A Dish Best Served Cold?, page 14
‘There was a sandwich and takeaway mug all mashed up in the footwell. The stupid idiot must have left the van for some grub. And bam! He’s pushing up the daisies.’
Byron looked at Rod as if he had just arrived in his office on a spaceship while he struggled to digest the facts. He stood up and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Hang on a fucking minute here, Rod. Jay is one of the hardest and nastiest bouncers I have ever met. Are you telling me that eighteen-year-old, still wet behind the fucking ears, Sonny Wilton – because that’s what I’m guessing here – has jumped in the van while he’s eating
a sandwich and beat him to fucking death?’
Rod shrugged his shoulders. ‘Look, Byron, the man I was supposed to be taking over from is dead, so excuse me for feeling rather fucking nervous. I thought it best to get back here, so we can work out what to do.’
Byron looked incredulously at Pete. ‘Couldn’t be him, could it, Pete?’
Pete Sawyer was equally dumbfounded. Speechless, in fact. All he could do was open his arms and shrug his shoulders.
Byron carried on, ‘What, has he been ninja training for the last six fucking months or what?’ He took the office keys out of his jacket and opened the desk drawer. He counted out five hundred pounds from a massive wad of notes, shut the drawer and walked over to where a very nervous Rod stood. He slapped him on the shoulder and stuffed the money in his hand.
‘Get yourself off, fella, and not a fucking word, OK.’ ‘Will do, I fancy some fishing up north anyway.’
Byron slapped Rob on the back and pushed him out of the door.
‘Was that wise, boss?’ asked Pete. ‘He’ll tell every fucker you know.’
Byron smiled. ‘Not Rob, he’s always been loyal.’
‘To Alf Wilton maybe! Are you fucking blind? He hates you. Never stops going on about it.’
Byron sat back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. ‘Really? You think you know someone.’ He opened the drawer to reveal a gun. ‘Back of the head, Pete.’ He tossed the gun at his loyal friend. ‘And get my fucking money back!’ He stood up. ‘Right, let’s sort out this bloody mess.’
Byron opened the office door and called out to Saville, his foreman in the scrapyard, and one of his inner circle of trusted gang members. Saville entered the office stinking of engine oil in his boiler suit. ‘All right, By. White van is it?’ he correctly guessed.
Byron was sitting back at the desk. ‘Aye, strip all the wiring, get the wheels off and engine out. Put it through the crusher and hose it down. Then get it on the next load of scrap bales to the steel works for melting, OK. Good man.’ He nodded and winked at the scrap worker.
Saville nodded his understanding and left the office. It wasn’t the first time he had made a body disappear and probably wouldn’t be the last. Say nothing and do as you’re told.
Once Saville had left, Byron rested an elbow on the desk and rubbed the stubble on his chin.
‘Well, well, who’d have thought it, Pete?’
‘Sonny Wilton… murderer, we’d better lock all our doors to keep ourselves safe.’ He looked at Pete with a huge grin on his face. Unlike Byron, Pete did, however, feel a little nervous and uncomfortable at the turn of events. Jay was a fucking evil bastard, so if Sonny killed him what did that mean for the rest of them?
‘So, what now? We still don’t know where he is.’ Byron got up from his seat and walked to the window overlooking the yard. Saville had already got to work on the white van, the wheels were off and he was undoing the engine mounting bolts.
‘No, but we know he’s coming, Pete old pal. We know he’s coming, and when he shows up, we’ll be fucking ready. Oh, in the meantime I need you to go around to Jay’s place and tell Sally that he’s fucked off to Spain on the timeshare scams. She won’t give a fuck; he’s been slapping her around for years. Tell her I’ll drop a wad around for her.’
Pete looked across at his friend, who was sitting back in the office chair with his fingers locked. He had a real uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was not going to go well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Food Glorious Food
Sonny had decided against using public transport to get to Mynydd Du. He didn’t want to risk being recognised. Once outside the city he avoided the road altogether, using his map and compass to navigate the countryside.
What have I done? Sonny thought. I’ve killed a man in cold blood. He hated watching the man die before his eyes, but it was a necessary evil – an eye for an eye. Sonny had spent hours discussing the ethics of murder with Patch, but ultimately they had both come to the same conclusion – it was necessary! These men, if they found him, wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in the back of his head. He couldn’t live in the shadows forever, especially with Rhian lying in hospital. He had no choice; he had to strike first!
It took nearly five hours until he reached familiar surroundings. The sun was setting, so he made for a densely wooded area that he knew well. Once satisfied that he was completely alone, he set about making a hideout, using felled branches and piling up leaves for cover. It took about ninety minutes to build, and by the time he was finished it was dark, with just the light of the moon illuminating the ground. He also dug another hole about twenty yards away to stash his rucksack.
He collapsed to the ground with exhaustion. Time to eat and rest for a few hours, he thought. The best decisions are made with a rested mind and a full stomach. He had brought enough dried food to last a day or so and, if his memory served him correctly, there was a spring not far away to get clean water.
He decided against lighting a fire. The dead body in the van would have been discovered by now and, it stood to reason, that Byron’s men would be out looking for him.
He sat outside the hideout and rummaged in his rucksack for food. He quickly wolfed down some raw carrots, a large packet of nuts and raisins, and a thick slice of fruit loaf. At 6.30pm he set his watch alarm for midnight. After unrolling a thin camping mattress and sleeping bag, he crawled into the hideout, shuffling around to make himself comfortable.
Surprisingly he was asleep quite quickly.
He woke before midnight and crawled out of the hideout. After a few stretches, he made his way through the darkness to the spring. Stripping to the waist, he swilled his face and hair with the ice cold water, and filled one of his water bottles. He then changed into his black trousers and fleece, grabbed his lock picking kit, a small cosh and a pair of gloves, and stashed the rest of his belongings in his rucksack.
With his beanie hat pulled tightly over his head, he made his way through the dew-soaked fields to the village. He was nervous, but considered this to be a safe way to feel, all things considered.
It took nearly an hour to get to his intended concealed spot. In the distance he could see Hughes News and Groceries. Next to this was his primary school. It felt weird to be here at night. He’d only ever seen the school during the day. Swiftly he climbed the railing and jumped into the playground.
At first he was surprised that nobody seemed to be watching from the shop. Then, after moving further along, he could clearly see a car parked on the corner of the street opposite. It appeared to be watching Rhian’s family house instead. Keeping an eye on Arthur are you, Byron? thought Sonny. Big mistake!
Using his binoculars, Sonny deduced that there was a Yale lock on the shop door. No problem, he thought. At least it would be easy to pick the lock. He knew that the alarm was a standard key on/off type. He was sure that Rhian had told him the code once, but he couldn’t remember it.
After fifteen minutes surveillance, he climbed the school railings again and dropped down into the street. He didn’t stop to look around; he was satisfied that there was no one to see him, including the men in the car. He was already holding the picks he needed, and was in front of shop door in seconds. His hands were shaking, and he almost dropped the picks on the floor. He paused for a second, took a deep breath, and had the door open in no time.
Slipping inside the shop, he let his eyes adjust to the light from the fridge. The alarm started beeping its usual sixty second countdown. Despite spending time with Rhian in the shop, he had never actually switched the alarm on or off. This worried him a bit. What if he didn’t do it in time? He slid in the two picks he had selected, found the barrel slots, and turned the switch. Even though he had done this countless times before with Patch, the relief he felt when the alarm switched off was palpable.
Hiding in the shadows, he looked out of the shop window. Rhian’s house was too far away to see but, the fact that there was no movement told him that everything was good so far. He slowly edged along the wall to the counter, and picked up the phone, dialling Mr Hughes’ home number. It was answered on the second ring.
There was a confused and questioning, ‘Hello?’
‘Mr Hughes, I mean, Arthur. It’s Sonny. I’m in the shop. I’m letting you know now, so you don’t get a shock in the morning and give me away. I can see you’re being watched, very closely.’
‘What? Sonny? Oh, I know. They’ve been around since Sunday. How did you get in? Why didn’t the alarm go off?’
‘Oh, a few skills I’ve picked up recently. Can I please talk to you when you collect the papers? I need to know what’s been going on and who’s going where. Is that OK?’
‘Course, Son, but I don’t really know much, but if I can help you… Shall I come now?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely not,’ Sonny said with authority. ‘Keep your routine the same, no changes.’
‘To be honest, Sonny, my routine has already been blown to bits with Rhian being in the hospital. Lets’ see, I usually open up at five o’clock. I like to potter around a bit before the papers arrive.’
A car driving by illuminated the shop with its light.
Sonny quickly pulled himself behind a wall. ‘Are you OK, Son?’
‘Yes, Mr Hughes, Arth—’
‘Holly phoned earlier today,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘Yes, I’ve been to see her,’ said Sonny, as the light
from the car faded.
‘She’ll be OK, Son. Us Hughes’ are made of sterner stuff, you know.’
‘And I’ll be there when she’s back, Arthur.’
‘I hope so, Son. I really hope so. Right, I’ll be there at five. Get some food down you. Help yourself to anything in the shop, except the box of Black Magic. I’m saving that for my wedding anniversary. Oh, there’s an old armchair in the storeroom.’
‘OK, thank you.’ Sonny hung up the phone.
He went to the fridge and helped himself to a few pasties, sausage rolls, a pint of milk, and some sliced ham. He also picked up a bag of apples. An apple a day, he thought. Let’s hope it did keep the doctor away. If everything went to plan, it wouldn’t be him who’d need a doctor.
He quickly slipped into the storeroom, leaving the door ajar and adjusting the position of the chair, so he could see through into the shop. The armchair was surprisingly comfortable, and the storeroom warm and cosy. So, after he had eaten, he topped up his bag with food supplies, and then seized the opportunity to have a power nap.
He was startled awake by the sound of the shop door being opened and the lights being switched on. He could see Arthur locking the door and making his way to the alarm. For appearance sake, in case he was being watched, Arthur put the key into the alarm and turned it on, then back off again.
Sure enough, within sixty seconds the car that had watching the house pulled up opposite the shop.
‘Morning, Son,’ Arthur said loudly, although he did not look in the direction of the storeroom.
‘Right, I’m going to sweep the shop floor. Got to keep up appearances, heh? I’ll do my best to tell you everything I know. Don’t worry about the car across the road. They can’t see anything.’
‘How many men are in Byron’s closest circle?’ asked Sonny. He opened his notebook to jot down short reminders for himself.
‘I’m told he’s got a dozen men doing his bidding. The rest are only loyal because they’re scared of him. Some hate him, especially the ones that worked for your grandfather,’ said Arthur as he pushed the broom around the shop.
‘Is there a meeting place, a bar or office, where they meet up regular?’
Arthur stopped and rubbed his whiskered chin while he thought. ‘Well there’s The Den, about five or six of them go there every Wednesday night.’
‘The Den?’
‘Aye, remember the old café on Rose Street that belonged to Sybil Rigden?’
‘Oh yeah, I remember.’
‘That place closed down about six months ago. She’s still got the lease on it, but her eldest boy, Anthony, who works for Byron has started using it. He’s put a pool table in there, and every Wednesday Sybil cooks a big pot of curry and takes it round for them. They’re usually in there until midnight playing cards, and then they bugger off to some other godforsaken place.’
Sonny was already forming a plan.
‘My sister, Hazel, lives right across the road, and she’s always complaining about the comings and goings. She gets very nervous now the kids are gone, and she lost her husband a couple of years ago.’
Sonny’s plan was becoming even more appealing. He asked Arthur for a few addresses to help with the execution.
‘What’s happened to my grandfather’s house?’ he asked.
‘All boarded up last time I walked up there. I heard Byron is trying to get ownership, but he can’t get his hands on it until they get word from your grandparents.’ He stopped sweeping and put his hands in his pockets, leaning broom handle up against the counter. ‘Sorry, Son, I should have thought. That house and a lot of other things are rightfully yours, and I hope and pray that one day you will be able to take it all back.’
‘Thank you, Arthur, so do I,’ he replied. ‘Now is there any chance we can have a chat with your sister?’
Without giving any detail of his real intentions, Sonny outlined his plan to Arthur. He needed to watch any activities going on at The Den from tonight through to late Wednesday night, from the very safe observation point of behind the net curtains of Arthur’s sister’s parlour. Arthur said that he would phone his sister later that morning.
The two goons were still parked outside when the newspaper delivery van pulled up twenty minutes later.
‘I need to get out of here, Arthur,’ said Sonny.
Arthur took an adjustable spanner from the counter drawer, put it on the floor and slid it into the storeroom with the sweeping brush. He also dropped a plastic bag containing ten pounds in coins. ‘You’ll need to keep in touch,’ he said.
‘Thanks, Arthur.’
‘There’s the small window in the toilet out the back. You should be able to squeeze through, but you’ll have to take the burglar grille off first. I’ll do the papers. That’ll give those idiots something to watch.’
Sonny remembered that behind the shop was an alleyway that ran the length of the street. At the end was a fence. Get over that and I will be in a farmer’s field and back into the countryside, he thought.
The grille came off easy enough and, in a couple of minutes, he was gone.
On the way back to his hideout he took a detour to a phone box he’d seen on the way. It was 8.30pm, and he guessed correctly that Patch would be back from his morning run on the five mile, showered and eating breakfast.
He gave Patch the full run down of everything that happened since Sunday, including the killing of Jay Fowler.
‘Are you sure you’re OK, Sonny? Killing a man can affect you,’ said Patch.
‘It’s difficult, yes, but I’ve got to be strong. When Rhian gets better she needs to feel safe.’
‘I know, I’ve trained you well, Kimosabe,’ said Patch. Sonny smiled. He didn’t expect Patch to be quoting The Lone Ranger.
Changing the subject, Sonny ran through his intended plan for Wednesday night. Patch was dubious, but could see what Sonny was trying to do.
‘There will be a great deal of attention when it happens. With the authorities, I mean. You will have to be meticulously clean as far as they are concerned. No sightings, no clues,’ he warned.
‘I know, but he’s only protected by about a dozen others. If I can reduce the strength around him, it puts me in a better position to get to him quicker,’ Sonny reasoned.
‘Then go for it. You’ll need to get in there tonight, when the place is empty, to familiarise yourself with the layout. And if it all falls in place tomorrow, get it done.’
‘I’ll try and keep you posted. Bye.’
‘Sonny, you know what you’re doing, but be careful.’ Sonny put the phone down, and headed straight back through the gate. He was soon back at the hideout. He washed himself down in the spring after retrieving his rucksack, and changed into a black tracksuit. After he had eaten, he rested through what was left of the day, thinking about his plan for the next twenty-four hours. He packed what he would need into the small kit bag, checking it several times until he was happy that he was fully prepared.
At 5.30pm it was already getting dark. He pulled on his black bomber jacket and made his way back to the phone box. At 6.00pm he called Arthur.
‘Hello, Arthur, it’s Sonny.’
‘Hello, Son. You OK? My wife has just returned from the hospital. It looks like she’s going to be OK. The doctors managed to coax her awake this morning.’
Sonny felt his heart rise at the news. ‘What did she say?’ asked Sonny.
‘She doesn’t remember anything about the attack, but the doctors say her amnesia is a defence mechanism. Aside from this, she’s OK. Oh, and that bastard didn’t rape her.’
Sonny’s heart jumped a beat. ‘Thank, fuck.’
‘The wife says that she keeps touching the hairband wrapped around her finger. I take it that was you, Son?’ ‘I wanted her to know that I had been there,’ Sonny confirmed.
