The Faithless - Martina Cole [124]
Gabby looked at this man who was still her brother despite the fact they felt like strangers and, shaking her head, she said sadly, ‘Please tell me where you’re living, James. I just want to help you if I can.’
He didn’t answer her; instead, he gave her his usual enigmatic smile and walked away.
She sat in the car for a while wondering if she should warn her mother about him. But she guessed that she knew he was there already. She wasn’t a fool – she would have noticed him surely? Yet, turning the car around, she went back to her mother’s flat anyway. While her Cherie was there she wanted to feel the girl was safe, and she made up her mind to tell Vincent about her worries.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One
‘I need a good earner, Bertie. I’ve got another baby on the way and, though the garage does OK, I need some real money to get a mortgage, et cetera.’
Bertie Warner grinned laconically; he had wondered how long it would be before Vincent wanted more. It was indisputable that he was on a fucking good earn, but he would still never feel he was getting enough money – that was just this boy’s nature. He seemed to think the world owed him a living. True, he had done them all a big favour, but, by the same token, he had already been handsomely recompensed, and he had earned the respect of everyone into the bargain. It was too soon for Vincent to be out on the rob and Bertie said as much.
‘Calm yourself down, lad. If you go out too soon you’ll get another fucking capture. They will be keeping an eye on you for a good while yet. They will be aware of your known associates and they will even be monitoring your calls. Now, you remember what I told you about mobiles, don’t you? Never, and I mean never, use your mobile for work – you always talk business from a fucking public phone or an untraceable pay as you go. The Filth are using scramblers and all sorts to listen in on conversations, so be aware.’
Vincent could barely keep the impatience out of his voice as he answered heavily, ‘You have mentioned that before, Bertie.’
Bertie Warner, annoyed now, said sarcastically, ‘I’m sure I have, clever bollocks, but just in case you are a bit dense I thought I would mention it again. Only you lot seem to think you are technological wizards because you can fucking dial a phone number. Well, my technological wizards, who are shrewder than you lot put together and then some, have warned me of the pitfalls of tapping. The signal is winging its way through the air, and can be intercepted at any time. Now, I may not be Alexander Graham fucking Bell, but I know enough to listen to the people who do know about these things. So if you ever ring me cold again like you did today, I will see to it that your fancy new mobile gets shoved so far up your jacksie you’ll have to shove your hand down your throat to answer a call!’
He was bellowing now; he could be heard all over the scrapyard. And it took Vincent O’Casey all his considerable willpower not to knock the man on his arse. But he knew that for the mug’s game it would be – Bertie would have him sliced and diced without a second’s thought. Bertie was a lot of things, but even-tempered was not one of them. He could be moved to tears at the plight of a starving child in Africa one moment, only to become murderous if the noise of a child’s actual crying interrupted him watching the news. He was a mass of contradictions, and it was best to let him get his anger out of his system.
‘And for the fucking record, Mr Big fucking Earner, you work for me, and I say when, and if, you go back out on the street.’
Vincent licked his dry lips, and bit back the retort he was dying to make. Instead, he bowed his head, feeling like some kind of errant schoolboy.
Satisfied by the boy’s outward deference, Bertie lowered his voice and said amiably, ‘I done a lump and half, son, and I know how you’re feeling, but believe me when I say you have to lie low for a while. I mean, be honest, do you want to get captured