasn’t appreciated by his old boss, but Sean fronted him out and took over his patch. He would chop somebody in half just for a reputation and that is what he did to the dealer, not literately but close enough. Sean was after the money, drugs and power and was not about to let anybody stand in the way of him getting them.

He became feared, as people were aware of what he would do to them. His main clients were the crack whores, they were always regular customers. From this, Sean had turned his hand to managing prostitutes. This is what he called it. What he really was, was a pimp. He had a large number of girls working for him all over Essex.

All the girls were one of two kinds of prostitutes. They were either drug addicts who worked the streets or prostitutes who worked his houses. The girls who worked the houses were not crack whores though, not like his customers. Sean ran these women with an iron rod.

They weren’t allowed to take drugs and if he found out they did, then he would beat them to within an inch of their life and they would never work for him again. He made sure they were clean and disease free, ensuring that they took regular STI checks at the local GUM clinic and that they never, ever rode bareback.

No matter how much they were offered, Sean had a fast rule of condoms to be used every single time. Never having sex with the girls was another rule, not wanting to blur lines or appear to have favourites. He preferred the junkies anyway, as they were more disposed to be used and abused.

He collected the money from them daily and paid them their cut. He had found out about the man trying to rip him off just twenty minutes after he had left the working house.

That man had been found within the hour, he was now lying on the floor in a warehouse in Barking and Sean Fergus looked like he was going to kill him. Sean prided himself on his ability to find people who were running from him. Like a werewolf can sniff out the vampires. He had learnt from the best.

The broken man on the floor had no idea who Sean was. He was just a regular bloke, who drank too much and thought he would try to get away with a free fuck. He had a wife and three kids at home and now they were going to be left without him. He felt another kick in the head and the room went black for a few seconds.

He could smell the fear inside of himself. For a brief moment, he wondered if his family would be better off without him. His wife wouldn’t have to put up with his philandering ways. His children wouldn’t have to be subjected to his broken promises.

“You think you can fuck me over do you?” The words were spat out in venom.

Sean was jumping around the warehouse, like a demented kangaroo with rabies.

“You think you can fuck my girls for free?” His eyes, normally a seducing blue that could occupy and dominate the smallest of attention spans, had adopted a chameleon effect and taken on a demented grey stance.

“I am s…s…sorry.” The punter tried to crawl up onto his knees.

He wanted to talk himself out of this situation. He needed to be able to walk away from this alive. Or at least crawl away, as his legs were pretty broken. “I didn’t know.”

“Keep pissing me off and I will shove your teeth so far down your throat; you will have to shove your fingers up your arse to bite your fucking nails.” The manic words were spat out by Sean.

The man didn’t give up. He tried to reason with him.

“I mean, I didn’t …”

Sean’s foot caught the man’s chin, just as he had managed to steady himself onto his knees, the sound of the blow reverberated around the empty warehouse; echoing into the vacant twilight.

His light brown hair glistened with droplets of sweat, as he soared with the exhilaration. As much as he made a show of being pissed off at such disrespect, he secretly wished for it to happen. The retribution he pelted out was just as good as any illegal high.

The man struggled to speak. He had swallowed a lot of blood, from the numerous punches that Sean had rained on his face. He didn’t want to die. It may have been a little late to have such an epiphany but it was a realisation all the same.

Death was something that one needed to prepare for and he was not prepared; not at all. He didn’t know what was on the other side. Was there a heaven? Or would he be going to the other place.

Would his soul burn forever, in a nothingness void that spun around the earth? He slowly closed his eyes to pray to any higher being to end this for him. Just make him survive this, please.

As his eyes closed to embrace the darkness he saw the glint of the shiny iron crowbar just before Sean embedded it into his skull.

Sean hadn’t killed him, but he had made sure the man would be in hospital for the next six months and that he would never forget who Sean Fergus was. This was what had pissed him off more. The stupid ponce had never even heard of him; had absolutely no idea who he was or what he owned.

This galled Sean. He had worked hard over the last three years, to get where he was. He was not about to let some no mark disrespect him like that. He was young. At twenty- one, he had achieved what some men spend their whole lives trying to accomplish.

It wasn’t an easy job managing girls. You had to be on their backs constantly and have your eyes and ears open.

He had enjoyed giving out the beating. It was like having a workout for him. He really did enjoy the violence of his job, almost as much as finding new blood, to add to the vast network of girls he had.

That part he really did like. He went for the runaways and homeless mainly, they were easy to break. He would befriend them; give them a place to stay, food and money.

Then he would introduce the drugs, if they weren’t already on something. Usually it was crack or heroin.

After a few hits they were hooked and willing to do anything he wanted. He was always fascinated by how easy it was. They never resisted. He was too good at it.

A pimp needs charm and Sean had it abundance. It seeped out of him. He had a special knack of tuning into people’s insecurities. It was almost as if he could read their inner most thoughts. He could do it with men too. A whore once told him he could charm the pants off the straightest bloke. It was why he had got to where he had.

It was why the faces trusted him and it was what the girl’s fell for. It was such a waste of life. These women had almost no self respect or dignity. If there was any, Sean stripped it away quite quickly.

He was pissed that he had to put his plans for the evening on hold to sort out a whore’s punter. He had a lovely new tart ready to be groomed. She was just ripe and he was about to do the picking.

He was also pissed that his name obviously wasn’t as known as it should be, otherwise he wouldn’t have had to sort out the punter. He was running late and now he had to stop off at home in Brentwood first for a shower; the punter had bled all over him as he had helped to put him in the car, so his henchmen could drop him off at the hospital.

And he would be dropped off, literally out of the car door and left on the pavement outside Queen’s Hospital Accident and Emergency department, in Romford.

It was hard enough for Sean to make sure all his girls toed the line, without having to ensure the punters played by the rules too. The fact that he had some major trust issues with just about everybody he came across meant it virtually impossible for him to find hired help. He had a few heavies that would help him out from time to time but no permanent crew.

It was one of the reasons why he appealed to the faces of Essex; the solitary way he chose to live. If one man could cause such destruction, then that one man was worth having on your side. That was just common sense and for a face to be a face; common sense and nous was what would keep you alive and your status and reputation intact.

Sean wasn’t that interested in being a face. He enjoyed the notoriety it bought and the money, but the power over turf control held no concern for him. He enjoyed working with different people, taking on different jobs. He loved the diversity but above all he longed for the precipitous carnage he could cause; holding that supremacy over another person.

It ate away at him if it had been too long.

As much as he had shown the man, who thought he could shag his girls and not pay for the privilege, just how pissed off and offended he was, he secretly buzzed on the fact it had happened. It had been too long and now he had a slight taste of it again he wanted more.

Sean Fergus wanted a hell of a lot more; his whole body craving to feel that rush of pre-eminence and domination again.

Chapter 3

Ginnie was waiting outside the children’s home she was presently staying at and Sean was two hours late in picking her up. She looked what she was; another homeless teenager who had been in and out of care homes all their life. Her clothes, although in good condition, were hand- me-downs from previous unwanted kids. The fl owery chiff on blouse was slightly too big for her slight, not yet fully matured body and the short denim skirt hung from her developing hips.

She wore far too much make up for her age, her pretty childlike face revealing the innocence and naivety she held, disguising the fact she had just become an adult. The only feature that set her apart from the rest of the duplicate ‘care-home kids’ was the fi re-cracking red of her hair.

The home itself was made up of two houses, originally built as private properties; its facade was classically Georgian, dating back to 1750. The characteristic and distinctive square and symmetrical shape revealed the precipitous beauty and size of the building. The pillars in the front of the house, which gave the building an air of importance and official-ness, were added much later, when it was converted into one. A panelled front door took centre place and the sash window frames gleamed in the twilight haze. The driveway was still scattered with dead leaves. They were piled high on both edges, all the way along to the twin iron gates, which were guarded by two gigantic oak trees on either side. The overhanging branches provided privacy from the busy main road and the vast girth of the trunks made ideal hiding places, as Ginnie had discovered.

They were perfect to stand behind and not be seen by the house or by the road and, as she was way past her curfew, being able to hide was unquestionably a benefit. The house was comprised of a library, a lounge, a games room, kitchen and dining areas. There were five single bedrooms and three shared ones.