‘I never got my hands dirty with that stuff Leon, that was all Matteo’s doing.’
‘No boss, but the word on the street is that you and the other families arranged it. Like I say, everyone is jumping ship, and your name is the forefront of everyone’s tongues.’
Paul’s heart sank. It seemed it was much worse than he had imagined. Surely not everyone had turned on him, had they? This was only the tip of the iceberg of what they were going to throw at him in court, which meant Alex was not the only one who was giving evidence against him. Suddenly fear gripped him. The cold light of day was looming, and God only knew what they were going to throw at him, whether Alex was dead or not. He obviously hadn’t been quite kept up to speed as much as he thought he had. ‘Let me know if you hear anything Leon, I will check in on you in a couple of days’ time.’
Leon ended the call and looked up nervously. Swallowing hard, he took in the man before him, who sat smoking his cigar listening to the call. ‘How was that John?’
John was an extremely suave and sophisticated, well-dressed, middle-aged man. His dark blue silk-like suit shone in the lamplight of Leon’s home. Each finger had a sovereign ring and his black hair was slicked back behind his ears, showing off his diamond stud earing in his left ear.
‘Very convincing Leon. If we’re lucky, he will shit himself and hang himself in his cell, if not… well, I will see to that. You did well and you tell a good tale. Let’s hope you don’t end up with a speech impediment from that sore throat of yours.’
‘I don’t have a sore throat. I told him what you told me to say, that’s all. What about Alex Silva? No one has seen or heard of him in days.’
‘Trust me Leon, you say a word about this, and you will have a sore throat and you will never speak again.’ With his finger, John drew a line across his neck, indicating that he would cut Leon’s throat. ‘And you leave Alex to me.’ John stubbed out his Cuban cigar and stood up, slapping Leon gently on the face as he did so. ‘You’re a good boy Leon, keep it that way. Fish will be in touch with you. You tell her if you hear anything from Paul.’
‘Fish? She’s working for you now?’ Stopping short, he looked down at the ground, cursing himself for asking the question.
‘She sure is. And Fish takes no prisoners Leon. Her only loyalty is to her bank manager and the Botox shop that gives her that name in the first place.’ Straightening his tie and jacket, John walked out.
Leon took a sigh of relief and sat down. Pouring himself a large brandy, he gulped it back quickly. John didn’t have a heart; in fact, he was a cold-blooded killer and drug dealer. And now he had Fish on his side. Her beauty hid the mask of the devil. She was a real psycho, and she and John had worked for the cartel for years and there were no lengths they wouldn’t go to to get what they wanted. It seemed in everyone’s absence John had taken the initiative and was building his own empire. As far as he was concerned it was out with the old and in with the new.
Hearing footsteps, Paul quickly squatted down and hid the mobile phone. Standing up, he rubbed off any plaster and brick work from his sleeves.
‘Pereira, the governor wants to see you.’ The prison guard stood at the door with his colleague, and waited for Paul to walk out of the cell.
Knocking on the prison governor’s door, the guard walked straight in. ‘Prisoner Pereira, sir.’
‘I’ll get to the point, Pereira.’ The governor sat behind his desk. ‘It has come to the police’s attention that a bank account which can be traced back to you was putting money into guard Barrow’s account. Do you want to tell me why?’
Numbly, Paul stared at him. He wasn’t prepared for this. ‘I’m as shocked as you sir. As you know, all of my accounts have been frozen, so how could I do that when I am locked away? All I can think is that someone is using an account in my name.’ He shrugged.
‘Are you taking me for a fool? Are you telling me the whole of your mafioso knew Barrow? Was he famous in your circles then? No, but he was known here by you. You’re to be transferred; that is, after the police have spoken to you, and put you in solitary confinement. Which is something they should have done a long time ago as far as I am concerned. His wife has found over a million pounds, which was paid to him days before he fell to his death.’
Shocked, Paul continued to stare at him, wide eyed.
‘Now Pereira your stuff is being packed into boxes as we speak. No goodbyes to your friends and the police are waiting downstairs.’ The governor waved his hand in the air. ‘Get him out of here, I’ve had enough of his slimy, greaseball lies.’
Paul flashed a look of hatred at him. ‘You will regret this, Governor. No one insults me.’
‘Really? Well, I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. You’re an old man living off a legacy. A parasite living off vulnerable stupid people. Personally, I think hanging is too good for you. Now, get him out of here.’
The colour drained from Paul’s face as the hurl of insults flew towards him. He had never been spoken to like that in here before. In fact, he’d never been spoken to like that ever! ‘I hope you die a slow and painful death. People who go looking for trouble, usually find it,’ he muttered to the governor. Turning, he followed the guard back to his cell, his mind in turmoil. He couldn’t get to his mobile phone. He didn’t know where he was going, and he hadn’t had time to tell anyone he was being transferred. Anger and rage built up inside of him. He felt helpless and he hated that feeling. As he walked down the stairs they walked in silence.
Once near the yard, Paul saw the mini bus revved up and waiting to take him to God knew where. The guard’s hut was in the corner, and once they checked the paperwork, two more guards walked out of the hut, each of them with baseball bats in their hands.
Paul stood rooted to the spot and looked around, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as two more warders approached and took off their caps. ‘You know, big man Pereira, we didn’t like Barrow, but he was one of us. It’s a real shame you tripped down the stairs while leaving this shit hole.’ Raising the bat, he hit Paul in the guts, making him double in half and fall to his knees, while screaming out in pain. He knew there was no point in trying to fight back; all he could do was try and protect himself. Raising his arms around his head, as each of them rained blow after blow, his screams echoed around the yard.
One of them finally raised his hand to his colleagues. As each of them stared down at the bloody mess of a man curled up into a ball, whining like a child, they laughed. ‘Go on, get him out of here. The governor said he’s going into solitary anyway, so nobody is going to see his baby face.’ Abandoning the baseball bats, they dragged his half-conscious body off the floor. One of his arms hung awkwardly, obviously broken. Two of them put his arms around their shoulders and approached the back of the waiting mini bus and pushed him inside, slamming the doors while still hearing his moans as the driver drove off.
‘Not so fucking hard now, is he?’ they laughed to each other, mopping their brows and replacing their caps after wiping the blood off their hands. ‘Come on lads, it’s the end of our shift. Let’s go home after a job well done. Anyone fancy a pint?’ Each of them nodded and walked out of the yard to civvy street.
24 NO MAN’S LAND
‘What the hell is that noise? It sounds like World War Two,’ Alex asked, turning towards Maggie lying beside him as she ran her hands through her hair. ‘Oh God, it’s Monday; the builders are here.’
Pulling back the duvet and getting out of bed, Maggie reached for her robe. ‘I’ll go down and see if they need anything.’ She yawned. ‘You might as well get up Alex, they will be digging the hole and laying the foundations for the bike shed. I thought that might interest you.’ Pausing, she waited till he opened his eyes properly, and gave him a knowing look. For a moment they both stared at each other, and Alex nodded.
‘Time to put Plan A into action, Maggie.’
As Maggie opened her bedroom door, she could already see Deana and Dante opening their bedroom doors, scratching their heads and yawning. ‘What the fuck is that racket Mum?’ asked Deana, going towards the landing window.
‘Oy, mouth! It’s the builders. I’ll go and ask them if they want a drink. You two get yourselves sorted. Breakfast in ten minutes.’
Deana tightened her dressing gown around her and followed her mum to the kitchen. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Builders are always thirsty, especially before they’ve even done anything. Dante, you jump in the shower first.’ Maggie acknowledged Deana’s help as an apology. She didn’t like bad language coming out of her young daughter’s mouth but accepted it in certain circumstances.
Opening the back door of the pub, Maggie saw the workmen unloading their tools. They had been a few days earlier and measured up, but to be honest, even she hadn’t expected them to arrive this early and on time. ‘Hi boys.’ She waved, trying to catch their attention as they rummaged through their trucks that were parked on the grass. One truck was full of spades and all other kinds of building materials, and the other held the thing they were hoping for – the cement mixer – and wow, she thought to herself, it was a big one. Smiling, she wandered up to them. One middle-aged man jumped out of the driver’s seat. ‘Mrs Silva?’
‘Indeed, I am, and you and your men look like they could do with a cup of something. Am I right?’ The other three workmen cheered at the suggestion. ‘Does that include biscuits missus?’
‘It will include a bacon sandwich when the chef gets here,’ she laughed. ‘So, what are you starting with?’
‘Got to dig a big rectangle hole first, but we’ve got our diggers.’ He laughed and put on his hard hat. ‘We’ll section all of this off and try not to make too much mess.’
‘Would it be okay if some of my regulars still come out in the beer garden for a smoke now and again?’
