Private London - James Patterson [82]
I nodded gratefully. He was guessing right.
Chapter 106
BRENDAN ‘SNAKE’ FERRES lived in the downstairs maisonette of a converted Victorian town house in Lady Margaret Road on the border of Kentish Town and Tufnell Park.
Del Rio and I had parked the car further down the street and we approached on foot. The curtains were drawn at the front of the house but there was some light spilling from a small gap between them. A television was playing loudly.
I gestured to Del Rio and we made our way around the side of the maisonette into the back garden. The bottom half belonged to the flat above Ferres: it was neat, well ordered. The top part belonged to Ferres and was the opposite. I stepped over an upturned milk crate in the long grass of what should have been his lawn and walked up to the side door that led into his kitchen.
I had the enforcer gripped in both hands. Del Rio positioned himself to the right-hand side of the door and took his weapon from his holster, holding it two-handed.
The door looked flimsy enough to be simply kicked in but I wasn’t taking any chances. I swung the heavy metal ram against the lock.
I stepped back as Del Rio rushed into the house, sweeping his gun from side to side in front of him. I followed behind as he ran forward through the short hallway towards the lounge. I stayed back, dropping the enforcer and taking out the gun I had got from Gary Webster.
A scream rang out from the other room.
Chapter 107
HOLDING THE GUN, I kicked the first door open.
Behind it was an empty bedroom. I waited a moment or two and then did the same with the second door. Another bedroom. No one in it. I let out a sigh of relief, realising I had been holding my breath, and walked into the lounge.
Del Rio was leaning against the wall, working his jaw muscles and pointing his weapon at Laura Skelton who was cowering against the corner of the sofa, her eyes wide with terror.
If any of the neighbours had heard her scream there was no sign of it. Unless someone was calling the police, of course. But if they were it didn’t matter.
I’d already done the same.
I slipped the rucksack off my shoulder and threw it at her.
‘What’s this?’ Her eyes darted back and forth between me and Del Rio.
‘Brendan’s supplier at Chancellors has gone out of business. We thought your boyfriend might like his gear back.’
Laura looked in the bag. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You don’t have to understand, darling,’ said Del Rio. ‘You’re not in the game any more.’
‘Give me your mobile phone,’ I said.
‘I don’t have a mobile.’
‘You want to give him the phone?’ Del Rio raised his pistol slightly. ‘Or you want to be a hero like your fat fuck of a boyfriend?’
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and threw it over to me. I slipped it in my jacket pocket, then bent down and ripped the house phone out of its socket, kicked the junction box off and smashed the connections with my heel.
‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with.’ Laura crossed her arms and a petulant look appeared on her face.
She was an attractive young woman, no denying that. But there was a hardness in her eyes every bit as ugly as the slap mark bruising her cheek. Brendan Ferres was a hero, all right.
‘Where is he, Laura?’ I asked.
‘You want to shoot me, shoot me. But I’m not putting myself between you and Brendan.’
I didn’t blame her. And I didn’t much care. I knew exactly where he was.
‘We’re going to the pub now, Laura. You tip him off that we’re coming and we’ll come back for you and do more than smash your phone in.’
If she was cowed by that remark you couldn’t have told by the smirk on her face.
‘You go up against Brendan Ferres in Ronnie Allen’s pub and you won’t be going anywhere, tough guy! Except in a hearse.’
‘You’ll be glad to know that Chloe Smith is out of intensive care – they reckon she’ll make a full recovery.’
A look flicked through Laura’s eyes then. Sure enough, a flicker of fear.
‘That wasn’t my fault. That wasn’t supposed to happen. How were we supposed to know she was going to turn into