The Reprisal Page 11
Paul tried to think back. They had collected the holdall from Dougie. No, that was wrong. It had been Lucas Vaughn who had handed over the merchandise. He had then slung the bag into the boot of the car, just as he had done many times before. Then he had driven the car straight to Samson and dropped it off. Neither he nor Jason had opened the bag, so just what exactly had gone so very wrong?
“It had to be Dougie.” Paul looked around him. He was talking fast and hated himself for that fact. “He must have switched the bags. It has to be him.”
Samson narrowed his eyes. He wondered how long it would take for the penny to drop, for the boy to connect the dots. “Dougie you say?” He lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise and glanced toward his heavies. “You mean to tell me that my old pal Dougie had the front, the audacity, to do this to me?”
Paul nodded his head, and as he continued to look around him, the first stirring of rage began to flow through his veins. The mad bastard had been happy to use him, to put his name in the frame.
“Well?” Samson was suddenly all smiles and there was a craftiness in his eyes as he opened out his arms. “The fucking audacity of the man, and to think all along, he was prepared to let me think that it was you. You that had stolen from me.”
Paul shook his head. He was barely even listening. Despite the anger he felt, none of it made any sense to him.
“Well, boys,” Samson was full of camaraderie, “you’re not going to let him get away with that, are you?”
Paul looked up and shook his head a second time. His eyes narrowed. Of course he wasn’t going to let the mad bastard get away with it.
It was the exact reaction Samson was hoping for. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Well?” He opened out his arm gesturing toward the front door. “Off you go then, lads. Make the mad fucker pay.”
The heavies created a pathway, and taking one long last look around him, Paul flicked his head toward the front door, indicating for Jason to follow. Still, he didn’t understand what had just taken place.
Outside on the street, Jason exhaled loudly. He lifted his hand to show the slight tremor there. “Fuck me, I thought our days were numbered.”
Paul didn’t answer. He glanced back toward the house. He had to admit that he felt just as relieved as his brother-in-law did, but why did the whole situation feel so very wrong? Why had Samson even let them leave? If the boot had been on the other foot, he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t have.
“Stella would have had my guts if Samson had topped us.”
Rolling his eyes with irritation, Paul began to walk away. “Defeats the object a bit that, don’t you think?” He shook his head. “You need to grow a backbone, mate.”
Jason shrugged his shoulders. Easier said than done when it came to his wife. “So, what’s the plan now?”
Paul came to an abrupt halt. He blew out his cheeks and looked up and down the empty street. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going home.”
“Home? But what about …” Jason jerked his thumb behind him. “Are we just going to leave it like that?”
“Nah.” Paul followed his friend’s eye line. “Of course we’re not, but I need to think. None of this is right. Something is off.”
“Are you going to make the call?” He fell into step with Paul as they walked down the street.
Paul lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Right now, I need to collect my car and then go home, shower, and change.” He gestured to his shirt and grazed knuckles. The last thing he needed was to end up getting his collar felt while still covered in Michael Nicholls’s blood. It was bound to be one situation he wouldn’t be able to easily talk himself out of.
* * *
Cathy settled herself on the sofa with a cup of hot chocolate. She had finally given up on Paul coming back to collect her from Cynthia’s house, so had made the short walk back home with little Kieran in his pushchair. As much as she hated to admit it, she was worried. It wasn’t like him to let her down. Even the excuses Cynthia gave for her son’s absence had brought her no comfort. Just where the hell was he?
She drank her drink, set the mug on the floor, and then gently rubbed her tummy. “Where’s your daddy, eh?” She spoke softly. Already, she loved this new tiny life growing inside of her.
At that moment, the front door opened and she quickly glanced at her watch. It was nearing midnight. Heavy footsteps ascending the staircase made her jump up from the sofa and race out into the hallway.
“Paul?”
She saw his body freeze and narrowed her eyes. Surely he would have known that she would wait up for him.
“I’m just going to shower.”
Cathy’s heart sank. Where had she heard those words before? It had been one of Terrance’s favourite phrases after he had spent the evening with one of his many women.
“Paul?”
She watched him bow his head and her heart sank even further. No, please God, not again.
“I can’t do this right now, darling. I really need to shower.”
Prickles of fear ran down the length of Cathy’s spine. She’d thought that her Paul was different, that he would never betray her trust. Oh, she wasn’t stupid. She knew he would look at other women. What man didn’t? But to go that one step further and actually touch, she would never have believed it capable of him, until now that was. Tears pricked her eyes. No matter how much she loved this man, she wasn’t prepared to idly sit by and do nothing, whilst another man used and abused her. She chased up the staircase after him and tugged on his arm, pulling him bodily toward her.
The sight which met her made her gasp out loud. Her Paul’s shirt was dotted with red splotches of blood. She pressed her hand to her mouth and her eyes opened wide with fear. All thoughts of him spending the night with another woman were gone from her mind. “Oh my God,” she cried. She reached out to touch the shirt and he gently pushed her hand away. “What happened to you?”
“It’s not mine.” His voice was quiet and he couldn’t look her in the eyes. “It’s not mine, darling.”
Cathy gripped onto the bannister rail. She felt as though her legs would buckle underneath her. “Who?” she began.
“It doesn’t matter whose.” He put his finger to her lips, silencing her, and without a backward glance, he carried on up the staircase, knowing full well that she would follow.
In the bathroom, he kicked off his boots and stripped off his blood-stained clothes.
“Please, Paul.” She glanced down at his grazed knuckles and fear caught in the back of her throat as her body shuddered. “What have you done?”
Paul sighed. Still, he couldn’t look her in the eyes, and Cathy resisted the urge to shake the truth out of him.
“I did what I had to do, Cath. You wouldn’t understand, darling.”
“Is he?” She swallowed deeply, not wanting to finish the sentence. A part of her wasn’t even sure she wanted to know what it was he’d done.
Paul shrugged his shoulders. It was a nonchalant shrug that caused her heart to sink even further and she closed her eyes tight. Seeing him like this scared her and reminded her of exactly what he was capable of. Not that he would ever hurt her or Kieran, that was one thing she was certain of.
As he stepped underneath the steaming water, she instinctively bent down and gathered up the stained shirt and denim jeans, and held them to her chest. How could he be so calm? It didn’t take a genius to suss out the fact that he had seriously maimed someone, and yet, he didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He was completely and utterly unnerved by his own actions. Her heart beat faster as she continued to watch him. A part of her wanted to berate this man for what he had done, but how could she? She herself had killed her own husband, and he had been there for her, by her side, without question.
“I’ll put these in to soak.” It was said quietly and when he didn’t answer, she walked from the bathroom. She knew then that she had inadvertently embroiled herself into his world, a wor
ld that she had sworn she would never have a place in. It was at that moment that she felt the first stirring of the child embedded within her womb—a child who would one day follow on in their father’s footsteps. A wave of dread swept over her. She’d known right from the very start that he didn’t hold down a nine-to-five job, that he wasn’t a plumber or a white collar worker. No, she’d known exactly who her Paul was, and she had welcomed him and the life he led with open arms. It was a sobering thought.
* * *
Cathy was still scrubbing away the blood from Paul’s shirt when she heard him walk into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, darling.”
She could hear the sincerity in his voice, and taking a deep breath, she gently placed the scrubbing brush down onto the draining board and turned to face him.
“There is nothing to apologise for.” She wiped her hands dry, joined him at the table, and wearily sat down on a wooden high-backed chair. “I knew from day one that this was your life.” She gave him a gentle smile. Oh, he was so handsome. It was hard to believe that there was another side to him, a side that was both violent and ruthless. “But promise me that you will not embroil our babies into the same way of life.” She reached out to clasp his hand tightly. “I can’t bear the thought of spending my days and nights worrying about them, too. I want more for them. I want them to get away from all of this.” She looked around her. Despite the recent lick of paint and new flooring, the kitchen still felt as though it was tainted. “I want more for them, Paul.”
Paul nodded his head. “I want the same, darling.” He sighed heavily, and as he looked down at the spot where Terrance’s body had lay, he gave her a small smile. “I promise, Cath, I won’t bring our kids into any of this.”
* * *
Paul had barely slept through the night, and as he shifted onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling. The events of the previous evening ran through his mind on a loop. Why did nothing make sense? Why had Samson sent them on their way unscathed? The old bastard had his own reputation to think of, and if he had really believed they were responsible for stealing his merchandise, then shouldn’t they be dead by now? Their bodies should be buried in the woods, or supporting a flyover somewhere. As the man himself had stated, he had murdered men for doing far less.
Gently easing the duvet away from him, Paul swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sitting up, he rubbed his palm across his face.
“You’re awake early.”
He turned his head to look at his Cathy and a rush of love fell over him. Even with her hair sticking up all over the place and traces of mascara smudged underneath her eyes, she was beautiful to him. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
“Where are you going?” Rubbing at her eyes, she glanced down at her watch. “It’s only just turned six.”
For a brief moment, he considered lying and he sucked in his bottom lip, contemplating what he could say. Finally, he decided to tell her the truth. After all, she wasn’t daft and had already seen the worst of him. She had seen what he was capable of. “I’ve got some business to sort out, darling.”
“The same business as yesterday?” She sat up suddenly alert, her beautiful face etched with worry.
Paul raised his eyebrows, but didn’t answer, and standing up, he pulled on his boxer shorts.
“It is, isn’t it?” Her hand flew to her still flat tummy and he watched with fascination. Even now, she was only thinking of their child. She was a blinding mother, was his Cathy.
“I have to. I have to sort this out, Cath. Some bad shit went down, and well,” he shrugged his shoulders, “it’s down to me to sort it all out.”
“How bad are we talking?” Cathy was up and out of bed. She stood in front of the door, as if she could somehow stop him from leaving the bedroom.
“Bodies in the boot of a car type of bad shit.” As he continued to dress, he gave her a smile to take the edge off of his words. “Listen, darling, it’s under control, I promise.” The lie easily tripped off of his tongue. He only wished it was true. Mad Dougie made Samson look like a pussy cat, but he knew he had to front the man out. He had to know the score, and more than anything, he had to get to the bottom of the missing coke. He had a horrible feeling that there was a lot more to the sorry story than met the eye.
Cathy began to cry, and as he moved toward her, she flapped her hand dismissively. “Ignore me, it’s my hormones,” she said half-laughing, half-crying.
Despite the laughter in her voice, he could hear the fear there and he pulled her into his embrace, his strong arms wrapping around her tiny frame. “It’ll be okay. I’m going to sort this out,” he soothed. “I promise you, Cath.”
With her head against his chest, he held her to him and gently kissed the top of her head before stepping out of her arms and leaving the room. Making his way toward the bathroom, he paused and retracing his steps he made his way into Kieran’s bedroom. Looking down at the child he had grown to love as his own, he smiled softly. Little Kieran was fast asleep. His chubby little arm was positioned above his head and the faint snores alerted Paul to the fact that the child was in a deep sleep. He was a handsome little boy and he wondered then what the child snuggled inside his Cathy would look like. Another handsome little fucker, no doubt. Of course the unborn child could be a girl, a daughter who would look like her mother. The thought made him smile even wider. From behind him, he could hear Cathy sigh, and turning his head, he grinned at her.
“Everything will be okay, Cath. You just wait and see, darling.”
As she leaned against the door frame, she smiled up at him. It was a sad smile tinged with fear, and his heart went out to her.
“Just be careful, please,” she begged of him. Her hand wandered toward her tummy. “I need you to come back home safe. We all need you.”
“You know me, Cath.” He shrugged his shoulders, but the smile had left him. He was no fool and knew for a fact that if he managed to leave The Manor still in one piece, then it would be nothing short of a miracle.
* * *
Dougie Ward’s fury knew no bounds. Even the screams that came from the man chained to the steel table were unable to bring him comfort. Already, his latest victim was minus his fingernails and several teeth. He dragged the scalpel viciously across the man’s skin. His hands were slick with blood and it took all of his concentration to keep his grip on the steel handle.
On the other side of the table, Ernest grunted loudly, his mouth opened wide and the remainder of his stubby little tongue jutted up and down.
“Calm fucking down, Ern.” Dougie looked up. He had no qualms with Ernest and knew for a fact that the man was as loyal as they came. In fact, his old friend was of the same mind as him. He loved the torture and violence almost as much as he did. In a way, they were kindred spirits.
Ernest grunted once more, and as Dougie threw the scalpel into a metal tray, the clash of metal against metal was loud.
“Lucas.” He screamed out the name of his heavy, his minder. Minder, the word had always amused him in the past. He had no need for such a man to watch over him. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. It was the people around him who needed minding, and more often than not, they were just as aware of that fact as he was.
“Boss.”
Dougie grinned, showing an uneven row of white teeth. He untied his leather apron and passed it across to Ernest. On the table, the man’s screams had quietened down to pain-filled whimpers. The fact that he had been left on the table to bleed out, slowly and painfully, was not lost on anyone, least of all the victim himself.
“We’re expecting company.” Dougie grinned even wider and he had to stop himself from rubbing his hands together with glee. After his telephone call with Samson Ivers, he knew for a fact that he would have fun with this pair of thieving bastards. Already, he could hear their screams echoing around the room. It was a heady thought.
“Anyone I know?” Lucas’s voice sounded bored, as though they had had company every day of
the week, which of course they didn’t. Dougie didn’t have friends, per se.
Lucas’s voice brought Dougie back to reality and he looked up. “A couple of Samson’s men.” He glanced nonchalantly at the victim on the table. He was bored of hearing the man’s terrified screams. “Let’s give the thieving cunts a good welcome, eh?” He picked up the scalpel, walked back around the table, and grasping a handful of his latest victims hair, he roughly pulled back his head exposing the neck area. The pale exposed skin was stark underneath the fluorescent lighting. “A real Manor welcome,” he said, expertly gliding the scalpel across the bared throat.
Dodging the blood spray, Lucas nodded his head and abruptly left the room.
Washing the blood away from his hands, Dougie began to whistle. From the corner of his eye, he kept a watchful eye on Ernest. He was fickle when it came to his instruments. They had to be both clean and sterile, and he had bought an autoclave at auction for that very purpose. It had cost him a small fortune, but at the end of the day, money was irrelevant when it came to cleanliness. He watched the man rinse the instruments underneath hot water before loading them into the metal bucket and he sighed happily. Good old Ernest. He was like a Godsend to him, and he thanked his lucky stars every day that he had this man in his life.
* * *
Lucas was worried. He walked outside into the courtyard area and took in deep lungsful of air. He’d overheard the one-sided telephone conversation between Dougie and Samson Ivers, and was genuinely perplexed. Underneath his feet, the uneven patio slabs shifted. They had had problems with the drains in the past and the courtyard had flooded over on numerous occasions. It was the blood clots and body matter clogging up the drains that caused the problems, and it didn’t escape his notice that as he stepped on the slabs, he was walking upon the remains of Dougie’s victims. The underlying stench of rotting flesh that permeated the air alerted him to that fact, and he inwardly shuddered. Turning back toward the property, he checked that the coast was clear, then hastily pushed his hand into his denim pockets and brought out a handful of loose change. He needed to get to a telephone box, and fast.