The Reprisal Page 4

  Donna threw her head back and laughed. “Me a dirty slapper?” She looked Angie dead in the eyes. “From what I’ve heard, you’d do anything for a bit of free meat. Shagging the local butcher for a while, weren’t you?”

  * * *

  Kid or no kid, Donna’s words were like a red rag to a bull, and throwing the Moses basket to the floor, Cathy charged forward, grabbed a handful of Donna’s dark hair extensions in her fist, and dragged the girl to her knees. “You dirty, vindictive, nasty whore,” she roared, emphasizing the words as she slapped Donna around the back of her head. “You dirty, filthy little slapper. That’s my mum you are talking about.”

  Not wanting to lose face in front of her friends, Donna tugged at Cathy’s wrists. The older woman was stronger, a lot stronger, and her fingers held on with a vice tight grip. “Let me fucking go,” she roared. Twisting her body this way and that, she managed to get to her feet. Much to her dismay, Cathy still held a handful of dark hair in her fist, the very same luxurious dark brown hair that she had saved up for weeks to pay for. She threw her head back and glared. “You just wait until I tell my Tel about this,” she growled, “then maybe you’ll see just how serious he is about me.”

  Cathy charged forward a second time. “Stay away from my husband.” She stabbed her finger into Donna’s face and looked around her at the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle. “Be careful of this one,” she warned. Her breath came out in little bursts as she tried to steady her racing heart. “She’s got a dirty little habit of trying to steal other women’s husbands.”

  “You should smack her one,” a female voice piped up from the crowd of onlookers.

  “She’s nothing but jailbait,” another shouted in disgust.

  It was at this moment that Angie intervened. As much as she had wanted to see Donna get her comeuppance, she was also reminded that her daughter was heavily pregnant. “Enough now, Cath. Leave the little whore to play her games.” Pulling on her daughter’s arm, she dragged her to where the Moses basket had been dropped onto the mud-splattered floor.

  “You’ll see,” Donna called out from behind them, “he’ll come back to me, you just wait and see.”

  “Piss off, little girl,” Cathy spat back.

  “Ignore her,” Angie hissed as she bent down to retrieve the Moses basket.

  In the struggle, the plastic bag had been split open and the ivory satin had been trodden into the mud.

  “No,” Cathy cried. She pulled the basket out of her mother’s arms and swiped away the dirt. Left in its place was a dark stain. “It’s ruined,” she cried.

  “No, it’s not.” Angie rolled her lips together as she inspected the damage. “It’ll come out if I put it in soak.” Even as she said the words, she wasn’t so sure she would be able to shift the stain.

  “It’s an omen, Mum.” Glaring after Donna, Cathy was close to tears.

  Angie sighed. She didn’t like to admit it out loud, but she couldn’t help but feel the same way. The spoiled satin could well be a sign of what was to come.

  Chapter 5

  Later that evening, Yvonne Cassidy nodded her head in an approving manner as she gave her eldest daughter the once over. “You look the bollocks, Don, a right little stunner.”

  Preening herself in front of the bathroom mirror, Donna grinned. She turned to the side and sucked in her stomach, reveling in the way the short black skin-tight dress skimmed across her curves, showing off her long legs and ample double-D breasts. She already knew that she looked good, but still she basked in the compliments her mother gave her.

  “He won’t be able to keep his hands off of me.” She applied a thick sticky layer of lip gloss across her lips and then turned her head to the side. “Look at me,” she grinned, “I’m ten times better than that bitch he is married to will ever be.” Her lips curled down at the corners and her forehead furrowed, making her features turn ugly. “That bitch Cathy needs to fuck off out of it. Terrance is mine, and the quicker she gets that through her thick skull, the better.”

  “That’s right, Don.” Yvonne nodded her head in agreement. “You go and get your man back, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, I will do, Mum, don’t you worry about that.” She sprayed a generous amount of sickly-sweet perfume up and down the length of her dress, fluffed out her long dark hair extensions, slipped on her high heels, and then spread open her arms. “Well, how do I look?”

  “Stunning.” Yvonne’s chest swelled with pride. Her girl was a looker all right. The fact that Donna had only just turned seventeen and was already on to her fifth man in as many months was wiped from her mind. She followed her daughter toward the front door. “Keep the noise down when you get home,” she said lowering her voice. “I don’t want your dad to wake up. You know what a miserable old bugger he is.”

  Donna rolled her eyes. From day one, her dad had shown his disapproval at her choice of boyfriend. “Don’t worry,” she groaned, “we’ll be as quiet as we can be.” She slung the strap of her handbag across her shoulder and then opened the front door. “See you later, Mum. Wish me luck.”

  Standing on the doorstep, Yvonne grinned. “Good luck, babe, not that you’re going to need it. One look at you and he’ll be putty in your hands.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know.” Throwing a cocky wink over her shoulder, Donna sauntered off toward the pub.

  * * *

  Swallowing down a mouthful of dry white wine, Angie crossed one shapely leg over the other. She picked up her cigarette packet and plucked out a cigarette. Lighting up, she inhaled deeply, then slowly blew out a long thin stream of blueish grey smoke. She loved nothing better than to be in the pub. Over the years, the boozer had become more like a second home to her. Well known and well liked on the estate, she had an endless supply of friends or acquaintances who she could sit with, and if her luck was on the up, then more often than not, she didn’t even need to take her purse out of her handbag the entire night. It was a win-win situation as far as she was concerned.

  She glanced across to Samson Ivers and felt her heart swell with affection for the older man. Over the years, he had hardly changed at all, and even though his dark hair was more salt and pepper these days, she still thought of him as one of the most attractive men she had ever laid her eyes upon.

  Despite being in his late fifties, Samson ran the estate with an iron fist. Every drug sold on the streets went through him first, and woe betide anyone who had the audacity to try and take him on. There was an air about him, a confidence that only someone who had spent many years at the top of his game could carry off. He stood up from his seat, his physique still strong and muscular, as he led young Paul Mooney and his sidekick, Jason, toward the men’s toilets. She shook her head; it was about time the silly old bugger slowed down a bit and left the running of the estate to someone half his age.

  “I see your Cathy took him back then. He’ll never change, his type never do, do they?”

  Her best friend, Irene, nudged her in the side breaking her thoughts, and lifting her head, she watched as her son-in-law entered the premises and made his way toward the bar. He was a cocky bastard; it was obvious in his swagger and the smug smirk spread across his face.

  Pursing her lips, Angie narrowed her eyes. As much as she hated to admit it, Irene had made a point. After all, a leopard never changed its spots, as the saying went. “She’s a fool, Rene,” she sighed. “Always will be when it comes to him.”

  She picked up her wine glass and chugged back the contents, quashing down the familiar ripple of heartache that burned through her. Turning her head in time, she watched as the door Samson had slipped through moments earlier swung closed behind him. Like many a woman before her, her girl was a fool all right.

  * * *

  “Were there any problems?” Leaning his back against one of the white enameled sinks, Samson cast his eyes between the two young men standing before him.

  “Nah.” As he passed across a small black holdall, Paul shook his h
ead. If truth were told, a part of him was glad to be shot of the contents. He had no intentions of becoming one of Samson’s many drug runners, not when he could earn at least three times as much working for himself.

  He watched as Samson pulled across the zip. Drug taking had never been his scene, and as far as he was concerned, it was a mug’s game. However, dealing drugs, now that was something that did interest him. He pushed his hands in to his denim pockets and held his breath while the older man inspected the contents. Deep down, he knew he was being irrational. Neither he nor Jason had even opened the bag, let alone dipped their hands inside. Still, it was a nerve-wracking moment.

  Despite Samson’s lovable character, he could be a right nasty bastard when the mood took him, and he certainly wouldn’t think twice about stabbing a blade into one of their necks, if the need arose. He glanced toward Jason before nodding down at the bag. “It’s all there.”

  “Of course it is,” Samson answered. Not many people had the fortitude to try and take him on and he chuckled out loud at the fact that the idea had even crossed young Paul’s mind. From inside his jacket pocket, he pulled out a bundle of notes and paused before passing it across. “I want you to go and see someone, an acquaintance of mine.”

  Paul and Jason looked to each other. This hadn’t been part of the deal. The only thing they had agreed to do was collect the holdall, and that had been for a considerable price. “Who?” Paul asked.

  “Dougie Ward.”

  “Mad Dougie?” Jason’s eyebrows shot up and he gave Paul a warning glance.

  “Why do you want us to go and see him?” Returning Jason’s glance, Paul hastily composed himself.

  “I want to know if the slimy fucker is trying to get one over on me.”

  “And how would we know that?” Paul narrowed his eyes. “He’s hardly gonna tell us, is he?”

  Samson grinned. There were no flies on this young man before him and he had a feeling that he would go far, much to his displeasure. “Of course he ain’t gonna tell you. Why the fuck would he tell you pair of lairy little fuckers anything?”

  Screwing up his face, Paul crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want us to go and see him for then? Like you said, he ain’t gonna tell us anything, so what’s the fucking point?”

  Samson ignored the question. “I’ve arranged for you to do a couple of jobs for him, nothing too heavy, just enough to see what is going on.” He gave a knowing wink, as though he was letting them in on a great big secret. “And then I want you to report everything back to me.”

  “How about you go fuck yourself.” Paul’s forehead furrowed. He had his own reputation to think about and becoming a grass, an informer, wasn’t a part of his plan.

  “I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that,” Samson grinned. He stabbed his finger forward in a warning, his expression becoming stony. “But only the once.” Walking forward, he tapped his knuckles on the wooden door, then passed the holdall through the open gap. He turned around and gave them a chilling grin. The fact that they hadn’t agreed to his request meant absolutely nothing to him, and why should it? As far as he was concerned, he had given an order and he expected his order to be carried through. “Just keep your eyes peeled, that’s all I’m asking. Don’t let me down, lads.” He made for the door. “Oh, one more thing.”

  Paul looked to him expectantly.

  “A little dickie bird told me that you touched one of my boys, Michael Nicholls, to be precise.” He stabbed his finger forward. “Now I can’t have that.” He smiled at them then, a jovial smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It looks bad for business. So think of this as a warning, your first and only warning. Do you get my drift, lads?”

  As Samson exited the toilet and the door swung closed behind him, Paul leaned against the sink and his nostrils flared. “Who the fuck does he think he is?” he growled. “We ain’t his fucking lads.”

  Jason nodded his head in agreement. “What do you reckon?” he asked.

  Deep in thought, Paul chewed on the inside of his cheek and shrugged his shoulders. As far as he was concerned, they owed Old Samson nothing. They didn’t work for him and certainly weren’t one of his many foot soldiers. “You know what?” he finally answered. “This could actually work in our favour.” Pushing himself away from the sink, he slapped Jason on the shoulder and gave him a wink. “I’ll make the phone call.”

  “This wasn’t the plan,” Jason reminded him.

  “I know, but like I said,” he raised his eyebrows and smiled, “it could go in our favour.”

  “And what about …”

  “I’ll sort everything out.” Paul cut him off. “Don’t worry. I’ll make the phone call. If the worst comes to the worst, we’re just going to have to shake things up a lot faster than we originally planned.” He was thoughtful for a moment, then gave a light chuckle. “The slippery old bastard is trying to set us up. Let’s face it, if everything goes tits up, nothing will come back to him, will it?”

  Jason nodded his head in agreement and screwed up his face. “Bastard,” he spat.

  “Nah,” Paul’s tone became serious, “smart, but not smart enough to pull the wool over my eyes. Old Samson and Mad Dougie have had their day, they just don’t know it yet.” He pushed open the toilet door and entered the main bar. Across from him, the old man sat. They locked eyes and Paul gave a nod of his head. For all intent and purposes, the action came across as respectful, as if he was paying him his dues. In truth, it was nothing of the sort. Hiding the scowl that threatened to spill across his face, Paul pushed open the side door, stepped out into the carpark, and marched across the tarmacked ground toward his car. They may have been new to the game and a bit wet behind the ears, but the old man had made a big mistake in thinking that they would take the fall for him—a very big mistake.

  * * *

  Donna fluffed out her hair before pushing open the heavy pub door to make her grand entrance. As she tottered forward leaving a cloud of sickly-sweet perfume in her wake, she made a beeline for Terrance.

  “Hiya,” she grinned as she sidled up beside him. She opened up her handbag, snaked her tongue across her glossed lips, and then took out her cigarettes. “Have you got a light, babe?” she asked, thrusting her ample breasts toward him.

  She could see the look in his eyes, the want, the need. It didn’t take a genius to tell her that he appreciated what he saw, and she knew in that instant, that all she had to do was click her fingers to make him hers once more. Cupping his hand, she leant toward the flame from the solid silver lighter that he held out. Sucking on the cigarette, she exhaled quickly and blew a stream of smoke upwards. She couldn’t help but smile. This was going to be a lot easier than even she could have ever imagined.

  * * *

  Angie was on the war path. Not only was she livid that her daughter had allowed her waste-of-space husband to come back home, but over the past few weeks, she had heard more than one rumour that he was still up to no good and carrying on with Donna Cassidy. And now she had seen the evidence with her own two eyes. She marched toward the block of flats where her daughter lived, yanked open the entrance door, and with a face like thunder, she practically ran up the concrete staircase.

  Barely even pausing to catch her breath, she thumped her fist on the front door.

  “Mum.” Opening the front door, Cathy stared at her mother. “What are you doing here?”

  “Get your coat on.” Pushing her way into the lounge, Angie stood with her hands on her hips. “I knew it,” she spat. “I knew it wouldn’t take him long, but you wouldn’t listen to me, would you? Thought you knew best? Well, guess what, Cath? You knew didly fucking squat.”

  “What?” Pushing her hair off of her face, Cathy blinked rapidly as she tried to get her head around her mother’s words. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Him. Terrance.” Angie shoved her daughter’s coat into her hands. “Put your coat on, Cath. That waster you’re married to is in the boozer right now with that little
tart Donna draped all over him. They’re making a mockery of you.” She blew out her red cheeks. Never before had she felt so angry. “I knew he couldn’t be trusted. Didn’t I tell you not to give him a second chance?”

  Cathy’s heart lurched and her mind was reeling. Lost for words, she slipped her arms into the coat and shrugged the thick woolen material across her shoulders. All the while, she wanted to kick herself. How could she have been so stupid, so naïve, to believe his lies. The promises he had made meant nothing. He had even sworn on their unborn child’s life that he was going to change his womanizing ways. “But he swore to me that he would change.”

  Angie shook her head. “You’re too naïve, Cath, that’s your trouble. Of course he said he would change his ways. The bastard wanted an in, didn’t he?”

  Her cheeks flushed bright pink. Cathy nodded. “I suppose so,” she answered, blinking away tears.

  “Enough of that.” Wiping away her daughter’s tears, Angie’s expression was stern. “There’ll be plenty of time for crying, but right now is not one of them. Are you gonna let them make a fool of you like this? Are you gonna let them make you the laughing stock of the estate?”

  Cathy shook her head. Of course she wasn’t. She did still have some pride left inside of her. “The no-good bastard,” she spat.

  “You said it, Cath,” Angie answered through gritted teeth. “He’ll never change. His type never do. You should have got shot of him the first time he cheated on you. That should have been your warning, my girl, right there.”

  Silently, Cathy bowed her head. A part of her still couldn’t believe that Terrance would humiliate her in such a way. Raising her head, there was a defiant gleam in her eyes. “Come on, Mum,” she growled, “I’m going to sort out that little scrubber, for once and for fucking all.”