Читать книгу Taken - Jacqui Rose, Jacqui Rose - Страница 9

It was already six o’clock and Oscar Harding needed to get ready. He’d been trying to get ready since this morning but had found it impossible after waking up to the scene of carnage next to him. It was the second time it’d happened and although it hadn’t shocked him as much as the first time, it’d still fucked up his day.

He’d called Billy a few hours ago and had left a message but he still hadn’t arrived and that was really winding him up. He paid Billy a lot of money to be at his beck and call and on the few times he did call him, the little prick was nowhere to be seen.

It was his own fault though; his mum had always warned him about trusting coons. That thought pissed him off even more; knowing his mum had been right about anything.

‘Boss? Boss?’

Oscar watched Billy swagger into the bedroom of his large executive flat and then freeze as he took in the sight; his black skin blanching. ‘Fuck me.’

‘Are you trying to be an Anthony Blunt? I called you over three hours ago and the first thing you come in and say is fuck me. Where’s my fucking apology?’

‘Sorry Boss, it’s just a shock.’

Oscar looked at the horror on Billy’s face; he was short and stocky and his skin was black as a hole. And had a naked woman tattooed on his neck. Oscar decided that he needed to get rid of him as soon as possible. It was no good having a henchman who was shocked at the sight of a little bit of blood.

‘I need you to clear this up; I’m meeting Alfie Jennings down at the club later and the last thing I need is him moaning like a cunt because I’m late. I’m going to have a shower and I want it gone by the time I’m finished.’

Oscar stood feeling the hot water of the power shower beat down on his chest and as he opened his mouth to let the water bubble into it, the events of the night before came rushing back.

He’d spent the first few hours of the evening listening to Vaughn Sadler talk about his holiday trip to Marbella. It’d been excruciating and Oscar was sure if he was forced to listen to any more holiday anecdotes, he’d end up comatose at UCH.

He’d no interest whatsoever in travelling or in listening to Vaughn pretending to be a page out of the Lonely Planet. He’d tried to look at his watch discreetly but Vaughn had spotted him.

‘Somewhere else you’d rather be? I’m not boring you am I, Oscar?’

‘Not at all, Vaughn, it’s fascinating. I could listen to you all night.’

‘Glad to hear it. Now where was I? You’ve made me lose me train of thought.’

‘You were about to tell me about your new swimming pool.’

He’d wanted to bury an axe in Vaughn’s head to stop him talking, like he’d done to the Albanian guy last week who’d tried to rip him off, but he’d continued to smile through gritted teeth as he listened to the multiple ways of aerating the water in a pool.

Oscar doubted he’d be able to sit and listen to anyone else spouting shit like this but it was, after all, Vaughn Sadler – and even though he’d ‘retired’ and been out of the business for the last couple of years, Oscar didn’t know any sane man who would fuck with Vaughn. He hadn’t just heard about his reputation, he’d seen it first hand, and he was one man he never wanted to get on the wrong side of.

He’d known Alfie and Vaughn since their early twenties when they all hung around the clubs of Soho desperate to make a name for themselves. It was Vaughn who’d shot up the ranks first with his fearlessness; never shying away from anyone or anything. When everyone else including himself had been reluctant to go to certain places, Vaughn had gone in controlled and precise, his presence as menacing as the weapons he carried.

Vaughn had taken on the older faces, people like Mad Boy Collins and Leroy Andrews, who even by Oscar’s standards were merciless in their quest to get justice for anything they saw as disrespect or wrongdoings.

Rumour had it Mad Boy Collins had been owed less than two grand by Eddie Williams – a small time crack dealer with a big time gambling habit – but Collins had taken exception to the fact he’d had to wait for the money whilst Eddie had gone on a weekend trip to Amsterdam. Pissed off by what he saw as disrespect, Collins and his men had stormed into Eddie’s house while he was away and raped his wife and two teenage daughters, before chopping them up into tiny bits – but not before Mad Boy Collins had made himself a cup of tea and a ham sandwich.

Taking on men like Collins without fear had gained Vaughn respect and he’d earned his place amongst the top faces. He’d stayed at the top ever since.

Along the way Vaughn had earned vast amounts of money; everyone had wanted to do business deals with him, knowing they’d never be turned over by Vaughn, who had a reputation not only for being an untouchable but for having integrity; a rare and strange quality in their world.

Oscar had never done any business with Vaughn, although he’d have liked to – he’d heard whispers that Vaughn thought of him as untrustworthy. It’d fucked him off no end to think Vaughn Sadler went around thinking he was better than him, but not nearly as much as it fucked him off to have to sit and listen to him recount his tedious tales of his latest trip abroad. It was either that, though, or risk getting on the wrong side of Vaughn – and no one wanted to do that.

Finally, he’d been able to make his excuses when his phone had rung and he’d pretended it was his mother.

‘You know how it is, Vaughn, got to go and see me old mum. She’s on her own now and she hasn’t been very well.’

‘That’s what I like to see; sons looking after their mothers.’

Thankful to get out of the bar on Glasshouse Street, Oscar had thought about his mother. There was no way he ever wanted to lay eyes on her again or even speak to her; moreover, if he ever saw her lying in the street he’d cross to the other side. She was nothing more than a drunken slag and if it wasn’t for the fact he’d promised his father before he died that he’d look after her, he would’ve put her in the ground a long time ago.

Thinking about his mother always brought on one of his headaches so he’d decided to do the five-minute walk to Whispers to see what was going on. The club had been empty besides a few nervous and very bad comedians. He’d watched as they took their turns at the open spot and he’d struggled to raise even a smile. Oscar couldn’t see the point in a comedian’s existence; to him, it was a fucked-up kind of life if you needed to spend it trying to make other people laugh.

He’d heard Alfie’s stand-up routine many times and by far he was the worst comedian he’d ever seen; it verged on the embarrassing. Oscar guessed owning the club was the only way Alfie would ever have the chance to go on stage; nobody else in their right mind would let him. But however bad a comedian Alfie was, Oscar had to admit he was a savvy businessman and the club was a perfect smokescreen for their projects; especially the one they were just buying into.

As Oscar had stood eyeing up the barmaid, he’d felt one of his migraines coming on, making him doubly grateful Alfie wasn’t performing. It was one thing listening to Vaughn talk about his holidays but an entirely different one listening to Alfie Jennings on stage.

Oscar had left the club when a female comedian had come on stage talking about periods and the menopause. He’d headed back to his flat in Holborn, feeling the pain in his head travel down behind his right eye and the taste of metal on his tongue.

He’d picked up the phone when he’d got home and spoken roughly to the person at the other end.

‘Bring me one.’

‘Which one Boss?’

‘Any. I want to have some fun.’

The girl had stood looking at him nervously and Oscar had guessed she was about twenty, though it didn’t really matter how old she was; he’d no interest in knowing anything about her. She was very slim with dark hair but when she’d taken her clothes off, he’d been annoyed at the size of her tits; they were huge and it’d made him feel sick; it reminded him of his mother.

She’d lain back on his clean slate-coloured sheets, naked, and as his headache had got profoundly worse, Oscar had heard her mutter something inaudible, then she’d leant forward and started massaging his penis; first softly and then hard, using her tongue in rapid motion on his shaft.

Nearly blinded from the pain in his head, Oscar had stared down at the woman working away on his limp penis. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a hard-on and the useless bitch with her colossal tits certainly wasn’t helping.

With a lunge of his arm he’d thrust his hand between her legs; she’d screamed loudly, accentuating the pain in his head. He’d punched her; hard enough to daze her but not hard enough to knock her out.

Grabbing hold of her hair, Oscar had dragged the girl further towards him; manoeuvring her underneath him, ready to show her he was a real man. He’d prised her legs wide open and attempted to enter her but he hadn’t been able to get an erection.

The humiliation and frustration he’d felt had turned into anger, and in a flash he’d started to kick out at her in a frenzy.

Oscar had looked down at the slate-coloured sheets which had turned into a pool of crimson blood and suddenly he’d felt very tired. It was then that he’d realised his headache had gone; and his pleasure at being pain-free was only slightly marred when it dawned on him he now needed to sleep on the couch, rather than in the blood-soaked bed.

Stepping out of the shower, Oscar hoped Billy had finished cleaning up. He was happy now he remembered what’d happened; all day it’d troubled him. Not what he’d done; she was only a cheap whore anyway and he doubted she’d ever be missed; it was the not remembering he hated.

Whistling, Oscar continued to get ready for his meeting. He was in a good mood and even Alfie performing his stand-up act couldn’t change that.