Читать книгу The Trap - Kimberley Chambers - Страница 16

Queenie put the topside of beef in the oven, then flopped down on the sofa next to Vivian. ‘I wish we could find out how Kenny is. He couldn’t have grassed Vinny up, else we’d have the police crawling all over us by now. Perhaps he is still out cold? Or, worse still, say he’s croaked it,’ Queenie said, her lips twitching anxiously.

Realizing her sister was going out of her mind with worry, Vivian got up and poured them both a glass of sherry. ‘Of course Kenny ain’t dead. The ambulance man said he was still breathing, didn’t he?’

After Roy and Michael had managed to drag Vinny off Kenny Jackson, they had moved him away from the snooker club, dumped him in a nearby doorway, and rung an ambulance. Sheila had been told to say nothing and Queenie was sure that providing Kenny survived his ferocious beating, neither he nor Sheila would dare implicate her Vinny. Grasses were despised in London’s East End, and treated worse than vermin.

‘If Kenny dies and my Vinny goes to prison, it’ll be the end of me, Viv. I’d die of a broken heart, I just know I would,’ Queenie said dramatically.

‘Oh for Christ’s sake, stop talking bollocks and drink your sherry, will ya? Vinny’s got our dad’s temper, that’s his bloody problem. Anyway, Kenny Jackson took liberties and Vinny had every right to give him a good fawpenny one.’

‘How dare you talk about my Vinny in the same light as that nasty old bastard,’ Queenie spat. Their father was dead now, thank God, but before he had kicked the bucket, he’d led their poor mum a dog’s life.

‘I didn’t mean it like that. Your Vinny is nothing like Dad. I just said he had a similar temper,’ Vivian explained.

‘No he has not! Have you forgotten how Dad used to beat Mum up? My Vinny would never lay a finger on a woman, Viv. He’s a gentleman,’ Queenie insisted.

Michael stomped in, ending the awkward exchange between the two sisters.

‘What’s up? Has something happened to do with Kenny Jackson? Vinny ain’t been arrested, has he?’ Queenie gabbled.

‘No. I’m just pissed off because Linda has blown me out. Well, it weren’t actually her. It was her dad that did the deed.’

‘Why?’ Queenie asked.

‘Why do you think? Her dress got splashed in claret yesterday, didn’t it? Her dad saw it when she got home and hit the roof. I tried to explain to him that what had happened had nothing to do with me, but he wasn’t having none of it. He told me that under no circumstances would I be allowed to take Linda out again, then he shut the door in my face.’

‘What a fucking liberty! Do you want me to speak to him? Or even better, send Roy or Vinny round to have a word?’

Michael shook his head. ‘Nah, not worth it.’

‘Oh well. Perhaps it’s for the best, love. There’s plenty more fish in the sea and you need a girl who will understand your family, don’t you? You’re in business with your brothers now, so no point you being with someone too naïve who has up-their-arse parents. They won’t fit in with us,’ Queenie advised.

‘And Vinny did say to you that you shouldn’t have invited Linda yesterday, didn’t he? Perhaps you should keep any future girlfriends away from the club. Business and pleasure should always be kept separate, Michael,’ Vivian added.

‘Don’t be blaming me for inviting the girl. I didn’t know my lunatic of a brother was gonna nigh-on kill a man in front of her very eyes, did I? As for the poxy business, I didn’t want to be part of it and still don’t. All I ever wanted was to be a mechanic,’ Michael said, his eyes blazing angrily.

‘Don’t you dare call your brother a lunatic. And where do you think you’re going?’ Queenie shouted, when her son leapt out of his chair and put his parka back on.

‘Out with Kev on me bike. It’s the only time I get any peace and quiet,’ Michael yelled, slamming the front door.

Vivian raised her eyebrows and smiled at her sister. ‘Boys, eh? Who’d have ’em?’

Over at the café, young Christopher Walker was bored out of his brains and in desperate need of excitement. ‘Please come out and play, Nancy? I really want to know if that man is dead or not, don’t you? The police might be at the snooker club and if we walk past we might be able to see them and we can find out exactly what happened to him.’

Nancy immediately shook her head. She had been petrified yesterday when the fight had broken out at Brenda’s mum’s party, and the sight of that poor man lying on the pavement covered in blood would probably stick in her mind for life. ‘No, Christopher! I am never ever going near that club again, and neither should you.’

Christopher put on his coat and ran down the stairs. There was no way his parents would let him play out on his own after what had happened yesterday, so he would have to pretend that he was popping round to see Tommy. Surely he could get away with telling one little white lie, couldn’t he?

‘You can visit Tommy, but I want you back by five. And don’t you dare go near that club again, Christopher,’ Donald warned his son.

Albie Butler was shocked to see the state of Kenny Jackson. Both men frequented the Blind Beggar pub, but rarely drank in the same company. ‘Jesus wept! What happened to you, Ken?’

Ordering Sheila to leave them alone and come back in ten minutes, Kenny couldn’t keep the sneer off his battered face as he turned back to Albie. His injuries included concussion, a fractured wrist, broken nose, and he felt and looked as though he had spent ten rounds in the ring with Henry Cooper. ‘I had a fucking run-in with your psycho of a son, that’s what,’ Kenny wheezed.

Albie felt his pulse start to quicken. He had always been a bit wary of Kenny Jackson. He’d seen him do a bloke with a hammer in the Blind Beggar a few years back, and had always given him a wide berth since then. ‘I’m sorry, Kenny, I really am.’ Albie didn’t have to ask which son had beaten the living daylights out of Kenny.

‘You’re sorry! Is that all you’ve got to say? That boy needs taking down a peg or two, Albie. Everybody knows it was your Vinny who put you in here. I mean, what type of boy does that to his own father, eh? The kid’s a fucking animal to do this to me in front of my wife. Us men don’t involve our women in such spats, you know that.’

Mortified that people knew that his own son was responsible for his broken legs and ribs, Albie bowed his head in shame. ‘I dunno what to say to you, Kenny. There is nothing I can do to help your predicament. The only thing I can suggest is you accept the beating and swallow your pride. Vinny has no respect for me. He has never listened to a word I say.’

Old Mr Perry smirked as he listened to the conversation going on a few feet away from him. He had been so bored cooped up in a hospital bed after his bowel cancer operation, but since Albie had arrived, the pure entertainment had lifted Mr Perry’s spirits no end.

Christopher Walker felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sat down on the step in the doorway opposite the snooker club. Popping a sherbert lemon into his mouth, the boy looked to his right. His mum had said that Mad Freda lived near the club and he wondered which house it was. About to turn back, Christopher noticed the white Triumph Herald convertible parked up. He could vaguely make out the silhouettes of what looked like two men sitting inside the car, and he wondered if they were friends of Vinny’s or undercover policemen.

Taking his sweet out of his mouth to see how much longer he had to suck to reach the sherbet, Christopher thought back to the events of yesterday. When the fight had first broken out, he had been just as scared as his sister. But after he had got back to the safety of his parents’ café, Christopher couldn’t stop thinking about what he had seen. He had found the whole experience exhilarating, and he now couldn’t wait until he was old enough to join the police force, so he could investigate people being beaten up and murdered.

Feeling his heart start to beat faster when the door of the club swung open, Christopher was disappointed to see Roy come out alone. Christopher had never really spoken to Roy like he had Vinny, and even though he was dying to know if the man who had taken a beating had croaked it, he decided to hold his tongue until Vinny appeared.

A couple of minutes after Roy walked around the corner, Christopher heard a car door slam, glanced to his right, and saw the two men get out of the Triumph Herald. When they walked up to the door of the club, and rang the bell, Christopher ducked his head in the hope they wouldn’t notice him. Vinny’s car was parked outside the door of the club and as long as he stayed crouched down, Christopher guessed the men wouldn’t be able to see him. Unfortunately for him though, he had already been spotted. The woman whom he and his parents referred to as Mad Freda had been glued to her window for the past fifteen minutes.

Vinny Butler was alone in the club when the doorbell rang. ‘Who is it?’ he shouted, his hand on the bolt, ready to open the door.

Having watched the club since seven a.m. that morning, Johnny Preston knew that he had finally got Vinny alone. He had seen Michael arrive and leave earlier, and Roy had left just a few minutes ago. ‘It’s Judy Preston’s brother, Johnny. Can we have a quiet word, please?’

Vinny smirked and checked he had his knife in his pocket. He had been expecting a visit from Johnny Preston ever since paying Judy a visit, but he hadn’t quite expected him to turn up on a Sunday afternoon. ‘Too scared to come on your own, was you?’ Vinny asked sarcastically, when he swung the door open and saw that Johnny had a pal with him.

Johnny immediately felt his hackles start to rise. ‘Dave’s my partner. He goes everywhere with me, a bit like your brother Roy does with you.’

Vinny stepped outside the club and slammed the metal door. He wasn’t stupid. Johnny and his muggy sidekick might be tooled up for all he knew. ‘Spit it out then? I ain’t got all day,’ he said.

Johnny Preston and Dave Phillips glanced at one another. Neither had ever been this close to Vinny Butler before and both were thinking the self-same thing. Vinny was exactly as the rumour mill described him. He looked like he had a bit of Italian in him. His eyes were deadly cold, and his attitude was as cocksure as they came.

Johnny suddenly felt extremely wary, but he’d come this far and there was no going back now. It was only the other evening that he and Dave had been bragging to Mad Frankie Fraser in a South London boozer that he was going to confront Vinny Butler so, like it or not, he now had to do so. ‘You owe my sister an apology, Vinny. Who do you think you are, eh? Going round her gaff and threatening her in front of her young son? You’re bang out of order and I ain’t fucking putting up with it. Judy is keeping her baby and that is final,’ Johnny said, sounding much more confident than he actually felt.

Vinny was very good at staring at people for long spells without blinking, and he had never met a man yet in his life who could hold his gaze. When Johnny dropped his eyes, Vinny grabbed him by the neck and smashed his head as hard as he could against the metal door. ‘Your slag of a sister will get rid of that kid whether you like it or not. I’ll kick it out of her personally, if I have to. Now go crawl back under your rock and tell that whore you’re related to that I’ll be round next week to check she’s un-pregnanted her fucking self.’

When Dave punched Vinny in the side of the head, Christopher Walker stood up to get a better view.

‘Silly move, you dumb cunt,’ Christopher heard Vinny say. He then saw Vinny repeatedly punch the man in the stomach, with what looked to be a knife.

When Johnny Preston saw his pal lying lifeless on the floor with blood pumping out of his abdomen, he knew it was time for a quick getaway. He ran like the clappers, leapt into his Triumph Herald and sped off as Vinny chased the car, screaming abuse at him.

Vinny could feel his heart beating ferociously as the car disappeared out of sight. It wasn’t down to nerves, more annoyance that Preston had got away as he’d wanted to stab that bastard too.

Punching a nearby wall, Vinny quickly looked up and down the road. Thankfully, being a Sunday afternoon there wasn’t a soul in sight, so Vinny stepped over Dave Phillips’ dead body, picked up the knife he had dropped, jumped in his Jaguar, and was just about to drive off, when he saw young Christopher Walker sitting in the doorway opposite the club. Leaning across the passenger seat to unlock the door, Vinny ordered young Christopher to get in.

Christopher no longer had any adrenaline pumping through his veins as he did what Vinny asked. He had seen too much now, far too much, and he was petrified. When Vinny drove past his parent’s café, Christopher started to sob. ‘You’re not gonna kill me as well, are you? I won’t say nothing about what happened, Vinny. I swear I won’t.’

With his head all over the place, Vinny pulled into a nearby sidestreet and stopped the car. He took a ten-pound note out of his pocket and handed it to Christopher. ‘Take that and there is plenty more where that came from. You saw nothing, understand?’

‘Yes. I understand,’ the boy said, making a grab for the money and then the door handle.

Vinny leant across Christopher so he couldn’t get out of the car. ‘You need to dry them tears before you get home, boy, and when you do get home, you gotta act normal. Me and you will be best pals for life if you keep your trap shut about this, OK?’

‘OK,’ Christopher said, desperately trying to dry his eyes with the sleeve of his duffle coat.

Vinny tilted the child’s chin up, and looked him in the eyes. ‘This has to stay our little secret. You don’t want anything bad to happen to your mum, dad, or sister, do you? Because if you say something, that’s exactly what will happen.’

‘No, I love my mum, dad and sister.’

‘There’s a good boy,’ Vinny said, ruffling Christopher’s hair.

When Vinny finally opened the car door for him, Christopher took off down the street like a rat up a drainpipe. To say he was terrified was putting it mildly.

Freda Smart knelt down next to the man and immediately knew he was dead. It wasn’t just the blood that had seeped out of his stomach and decorated the pavement; it was seeing his shocked open-mouthed expression and his eyes rolled back lifelessly in his head.

After yesterday’s events with Kenny Jackson, Freda had made a point of standing guard at her window today. Unfortunately for her, her house was on the same side of the road as the snooker club, so she hadn’t had a clear view of exactly what had occurred. Even so, she was sure she’d seen and heard enough to put Vinny Butler in prison for life, where he belonged.

Seeing what she thought was the man’s hand flinch, Freda screamed and ran towards Herbie Jacob’s house. Freda couldn’t afford such luxuries as a telephone, but old Herbie had one.

‘Whatever’s wrong, Freda? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,’ Herbie said, when he answered his front door.

‘I have! There’s a man dead on the pavement. Call the police, Herbie. I know who killed him.’

Word travelled fast in Whitechapel, and within minutes of the police turning up, a crowd of fifty or so onlookers had arrived at the scene.

‘Was it you who reported the murder?’ one of the police officers asked Herbie.

Freda immediately butted in. ‘No. It was me. I know who killed him. I was looking out of my window, and I asked Herbie to ring you on my behalf.’

The police officer took Freda to one side. ‘If you can tell us what you know now, that would be most helpful. Then, we will need you to come down to the station to make a formal statement for us at some point.’

‘Vinny Butler killed the man. The man had a mate with him and I saw him chase the mate down the road. The mate got into a white car and drove off at top speed,’ Freda gabbled.

‘But, what about the actual murder? Did you see Mr Butler stab the victim with your own eyes?’

‘No. My house is on the same side of the road as his club, so my view was blocked. I saw a boy I know standing opposite though. He saw everything and then Vinny made him get inside his car with him. I hope he ain’t killed that poor child as well, like he did Jack’s son, Peter,’ Freda cried.

‘If you could just give us the name of the boy involved, we can get our team onto it to make sure he is OK,’ the officer said kindly.

‘His parents have just opened the café along the road there. It was their son that saw everything. He’d been sitting in the doorway opposite the club for a while beforehand. His name is Christopher. Christopher Walker.’