The Faithless - Martina Cole [86]
Bertie took Linford’s head off his shoulders with one hefty slice of the machete. As it rolled across the dirty ground of the scrapyard and eventually stopped in a small hole, Bertie shouted gleefully, ‘Look, guys, a fucking hole in one!’
They were all laughing now, stacked up on adrenaline and the knowledge that their main adversaries were out of the picture. All that was left now was for them to take what they felt was rightfully theirs.
Young Vincent had watched it from the sidelines, and he felt the nausea rising up inside him. Of all the things he had expected of the night, this was not one of them. He was party to murder now, and he knew then and there that this kind of skulduggery wasn’t for him. He just wanted to be a blagger, a bank robber, nothing more and nothing less.
Linford’s body, minus its head, was bundled into the boot of Vincent’s car, and Derek Greene climbed in the passenger seat, saying happily, ‘We’re gonna dump this outside their main offices, then we lose the motor and get as far away from the scene as possible, OK?’
Vincent nodded.
‘You are part of a new guard tonight, mate, in on the ground floor.’
And, as Vincent thanked Derek, he wondered at just what he had signed himself up for. This was far too much for him; all he had wanted was to drive a few getaway cars. Now he was a witness to the murders of two of the most dangerous men in London. Life could be such shit at times.
It was only later on, lying in his bed at his mum and dad’s flat, that it occurred to him he had been used; he had told Derek Greene everything he had needed to know about Jonny Parker, but he didn’t know the half of what Derek was planning. It wouldn’t be the first time he was used, and it would not be the last, of that much he was sure. He was in over his head, and he knew that he could not walk away from any of it. This had been far too big a night for him to be able to pretend it had never happened. It would go down in East-End folklore and, in a way, he knew that he would enjoy people knowing he had been a part of it. Derek Greene had hand picked him for the job and that was a compliment, surely? If he used his loaf he could get a fucking decent earn, and be a part of a new regime.
He was aware he was trying to convince himself that everything would be all right. But another thing he had found out this night was that he had no stomach for murder and, no matter what the score, that had been murder at its worst; coldblooded and messy. He was part of it now, and he knew he had to do what was expected of him. But he regretted getting involved in it all. Whatever Jonny Parker was or he wasn’t, it didn’t change the fact that Vincent had been a part of the crew who had outed his Gabby’s uncle.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Celeste didn’t report her husband missing for three days, but she knew, like everyone else, including the police, that he was dead. Linford’s headless torso had been a message, and that message had been received and understood. She had thought the news would destroy her, but instead, for the first time in years, she felt free. The house and most of the other properties were in her name, as were a majority of the bank accounts, so she was a very wealthy woman. Jonny being gone didn’t really affect her that much in the long run.
She also knew intuitively that her father had guessed what was going to happen; he had not seemed surprised by the turn of events. She wondered how Cynthia was feeling and if she mourned Jonny. Celeste hoped so, because she couldn’t mourn him. She was glad he was gone, glad he was away from her, glad she was finally able to walk away from the life he had given them. Her mum was on the mend, and her life was once more her own.
She had loved Jonny Parker once with all her heart, but she had not loved what he had become. What he had tried to be. The violence he had embraced had finally turned back on him. What goes around comes