The Faithless - Martina Cole [34]
He shrugged. He was letting the demons get the better of him, as his old grandma used to say. He wondered wistfully if she was still alive. He had been brought over to England by his mother, who had swiftly abandoned him and, eventually, he had ended up a Barnardo’s boy. Another reason he wasn’t trusted; after all, if your own family didn’t want you . . . Another East-End saying that he had to admit had the ring of truth to it.
He mentally shook himself. He had got this far, and he had the nous and the guts to get wherever he wanted to be. He had told himself that all his life, and it had worked up to now. He reassured himself that he had the right men beside him, and that they were paid enough to ensure their loyalty. That had to mean something. They knew as well as he did that Jonny Parker was not really meeting him to arrange a large shipment of drugs – he was meeting him to tell him that from now on his services would no longer be required. Well, Jonny Parker had a big shock coming to him, and in a way he was sorry about that, because he liked Jonny Parker, he was a nice bloke.
Joseph got into the back of his large black BMW. For protection he had a driver and two outriders, one of whom was his right-hand man, Linford Fargas, who had been his number two for over three years now and was the nearest he had to a real friend. The men were well versed in what they had to do this night, and were well armed.
‘Shall I go straight to the depot?’
Joseph nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘Is everything arranged?’
The driver nodded, even the back of his head had an arrogant look to it. Like him, the man was black, dreadlocked, and spoiling for a fight with the white boys. Joseph felt himself relax. He leant forward and pulled a large machete from under the driver’s seat; it would take off a hand or a foot easily, the perfect weapon for incapacitating the enemy. It could also take a man’s head off his shoulders if the blow was powerful enough. A machete was the weapon of choice for most of the Yardies except, in England, unlike Jamaica where it was classed as a work tool like a screwdriver or a pair of pliers, it was illegal to walk along the road with them.
‘You nervous, Joseph?’ asked Linford.
‘Not at all. I feel good about it all. This was needed, even I saw that.’
Linford nodded sagely.
‘Besides, I’m gonna take that fucker out.’
The driver then laughed heartily, saying loudly, ‘A-fucking-men to that! You take the fucker out, boss.’
That caused them to start laughing, but they were all aware it was a nervous laughter. It occurred to Joseph that his men were even more nervous than he was, and he knew he had no choice but to show a true hand to them tonight. Then maybe, just maybe, it might go some way to making them see him as one of them after all. The thought pleased him, and he was glad now that this was happening; it might be just the thing he needed to ensure his place in this London black boy society. All of the men were well versed in the art of fighting, both with their fists and with weapons. And none of them were in the least frightened of guns – they’d been around them for the best part of their lives.
Joseph realised he had been worrying about nothing – in fact he could already taste his victory as he drove into his depot in Croydon. This was where he kept the majority of his arms, this was where he was safest, because only a few people knew he even owned it. That was another thing; he liked to keep his private dealings private, and that could only hold him in good stead at times like these. Only four people knew about this depot, and they were all in this car.
Linford jumped out and opened the gates, unlocking the huge padlock. Joseph looked around the yard and smiled grimly at its sameness. As they drove in, he saw Linford opening the door of the Portakabin that served as his