Pulling into the alleyway around the back of Edgbaston Street usually reserved for deliveries, John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
If Bedworth didn’t show his face soon, then he’d have to give this up as a bad lot and take his chances going to the Aurora again or, more sensibly, get word to meet somewhere else instead. He’d have to be even more careful now Samantha had somehow got wind he’d been there.
The net was closing in and he couldn’t afford that.
He glanced at his dashboard clock. For fuck’s sake! The stupid prick had told him in his usual big-gobbed way that he was planning on meeting two birds in the Whistling Pig this evening, that’s if Bedworth remembered, the state the man was in half the time.
Gnashing his teeth, John jumped from his car. He wasn’t hanging around any longer. Slamming the door, he glanced around for lurking traffic wardens. If he ended up with a fucking ticket, he’d go tits. Plus, he couldn’t be long, the way darling Samantha was watching his every move.
His jaw clenched. How he hated doing that stupid little girl’s bidding. He couldn’t stand it any longer. Bedworth had better have some good news or he’d go berserk. Wasting his time by calling him to the Aurora last night, and then not even having the decency to show up?
His brows furrowed. He’d only just got out of there in the nick of time as well. After deciding he wasn’t waiting any longer with that grizzled old hag Bedworth had asked to keep him company until he got back, John had only just pulled out onto the Hagley Road when the cops pulled in. It had been far too close.
Just the thought of being collared in that dump made John’s teeth curl. If that had happened, he’d definitely be unable to deny being there.
Storming down the road, he cut through the dank, stinking confines of the bus station. The pervading, choking stench of the consistently pumping diesel engines clung to the back of his throat, making him feel sick.
Stepping over a tramp lying on the floor near one of the stops, he barged his way through the clumps of people waiting for their bus, ignoring the scowls and insults hurled in his direction.
‘Fucking buy a car,’ John muttered, glad to reach the doors leading from the bus station to the indoor market, pleased the place was still just about open, otherwise he’d have had to walk all the way around.
This relief was short-lived when the smell of exhaust fumes was replaced by the even worse smell of fish from the countless fishmonger stalls.
John felt like punching Bedworth repeatedly in the face for this when he finally caught up with him. Having to chase the fucking skank all over the city was not in any way, shape or form his idea of a good time.
Squinting against the daylight as he barged through the double doors onto the main road the other side of the market, John pushed past a man standing on a wooden box, ranting about everyone’s perils coming back to haunt them on judgement day, and scowled even harder.
He shoved his way along to the Whistling Pig, the grotesque 1960s frontage all the worse for its horrible orange colour.
Bursting through the battered wooden doors, his eyes adjusted to the murky, smoke-laden atmosphere and scanned the room through the haze, ignoring the suspect-looking man playing a Bontempi organ in the corner and a group of old men staring suspiciously at him from under their trilbies, their snuff boxes on the sticky table next to their pints of Ansells bitter.
There he was. Bedworth…
John’s eyes focused on Tom Bedworth, sitting at a table against the far wall with a pair of girls perched on his lap who looked no more than fourteen.
Scowling, he made his way over and banged on the table. ‘A word?’
Tom’s head swung up, his face breaking into a grin. ‘Ah, Maynard!’ he yelled. ‘Pull up a stool and have a drink.’
John leant on the table, tipping it slightly and watched the girls scrabbling to save their Babychams before they hit the deck. ‘I don’t want a fucking drink. I want a word!’
He jerked his head towards the toilets. ‘Either in there or outside. Your fucking choice.’ He stared at Bedworth’s face, seeing the man was clearly off his bonce. Jesus Christ! How had he got saddled with this loser? The sooner he could offload this moron, the better. It wouldn’t be a minute too soon. The twat was a liability.
Not waiting for an answer, John grabbed Tom by the shoulder of his leather jacket and manhandled him into the gents. ‘Fuck off!’ he growled to the teenagers rolling joints next to the sink.
Taking one look at the expression on the stranger’s face, the two lads hastily made their exit out of the toilets.
Turning back to Tom, seeing a stupid grin on his face, John felt like he might implode. He grabbed him around the scruff of the neck, slamming him into the cracked wall tiles. ‘Where the fuck were you last night?’
‘Take it easy, my old mate,’ Tom slurred, still smiling like it was a normal day out. ‘Chill, yeah?’
‘Fuck that!’ John raged. ‘You sent an urgent message and so I risked my neck by coming to the Aurora only to find you were nowhere to be seen? Do you want to explain before I fucking hurt you? Do you think I’ve got time to piss about for shag all?’
Still smiling, Tom patted John’s hand, indicating to release him from his grip. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrap of coke. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I got held up. You know what it’s like.’
John watched with escalating ire as Tom cut a line on the filthy sink. He’d had enough of this. He smacked the wrap out of Tom’s hand, then swiped the line of powder off the enamel to the floor.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Tom screeched. ‘That’s all I’ve got on me!’
‘Stop pissing around,’ John roared, screwing his heel into the wrap in case Bedworth had any bright ideas of retrieving it from the piss-soaked floor. ‘Maybe if you weren’t so off your fucking head then you might be some use! You’re a bleeding liability!’
Tom grinned once more. Raising his hands in the air, he did a strange kind of jerky jig. ‘Fear not, Maynard! All is good. I’ve upped the game. You worry too much. The pressure will cause them all to break very soon and then we’ll both be where we want to be.’
John stared at Bedworth’s gleeful dance with astounded detachment and building rage. ‘So you keep saying!’ he snarled. ‘You absolute cretin!’ This turd needed to be committed. And he certainly needed to stop snorting all of his deals. The man was living in a dreamworld. ‘I sneaked out of a wake last night to see you. Something important, you said, and you weren’t even there!’
Tom nodded. ‘I came back but had to make a swift about turn. That old bitch opposite called the cops again. Four times she’s done that now. They never find anything, of course.’ He tapped the side of his bent nose. ‘I’m cleverer than that.’
‘What is it you wanted to tell me?’ John spat. ‘You know, the things that were so important?’
Tom flapped his hand and stared at the wasted, mashed-up wrap of cocaine on the floor. ‘Can’t believe you did that!’ he muttered. ‘Good job I’ve got loads more where that came from.’
John stepped forward, his teeth bared. If Bedworth didn’t get to the point, he’d smash his face into the urinal and keep doing it until he knocked some sense into him.
‘The Orchid’s a nice place, ain’t it?’ Tom said casually, his eyes sparkling. ‘Much nicer than I expected.’ His face suddenly formed a scowl. ‘Although it proves just how much I got ripped off.’
John tensed. ‘You went to the Orchid?’ He couldn’t believe this. ‘When? I told you stay away from there, you fucking moron!’
Through his coke-addled head, Tom knew he should think of a justifiable reason. Explaining that he’d got Maynard out of the way so he could mooch about in Reynold’s office looking for proof to back up his threats wouldn’t go down too well, he didn’t expect.
But he did have some news which he could have used as a vague blag. The fundamental problem was, the afternoon of steady drinking and snorting powder had diluted his rationality. He was on a roll and nothing could stop him.
He grinned, his crooked teeth looking even worse in the sickly light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. ‘I came to the Orchid to find you.’
‘Why?’ John gasped. ‘Do you listen to nothing I say?’
Tom flapped his hand. ‘Yes, yes, I do, but this is great! Look!’ He pulled a twist of foil from his other pocket and gleefully unwrapped it. ‘Look at this. Fucking top notch gear this is! I have the contacts who can cook this up and if you supply me with a shed load of powder from the Orchid, th…’
‘Crack?’ John barked, staring at the three small rocks in the foil. ‘You want to start cranking out crack? Using my cocaine? And you came to the Orchid to tell me that?’ His face took on the colour of an over-ripe tomato, the urge to pummel Bedworth’s head to a pulp overwhelming.
‘Partly,’ Tom grinned, shoving the foil back in his pocket. He spun around on the wet floor. ‘Ta-da! Great idea, ain’t it?’ He leant against the wall for support. ‘It’s good shit and all.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ John muttered. ‘I hope no one saw you.’
‘Nah, they were all too busy. Besides…’ Tom began twirling around. ‘I’m invincible!’ He then pulled a sad face. ‘I didn’t get what I was looking for, but I did up the ante.’
John felt like he might burst a blood vessel. The guy had been snooping around the Orchid? Christ! And look at him, he thought he was untouchable.
Tapping his foot on the floor in an irritating rhythm in line with the banging in his head, Tom grabbed John’s jacket sleeve and pulled him close. ‘Hey, have they found the dead guy in the cupboard yet?’
John blinked, partly because Tom’s breath smelt of dog shit and partly because he was sure he couldn’t have heard correctly. ‘The what?’
‘A guy accosted me outside Reynold’s office. He grabbed me, so I had no choice.’ Tom held his hands up, grinning maniacally. ‘Oh, come on! What would you have done?’ He mimicked drawing a blade across his neck. ‘After that, I shoved him in the cupboard. Bloody classic, it was!’
John stared in disbelief. Was Bedworth serious? He’d topped someone and shoved them in a cupboard? His face morphed into a scowl. The man was wankered and spouting shit.
Shoving Tom hard in the chest, John watched with a small glimmer of satisfaction as he stumbled backwards, falling onto the drenched floor under the urinals. ‘Sort yourself out, Bedworth, for God’s sake, and then come and find me.’
‘But it’s true!’ Tom cried, watching John stomp out of the gents.
‘What’s he doing up here?’ Neil said, eyeing the surroundings with disdain.
‘I’ve no idea, but this is where the scout said he was.’ Seb kept his eyes trained on his wing mirrors. ‘Maynard was watched leaving the Orchid earlier and tailed here.’ His head jerked towards the blue Ford Mondeo further down the alleyway they’d backed the van into. ‘From here, he went to the Whistling Pig and is still in there, but he’ll be coming back for his car sooner or later. That’s when we’ll get him.’
Neil continued looking around the alleyway. Not a soul in sight, short of the delivery doors to shops which were now closed for the night. The only possible contender that could open a door and spot them was the Chinese takeaway, but then again they should be safe because that lot threw away nothing, and served whatever leftovers they had to the next load of unsuspecting customers.
Besides, grabbing Maynard wouldn’t take long, although he couldn’t say he was over-enamoured with Seb’s plan for afterwards. He’d much rather get stuck in straight away, but if Seb insisted they wait for Samantha Reynold until they really put the pressure on, then that’s what would happen.
‘You’d best jump in the back. As soon as Maynard’s within grabbing reach, I’ll bang on the wall,’ Seb instructed. He’d be the one apprehending Maynard. That was a definite.
He waited whilst his brothers leapt from the cab into the back of the van and then returned his concentration to the mirrors, hoping Maynard wasn’t in the pub for the duration. It had already gone eight.
Sure, there were plenty of men who he could have ordered to do this, but for this particular instance, he wanted to be present. He’d waited too long and this bastard had caused too much shit for it to be otherwise.
Adrenaline ramped up in Seb’s veins, the anticipation for getting his hands on the person he believed had offed Gary rising. No one else would own this pleasure. Maynard was his.
Spotting movement at the far end of the alleyway, Seb tensed and squinted through the twilight. Was this him?
The man continued walking towards the van and Seb slunk down in the driver’s seat. Yep, it was him. Maynard. Game on.
With his heart pounding, Seb twitched with impatience whilst the man shiftily made his way closer, furtively looking around several times.
On the lookout, he should be, but however careful Maynard was, he wouldn’t get out of this one. He would answer every single question. And he would take as long as was required to get every last thing out of him. Once he’d spouted the lot, then Maynard was done.
Seb would get his answers and Sam would get hers too. Never again would she have cause to question or doubt him and she could hardly have an issue with Maynard’s removal once it was proved exactly what a traitor the bastard was.
Seb grinned. And he would prove it. He could sense it.
As the man drew level with the van, Seb sprung from it like a panther, the door knocking Maynard into the wall. Banging on the side of the van with his fist, he wasted no time in grabbing Maynard by the scruff of the neck and slamming him against the alleyway.
‘Right, cunt,’ Seb spat, inches from Maynard’s face, his eyes glinting with suppressed rage. ‘Time to answer my fucking questions.’
Trying to pull his head into gear from the total and unexpected jump, John Maynard scrambled for the gun in his waistband, but was abruptly stopped by a swift backhand around his nose which threw him off kilter.
‘I think not,’ Seb muttered, pulling the pistol from Maynard’s waistband and throwing it to one side.
Stumbling from the blow, John staggered back, blinking rapidly from the stinging in his nose, his eyes running like taps.
Shit. The Stokers. Seb Stoker, no less. Whilst he had his gun, he stood a chance, but without it, he was little match for this man mountain.
Attempting to weigh up what available options, if any, John’s watering eyes darted around the alleyway, even hoping by some miracle that Bedworth might appear to distract them. If this psycho could be distracted for one moment, then there was a miniscule chance he might reach the small knife he kept stashed at his ankle for emergencies.
‘What the fuck is this about?’ John cried. ‘We’re supposed to be on the same side, aren’t we?’
Seb’s eyes glinted in the light from the single lamppost at the mouth of the alleyway. ‘That was before you started fucking around. Besides, I’ve never trusted you.’
Stepping back, Seb stood silently whilst Andrew and Neil made quick work of binding Maynard’s hands. ‘Get him in the back,’ he smiled. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘You’ll never get away with this!’ Maynard yelled as he was dragged towards the double doors of the Transit.
‘I just did, didn’t I?’ Seb grinned. Turning on his heels, he grabbed Maynard’s gun from the alleyway floor, jumped back into the cab and fired the engine.
Hearing the compulsory bang from one of his brothers keeping Maynard company in the back of the van, Seb stamped on the accelerator and screeched from the alleyway, narrowly missing a bedraggled drunk who’d appeared at the entrance.