Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [81]
A smile spread across his face. ‘Hello, Jack Bartlett,’ Gordy beamed, suddenly feeling powerful and in charge. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. Tell me, where’s your friend?’
The stupid little queer tried to play dumb. Christ, it was so obvious that Gordy could have laughed out loud. He sauntered over to Jack and then smacked him around the face. Jack gasped, unable to keep his balance with his wrists bound, and fell to the ground.
Gordy stood over the lad, rubbing his stinging knuckles. The pain felt good –
sharp and clear. He’d been looking forward to this. ‘That’s for thinking that you could get away from me without paying your dues.’
He kicked Jack in the small of his back just as the lad was trying to clamber to his feet. ‘And that is for burning the contents of my safe.’
With his hands tied behind his back, Jack was unable to protect his face.
He tried to curl up into a ball, a feeble gesture of self-protection. ‘Please,’ he muttered, ‘don’t hit me.’
Gordy smiled. It was as if Jack was inviting him to do it again. He moved forward preparing himself to land another kick when Billy Spot stepped between them.
‘Gordy, my old mate,’ he said brightly. ‘We got the boy, just like you asked.’
Gordy stepped back, putting some space between himself and Billy Spot.
135
‘Yeah? So?’ He frowned. Why was Spot interrupting him? Hadn’t he seen that Gordy had been about to really hurt the lad? Was he trying to stop him?
Billy Spot was looking expectantly at him. And then it dawned on Gordy that Billy Spot was waiting for Gordy to tell him that he’d done his job well, waiting to be praised.
A memory of his older brother Albert popped into Gordy’s head. Keep the troops sweet, Albert always used to say. Make them feel important and essential. Make them feel part of something. Make them feel like family.
Gordy planted a hand on Billy Spot’s shoulder and told him that he was pleased with what he’d done. The words didn’t come easily. Gordy found it hard to act like a leader when they were both roughly the same age. But he must have done all right because the East Ender started to smile a little.
Gordy felt that he was beginning to understand what it meant to be the boss of a firm. What it meant to be in charge. Albert would’ve been proud of him.
‘Yeah, you done good getting the boy here, and. . . everything,’ Gordy concluded. ‘Now we just need to finish him off.’
Gordy was surprised when, after everything he’d just said, Billy Spot asked him why the boy had to be killed.
‘What do you mean?’ Gordy said, starting to feel annoyed. He wanted to have some more fun hurting Jack Bartlett and having this conversation was getting in the way. Praising the new employee was one thing, justifying his actions to him was quite another. ‘Because I’m telling you that he has to, that’s why.’
Billy Spot didn’t look like he was going to let the matter drop, but he was interrupted by a new voice.
‘And because I told Mr Scraton to.’ Deep emerald light filled the room as the large glass sphere which sat on the small altar at the back of the room came to life, an intense spark burning at its core.
‘I want the child destroyed immediately.’ The devil’s voice was an intense whisper. ‘Bring it over here. Let me hear its death cries.’
Gordy felt annoyed that the devil had implied that all he did was follow its orders. He nodded to Carl who was looking expectantly at him, and his brother carried Dennis over to the sphere ready to do the job.
Gordy turned back to Billy Spot. ‘You see, you’re not dealing with just anyone here, Mr Spot,’ he said, addressing the thug in the same manner as the devil had addressed him. ‘Me and my brother have got the luck of the devil himself on our side.’
‘Enough of this, Scraton,’ the devil said, its voice harsh. ‘Just destroy it.’
Carl moved his knife to the