'This is not something I was expecting. How much after the job's done?' Phillip said the words with the arrogance he knew Stan would expect. He was well aware that Stan had no intention of paying him a fucking brass razoo. Any front money would be reacquired after his demise.
Stanley Barclay smiled slightly as he opened his arms in a gesture of open-handed generosity. 'Thirty grand after, ten in cash today.'
Phillip nodded, his face didn't betray his real thoughts. 'Where is she? Where's the best place to find her?'
Stan grinned, happy in the knowledge he had sorted out another problem with the least amount of aggro and the maximum amount of camaraderie. He was sorry in a way; this kid was good but, like all good generals, Stan had to understand the term 'collateral damage'.
* * *
Chapter Nine
Veronica looked at her son's girlfriend, saw the bruises on her face, and the sorrow in her eyes. If she was honest, she didn't blame Eileen Booth for her reaction; she was truthful enough to admit she wouldn't want her daughter to come home with men like her sons.
But Phillip loved this girl. Trouble was she was only fifteen. And now, she was on the doorstep refusing to go home.
Christine was battered and bruised, and she needed someone to look out for her. Eileen Booth was an eejit, she should realise she was driving the girl away. Everyone knew about Christine and Phillip. They were the talk of the estate.
Christine's parents were well known too. Ted Booth's supermarket was just down the road. Ted treated everyone with respect. He allowed tick to some people, and he had a knack of refusing others in a way that didn't cause them to retaliate. He had always had a Christmas Club, and everyone knew he was meticulous about the money that was paid in. She herself had been a part of it for longer than she cared to remember. It was his wife that people had the problem with. Eileen Booth made a point of lording it over everyone who came into what she referred to as 'her establishment'; she made sure that everyone knew she thought they were beneath her. So Veronica could be forgiven for finding a small measure of satisfaction in having Eileen's daughter in her front room, determined not to go home for love nor money.
She made Christine a cup of tea, and held her hand until Phillip came home. She knew this girl didn't have any idea of just how deep her son already was in the criminal world, didn't know how deep they all were in that world. Herself included. She also knew that, like her at fifteen, this girl looked like a woman but, unlike Veronica, Christine didn't have the brains she was born with. She had been too sheltered all her life, and as much as Veronica was fond of her, she knew Christine was far too naive for her own good.
* * *
Chapter Ten
'Are you all right, Phil?' James was not the most vocal of men, but even he had sussed that Phillip was not right.
Phillip shrugged. 'No, not really, Jamsie. I think we need to talk to Billy Bantry, he's usually at his gym about this time.'
Jamsie started the car, uneasy now. Billy Bantry was seriously big time, and no one went to him unless they had an invitation. He was not known for his light-hearted banter or his friendly personality. He was, however, known for his short temper, and his unwillingness to suffer fools gladly.
As they approached the gym in North London, Phillip said gently, 'Park round the back, I don't want to be seen going in the front door. Then I want you to go home and wait for me there, OK?'
Jamsie parked the BMW neatly then, turning to his brother, he said, 'I ain't going nowhere without you, Phil.'
Phillip smiled, pleased at his brother's loyalty; Jamsie wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was someone you could depend on and he appreciated that.
'This could all turn pear-shaped, Jamsie. I warn you.'
Jamsie shrugged easily 'Whatever. You're me brother, I ain't about to let you walk in on your Jack Jones, am I?'
'I appreciate that, Jamsie.'
'So what's this all about?'
Phillip grinned then. 'I can't tell you. You'll have to trust me.'
Jamsie didn't even think about what had been said. He answered immediately, 'Fair enough.'
Phillip took a deep breath, then opened the car door slowly 'Wish me luck, bruv.'
As he spoke the back door of the offices opened and two of Billy Bantry's minders walked towards him. He was impressed by their speed. They had to have been looking out for someone acting suspicious, or more to the point someone who had the nerve to park in the car park and, even worse, who wasn't invited, let alone welcome.
'Is Mr Bantry about?'
The older of the two men answered him with a sneer. 'Why, who are you, the fucking police?'
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Billy Bantry was not a big man, but he was heavy-set and possessed what was known as an uncompromising personality. He was frightened of no one, and that came across within ten seconds of meeting him. He was a dour, dark-eyed Irishman. Unlike his compatriots he rarely drank, and he rarely had a tale to tell. His life revolved around his work and his family. He was a dedicated family man. His eldest son was halfway through a degree at Oxford University, and his eldest daughter was married to an idiot on daytime TV. He had two more children by his long-time mistress, and they went to Ampleforth; unlike him, the mistress was a devout Catholic.
As he stared now at Phillip Murphy he seemed devoid of any emotion whatsoever, and Phillip realised that this man could teach him more in a week than most men could in a year. Billy Bantry was that rare breed, the serious loner. He needed no one at all, except the people he employed, and they were paid far too well to ever be tempted away. Plus Billy would never forgive them leaving him, no matter what the circumstances. He owned them.
Bantry regarded young Phillip Murphy through slitted eyes. He had heard good things about him, and he was intrigued as to why the boy had come to him like this. He was not known as an approachable man, he had made sure of that over the years. He had no interest in small talk or gossip. Anything he needed to know he found out with the minimum of fuss and, if necessary, the maximum of pain. So this boy coming to him like this out of the blue had to mean something. He hoped he wasn't going to waste his time asking him for a job, but from what he had heard about Phillip he was too shrewd to try that old fanny.
'Can I speak to you in private, Mr Bantry?' Phillip was nervous, and he was sure the others in the room would pick up on it.
Billy Bantry looked at the lad; he was a lump, no mistaking. But he also seemed a decent enough kid in many respects. He didn't sense any fear or skulduggery emanating from him. In fact, the boy seemed genuine. He was apprehensive, that much was clear. But Phillip was still there, and he had the balls to ask him for his time. That alone impressed Bantry. He waved his two henchmen away, and they left the small office quietly and unquestioningly. Phillip liked that, understood clearly they thought Bantry could take care of himself should the need arise. He knew he was lucky to get this far, but that was the chance he had taken.
'So what do you want, Murphy, and make it quick. I have a notoriously low threshold for boredom.'
'You know a girl called Lisa Mercer, right?'
Billy Bantry didn't move a muscle. 'So what, what about her?'
'She's five months pregnant by Stanley Barclay.'
'And?'
'He wants me to take her out, her and her baby. Offered me forty grand in all. Ten up front, I have that in the car, and thirty afterwards. But I know I wouldn't live long enough to get the rest of the money. I also have no intention of murdering a woman, especially not a pregnant one. I didn't know what to do, then I remembered that she had been rumoured to have had a friendship with you. Just a rumour, mind, and I wondered if you would be kind enough to give me some advice. I keep everything close to my chest and Barclay is relying on that. But,
Mr Bantry, I will do a lot of things for a lot of money, but murdering babies ain't in my resume.'
Billy Bantry was nodding his head; Phillip hoped it was in agreement with what
he was saying. Bantry sighed heavily. 'Barclay's scum, always has been. Five months gone? She tried her hardest, but was never going to score the big one. Good- looking girl, though. Nice natured. You did the right thing, Phillip. Women and children have no real place in our world. They are off-limits. So you assume your reputation for never questioning a job was what he was relying on?'
Phillip nodded.
'He must be desperate if he's giving you ten grand up front. Have you ever killed anyone before?'
Phillip shook his head. 'Not yet, no.'
'Do you think you could?'
Phillip nodded, which made Billy Bantry laugh. 'Keep the ten grand, you've earned it. I'll sort out Barclay, the treacherous cunt. Lisa's old man's in Dartmoor, she had no real father figure, so I've always kept an eye out for her in me own way. But you knew that, that's why you came to me.'
Phillip didn't say a word in response. Bantry liked that the boy didn't try and explain himself. He had heard good things about this kid, and he was happy to give him a helping hand.
'Report to me here on Saturday morning, seven o'clock and don't be late. I think you are worth a chance, son, but remember, with me, you only get the one chance.'
Phillip was thrilled at the turn of events. He had taken a big risk, and had known that it could have gone either way. But for all that, he was never going to kill a pregnant woman. Especially one who had friends in high places.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
Ted Booth heard the bell in his shop, and walked casually out of his small office in the back. As he entered the shop he saw Phillip Murphy locking the door and turning the sign round to 'Closed'.
'What are you doing? It's only six, I have another five hours yet till I close up.'
Phillip smiled at him as if he had known that all along. 'Sorry, Mr Booth, but I need to talk to you.'
Ted Booth felt his heart sinking inside his chest, and for one split second he wondered if he was on the verge of a heart attack. It wouldn't surprise him. He never felt one hundred per cent. His life was a series of minor irritations, the only things he cared about these days were his daughter and the shop. His daughter had her name up with this one here, and he wondered how long before it would all turn sour. He heard everything in this shop; it was part of his job to talk to the customers, listen to them, know their lives. He was frightened, but he tried not to show that. 'What do you want? Make it quick, I'm losing money.'
'It's about your daughter…'
'I worked that one out for meself.'
'She's round my mum's, refusing to go home. Mrs Booth gave her a clump; she's bruised and battered and determined that she ain't going home.'
Ted didn't know what to do. This boy, and he used that term loosely because he was a man in all the ways that counted, was the reason his wife was nearly out of her mind, and why his daughter was happier than she had been in years.
'She's a child. Fifteen.'
'She will be sixteen in three weeks and, Mr Booth, I need to tell you that she ain't in the frame of mind for going home. I told her to, me mum and dad have told her to, but she's adamant.'
Ted sighed. This man, this boy-man, had a hold over his daughter that he knew he would never be able to break. It had already gone too far. He could offer her freedom and excitement, and that was a heady mixture for his Christine. She craved love, craved attention, and the Murphys would give her that in abundance. He knew there and then that he couldn't compete with them on that score, but he had to try.
'I want her home, she's still legally in my jurisdiction.' Ted felt foolish even saying the words. He knew and Phillip Murphy knew that it was only a matter of weeks. Once Christine hit sixteen her life was her own. And the worst thing was that, in a strange way, he didn't blame her for what she'd done. Eileen had suffocated her all her life.
'Well, Mr Booth, that's your prerogative. But I just want you to know that she's safe. I would want to know that if it was my daughter.' Phillip smiled his amiable, friendly smile. Then, shrugging his shoulders in a man of the world gesture, he said to change the subject, 'This is a big space, ain't it? Just out of curiosity, where do you get your alcohol? Only I know a bloke, and he could guarantee you a much better return for your money. He supplies most of the pubs and clubs around here.'
Teddy Booth felt his heart sink even further; he knew exactly where this conversation was going.
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
'You're bright and early.'
Phillip was smiling at Billy Bantry, thrilled at the chance to work for a real crew. He knew he was on a winner; Billy didn't offer his time to wasters, he was a man who only employed the best. Well, Phillip wanted to be the best, and if that meant he had to be a gofer for a while then so be it. He was willing, more than willing, to learn at the knee of a master, and Billy Bantry was a master.
'I can't believe I'm here, Mr Bantry. It's an honour, and I mean that.'
He was sincere, Bantry knew that. He had done his homework on Phillip Murphy and had been proved right. The lad was willing and he was able, more than able, in fact, to take care of himself. He was a lump, but that in itself meant nothing to Billy Bantry. He had taken on bigger men than Phillip and won the war. It was never about size, physical strength, that is. It was about mental strength. The determination to harm your opponent no matter what. Bantry had always been possessed of a cold streak, even as a kid, and he had a big presence, which was more important in his line of work than anything. He was amazed to find that he actually liked this kid, liked his heart. He appreciated that he had come to him quietly and with the least amount of fuss. Lisa Mercer was a nice enough girl, but for Barclay to even think about taking out her and the child was beyond the pale as far as he was concerned. His own child and all! Barclay had had no qualms about offing his own fucking baby. Well, he was now the proud possessor of a pair of cement boots. His disappearance might cause a stir for a few weeks, but unless someone decided to dredge the North Sea, he wasn't likely to be turning up any time in the near future. It suited Bantry; Barclay was becoming a pest anyway, a nuisance, so a valid reason to remove him from the arena was always going to be handy. Plus he had the added bonus of doing his old mate a favour. Lisa's old man would never forget what Billy had done for him, and he wouldn't let him either. Everyone got out one day, and they were always welcome so long as they had something to bring to the table.
'Aren't you going to ask me what happened, then?'
Phillip was too shrewd to fall for that old fanny, but he kept his face neutral and feigned surprise. 'I don't care, Mr Bantry, it's nothing to do with me, is it?'
Billy Bantry laughed, a rare, real laugh. 'You'll do. I want you out collecting with Keith Kenton. He's big and quiet and he knows more about the grab than anyone else in the Smoke. He's expecting you at the Bricklayers' Arms in Hornchurch. Be there by lunchtime.'
He saw the confusion on Phillip's face and he laughed once more. 'Rule number one, son. Always sort business out on neutral ground. Never talk money on the premises. Demand the money, yes, but never drink in a place you're earning from, it causes bad feeling. Can often be misconstrued as a piss-take. Let's face it, going in and collecting is one thing, sitting around all day on the piss and reminding them of your primary function is something else entirely. That causes bad feeling. I like it all to be low key: in, collect and out. Now, have you any questions?'
Phillip shook his head.
'Good. Now fuck off and get on the earn.'
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
Veronica heard the hammering on her front door, and sighed heavily. This time she knew exactly who it was going to be. She walked up the hallway slowly and opened the door as if it was a normal caller, someone she wanted to find on her doorstep. Instead, she looked into Eileen Booth's face and smiled sadly. 'Come in quietly, let's leave the screaming and the shouting for the young ones. Don't be making a show of yourself for the neighbours. I'll make a pot of tea.'
Eile
en Booth was so furious she thought her head would explode. This woman was acting as if this was normal, as if young girls walked out on their families and their lives every day of the week. Was she mentally deficient or something? Couldn't she see how her heart was broken with it all? Did she think that to lose your only child to a family of heathens was not something she should be worried about? Couldn't she understand the fear a mother felt when a teenage child made such potentially devastating decisions without realising the consequences of them? She rounded on the culprit standing before her, the person she saw as responsible. The woman she felt was taking her child from her.
'Have a cup of tea! Are you having a laugh with me? All I want is me daughter.' The refined voice was gone, all pretence washed away; she was showing her East-End roots. Eileen Booth wanted her daughter and was determined she was not leaving without her.
Veronica Murphy looked her antagonist over slowly, deliberately, and with hate in her heart at the woman's assumption that the Murphy family was not good enough to mix with her brood. She took a deep breath and said haughtily, 'Come inside, woman, for Christ's sake. Don't do this on the doorstep like some old slapper. My neighbours are very respectable people. They don't need to be subjected to this. Have you no shame?'
Eileen was so incensed at Veronica's words that she drew her arm back to strike. It was the worst thing she could have ever contemplated. Veronica grabbed her adversary by the throat, her hand like a vice, and dragged the taller woman into the hallway none too gently. She kicked the door shut behind her and, pushing the distraught woman roughly towards the kitchen, she shrieked, 'As God is my witness, you have driven me fecking demented! One more word and I'll annihilate you where you stand, lady. No wonder your daughter doesn't want to be around you! On the few occasions I've met you, it's took all me willpower not to knock your fucking brains in meself. You think you're better than everyone else, don't you? Well, I have news for you, you're not. Now, I think you had better relax, lady, before this gets out of hand. Believe me, I am two seconds away from giving you a serious clump.'