Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [76]
Blue-eyed Billy Spot! The short man stepped out of the shadows, took a last drag on his roll-up and ground it out beneath his heel. Billy Spot was a charismatic and attractive young man, probably in his late twenties. He was short and stocky. The way he moved suggested that he was comfortable with himself, untroubled and at ease. He was an East End lad growing gracefully into an East End man. Gordy had heard that Billy Spot had worked as a barrow boy for his old man, until he’d decided that robbing banks was a more lucrative way of earning a living than selling fruit and veg. Gordy could easily imagine Billy working on a market in the East End, sharing a joke and a natter with regular customers. It was hard to imagine him acting violently or committing a crime.
But Gordy knew that this was a man who’d ripped off three banks in as many years, who was rumoured to have killed four men and half as many women. This man was a hero. Gordy envied his city-wide reputation.
Gordy could have cried out with joy, when the armed robber nodded respectfully to him. The devil had certainly come up with the goods this time.
Gordy didn’t care what kind of magic the devil had cast to make it come true.
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With men of this calibre and reputation in his employ, Gordy could really make his mark in Soho.
He’d show those bastards who’d told him that he wasn’t up to running the Scraton gang. The accusations had started soon after his brother’s funeral.
Albert’s men had said that he was weak, that he was a coward, that he wasn’t up to the job. Well, they’d be singing a different tune now. They’d soon come crawling back wanting to be in on his rackets when they heard that he had the likes of Billy Spot working for him. He could take Soho in a matter of days.
No, once the word got out, he would be running the whole town in a matter of hours.
Gordy tried to conceal his excitement; it wouldn’t do to let on to his new army that he was impressed with them.
‘I hear you got a little job for me?’ Spot said, matter-of-factly.
Gordy felt himself nodding quickly, stupidly, and he tried to get a grip on himself. He swallowed and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths.
‘That’s right,’ he managed, after a few seconds. ‘I want you to see to a couple of people, put them out of action, you know, permanently.’
Spot nodded. ‘Who do you want killed?’ he said, as if he were asking what type of beer Gordy fancied. Gordy was shocked and more than a little intimidated by this casual attitude to murder.
‘No one important. Just a kid and a couple of queers,’ Gordy said quickly.
Too quickly. ‘I’d get Carl, my brother, to do it, only he can get a bit carried away, a bit too excited. You know what I mean?’
Billy Spot nodded, knowingly. ‘You mean he takes pleasure in his work, that’s the sign of a real craftsman, that is. You got an address?’
Carl Scraton was a simple creature. His entire world revolved around his brother, Gordy. There was simply no one else in his life. No mates, no women, no one. Beyond his brother, the only other meaningful, long-term relationship he maintained was with the cut-throat razor he kept in his jacket pocket.
He put the Rover into gear and drove the large black car out of Soho, heading West. Unconsciously, he slipped his hand to the razor in his pocket and fingered it nervously. He stole a quick glance at the armed robber sitting in the passenger seat of the car. Since this morning, his life had suddenly become more complicated.
Carl had experienced a new emotion as he had watched his brother chatting and joking with Billy Spot. It was a bitter feeling that made him feel a little sick in his stomach.
He was jealous. He’d never felt it before. Never had a reason to. Not until Billy Spot had entered their lives that morning, capturing his brother’s attention in moments.
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Carl’s hand went to his cheek, he ran his finger along the