Читать книгу Toxic: The addictive new crime thriller from the best selling author that will have you gripped in 2018 - Jacqui Rose, Jacqui Rose - Страница 8

In a remote scrap yard, four miles outside Saffron Waldon, Johnny Dwyer bent over the perfectly cut up lines of coke. He paused, almost in reverence, looking appreciatively at the white powder before eagerly pushing the fifty-pound note up into his nostril, hungrily sampling the new batch of cocaine he’d just shipped in.

He felt the burn at the back of his nose followed by the tingling sensation in his throat. This was the best part. The first rush which he’d spend the rest of the night trying to chase.‘Can I move now, Johnny? I’ve got cramp in me bleedin’ foot.’

Johnny stared down at the brass in disgust. Whores, they were all the same. Moaning and doing his head in. Jesus, if he’d wanted that, he would’ve stayed at home. He didn’t know why he’d even bothered and now, now he was regretting it big time.

‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up and keep still.’ He bent down again, snorting another line off the hooker’s stomach whilst trying, then quickly giving up on remembering her name.

‘I ain’t going to lie here any longer, I’ve got to go to the bog. I’ll bleedin’ piss meself otherwise.’

Whining and pulling a face she began to wriggle, spilling the coke down the side of her scrawny tattooed hip.

Johnny gnawed down on his lip. That was it. The final straw. Not only did this silly cow think it was okay to waste some decent blow, but she was now beginning to spoil his high.

Leaping towards her and pushing his hands down hard against her throat, Johnny’s eyes bulged with rage.

‘And I ain’t going to pay for some bleedin’ crackhead like you to have a piss in my bathroom, so if you wanna …’

‘Boss?’

The door to the portacabin was flung open. Johnny scowled. ‘Fuck me, what happened to knocking? Give a man a chance to put his cock away.’

Big Billy Baldwin, who stood no taller than five feet, grinned at Johnny. ‘Sorry boss, but he’s here. Ma told me to bring him straight to you. She said you’d know what to do. She also said “enjoy!”’

Tucking his penis back in his trousers, Johnny wiped his nose and nodded. ‘Fine, bring him in … oh, and get her out of here.’

Happy to oblige, Billy stepped forward, grabbing hold and dragging the naked woman off the table.

‘That hurt! Get off me! Oi! Who d’ya think yer manhandling? And what about me bleedin’ money? I need me clothes! I’ve a mind to—’

The cabin door shut, muting the rest of her words.

Straightening himself up, Johnny rubbed his chin, feeling the coarse dark stubble, a throwback to his Romany genes. Sighing, he swept back his black hair as he leant forward on his chair, moodily spinning round the well-used cosh which sat in front of him on the desk.

He hadn’t had the best of days; he’d heard a few things through the Essex grapevine which hadn’t made him very happy. In fact, they’d positively pissed him off.

Ma had told him his wife, Bree, was acting suspiciously again, no doubt planning, thinking about leaving him as she so often did. But of course, that was just never going to happen. No one left him … ever. And if the stupid mare dared or thought she could just get up and go with the kids, then she really was braver than most men he knew.

But he’d sort it. He always did when she decided to step out of line. Though it always surprised him that she still hadn’t learnt the lesson by now; she was his, and she was going nowhere. Yet even with all he’d taught her, every few months she’d get a bee in her bonnet about how she was going to leave, and every few months Ma would tell him about it. And then, well, he just sorted it the best way he knew how.

Rolling a spliff, Johnny thought about the other piece of information he’d heard today. The information which Ron the runt – who was not only one of the biggest grasses between Essex and John o’ Groats, but also one of the biggest liars – had delighted in telling him.

‘It’s true Johnny, I swear it is. I swear. I wouldn’t lie to you. I was told by one of me sources.’

Johnny had stared at him in disbelief, but even when Billy – who’d been branding one of the horses at the time – had held a red-hot, glowing horseshoe inches away from Ron’s face, the runt had sworn that his information was true. That now Reginald Reynolds, the kingpin of Essex, was dead, Vaughn Sadler and Alfie Jennings, two legendary faces of Soho, had decided to come back home. Home to Essex to set up shop and take the crown.

And if Ron was right? Well bollocks to that. There was simply no way he was about to let that happen. No bleedin’ way at all.

On top of all that, he was now going to have to deal with Shane, one of his employees who thought it was okay to do a moonlight fucking flit and go and work somewhere else. So, before he could relax, and get on with the rest of his night, he was going to have to teach Shane a lesson. Then hopefully, things could finally get back to normal.

The door opened.

‘Hello, Shane. Glad you could make it. Come on in.’ Johnny cracked his knuckles, smiling as the tall, lanky young man was brought in by Billy.

Rubbing a bit of coke on his gums, Johnny’s crystal-blue eyes stared coldly. ‘Have I or have I not done a lot for you?’

Shane Hanlan mumbled, gazing down at the chipped, grey vinyl floor. ‘Yes, boss … yes.’

Amusing himself, Johnny tapped the cosh on the palm of his hand, winking at Billy as he leaned towards a trembling, blanching Shane. ‘I can’t hear you. Speak up, son.’

‘Yes, boss! Yes!’

‘That’s better. Now I need to ask you a question … Do you think I’m stupid?’

Shane’s head shot up, his eyes darted around the room as his words rushed out. ‘No, of course not! No way.’

‘No? Then why? Why after all that me and Ma have done for you, do you do this? We train you up. Give you a job. Even welcome you into our home. For what, though? So you can throw it all back in me face and go and leave me?’

‘I was going to come back. Straight up I was. Johnny, you got to believe me.’

Johnny Dwyer exploded. His handsome face turning red. He opened his mouth and bellowed as the veins in the side of his head swelled and pulsated. ‘Do I look like I have mug written all over me forehead? Well, do I?’

With his whole body shaking, Shane could just about tremble out a ‘No’.

‘No, that’s right. But you son, you have disloyalty written right through you, so much so it’s coming out of your fucking arse. And now you’ve given me no option. I got to teach you a lesson, and it breaks me heart to do so. But what choice did you give me, hey? You should never have tried to leave.’

He paused for a moment before whispering into Shane’s ear. ‘I already told ya, nobody leaves Johnny.’

Pulling back from him, Johnny Dwyer’s eyes filled with tears. He lifted the cosh in the air, staring compassionately at Shane. He smiled warmly, speaking softly.

‘I’m sorry, son. I really am.’

The cosh came whistling down, cracking and splitting Shane’s nose in one blow, tearing the skin apart on his eyelids. The blood splattered and poured all over the portacabin walls and floor, and as Johnny brought the cosh down time and time again, Shane Hanlan dropped to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony whilst begging for his life.

Ten minutes later, covered in blood, Johnny Dwyer sat on the floor exhausted, cradling Shane in his arms.

‘That’s it son, it’s over now. Don’t you worry about a thing. You hear me? No need to cry.’

A rasping sound bubbled from Shane’s mouth, his face swollen into an unrecognisable pulp.

‘We’ll get you cleaned up and then everything can get back to normal. And I’m really glad you’re back, son. I thought it was time for my boy to come back to me. You’d been gone long enough. But next time, just remember, nobody ever leaves me … ever.’

As Johnny bent down to kiss Shane on his forehead, a sound of screeching tyres and blaring horns came from outside the portacabin.

Leaping up, Johnny ran out. ‘What the …’

‘Get down, boss! Get down!’ Billy yelled as he dived on the floor and gunfire shots came hard and fast, cracking and speeding through the air, ricocheting off oil cans and scrap metal, and bouncing off skips in the yard.

Sprinting across in front of the portacabins, Johnny threw himself behind the pile of crashed racing cars, frantically scrambling to get to one of the numerous guns which were hidden around the yard.

‘Look out!’ Billy’s voice soared urgently through the air.

Spinning around, Johnny saw the dazzling lights of a speeding red car coming towards him. Desperately, he scrabbled along the hard, gravelled ground, waiting for the impact to hit. But instead the car came to a screeching halt, inches away.

Johnny could smell the heat from the engine. The bumper of the car almost in contact with his face. He was pinned against the wall and all he could do was watch whilst the driver of the car, dressed in a black balaclava, jumped out, rushing round to crouch down beside him.

‘Take this as a warning, Dwyer. Next time there won’t be another chance.’

Reversing at speed, the driver hurled a petrol bomb towards one of the barns, sending it up into a ball of yellow and orange flames. ‘You’ve been warned, Dwyer!’

Johnny silently watched the car drive off into the darkness. Tasting the hatred in his mouth.

‘Who do ya think it was, boss?’

Johnny’s face curled up into a snarl. ‘I don’t know, Billy, but when I find out, they’re going to be dead men.’

By the side of the old watermill on the River Bourne the red car pulled up, skidding to a halt in the darkness of the night. Pulling off his balaclava as he turned off the ignition, Alfie Jennings grinned at Vaughn. ‘Vaughnie, we’re back. We’re fucking back. Essex won’t know what’s hit them.’