Staring at the map Seb spread over on the desk, Sam focused on the areas outlined in red. They ranged across a wider area than she’d expected. The same applied to the green areas.
‘So, just to recap, these green areas are Stoker territories, the red are mine, and these,’ Sam pointed to the blue areas, ‘these are ones we share?’
Seb sipped from his thick crystal tumbler of whisky, before tapping the blue areas with a pen. ‘That’s correct. This, this, and this. All of these are ones we both supply and deal in – within allotted areas, of course.’
Sam frowned, wanting to ask what that meant. God, why was she in this position? She knew absolutely nothing and it was mortifying. As much as she resented it, she’d had to bite the bullet and ask this man to go through everything bit by bit. John should be doing this, not forcing her to humiliate herself in front of their rivals.
And that was just it. The Stokers were rivals. Shared patches or not, what happened if Seb hadn’t agreed to take her through everything from scratch? After all, he didn’t have to. The less she knew, the more he stood to gain. Liam’s words repeated in her mind: ‘Don’t trust him. He could feed you lies…’
Yes, Seb Stoker could feed her lies, but what choice did she have but to risk it? She was doing this for her father, remember? To ensure the business remained in good hands.
She’d listened to what Seb had said about the coke dealing and the runners and although she’d pretended to understand, she didn’t. She was blind to the terminology and the jargon and, well, all of it. It was like a foreign language. And to hear out loud that her father’s business – now hers, was part of shifting drugs around the city, although not entirely a shock, still came a little sharp.
However, all of this had at least temporarily diverted her from the all-consuming nearness of the man in front of her.
Against her will, Sam found her eyes tracking once more to one of Seb’s hands splayed across the desk, noticing the size of his knuckles and wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like for those hands to be on her… Those fingers against her skin…
Clearing her throat, she leant back over the map, taking extra care not to stand too close in case the urge to reach out and trace her finger along one of Seb’s overwhelmed her enough to actually do it. ‘You’re saying there’s a place all the way out here?’ Sam tapped on a circle at the far end of the Hagley Road. ‘This is the place where you think the issues are originating from? What are they threatening, exactly?’
Getting up, Seb moved around the desk. Standing next to Sam, his arm brushed hers. ‘We can’t be a hundred per cent sure. Not yet. The people, or person from the Aurora – we don’t yet know who because there doesn’t appear to be anyone in charge. At least, that was what Maynard reported back the other day after he was sent there to check it out by your father.’ He watched for Sam’s reaction. ‘Again, I’m surprised Maynard hasn’t brought you up to speed with any of this, but to be frank, I’m not sure if he’s levelled with any of us.’
Sam bristled. ‘John would never have kept anything from my father, if that’s what you’re insinuating? I don’t think he’s purposefully been withholding info from me either. It’s just all of this has been a shock to him – to all of us.’
She held Seb’s glare, but realised she was making excuses for John. He had kept this from her, but she wouldn’t admit that in its entirety.
Seb shrugged. If Sam wanted to lie to herself, that was her prerogative. ‘At the end of the day, all of the ins and outs of firms such as these can’t be learnt overnight. There’s a hell of a lot to know and that’s something you’ll have to get up to speed with, but for now, you must concentrate first and foremost on this. Whichever way you want to look at it, it seems like the Aurora, or something to do with that doss-hole, have been sending scouts out to threaten the runners in our patches. Both mine, yours and our shared ones.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘They’re undercutting our prices. They took two patches last week – one of yours and one of mine. They lost me, and probably you too, a good earner.’
Seb studied Sam, his concentration wavering. She really was gorgeous, but aside from her distracting beauty, there was something else. Something he hadn’t expected.
She’d actually had the balls to swallow her ego and come to his club, laying it on the line that she knew fuck all, rather than blag otherwise, like everyone else would have. She was also interested and willing to learn. Samantha Reynold clearly wasn’t as stupid as he’d thought.
He pursed his lips. Despite his initial and vehement reluctance to help this woman and the Reynold firm, the acknowledgement she wasn’t anywhere near as vacuous as he’d first thought garnered a small amount of grudging respect for the woman.
He’d tell her what she needed to know, but see what she did with it before making his final assessment.
Not noticing Seb studying her as she mulled over what had been said, Sam frowned. Things were beginning to make sense. Apart from one thing. ‘And no one really knows who runs this Aurora place?’
‘Do you think if I knew that for definite they’d still be standing?’ Seb snarled, his concentration back in line.
Sam raised her eyebrows. Is that what everything came down to? Violence? ‘Ever thought about tactics? Being one step ahead?’
‘I think of little else,’ Seb growled. ‘But some people don’t understand words.’
‘Violence is one thing I’ll never get used to,’ Sam said, reaching for her wine.
‘Well, sweetheart, if you’re going to run your old man’s joint, then I suggest you accept it’s part and parcel.’ Seb tipped whisky into his mouth, fleetingly wondering whether he’d been a tad hasty in his updated judgement of Sam’s attitude. ‘If you’re above doing things the way they need to be done, then I’m wasting my breath helping you.’
Sam folded her arms defensively but swallowed the retort itching to escape. Remember you need his help, Sam. It doesn’t mean you have to do things his way.
Seb watched Sam closely for a moment before continuing. If she was going to really understand, then she had to be aware of all possibilities. ‘Perhaps you might not be quite so keen on being nice if you thought your father’s accident wasn’t an accident?’
Sam almost spat wine across Seb’s desk. Did he just say what she thought he had? ‘Are you that desperate to score points that you would throw in rubbish like that?’
Exhaling loudly, Seb sat back down. Knitting his fingers together, he looked at Sam, seeing a mixture of anger and hurt behind her eyes. ‘I can see you think little of me, Samantha, but I have nothing to gain by chucking insults at you or making up lies.’
He topped up her wine glass before refilling his own whisky. ‘I’ll admit I’m not particularly happy about helping you – it’s something my father wants. But…’ He held his hands up, sensing Sam about to interrupt. ‘That doesn’t change that if my father is correct in his thinking, then what happened to your father could very well happen to one of my family and that I would very much like to avoid, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’
Creeping tendrils of fear moved along Sam’s spine, up into the roots of her hair, and she found herself shakily sitting down and reaching for her glass. ‘What makes you or your father suspect something like this?’ she asked tentatively.
Glad Sam was finally taking the situation on board, Seb focused. ‘I suspected something might be linked, but I’m well known for being cynical – just ask my brothers.’ He smiled coldly. ‘But when my father says the same thing, that means it’s not just me thinking the worst and has to be taken into consideration.’
Sam shook her head to Seb’s offer of a cigarette. Lighting one, he placed his gold lighter back on his desk. ‘Do you not find it strange this happened to your father yards from his house? Directly after both firms received word that threats were being made to our runners?’
‘Well, I…’ Sam frowned. Contemplating that her father’s death may have been purposeful was not something she wanted to consider. ‘Just because it happened near my parents’ house doesn’t mean it was deliberate! A road is a road, is it not?’
Seb nodded. ‘It could be coincidence and a genuine accident, but to me it stinks of being linked. My instincts tell me it’s connected and that whoever it was down to was watching your father’s house.’
Sam brushed her hair off her face in a bid to get more air to quell the fast-rising nausea. She hadn’t contemplated this, but then she hadn’t known about the threats to the firms until yesterday either.
‘I don’t want to make things worse for you, but you need to take this as a feasible option,’ Seb added, seeing the expression on Sam’s face.
‘Are you saying we’re all in danger?’ Sam asked, her voice small.
Seb shrugged. ‘I don’t know one way or the other, but I can’t ignore that possibility.’ His hard green eyes met with Sam’s. ‘As you will no doubt quickly discover, firms such as these have a habit of gathering enemies, therefore complacency is not an option that can ever be considered.’
Sam’s nausea was replaced with a ball of pure anger as the resolve in her mind strengthened. This put a totally different slant on things. Her eyes hardened. Could it be true? Was it plausible her father’s death had not been an accident, like Seb Stoker said? If it was, then God help whoever was responsible. ‘Patches aside, have you received anything untoward? Anything personal?’
Seb paused. ‘There was one thing, but nothing on the same vein as this and that’s now been dealt with…’
Sam frowned. ‘What do you mean, dealt with?’
Seb flapped his hand dismissively. ‘Not worth recounting. It was something and nothing.’ He wasn’t about to discuss that some fuckturd was bandying around his own and his brothers’ parentage. Neither would he explain how he’d sorted it – especially not to her. She’d probably faint or call the Old Bill. She needed to wise up and fast.
He tapped his cigarette ash in the large crystal ashtray in the centre of his desk. ‘As I said, I don’t know if what happened to your father is linked, whether it centres on your firm, both our firms, or whether the Stokers are being dragged into this purely via association because of our shared patches.’
Sam frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘My father mentioned a possible link with what happened on your eighteenth. I know it was different, but was it?’
Sam blinked, her mind spinning. Her eighteenth birthday?
She remembered it clearly. How could she not? She had been waiting for Uncle Jimmy to take her to the casino for the usual surprise party, but the car hadn’t arrived. After an hour, she’d begun to wonder whether because she’d turned eighteen, she was no longer having surprise parties after all. A car finally showed up – not Jimmy, but another member of her father’s business. It was only the next day she’d discovered Jimmy had died. ‘The night my Uncle Jimmy died? The car accident? What’s that got to do with it?’
Seb frowned. ‘Accident? It wasn’t a bloody accident! It was a drive-by shooting. The only person who ever drove that very distinctive car of your father’s was him. Apart from that night…’
Sam felt faint. No one had ever told her this. ‘So it should have been my father who was shot?’ She looked at Seb, her eyes wide. ‘And now after all of this time, his death has been achieved, just in a different way? Is that what you’re saying?’
Seb sighed inwardly. He’d had no clue these details had been kept from her. Had she been shielded from everything? ‘No one knows, but we need to find out.’
He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and studied her pale face, his decision made. His father was right. Sam needed their help and Seb knew he would be the one to do it. ‘I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve been left in the lurch with just about everything and you haven’t even buried your father yet! Let me get you another drink. You look like you could use one.’
At the Gun Barrels, Dave poured two more pints and laid them on the sodden beer towel. ‘You found yourself some work yet, Lee?’
Lee greedily gulped at his fresh pint and grinned. ‘Yeah, as it happens, I’ve got something on the cards. It couldn’t have come at a better time neither, Dave, I can tell you that!’
Dave grinned. ‘Glad to hear it. I know it’s been hard for a lot of folk since they started cutting back at the Rover.’
‘And what about you, mate? How’s things going here?’ Steve added.
‘Now the beer taps aren’t playing me up, a lot better!’ Dave grinned. ‘Thanks for having a look at that last night, mate. I didn’t get chance to thank you for sorting it out.’ He waved away the five-pound note Lee held out to pay for the drinks. ‘Have those on me. There’s a couple more in the bin for you both after you’ve finished those.’
‘Cheers,’ Lee grinned, chucking a sideways glance at Steve. Surely they’d get time to fit another few pints in before everything went up in flames?
He surreptitiously glanced at his watch. It had only just gone nine, so aiming for around ten would be good. Admittedly, he felt a bit bad because he liked Dave, but money was money. Tampering with the lights last night in order to get an excuse to ‘fix’ them, then set up what was needed had been the only way. No one could afford to be choosy these days.
‘Hey fellas!’ a man propping up the bar grinned. ‘You seen Tom tonight?’
‘Tom?’ Steve said, trying to look neutral. ‘Haven’t seen him for a while. Why?’
The man shrugged. ‘Ah, he seemed a bit edgy the other night, that’s all. I think he’s worried the Stokers are on his back. He wants to keep well out of that shit.’
‘Then I suggest you do too, Mick,’ Dave said sternly, getting rather fed up of Mick stirring things up. He didn’t much like that he’d personally dropped Jock Sawyer in it and certainly didn’t want the whole world to know, courtesy of Mick’s huge gob.
‘Don’t the Stokers own this pub?’ Mick pushed.
‘They don’t own it, no,’ Dave sighed, pouring yet another pint for the two other men. He just paid the Stokers’ security premium. That’s what they liked to call it anyway. And it was because of that very reason he’d had no choice but to give Seb Stoker Jock’s name. He just wished Mick would shut up about the whole thing.
Seeing the expression on Lee and Steve’s faces, Dave frowned. ‘You okay, lads?’
‘Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. Just tired,’ Lee muttered, picking up his new pint and gesturing to Steve to move to a table away from the bar. He could see without even looking too closely that the man was thinking along the same lines as him.
Sitting down on a rickety stool, Steve leant forward. ‘What the fuck have we got ourselves involved in?’
Lee shrugged. ‘Dunno, but we’re being paid, so ask no questions, eh?’ Besides, it’s not like we can ditch it now. Not without bringing unwanted attention, anyway.’ He could hardly ask Dave if he could wander back down to the cellar and start replacing the wiring he’d already swapped out once. It had been dodgy enough last night. But either way, they could do without Motormouth Mick, his beady eyes and gob like the Dartford tunnel banging on.
He nodded towards the man still jawing away at the bar. ‘Let’s hope he’s one of the ones who ends up as collateral damage in this, eh?’
Steve nodded. ‘Tom never said this was to do with the Stokers?’
‘Not our business, mate. We’re here to do the job, not have an opinion. We’ll just wait for it to get busier and then I’ll drop the switch and then we get out of here fucking sharpish, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Steve nodded, his adrenaline pumping in readiness.
Sitting in his car, John Maynard had eaten chips, listened to the radio and done more than enough waiting for one evening.
The youngest of the Stoker boys wasn’t the one he’d expected when he tailed the motor leaving the Peacock. He rarely saw this particular Stoker involved with anything, let alone dealing with a handover to the Irish.
He grinned. The man hadn’t even attempted to cover his tracks and it had been ultra-simple to follow him straight to the drop. Silly, very silly. He could have been the Old Bill. No wonder this one did sod all if he played things this way.
Initially, John had been incensed finding himself shoehorned by the likes of Bedworth. That was until he’d looked at it rationally. Aside from being put in a position he couldn’t be found to be in, it could work in his favour. And after he’d got what was rightfully his, then Bedworth could take a sharp exit stage left. But for now, this was the way he’d have to play it.
Besides, it wasn’t all bad. Not only did he now have an extra stick to hit the Stokers with, but to get one so quickly was a lucky break. What was even better was because this particular Stoker had very little involvement, the man wouldn’t have a clue as to his identity.
John’s eyes tracked to the phone box opposite. The call he’d placed an hour ago meant that three of his best men would be arriving by kick-out time, but not before he’d gone into the pub to get friendly with this Stoker prick. And from the length of time the man had already been in the Hare and Hounds, he was no doubt a few sheets to the wind by now.
As much as John hated Bedworth, he had to give the man his dues for a decent plan. With the way everything was panning out it could just work, especially with the extra and unexpected piece of intel he’d gleaned, enabling him to pull this one off tonight.
He shrugged. It wasn’t like he’d got a lot to lose and luckily, he had more loyal men at the firm than not. He couldn’t see many of them ever changing allegiance to deal with Samantha.
The name ‘Samantha’ stabbed in John’s head in staccato syllables. The stupid bitch. Why couldn’t she have just let things be? It would have been so much easier and less detrimental to her in the long run.
Hearing breaking news coming through on BRMB about a pub ablaze in the city centre, John shrugged. Tom’s boys pulled that off all right, then?
He flicked the radio off. More than enough time had now passed to allow Gary Stoker to drown whatever sorrows he had. Judging by the expression on his face when he’d arrived there were a fair few sorrows to drown too.
It was time to make a move.
John jumped out of the car and wandered over to the pub.
The Hare and Hounds wasn’t anywhere Gary would normally go for a drink, even on the frequent occasions when he needed to escape from the claustrophobic and gung-ho world of his brothers and father, but there was a reason for that. Aside from Moseley only being down the road from where the Irish handover had taken place, no one knew him or his family around here. And that was just the way he liked it. Especially at the moment.
Frowning, Gary picked at the edge of his sodden beer mat, his brain still stinging from the recent revelations. So, his brothers thought he was a usurper in the family and that they didn’t share true blood? Well, Andrew thought that, as did Neil by the looks of it, but did Seb?
His teeth dug into his bottom lip, the pain a distraction. Could any of it be true? Could he be the one who didn’t belong? It would make sense with how he’d been treated by them all his life and he was sick of it. Sick of always being made to feel like the runt. And now they’d got this to vulture over, things could only get worse.
Maybe he should just up and leave them to it? His brothers clearly felt they’d be better off without him – not that he’d ever really been included in their tightly knit fold to start with.
Gary stared at the fresh pint on the table. Being Happy Hour, buying two Carlings each time he’d gone up the bar seemed a good idea, but it also meant he’d have to get a taxi back now. The last thing he wanted was a tug from the coppers. That would be bloody typical and give his brothers even more ammo. He could only imagine the endless round of jibes heading his way about not being able to hold his drink if he ended up losing his licence.
No mistake, he was fairly hammered, but that was good because he needed something to quieten his swirling thoughts with all this shit playing on his mind. At least no one could moan he hadn’t done the business with the Irish.
Gary patted the twenty grand safely stashed in his inside pocket, then leant on the table, only to drunkenly miss, almost chinning himself.
Grinning sheepishly, he leant back in the wooden chair, happily listening to a guy strumming on his guitar in the corner. This pub had a good atmosphere - a nice atmosphere with no pressure, unlike the Peacock.
Gary found himself wondering, not for the first time, how much simpler things would be if he could come somewhere like this after an honest day’s work at a normal job in one of the many factories in this city. It would make things less stressful. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of life and he knew it, even when his brothers weren’t constantly reminding him.
Turning to pick up his pint, he was surprised to see a stranger sitting in the spare seat at his little table.
‘Hope you don’t mind me sitting here?’ John Maynard said. ‘I’ve just finished work and my hooves are killing me. I couldn’t face standing at the bar.’
‘No problem,’ Gary slurred.
‘My name’s Rob,’ John lied. ‘I haven’t seen you before. You new around these parts?’
‘Yeah, I moved last week,’ Gary waffled, happy to become a different person, even if only for one night. It wasn’t like he could say who he really was. Although it was unlikely people would recognise him, they’d certainly recognise the name ‘Stoker’.
Tonight he would be anonymous.
‘I’ve lived here all my life,’ John continued. ‘The only time I thought about moving was when my wife died earlier this year.’ He stared at his pint sadly. ‘Didn’t think I could bear staying around with the memories, you know? But then, my family are good ’uns and I’d miss the boozers and me mates, so I decided to stay put.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about your wife,’ Gary said, feeling bad for the man. ‘That must have been difficult.’
‘Aye, it was,’ John said. Not that he’d know. He’d rather hack his head off then get tied to a moaning bird, even if it guaranteed him a shag. And from what he’d heard, it wouldn’t even do that half the time.
‘I can only presume it must be important to have support from families and friends,’ Gary said bitterly, suddenly overcome with self-pity. If he had a dead wife, no doubt his brothers would take the piss out of that as well.
‘You got trouble?’ John pressed. ‘With your family, I mean?’ Come on, Gary – you can talk to Uncle John, you pointless piece of shit. ‘How about I shout you a beer, mate? I’m a good listener and you look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.’