Reprisal (The Cardigan Estate Book 2) Page 6

  George moved inside. “Yep.”

  “Go through then.”

  She closed the door behind Greg and followed them down the hall to the kitchen. They’d perched side by side at the breakfast bar, and the room seemed smaller with them in it.

  “Come on then, what’s going on?” She shoved a coffee pod in her machine and stuck a cup beneath the spout, jabbing the ON button. Every night before bed, she filled up the water receptacle. Saved mucking about when she got up, groggy.

  “We’d rather tell you once we’ve got our drinks, if it’s all the same to you,” Greg said.

  While she carried on making the drinks, tamping down her worry, they chatted about Sarah and how Lime was seriously in the wind, not even a sighting of him at his usual haunts. No one had seen him at The Flag for days. George had ordered one of his lesser-known men to spend a lot of time in that pub, Lime’s preferred drinking hole. Nothing, not even his right-hand man, Dave, had gone in for a pint. Lime was clearly hiding out, and for good reason. Now The Brothers knew what the man was after, Lime would use his minions to try to kill the twins so he could take over The Estate. George said he wasn’t having any of it, they’d flush him out eventually.

  “Have you ever heard where he lives?” Greg asked her.

  “No, I don’t tend to have anything to do with him, and I expect his address is a closely guarded secret, as is yours.” She handed them their cups and went back to the machine to sort hers, having to add more water. Flat white, two sweeteners, not too harsh on her taste buds first thing. “He’s been in The Angel, though, a couple of times.”

  George’s face clouded over. “What the fuck for?”

  “Telling my customers he’s going to take The Estate so they may as well switch to him for protection now, seeing as they’ll only have to do it later. I told him to sling his hook, and he hasn’t been back since. I must admit, I expected retribution for that, me being ‘cheeky’, him putting a petrol bomb through my letterbox or something, but maybe it came in the form of Sarah and Frank getting beaten up.”

  “Who the hell does he think he is?” George stared at Greg.

  “A tosser,” Greg said.

  Debbie took her cup to the breakfast bar and leant against the closest cupboard. “Come on then, out with it. You don’t get to wake me up early and chinwag about Lime.”

  The men looked at one another, and Greg nodded. George would be doing the talking then. They had a weird vibe going on between them, like they didn’t have to speak. She supposed it was a twin thing.

  “We know who killed Cardigan.” George sipped some coffee, as though what he’d said was nothing, not the massive bombshell that it was.

  Her heart skipped several beats, and her stomach clenched. “What? Since when?”

  “Kind of got the news this morning when the cheeky fucker had the gall to turn up at our place.”

  “Who?”

  “That, we won’t tell you. Not yet anyway.” George smiled. “We thought you’d want to kill him, like you did Mickey, seeing as Cardigan’s death affected you the way it did.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. She could hardly believe that after all this time, she was finally going to avenge his death. Grateful to The Brothers for allowing her the honour of using her knife again, she tried to speak, but the words got clogged.

  “We thought of a plan on the way over.” George drummed his fingertips on the breakfast bar, lightly, as though he needed the distraction or it was some kind of soothing mechanism.

  “Okay…” It was all she could manage.

  “We’re going to tell him to meet us at one of the warehouses, the one we use to kill people in. Make out we’ve got a job for him that pays big money. He won’t turn that down. He’s a greedy bastard, not just for cash but notoriety.” George scratched his head. “It’s tonight, so you’re going to have to get Lavender or one of the others to cover at the brothel—but they need to be aware they have to say you were at the brothel, if you catch my drift.”

  She caught it. The girls had given her an alibi before, for Mickey, not that she’d needed one, and not that they knew why they were lying for her. Then again, she might need one now Harry knew he was dead. He’d be going round asking questions, she’d bet, poking his nose where it wasn’t wanted, where she didn’t need it to be.

  “What about Harry?” she asked.

  George’s eyebrows shot up then lowered with the narrowing of his eyes. “What about him?”

  “My alibi for Mickey might come up. I told Harry last night he was dead.”

  “We heard—bit daft of you. Don’t know what you were thinking. Anyway, don’t worry about Harry. He won’t be saying anything. Out of interest, why did you say that to him?”

  Debbie shrugged. “He was pissing me off. I wanted to hurt him, get a rise. He wouldn’t tell me who killed Cardigan, yet he made it clear he knew.”

  “Yeah, well, that’ll be sorted later. We’ll be talking to him.” George took a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it across the bar. “That’s where you need to be at eight. We’ll already be there with the fella.”

  She read the address. “Why won’t you say who it is?”

  “Because you’ll go out there and find him as soon as we’ve left, and we need to keep it contained. At the warehouse, we can get his body removed without being seen, same as at The Eagle with the Mickey lark.”

  The warehouse was by the Thames, and smug satisfaction went through her. “No guesses as to where he’ll end up then.” She prodded the paper.

  “In pieces. Scoffed in no time by the fish.” George grinned. “Bring the knife you used on Mickey. Fitting, don’t you think?”

  She smiled at him. “It will be. I’m not going to relax all day now, wondering who it is.”

  “Patience.” George drank some coffee.

  Greg had emptied his cup during the conversation and got up to stick it in the dishwasher. “Cheers for that.” He sat again and fucked about with his earlobe. “You’ll be all right when it’s over?”

  She nodded. “I just need whoever it is dead, that’s all. Nothing else. He took Cardigan away from me, and I’ll never forgive him.”

  “Yeah, well, take it from us, his type don’t deserve forgiveness,” George rumbled. “Now, here’s how it’s going to work…”

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the car, Beth had the hood on over her face, working out the turnings, trying to keep them in her head for when she told George and Greg, telling herself that once she knew her destination, she’d maybe have an idea where Lime had kept her.

  Dave didn’t speak on the journey, either staring ahead or leering over at her. At one point, his hand strayed from the steering wheel as if he thought to touch her. She’d tell Lime if he did. Apparently, she wasn’t to be used like that in any way, Lime had said that before Dave had ushered her out to the car, where she was once again blind to where she was.

  Dave must have remembered the memo, because he pulled his arm away and gripped the wheel tight, his jaw muscles working where he gritted his teeth.

  “You’re nothing but a dirty slag, and dirty slags get nowhere in life without men like me.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Take the hood off and get the fuck out,” he ordered. “You’re in the street next to where The Brothers live, like Lime wants.”

  She stood on the pavement, his words ringing in her ears, out of her comfort zone in the surroundings. Rich people lived here, the type who didn’t have mortgages to pay off, cash sales perhaps, with fancy cars parked on the well-maintained drives, not a speck of moss between the paved bricks.

  They probably used a power hose to clean them, like Lime’s.

  She shivered at the remembered pain.

  Even the grass looked different, closely cut, greener, no dry patches. There were Victorian streetlamps instead of the ones she was used to, black, cast-iron, and none of the kerbs were down—no parking on the street here.

  Beth sighed and walked along, t
he sores on her legs giving her gyp. Lime had said she needed to take a right, go along to the next road, and take another right. She did that, staring down a cul-de-sac, the homes large, detached, with open-plan gardens. Each one had dark-framed windows, grey bordering on black, front doors to match. Uniform.

  She was after number ten and wondered, if Lime knew where the twins lived, why they hadn’t just come here themselves to root them out. Scare them off or kill them. He’d told her to mind her own if she knew what was good for her and concentrate on what she had to do.

  He wanted to know the men’s patterns, where they went, whether there was a routine. She could work out why. They planned to ambush them at some point.

  Without their knowledge, Beth had to prevent that from happening. She didn’t want to work on The Estate with Lime running it. The Brothers were fair, and with Debbie managing the brothel and the corner in the vicinity of The Angel, Beth got to keep all her wages.

  She wouldn’t get that kind of deal with Lime. He’d take fifty percent, and then where would she be once his payment for this job ran out? Back to how it was when Cardigan owned the patch, Beth working longer hours to make up the shortfall. More men. More pawing.

  She spotted a black BMW on a drive and headed over there. It belonged to the twins, she recognised the number plate from when they’d driven past the corner, and her stomach cramped with knots, anticipation climbing. At the point when she entered the house, if they’d even let her in, that was her chance to back out of her decision to let George and Greg in on what was happening. If she didn’t and chose to continue, they’d better bloody offer her more protection until Lime had been found. She was risking her life here—and Gran’s.

  On the semi-circle step patterned with shiny red bricks, she willed her heartbeat to slow, raising her hand to knock. Her fist shook, but she rapped on one of the glass panels. No going back now, unless she lied to them, making out she was there for something else.

  A shape came to the patterned glass, and she reckoned whichever brother it was, he stared at her through the central peephole. She smiled—I’m no threat, see?—and waited for him to open up.

  “All right, Beth? What are you doing here?” Greg frowned. “Come to think of it, how the bleedin’ hell do you know where we live?”

  She took a deep breath. Let it out. Smile still fixed. “Can I come in?”

  He glanced up and down the cul-de-sac as if she’d brought people with her.

  George appeared, looking none too happy, and peered over Greg’s shoulder. “What the fuck?”

  “She said she needs to come in,” Greg said.

  “Well, fucking let her then! We don’t need her standing on the doorstep. Christ.”

  They moved back in unison, and Beth gave a tentative smile of thanks, entering a foyer. What was it with these people? Couldn’t they have a normal-sized hallway? This one was different to Lime’s with its white-tiled floor and black walls. A red velvet carver chair sat in the left corner beside a window with matching curtains. The stairs had pure-white carpet, and she imagined them killing someone in here and making a fair bit of mess.

  She shuddered but hid it well and waited for Greg to shut the door.

  “Tea or coffee?” George asked.

  “Either, thank you.” She was still hungry. “And can you feed me?”

  George’s mouth hung open. “You fucking what?” He laughed like she was joking.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute.” She swayed. “I… God, I need to sit down.”

  “Hold up, what the chuff’s the matter with you?” Greg gripped her elbow.

  It reminded her of Lime helping her up the basement stairs, and she shoved the image to the back of her mind.

  He guided her into a large kitchen, again the opposite of Lime’s, everything white bar the red blind at the window. He pressed her down to a chair at the table, keeping his hand on her shoulder.

  “What’s happened?”

  She looked up at him. “I need food or I’ll faint. Anything.”

  He moved to a fridge and took out a prepacked sandwich, handing it over. She peeled the lid off and ate one half in three bites, the cheese clogging in her throat, but God, it tasted lovely.

  George came in and stared at her. “Fuck me, gannet.” He shook his head and went to a coffee machine, putting a cup on it then prodding a load of buttons.

  She ate the other half while he made three drinks, and they sat with her, both frowning, both staring.

  “Well?” George asked. “Why are you so bloody hungry?”

  She licked a crumb off her lip. “I was starved for I don’t know how many days. I don’t even know what today is.”

  “Couldn’t you just nip to Tesco?” George’s frown deepened.

  “Not that kind of starved. Deliberately starved.”

  Greg bolted more upright. “Excuse me?”

  Energy seemed to flood her from the food. She sipped some coffee, wondering what the caffeine would do to her, seeing as she’d been without. She’d be buzzing, no doubt. “The other night, after work, I was walking home when someone grabbed me.”

  “Oh, fuck me…” Greg massaged his temples. “Who?”

  “I’ll get to that in a sec.” She wanted to make an impact. “They bundled me into the back of a car and shoved a rag in my mouth, then put a black sack thing over my head. I was driven somewhere…” She told them about going inside, the steps, the basement, him using the hose on her, all without saying their names.

  “Bloody hell…” George closed his eyes for a second, maybe to come to terms with what she’d said. “Did you escape or something?”

  “No, he took me upstairs to the kitchen, gave me these clothes and some cream—my legs are sore from… And he made me an omelette, handed me money for a job he wants me to do—well, half of the payment anyway. I get the other half when you two are dead.”

  “Lime,” they said together.

  Beth nodded. “So Dave dropped me off round here, and I’m supposed to be telling you I’m scared because of what happened to Sarah—but I didn’t even know about her until Lime told me, I was in the basement when that went on. And I’m meant to ask you to let me stay here while I find out information on you and pass it to him. He also gave me a pay-as-you-go phone.” She pointed to her bag, given back to her along with her clothes and shoes, just before she’d left his house. “I’ve got to ring him when I find out your routine so they can do whatever, catch you off-guard. The mobile isn’t on at the moment—I was worried about bugs in it, recording us.”

  George nodded and gestured for her to hand the phone over. “Much like we’d do with him. We’ve got a man in The Flag, not that it’s doing any good.”

  “Right.” She passed him the phone.

  He got busy examining it.

  “You did good by telling us.” Greg patted her arm. “And you will stay here, although thinking about it, you’re better off elsewhere if they know where we live. I don’t want them getting to you.”

  She shook her head. “They won’t come here. They want to nab you wherever else.”

  “We’d do the same.” George pushed the phone back to her. “That’s clean. You said you had a bag on your head on the way there. What about on the way back?”

  “Same, but I tried to count the turnings and how long between them.” She was proud of herself for thinking of that, but what if she got it wrong when she tried to recall the info? She was still fuzzy around the edges.

  George ran a finger beneath his nose. “Decent. For now, stay put. Have a bath. Pick one of the spare rooms and have a kip, or maybe put a film on. We’ve got a cinema room downstairs. I’ll ask someone to nip and get you some new clothes. Leggings so they don’t hurt your sores. And I won’t be saying who they’re for, so don’t worry about that. We’ve got another job to do later, but when we get back, well go out, see if you can show us where they took you. I’ll get hold of someone who’ll know which houses have basements. We can narrow his place down then.”
<
br />   “Okay.” Relief poured through her. She thought they’d at least suspect her of double-crossing them, that the story she’d given was really bullshit. Maybe they were used to spotting liars a mile off.

  Greg cleared his throat. “Why did you agree to do the job?”

  She swallowed. “I didn’t have any choice. And I need the money.”

  “What for?”

  She’d never told anyone why she had to work so hard, ashamed of her parents for not stepping up to the plate and providing for Gran. They were druggies, useless pieces of shit, and Beth reckoned she was the only decent one left in the family apart from Gran. The old girl didn’t deserve such a scummy son who’d stolen what little jewellery she had to fund their habit, and Beth would pay for the care home as long as she was able.

  “My gran…” Tears filled her eyes, falling, hot, stinging. “She can’t get about like she used to, and she’s in a home. She got a letter from the assessment people saying she could manage well enough by herself for the minute, but she can’t, so I found somewhere for her. She forgets things, like if she’s put the dinner on, and she’s all hunched over—bad spine. I…I pay for it, but it’s a lot of money.”

  “Is that why you’re always first and last on the corner?” Greg asked.

  She nodded. “And it’s why I do things most of the others won’t, same as Sarah. Higher money, see.”

  “Is this care home registered? A proper one?”

  “Yeah, I researched it all online. A lady called Helen runs it. She’s lovely, really cares about Gran. I’m happy with what she does. Dinners are provided, they do her washing and clean her room, and sit with her for an hour before helping her to bed.”

  Greg blew out a long breath, as if what she’d said had affected him. “What’s the address?”

  Beth gave it. “Why?”

  “We’ll have it checked out, and if we feel it’s kosher, we’ll pay the fees. If it isn’t, or if it’s not up to our standard, we’ll find somewhere else that is, won’t we, George?”