The Faithless - Martina Cole [38]
‘Get your coat.’ As he spoke he stood up and his considerable bulk seemed to fill the small room to capacity.
Bertie smiled, this was more like it!
In the small outer office of his scrap-metal yard, Kevin opened the arms safe and, taking out a semi-automatic he had purchased from an old acquaintance, he proceeded to arm himself to the hilt.
‘Shall I call the boys?’ The excitement was already overflowing in Bertie’s voice. He was thrilled at this turn of events; there was nothing he liked more than a good tear-up, a serious fucking straightener was always something to be enjoyed. Violence as far as he concerned solved everything, there was nothing like a good fucking tear-up to sort out the men from the wannabes.
Kevin shook his head. ‘Not yet. Make a cup of tea.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jonny was half-pissed and he was annoyed with himself because of it. But it had been a very strange night so far, and he knew that if his calculations were correct it could only get fucking worse. Much worse. He glanced at his watch – it was twenty past one and no news yet. But there was plenty of time; he would sit and he would wait. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, and he wondered at how this night would eventually pan out.
Linford had poured himself a large brandy, and he downed it in one gulp. ‘I needed that, bwoy,’ he said reverting to his Jamaican patois.
Jonny grinned. ‘You’re about as Jamaican as I am fucking Irish.’
Linford laughed happily, he knew the truth of that statement. ‘I left Jamaica as a baby. My mother came here looking for me father – she still hasn’t found the bastard. But I grew up in a Jamaican household and, believe me, that’s as good as being brought up in the home country. A bit like the Irish, eh?’
They laughed together, pleased that the change of topic meant that they were not waiting in silence any more.
‘Very much like us actually. I feel more Irish than English at times. Catholic school will do that to you.’
Linford nodded sagely. ‘That’s the truth.’ He took a ready-rolled joint from his jacket pocket and lit it ostentatiously, as only a true Rasta could. Toking on it a few times, he breathed the smoke in deeply before saying seriously, ‘You know you’ve got to kill him, right?’
Jonny sighed deeply before he said sadly, ‘Knew it from the off, mate.’
Linford grinned through the thick blue smoke. ‘You know it makes sense. He can’t be left standing, he’s too proud a boy. Eventually he would have to come a-knocking.’
‘Shame though, Linford. I always respected Kevin Bryant.’
Linford shrugged. ‘Don’t mean he ain’t a bad motherfucker. Mark my words, you don’t cancel him out this night, he’ll just wait for his opportunity. Stands to reason. Now Bertie has to go either way – holds too many fucking grudges for his own good, that one.’
Jonny didn’t answer; there was nothing more to say, the decision had been made.
Chapter Thirty
Celeste felt ill with worry, and couldn’t settle at all. Why she had come to her sister’s she didn’t know – she just supposed that at certain times in your life, you needed your own. Even with family like hers. She couldn’t go to her mum’s what with her father muttering away about Jonny’s front and her mother offering endless cups of tea. Instead, she had found herself on her sister’s doorstep.
Her sister seemed both amazed and pleased to see her, that much was obvious, even at this late hour.
‘Oh! Hello, sis.’
Cynthia had taken to calling her ‘sis’ and it sounded more false each time she heard it.
‘All right, Cynth? I thought I’d pop in and give you a quick hello.’
Cynthia’s eyes said ‘not at this time of night you haven’t’, but she didn’t question further. Instead she said brightly, ‘Come through to the kitchen, I’ll make a cuppa. Or I’ve a nice bottle of wine if you’d