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  “So, what can I do for you, Danny?” Andrew asked, as he poured out their drinks.

  “I’ve got a situation, mate,” Danny answered, as he turned in his seat. “And I need you to repay the favour you owe me.”

  “I thought as much. To be honest, I’ve been waiting for this day to come.”

  Taking a sip of brandy, Danny got down to business. The fact that he trusted this man, was at the forefront of his mind.

  “I’m going to need a gun disposed of. You don’t need to know the whys, and it’s safer you don’t know, to be honest, mate.”

  Andrew listened intently. He showed no shock in what was being asked of him. Instinctively, he knew that if Danny McKay was coming to him for help, then it was something big. “So, how do you want me to dispose of the gun?”

  Danny smiled, as he glanced out of the window toward the farm. “I want it cut down, then distributed in various different locations. You have the facilities here to do that.”

  Andrew followed Danny’s gaze, and then nodded his balding head. “When should I expect you?”

  “Late Saturday evening, maybe early hours of Sunday morning.”

  “I’ll be here waiting. I’ll clear the farm, so it’s just you and me.”

  Satisfied, Danny nodded his head, and drained his drink. Now that the business was over with, he was able to relax.

  “Let me show you around the farm, so you can see what I have done with the place,” Andrew smiled.

  Danny followed Andrew out of the house. He was impressed with what his friend had done, and he nodded his head, as Andrew pointed toward the land that he had acquired for him.

  “Look’s the business, mate. You’ve done a good job.”

  “Getting there, Danny. All thanks to you.”

  Two hours later, Danny left the farm and made his way back toward East London. He was eager to get back on familiar territory. He still had a lot of work to do.

  * * *

  In a storage unit in Hackney, Northeast London, Samuel Brown ran his business. It was here that he kept an arsenal of weapons. Pulling into the car park at the front of the building, he glanced around him, before casually climbing out of his car.

  He walked into the reception area with a confident air, and punched in a passcode on the keypad entry system, to allow him entry to the storage rooms. From there, he took the lift to the second floor. To any passer-by, there was nothing unusual about him, nothing which would give away his true purpose, and that was exactly the way Samuel intended it. He had been blessed with looks, which enabled him to blend into a crowd. He could easily be the man next door, the person everyone overlooked. Even the car he drove was a nondescript Ford, despite the wealth dealing in illegal firearms brought him.

  Inside the unit, there were wall-to-wall metal filing cabinets. It was inside these cabinets, that he concealed the weapons. Anything from stun guns to Uzi submachine guns were in his possession.

  Samuel pulled on a clean pair of latex gloves, then opened a cabinet and took out a 9mm semi-automatic pistol. He turned the gun over in his hand, inspecting it, before placing it inside a large plastic food bag. When he was satisfied he’d left no fingerprints on the firearm, he placed it inside his rucksack. If there was one thing that Samuel was, it was thorough. He had never made a mistake when it came to leaving evidence on a weapon, and he certainly didn’t intend to start now.

  After locking up the unit, Samuel activated the unit alarm on his way out, and in a casual manner, he made his way back to his car. From here, he would take the weapon to a halfway point. He had a young lad in his employment, who would look after the firearm, until his girlfriend, Amber, collected it on Friday afternoon.

  Driving out of the car park, Samuel began his journey to drop off the firearm, before moving on to a second storage unit. It was here, he kept the ammunition. He was no fool, and his reasoning for doing this was that the sentence for keeping both firearms and ammunition together, was a lot tougher, should he ever be caught, not that he intended to get his collar felt any time soon.

  Samuel felt no remorse. As far as he was concerned, he was providing a service, however illegal that service may be. His argument was that if it wasn’t him supplying firearms, then somebody else would. It was a no-brainer, as far as he was concerned. It may as well be him, who got rich.

  The fact that the weapons he sold would one day become the catalyst for someone’s death, meant nothing to him. Why should it? It wasn’t him pulling the trigger. Whatever happened once the gun was out of his hands, was no business of his.

  * * *

  Thirty-seven years ago, Moray Garner had been born in South London, to a Dominican father and a Romany mother. Moray went to great lengths to hide his accent. He was from the wrong side of London, according to the cockneys, and he knew for a fact that the South and East London divide was definitely alive and kicking. He had a six-inch scar across his cheek to prove that very point.

  Moray fingered his scar now, as he thought through the proposition that had been put to him. He was sat behind an oak desk, in his plush office suite, above Ritzy’s Nightclub, in Romford, Essex. Opposite him, sat Danny McKay.

  He and Danny went back years. They’d worked the doors together, once, many moons ago, for Freddie Smith. As soon as Moray had earned enough capital, he had left Freddie’s firm, and started running his own doors. More than once, he’d tried to poach Danny. He had always believed that he would make a great asset to his team. After all, Danny’s reputation preceded him, and he knew his own doormen would be wary of the man, let alone the punters.

  Only it wasn’t work Danny was after. What Danny wanted, was going to cause an out and out war.

  Sitting forward in his seat, Danny rested his arms on his knees. “Business is business, mate.”

  Moray, blew out his cheeks. “Fuck me, Danny. Taking over Freddie Smith’s business dealings is not some small quest, this is fucking big time. Do you even realise what you’re asking of me? You do know this is going to cause a fucking war, don’t you?”

  Moray watched as Danny nodded his head. He could see the man had thought the situation through.

  “I’m more than aware it’s a big deal, Moray. C’mon, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know what I was doing. You know me. Let’s face it, probably better than anyone else does. Would I even be here, if I hadn’t thought this through? All I’m looking for is a business partner, someone with capital, such as yourself.” Danny remained calm, his voice composed. He decided to leave out the fact that after Freddie’s demise, his business would be up for grabs anyway.

  All he needed was a business partner, someone with wedge and a vast workforce at his disposal, to be able to take over the contracts, without himself needing to muscle in practically single-handed. The fact that he trusted Moray tenfold, was an added bonus.

  “Would this be an equal partnership?” Moray asked.

  “Straight down the middle … fifty-fifty, mate.” Danny smiled. He knew he had Moray’s attention.

  Moray sighed. He’d always known his best mate was ruthless, but until now, he hadn’t realised how brutal he actually was. “Won’t Freddie have something to say about this?” he asked, through narrowed eyes.

  Danny shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing that we can’t handle, and combined, we would have enough man-power to take on whatever Freddie throws our way.”

  Moray had worked hard to get to where he was today. He had been raised by the Romany side of his family, and he’d earned his money and reputation through bare-knuckle fights. Those days were far behind him. Now, he liked to concentrate on his business, but he had to admit, he missed being in the thick of the action, and Danny had definitely sparked his interest. Only the fact that taking on Freddie Smith was going to bring untold grief, niggled at him.

  “Come on out with it. Tell me what has gone on between you and Freddie?” He stabbed his finger toward Danny, his eyebrows raised. “And don’t even think about giving me some bullshit story. I know you, remember,
and the Danny I know and love, would never have sat in my office wanting to take over Smith’s businesses.”

  Danny cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure just how much information he should divulge. Fuck it, he decided. Moray was one of his oldest and closest mates, and if he couldn’t tell him exactly what was going down, then who could he tell? “Freddie’s planning to kill me.” It was the first time he had uttered the words out loud, and suddenly, his potential fate seemed more real.

  Visibly shocked, Moray whistled through his teeth and slumped back in his seat. “I can’t get my head around this,” he said, opening the drawer to his desk and taking out a silver flask filled with whiskey.

  Drinking deeply from the flask, he then offered it across to Danny.

  Danny shook his head, declining the offer. “It’s simple. I don’t agree with how Freddie is running the firm, so he wants rid of me. It’s been on the cards for a while.”

  “But taking you out, that’s …”

  “A fucking liberty,” Danny offered.

  “Yes, it is, and that’s an understatement. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Even though Moray had known that, if Danny was sitting here in his office, then there must be trouble afoot. He hadn’t expected Freddie to resort to murder, especially not the murder of his number two—the man who many whispered actually held Freddie’s firm together.

  “How do you think I feel then?”

  “Fuck me, Danny. What are you going to do?”

  Danny shrugged his shoulders. “It will get it sorted out.”

  “Do you need help?” Moray asked, sincere. “You only need to ask if you do. You know I’ll be there at the drop of a hat.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I can take care of it, mate,” Danny answered, shaking his head.

  Moray raised his eyebrows. He didn’t doubt Danny for a second. After all, he’d seen the man in action, but taking on an entire firm that had a price on your head, was something else entirely.

  “I’m positive, I can handle this,” Danny reassured him. “So, are you interested in my proposition?”

  Moray didn’t need asking twice. There was nothing he would like better than to see Freddie brought down. There was no love lost between the two men, and secretly, Moray had always wanted to get his hands on the contracts of the pubs and clubs that Freddie owned.

  Standing up, Moray’s Romany roots were more alive than ever, as he spat on the palm of his hand, and then held it out toward Danny. Spitting on his own palm, Danny mirrored the action, before they shook on the deal.

  It was done. There was no going back now. Danny felt as restless as he had as a kid on Christmas Eve. Only a few more days to go, then it would all be over. The sooner the better, as far as he was concerned.

  Chapter 4

  Amber Monroe scrubbed up well. Stripped of all makeup, even the thick black mascara she usually wore, she looked a lot younger than her twenty-three years, and that was the general plan. Dressed in a Catholic school uniform, with her long red hair separated into two thick plaits hanging down her back, she could easily pass for a school girl, someone the police would never dream of stopping and searching. Which was just as well, considering she was carrying a firearm and cartridges inside the pink unicorn patterned rucksack strapped to her back.

  Strolling through the Gascoigne Estate, Amber was due to meet Matty Payne at seven-thirty, and despite her confident airs, she was feeling agitated, and couldn’t wait to get out of the school uniform. She hadn’t liked wearing it as a child, and detested it even more so now.

  She stopped a few feet away from the pub, leant against the wall, and pulled a cigarette from her blazer pocket, even though she knew Samuel would kill her, if he found out. Catholic school girls didn’t have crafty smokes. Well, fuck Samuel, it wasn’t him stood out in the cold.

  “Oi, twos me,” a lanky teenager shouted across to her, nodding his head toward the cigarette.

  “Piss off,” Amber shouted back. She wasn’t in the mood for little pricks. She checked the time on her mobile phone, and wanted to curse Matty. She was cold and it had started to rain. Where the fuck was he?

  * * *

  Matty Payne was scared. He wanted to run away. Anywhere would do, as long as he was far away from both Danny McKay and Freddie Smith. Ever since Danny had turned up at the pub, he had felt sick with fear, and knowing he had to go and meet the man again, was almost enough to make him want to cry. He had done a lot of that lately, crying. He just couldn’t see any way out of the situation he was in, and he didn’t like the way it made him feel one little bit.

  To make matters even worse, Freddie Smith had threatened him, that if Danny ever found out about their secret, then he would personally make sure he had a slow and painful death. If truth be known, Matty was more worried about what Danny would do, rather than Freddie. After all, the man wasn’t well known for the violence he inflicted for no reason. There was no smoke without fire, as his old granny used to say.

  Matty glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was time to go. He pulled on his tattered trainers, switched off the light, then, after turning the key in the lock to the front door of his tiny bedsit, he reluctantly made his way toward The Hope, where Danny and Amber would be waiting for him.

  He felt choked up and could feel a hard lump form in his throat. He swiped away the tears, which already had begun to glisten his eyes. He needed to get a grip and fast, before he really gave the game away. Otherwise, all the crying in the world wouldn’t be enough to help him.

  * * *

  Danny pulled into The Hope car park. He switched off the engine, then pulled down the glove box, taking out the four hundred pounds he had placed there.

  Looking around him, he then glanced at his watch. The little rat better not have stood him up. He contemplated getting out of the motor to check that the kid wasn’t in the pub. Glancing at his watch once again, he was about to open the car door, when he saw Matty running toward him. He was all arms and legs, like a lanky streak of piss.

  “I’m here,” Matty shouted out.

  “For fuck’s sake, keep your fucking noise down,” Danny growled.

  “Sorry,” Matty replied, leaning against Danny’s car, clearly out of breath after running the short distance from his home to the car park.

  “Do you mind?”

  Matty leapt away from the car. “Sorry,” he said for a second time.

  Irritated, Danny rolled his eyes. “Just go and see if your contact is here and then come back and collect the money.”

  Danny watched as Matty ran around the side of the pub. He shook his head in disbelief. What a sorry state of affairs they were going to become, with the likes of Payne joining the ranks. They were going to become a laughing stock, and not for the first time, was he relieved to be out. What the hell was going through Freddie’s mind to recruit this little mug? The kid was a nervous wreck, and sending the likes of him up against real firms was suicide. Danny was still shaking his head in disbelief, when Matty ran back to him.

  “She’s there.”

  Danny passed the money through the open window. “Don’t fucking drop it,” he called out, as Matty sprinted off.

  After a few minutes, the boy returned. He handed over a package and Danny carefully unwrapped it. He was impressed that Matty had actually come through with the goods.

  “This definitely works, yeah?” he asked, turning the hard, heavy black firearm over in his hand.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Okay,” Danny said, as he rewrapped the package and placed it underneath the passenger seat. He dropped the cartridges inside his coat pocket. “Remember what I said. Don’t breathe a single word about this to anyone, and I mean absolutely anyone.” Danny’s voice was suddenly menacing.

  He waited for the lad to nod his head, then started the ignition and drove out of the car park. He was eager to get home. He still needed to pack a small holdall of clothes that he could change into after the shooting. He planned on burning the clothes he would be
wearing, alongside disposing of the gun. Absolutely no trace of the crime could come back to him.

  * * *

  Maxine was bathing little Danny, when she heard her husband’s key turn in the lock.

  “I’m upstairs,” she called out.

  “Okay, babe.”

  Maxine could hear Danny run up the stairs, then move around in their bedroom. She could hear drawers being opened. “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “Just my gym stuff.”

  Pushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear, away from little Danny’s grasping hands, Maxine swiftly wrapped their son in a towel, dried him, then dressed him ready for bed.

  She walked through to the bedroom and placed the baby in his crib. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Erm, yeah, all sorted,” Danny replied. He swiftly kissed her on the forehead and left the room with a small black holdall in his hand.

  Stood in the middle of the room, Maxine immediately looked toward the freshly washed gym clothes she had placed on top of the chest of drawers earlier that afternoon. Her husband had blatantly lied to her. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked toward the bedroom door that Danny had exited, and wondered how many other lies he had told? How many times had she believed him, without questioning the truth? It was a sobering thought.

  * * *

  Seventeen-year-old Lewis Hart was playing snooker in a snooker hall, in Romford Essex. With a mop of blonde hair, he was a good looking lad. He was also a good little player, and had been something of a child prodigy. He could have made it as a professional one day, but that dream had been shattered, when he’d discovered the opposite sex, alcohol and fighting.