‘I’ll sort it. See you later Alex.’ Without thinking, Luke gave him another hug.
As Alex turned into his street, he drove slowly as he approached Mark’s drive and parked the van. Once out of sight, he took off the coat along with Mark’s heavy boots and walked back to the pub.
‘Where have you been? You’ve been hours,’ asked Maggie, who looked rushed off her feet.
‘I picked up those cars then thought I’d watch the football at Mark’s. A bit of peace and quiet. I could see you were busy. Didn’t you hear me shout to you?’
‘What? Above all this noise,’ Maggie laughed. ‘Watching the football indeed. I bet you fell asleep.’ She winked.
Alex had purposely left his bag of money in Mark’s van. He had nowhere to stash it yet without Maggie seeing him so he’d decided to hide it in the early hours, when everyone was asleep. It had been one hell of a night, and he needed a stiff drink to calm him down. Pouring himself a brandy, he handed Maggie a glass too and he put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Cheers!’ he shouted to the people stood at the bar. He felt happy and smug with a job well done. Now his family had financial back-up, if they ever needed it.
16 A NEW DISCOVERY
‘Is he right? Did you see him?’ Standing in the empty corridor of the prison, Paul fired question after question at the man on the other end of the phone. His brow broke out in a sweat as he eagerly waited for the answers. He had dreamt of this moment, but didn’t dare believe it, until his trusted friend could confirm Alex Silva’s whereabouts.
Furtively, Paul glanced around to make sure no one else was in line waiting to use the phone, although he knew they would be going about their daily work routines. With the back of his sleeve, he wiped away the sweat forming on his top lip.
‘Yes boss. It’s that low life Silva and his family. Him and his missus are playing publicans in the posh part of Kent. Real suburbia, with hanging baskets and everything.’
Stunned, Paul felt rooted to the spot. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His number one man, now his arch enemy, had been right under his nose all this time. ‘Are you sure it’s that bastard?’ All of the pent-up anger he had felt from his betrayal and incarceration came spewing out in venom down the phone.
‘Boss, I’ve drunk with you and Alex. I’ve eaten at his table. I am telling you, whoever your informant is, they were right. It’s definitely him. Do you want me to send a hitman and get rid of the lot of them?’
Paul’s eyes darted around the corridor. Now he had his wish come true, he couldn’t think straight. As much as he wanted Alex dead at this very moment, he knew he had to think and leave no trail leading to himself. First on his list would be that guard Barrow. He needed to be able to walk out of prison as clean as a whistle. He knew he was guilty and so did the police, but if they couldn’t prove it, any of it, they would have to let him go.
‘No, just keep a tail on him. The police will be watching and protecting him… We need to know his every move, who he sees and where he goes. When we make our move, it has to be clean and quick without any hiccups. I have some business to attend to here first.’ Paul laughed loudly, leaving an echo running down the corridor. He couldn’t stop laughing, even when the guards walked by and gave each other odd looks.
‘It’s okay, sirs.’ Paul smiled at the guards and brushed away the tears brimming in his eyes. ‘It’s just a funny joke my friend is telling me about his wife.’ Winking, he grinned widely at them. He could afford to be gracious today. Today was a good day.
Once back in his cell, he shut the door and lay on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. He had imagined all kinds of deaths for Alex. He wanted him humiliated, tortured and to suffer a long slow death. Or a quick one with lots of bullet holes, making him scarcely recognisable. His blood boiled knowing that Alex was in reaching distance. He would have liked the chance to kill him himself and watch him die, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Alex had to be dead before Paul could be released. Either way, he mused to himself, he would piss on Alex Silva’s ashes.
Alex Silva had been only a young man when they had first met. He had always been mixed up with the wrong crowd as a kid, thieving and scamming with his friends. Paul remembered when his youngest brother had introduced Alex to him. Alex had been a young tearaway wanting to make quick money to get him out of the slums where he lived with his family. Alex’s father had never worked but made damn sure that Alex’s mother had three jobs. She scrubbed floors, waited tables and took in washing from the hotels, but Alex’s father drank all the money away. Paul winced inside when he remembered the day that Alex had said, ‘Paulie, you’re more than a boss to me, you’re like a father to me. The best dad in the world.’ He had smiled and hugged him. Paul had put him on collecting the drug money or doing drops with his brother. They were just young kids, and Paul knew the police wouldn’t do much if they were caught. Sometimes they collected money from the brothels, and Paul knew that Alex and Matteo sampled the goods too. Alex was a ladies’ man and they all loved him. The very thought of it made him smile when he recalled how many times he had caught Alex with his trousers down and turned a blind eye, calling it a perk of the job. In those days it had made him laugh and he had warmed to Alex instantly. He was a very likeable, charming man who had always showed respect.
Even as a kid Alex had been quick to learn and had kept his mouth shut. From the money he was earning, he was able to make his mother’s life easier, even though she still left the house every day so her husband wasn’t suspicious. And Alex was loyal too. Even when he had been caught making a drug drop-off and had served eight months in a young offender’s prison, he had never broken his vow of loyalty to Paul. He had pleaded guilty and kept his mouth shut and once he came out, Paul and the other families had made sure he had a job for life. He had gone a step up the ladder and the others, Paul included, felt that collecting wasn’t good enough for Alex. He was a foot soldier and his time in the young offender’s prison had hardened him and made him grow up faster than his years. He was sharp as a razor and hungry to learn.
As Paul surveyed the cracks in the ceiling, his heart sank. He realised now that his fatal mistake had been favouring Alex more than his own brother. Alex had been funny, charming and what was more, he was fearless. Whereas Paul’s own brother was sloppy and loud-mouthed. He liked to drink and pretend he was some fearless gangster with the backing of the families. He demanded respect in the family name and acted like a spoilt child when no one showed him any. As loath as Paul was to admit it, his brother annoyed him, but blood was blood and so he had stood by him.
When Alex’s father had taken his belt to Alex’s mother again, Alex had made sure it was the last time. He had begged Paul for a gun and after a while Paul had given in thinking he would never use it. But Alex had been true to his word and had shot his father at point-blank range in the head. Paul and the others had all been surprised when they realised that Alex hadn’t done it in the heat of the moment, but had created an alibi for himself and his mother, which had cleared them both of any suspicion. Alex had shown no remorse, which had given Paul the idea that he would make a perfectly good hitman. He was calm, calculating and as cool as a cucumber when interviewed by the police.
It had been at this point that one of the families had some drug deals going on in London and had needed some fresh faces to help see over things. Paul had felt it was best for Alex to escape for a little while just to take the heat off a little and the rest was history. Alex had become Paul’s right-hand man, and when Paul had eventually come to England, they had eaten and drunk together, like a family. Paul could see that everything was running smoothly, and Alex did his job well. There was never a penny missing from the dealings, unlike Paul’s own brother who helped himself constantly, which Paul had to cover up. If the other families had ever found out he was skimming from them, they would have shot him themselves. Rule one: you never steal off each other. Rule two: you don’t shit on your own doorstep.
A fly in the ointment had been Maggie who had been beautiful, blonde and cheeky. Both Paul’s brother and Alex had admired her, but she had chosen Alex. Paul had expected it all to blow over – they were all still so young, but Alex had announced that he and Maggie were getting married.
Alex had made Paul godfather to his children, who had quickly followed the marriage, and everything had seemed to be running smoothly with business booming. Until the day Paul’s brother had been alone with Maggie, and having had too much to drink, not only had he made a pass at Maggie, but he had also beaten her and attempted to rape her. Paul had been determined to sort it out eventually, but thought a warning to his brother might have been good enough for now. Alex had taken the law into his own hands and had killed his brother horribly. There was nothing more that Paul could do than to put out a contract on Alex for the sake of the family name. Alex was a dead man walking and so was his family. It was a sorry affair, but in revenge, Alex had handed himself in to the police, informing them of all the dealings, accounts and murders that Paul had asked him to commit. He’d even told them where the bodies were hidden, and when drop-offs were being made, for the sake of his own family’s safety. He had been angry that Paul hadn’t stood by Maggie, and so the battle lines were drawn.
And now Paul was behind bars pending a trial and Alex was in hiding. Was it worth it? he thought to himself. He doubted it. Alex’s hot blood and love for Maggie had spurred him on, and Paul’s own family loyalty and the Pereira name had done likewise. Only now it was personal. Alex had betrayed him and put him in prison.
A knock at his cell door brought Paul out of his reminiscence. Sitting up, he saw the door open and Barrow stood at the opening. ‘I just came to see how things were? It’s been a while since we last had a chat,’ Barrow said.
Paul knew Barrow wanted to know if his story had been checked out and whether he would be getting his payment in full. ‘Close the door,’ he whispered. On doing so, Paul nodded. ‘You have done well my friend, and you will definitely get what is coming to you. You can be certain of that.’ He smiled. Satisfied, Barrow turned and left his cell.
Paul looked at the back of the closed cell door. He had to create a diversion and make sure Barrow would never be able to speak again. No one particularly liked him, and so it wouldn’t be too hard to get someone to finish him off accidentally. Alex could wait, he mused. This needed sorting now.
Walking out onto the landing, Paul looked down. He could hear some argument had broken out below him and two prisoners were fighting. It was a daily occurrence, but a thought crossed his mind. There was the diversion he needed.
‘Ola,’ Paul greeted the other prisoners in the dining hall. Everyone stood back, letting Paul walk through unhindered. They were surprised to see him; he never joined them for meals in the hall.
He reached a table, and everyone sitting down stood up to leave.
‘Not you.’ Paul spoke to a Jamaican man just about to stand up. ‘We need a little chat.’ Everyone else hastily moved on, silently thanking their lucky stars Paul hadn’t wanted to speak to them. ‘I hear you have a grudge against one of the men in here.’
‘No offence to you Mr Pereira, but that is our business. It doesn’t involve you.’
‘Indeed, it doesn’t. I am not interested in your petty squabbles, although I am surprised you haven’t taken it further. You’re like a pair of housewives scrapping in the street. Handbags at dawn as it were.’ He laughed at his own joke.
‘I hear you’re due to be moved out of here to another prison. Aren’t you going to make your mark before you leave? Other prisons could be harsher than this one, but if your life was made more comfortable, with a few home comforts, these places can be bearable.’ Spying the man, Paul knew he had him hooked.
There was a silent pause between them and the man picked up his plastic mug of tea and took a sip. ‘What do you want me to do?’
Pulling his chair closer, Paul smiled. ‘Now that is a good question.’ In a hushed whisper he outlined what he wanted the man to do, then pushed back his chair and left.
The man sat there in silence. What Paul had asked of him didn’t seem too harsh and he was already doing a ten-year stretch, and wouldn’t be due parole for years. If life on the inside could be made easier, then Paul knew the man would take this opportunity while he could.
Friday night was movie night and something all of the inmates looked forward to. It gave them all a chance to mingle with other inmates. No sooner had the evening meal been eaten and cleared away than they were all called to stand in line on their landings, before being instructed to form an orderly queue and go to the cinema room, as they called it.
As each whistle blew, the Jamaican man watched the steam rise from his kettle, full of boiling water and sugar. It was an old trick and used regularly, but he had been given short notice to prepare anything else. Quickly grabbing his kettle, he ran down the landing and threw the boiling water mixture at his enemy. Hearing his howls of pain as the boiling mixture burnt and melted the man’s skin, the prison guards ran forward and wrestled the Jamaican man to the ground. Hearing another high-pitched scream, everyone looked on in shock as Barrow fell from the highest landing. As he landed in an odd position on the ground floor, with his neck at an odd angle, it was clear that he had fallen or been pushed from the top landing and was dead. The mad panic that ensued by the guards to get everyone back to their cells caused mayhem. Only the Jamaican man lying face down on the floor with his arms behind his back in handcuffs raised his head slightly and saw Paul on the top landing. Paul nodded his head in approval, and then walked back into his cell.
Satisfied with the outcome, Paul poured himself a well-earned whisky and shut his cell door to drown out the noise. Gulping back his drink, he laughed to himself. ‘One down, one to go.’
