Top Dog Page 7

  “Well, fucking smile then, you miserable sod.”

  Matty swallowed deeply, as he reverted to staring back out of the window, the passing view a blur of brightly lit lights from the headlights of oncoming traffic.

  When he felt the big man’s hand come to rest on his thigh, it took Matty all of his strength not to flinch. Freddie hadn’t touched him like that in years, and he had to bite his lip, as he felt a stray tear trickle down his cheek, at the horror he knew for certain was to come.

  * * *

  Moray Garner hastily shook Danny’s hand, before turning his attention back to his two sons, as they stood on the doors of Ritzy’s Nightclub.

  “Problem?” Danny enquired.

  “You know what it’s like, mate. Two bob punters, thinking they know it all.”

  Danny followed his friend’s gaze, as the customer in question, gave Moray’s two boys abuse.

  It was a typical night in any drinking establishment, when a punter is either thrown out, or refused entry.

  Danny walked toward the man. “Go home, mate. You won’t be getting in here tonight.”

  The man staggered on his feet. Clearly, he’d had too much to drink. “Who are you, telling me what to do?” he slurred.

  “Go home,” Danny repeated.

  “You can’t tell me what to do. Who do you think you are?”

  Having a short temper at the best of times, Danny was sick to the back teeth, of hearing the geezer’s nasally whining voice. Pulling back his fist, he used his considerable strength, to knock the man to the floor. “Now, piss off home, before I really do you some damage,” he spat, standing over the semi-conscious man.

  Moray turned to his boys. “Now that is how it’s done,” he said, ushering Danny inside the venue.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Moray said once they were inside his office. “The boys are young, but more than willing to learn.”

  Danny took a seat and grinned. He knew Moray’s sons well. They were good lads and he was particularly fond of them. “We’ve all been there.”

  It was a lie, and Moray smiled his gratitude. He knew for a fact that Danny McKay had always been more than capable.

  “What’s this trouble with Freddie?” Moray asked, swiftly changing the subject.

  Danny shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t surprised that Moray had heard about the shooting. In their world, the grapevine was small. Rumours and gossip were commonplace. At times, they were worse than women. “The Greek’s tried to take him out. One of the kids was gunned down in the process.”

  Moray shook his head. “Occupational hazard.”

  “Too true, mate,” Danny grinned. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “I’m thinking the easiest way to do this, is to put a team of our best men into each of the clubs, bang out the heavies and take over. It’s simple and effective, if we have the right team.”

  Danny gave a nod of his head. It was a well-known tactic, and as Moray had pointed out, it was effective. He’d even used it himself, once or twice over the years, for Freddie. “Sounds like a plan then. Give me a few days to get a team of my men together, and we will put the plan into action.”

  Moray smiled brightly, before pushing a sheet of paper across the table. “I’ve been busy, mate. Here is the list of Freddie’s clubs, and the names of the men I think would be best put in place to take over.”

  Impressed, Danny smiled. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “As always,” Moray laughed. “You know me, Danny. I don’t do things by halves.”

  Studying the lists, Danny grinned widely. Without a shadow of doubt, he knew that he and Moray were going to make a great team.

  * * *

  For the first time in over ten years, George Christos’s restaurant was closed. Sat at a table, he surveyed the damage around him. For most of the day, he had had police officers inside his restaurant, interviewing himself and his staff, whilst a team of forensic officers inspected every inch of his workplace. Not only was his pride dented, but it was bad for business. He wiped his hand warily over his face, before giving a small smile of gratitude, as his nephew pushed a glass of Ouzo toward him.

  “Everything will be okay, uncle,” Nico said.

  Smiling once again, George pulled out a chair, indicating for the young man to take a seat beside him.

  Nico was such a good boy, a clever boy. He was the only child of his younger sister, and he was studying law at the University of East London. George had high hopes for the lad, and he could once again feel pride swell inside his chest, as Nico explained how the law worked to him.

  After a while, George patted the boy’s arm. “Go home, Nico, and rest.”

  “But what about the tidying up?” Nico asked. “I can help,” he said sincerely.

  George shook his head. “It can keep until the morning. Now go home to your mother and rest.”

  Hugging George to him, Nico smiled. “Goodnight, uncle. I will be back tomorrow to help you.”

  George nodded his head and watched, as his nephew gathered up his jacket, before walking out of the restaurant. Little did he know that it would be the last time he would ever see his favourite nephew alive.

  * * *

  Bleary eyed, Danny pressed answer on his mobile phone. The shrill of Freddie’s voice forced him to move the phone away from his ear. It was five-thirty in the morning, and Freddie had woken him with his persistent calling.

  He could hear the excitement in Freddie’s voice. “We’ve got one of the Greek bastards. I want you at the industrial unit, now.”

  Switching off the call, Danny rolled over and closed his eyes. Fuck you, Freddie, he thought to himself, as he desperately waited for sleep to envelope him once again.

  Within seconds, the phone rang again and Danny hastily snatched it up. He swore to himself that if Freddie woke Maxine or little Danny, then he would happily choke the life out of the man with his bare hands.

  “Okay, I’m coming,” he growled into the phone.

  Swiftly, he washed and dressed, before creeping out of the house. He was in a foul mood, thanks to Freddie and lack of sleep. All he had wanted was a few extra hours of kip, and then a black coffee … in that order. It wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

  * * *

  The industrial unit was cold and bleak. As Danny walked through the door, he rubbed his hands together, whilst breathing hot air over them, in a bid for warmth.

  The scene he walked into was like something out of a horror movie. Most people would have been horrified. In Danny’s eyes, it was simply business as usual.

  Strapped to a chair, in the middle of the vast empty space, was George Christos’s nephew, Nico. Both of the young man’s eyes were bloodied, bruised and swollen shut.

  “You took your fucking time,” Freddie shouted out, as Danny walked toward them.

  “I was sleeping.”

  An expression of contempt crossed Freddie’s face. “This bastard has said fuck all.”

  Danny shrugged his shoulders and leant against the wall. Meanwhile, terrified pain-filled groans came from the man strapped to the chair.

  “Shut the fuck up, before I cut that bastard tongue out of your head,” Freddie roared, as he gave Nico a swift kick to his legs.

  “Well, he’s hardly going to talk if you cut out his tongue, is he?” Danny asked, also stating the obvious.

  “I already fucking know that.”

  Danny smirked. “I would never have guessed,” he answered sarcastically, stifling a yawn.

  Looking up, Freddie looked over at Danny for the first time since he’d arrived. “Oh, I am sorry, are we keeping you fucking awake? Are you planning on getting your hands dirty, or are you just going to stand there watching?”

  Shrugging his shoulders once again, Danny nodded his head across to Nico. “You don’t need me to do your dirty work. You’re more than capable of doing the job yourself.”

  Freddie lit a cigarette, as he contemplated his next move. He would never have admitted it out
loud, but he was out of his comfort zone. Danny had taken over this side of the business many years before, and it had been a very long time since Freddie had had to get his own hands dirty. He flicked the cigarette butt to the floor, then indicated for Big Tone to pass over a hack saw.

  “Well, let’s see if Christos is willing to hand over the cunt responsible now. Hold out his hand, Tone,” he said, as he began the grisly task of sawing through the flesh and bone of Nico’s fingers on his right hand.

  Nico’s blood-curdling screams filled the air, before he slumped unconscious. The ropes strapping him to the chair were the only thing keeping his body from slipping to the floor.

  “Bastard is bleeding out like a pig,” Big Tone complained, as he wiped his blood-stained hands across his jeans.

  Bending down, Mick Johnson picked up the bloody stumps. “I’ll get these sent to Christos.”

  Bored now with the scene before him, Danny shifted his weight. “Are we done here?”

  The three men turned to face him. “Are we done?” Freddie repeated back Danny’s question, his voice taking on an incredulous tone. “Do we look like we’re fucking done?”

  “I don’t know,” Danny answered. “I can’t really see what else you can do, until you hear from Christos.”

  Freddie thought about this, before reluctantly nodding his head. As much as he hated to admit it, Danny was right. There was nothing else they could do for the time being, other than keep questioning Nico, who despite losing three digits on his left hand, was keeping schtum.

  * * *

  In a house in Manor Park, East London, Elini Kallas was crying, dabbing a sodden tissue to her red-rimmed eyes. She took no comfort from her elder brother George’s kind words.

  “Where is my boy? Why did Nico not come home?” she asked repeatedly.

  George Christos was concerned. It was so out of character for his nephew to worry his mother like this. He had sent family members out searching for the boy, and so far, there had been no sightings. It was plain for everyone to see that Nico had simply vanished into thin air.

  “He will return soon, Elini. I promise,” George said for the umpteenth time that morning. A wide smile was spread across his face, masking the fear he actually felt.

  A constant wave of worry that foul play was somehow involved in the disappearance of his favourite nephew rippled through him—a constant feeling of dread that he just couldn’t shrug off.

  He watched, as the women of his family fussed over his sister, and decided there was nothing else he could do to help while stuck in the house. Taking her pale face between his hands, George kissed Elini on both of her cheeks. He told her he would do everything within his power to find her son, then left the house.

  On the journey back to Barking, George was quiet. His mind was working overtime. Instinctively, he knew that Freddie Smith was somehow involved, although, in truth, he had upset so many people over the years, the list of his enemies was endless.

  The restaurant was still closed and in the process of being cleaned and redecorated. Begrudgingly, George had needed to buy new carpets, due to the amount of blood spilled. As he walked through the restaurant door, the scent of fresh paint was overpowering.

  Shrugging off his coat, George surveyed the decorating, which he’d paid a small fortune for. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he began to make his way toward the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, a small, brown bubble-wrapped envelope, propped up on the bar, caught his attention. Grabbing up the package, George hastily tore it open and tipped the contents out.

  In horror, George recoiled. Severed fingers rolled off of the counter onto the newly fitted carpet. Rust coloured flakes of dried blood dotted the wooden bar top.

  The putrid scent of rotting flesh filled his nostrils, making him gag.

  His face drained of all colour, George clutched at his chest. The room spinning was the last thing he could remember, before passing out.

  Chapter 6

  In a Wimpy bar, in Romford, Essex, Maxine was sat at a window seat. Absentmindedly, she stared out of the window. Little Danny was sat beside her in his buggy.

  “There you go, mate,” Jaqueline Cliffe said, as she placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her friend, before sliding into the seat opposite.

  “Thanks, Jac.”

  Making a fuss of little Danny, Jaqueline laughed, as he gave her a gummy grin.

  “This boy of yours is a handsome little devil. He’s gonna break a few hearts when he is older.”

  Maxine glanced down at her son. “He looks like Danny.”

  Jaqueline rolled her eyes. She had never been a fan of Danny. She wouldn’t go as far as to say she disliked him as such, but to put it mildly, she could see through his charm. Like most people, she knew of Danny McKay’s reputation, and knew his good looks were nothing more than a mask—his friendly manner nothing more than a charade.

  “What’s he bleedin’ well done now?”

  “Nothing.”

  Raising her eyebrows, Jaqueline studied her friend’s face. Maxine’s eyes looked so sad, it was clear to see that something was bothering her. “C’mon, Max. This is me you’re talking to, and that beautiful little smile of yours is not going to fool anyone, least of all me. What’s he done this time?”

  Tears glistened Maxine’s eyes and she scrambled inside her handbag, looking for a tissue.

  “Hey, what’s all this?” Alarmed, Jaqueline leant forward and grasped her friend’s arm.

  “It’s nothing.” Clearly embarrassed to be sitting in the middle of Wimpy crying. Maxine half cried and half laughed, as she waved her hand in front of her face, in a bid to dismiss her startling behaviour.

  “Max!” Jaqueline scolded. “What the hell is going on? What has he done? Has he hit you or something?” she asked, lowering her voice.

  Shaking her head, Maxine dabbed at her eyes. “No, of course not. He would never do anything like that.”

  “Then what’s wrong? I know that bastard has done something.”

  “Oh Jac, I’m so worried.” She gave a little sob. “He has been acting so strange lately, and he doesn’t tell me anything anymore. He won’t even tell me where he is going, and the other night, he didn’t come home at all.” She twisted the tissue in her hands, before continuing. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Do you think he could be having an affair?”

  In Jaqueline’s eyes, an affair was the least of Maxine’s worries. How could her friend be so blind, as to not see what was going on, right underneath her nose? From what she’d heard about Danny, he was a vicious bastard, who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. He certainly wasn’t the angel who Maxine portrayed him to be. However, playing around with other women, was the one and only thing she had never heard whispered about him.

  May God strike me down for lying, she thought to herself, as she held Maxine’s hands in hers. “Yes, I think you’re right, he is,” she finally answered, after convincing herself she was doing the right thing. The quicker Maxine was away from Danny McKay the better, as far as she was concerned.

  * * *

  Overnight, George Christos had aged. The sight of Nico’s severed fingers had both shocked and sickened him, but above all else, the bloody stumps had made him hell-bent on revenge. As a result, his wrath was explosive and his temper short.

  Convinced his nephew was already dead, George’s main priority was to find Nico’s broken, lifeless body, and have him brought home to his mother for burial.

  Sat at a table with a bottle of Ouzo in front of him, George listened intently, as his brother talked him through the day’s events.

  “This is Freddie Smith’s doing. He is behind this, I can feel it,” George spat.

  “Maybe we should go to the police?” Alexandros said. “It’s been four days since the fingers were sent here, and we are still no nearer to finding him. Where do we even start searching?”

  “No police,” George snapped. “What kind of man do you think I am?” He unravelled his tie
, slid it from underneath his collar and thumped it down on the table. “When have I ever involved the police in my personal business before?”

  “You haven’t …”

  “And I never will,” George roared, picking up the glass bottle and throwing it in the direction of his brother.

  Alexandros ducked down. The bottle missed his head by a hair’s breadth, before smashing to smithereens against the wall.

  “Fucking hell, George, that nearly hit me.”

  “The next time, I won’t miss.”

  Hastily, Alexandros retreated. He knew better than anyone, not to antagonise his brother when he was in this kind of mood.

  His eyes hard, George sat quietly brooding. The fate of Nico was eating away at him like a cancer, and as the head of the family, everything fell upon his shoulders. He stood up and slowly walked toward the bar. Taking a fresh bottle of Ouzo, he returned to his seat, twisted open the sealed cap, then poured out a large glass of the clear liquid, before drinking deeply.

  “Me, go to the police,” he spat underneath his breath.

  He was George Christos, and his name alone demanded respect. He was more than ready to personally bring down the next person who dared to question his tactics again.

  He then poured out a second glass. He had no intention of stopping, not until the bottle was empty and the alcohol had dulled the ache inside his chest.

  * * *

  After returning home, Maxine placed little Danny in his bouncer chair. She then proceeded to tear through the house. She needed to see the evidence with her own eyes that her husband was having an affair. Until then, her suspicions meant nothing.

  In the bathroom, she rifled through the laundry basket and pulled out all of Danny’s used shirts. One by one, she inspected them for tell-tale signs of makeup, before smelling them for any lingering traces of unfamiliar perfume.