Trapped. Jacqui Rose

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СКАЧАТЬ well, well. Look what we have over there lads. They’re right when they say talk of the devil and he’ll appear. I’ll tell you something, the rats are coming out today in their droves.’

      Max Donaldson spoke, staring with hatred at a white Range Rover on the other side of the empty forecourt. As Tommy followed his father’s gaze, Max opened the door and got out, giving Tommy a clearer view of the recipient of his father’s anger. There, standing larger than life, enjoying a joke together in the late afternoon’s sunshine were Frankie and Johnny Taylor.

      Watching his father stride over towards them with his face curled up in a vicious snarl, Tommy sighed, preparing himself for trouble.

      ‘You’ve got a nerve, Taylor, showing your face round here.’ Frankie looked up, slightly taken aback but not unduly concerned to see Max Donaldson marching towards him, red-faced. He waited for Max to come closer then spoke, his tone laced with amusement.

      ‘Round here? Now all of a sudden this is your turf is it? My, my, how the Donaldsons have an inflated sense of self. You should lay off the coke Max, or is it just your son who sticks the whole of London up his nose? Glad to see you’ve changed your shirt since last night.’

      Max lunged forward but was held back by Tommy. Apoplectic with rage, he turned his anger on his son.

      ‘Get off me boy. I don’t need a fecking babysitter. Grab me again and I’ll not think twice about slicing you.’

      Max shook off Tommy’s arm, pushing him out of the way, and stepped a foot closer to Frankie. Squaring up and breathing hard as Frankie stood his ground, thinking about the way Max behaved towards his own son. The man was twisted with anger towards everyone.

      Frankie didn’t have a problem with fighting usually. However the last thing he needed now was Max Donaldson with a bruised ego, squaring up to him because of a thrown drink and a wet shirt. He was already late to get round all the clubs so he wasn’t in the mood for any of Max’s crap.

      ‘Listen Max; pick a time and a place. You know I’m happy to have it out with you, but not here, not now.’

      ‘Why not Frankie? Scared you’ll not be able to put up when you haven’t got your men around you?’

      Frankie shook his head. It was clear Max wasn’t about to back down and wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t get at least one swing in. He’d known him for years. Too long to remember. He’d always been a sadistic little bastard. It was common knowledge he’d frequently battered his wife and kids to the point of bones being broken.

      Frankie knew the Donaldson boys quite well through his encounters with Max and from the fights Johnny had had with them when they’d been younger. He’d only ever seen Max’s wife and daughter in passing, years ago. Though he wasn’t complaining – the less he had to do with them the better. The whole family were messed up, or at least the boys were, so it wouldn’t surprise him if the girl wasn’t far behind.

      He glanced at Tommy, who was standing behind his father. He kept himself to himself but he was known to be a bit of a looney tune. Still, however much of a nut job he was, Frankie had to admit, Tommy Donaldson certainly was a good-looking man. He could have easily graced the cover of any men’s magazine with his handsome face and tall, muscular physique.

      The other brother, Nicky, whom he saw less of, was almost as handsome as his older brother. Handsome but another space cadet, sniffing up so much coke he hardly knew who he was. Frankie knew Johnny dabbled from time to time. Hell, he often enjoyed a line himself when he’d a late night ahead of him. But there was a difference between social enjoyment and a bang-on junkie.

      It astounded Frankie how Max’s two boys could look so different from their father, who was short and stocky with a rounded face and beady, sunken eyes. A world apart from the handsome looks of his crystal-blue-eyed boys.

      Frankie’s thoughts broke off as he felt Tommy’s intense stare. As blue and dazzling as they were, there was something unsettling about his eyes. Something that made him seem as if he was not all there. ‘Troubled’ as his old Nan would say. But then, having a father like Max Donaldson, it was no wonder.

      Sighing, Frankie turned his attention back to Max. He could see Max wasn’t going to move unless he got a bit of a rumble. What he didn’t see was the small knife he was holding in his hand.

      Not wanting a stand-off, Frankie took a swing, connecting his diamond knuckledusters to Max Donaldson’s lip. The warm blood spurted across both their suits and a tiny bit of bright red flesh landed on the concrete floor. Frankie saw Johnny step forward as Tommy and Donaldson’s goon came to wade in.

      It didn’t take long for the adrenalin to take hold of Frankie, his appetite now wet for the fight. He went to take another swing at Max. Immediately he felt a cold rush go through his body. He touched his side and saw his hand covered in his own blood. Pushing down hard on the wound to try to stop the bleeding, Frankie stumbled forward, grappling to hold onto Johnny for support. He fell to his knees in front of his stunned son and managed to utter a few words.

      ‘He’s stabbed me. The fucking cunt’s stabbed me. Get hold of your mother.’

      Then Frankie Taylor blacked out.

       CHAPTER SIX

      Gypsy Taylor sat down hard on the marble toilet. She’d been bursting for a wee all afternoon, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to use the public ones in Piccadilly. They smelt of stale urine which always reminded her of her beloved Auntie May who’d lived till she was well over a hundred and died with a smile and a fag on her lips. Gypsy was certain she could still smell the foul odour of the public conveniences lingering on her expensive clothes hours later, so she avoided them like the proverbial plague.

      She supposed she could’ve made the short walk home back to Berkeley Square or to one of her husband’s Soho clubs to use the bathroom, but going back out to see her friends might have proved tricky. It would’ve meant explaining to her husband where she was going. And Frankie didn’t like her seeing her friends. Frankie didn’t like her seeing anyone. Anyone except for him.

      Flushing the toilet and washing her hands in the Italian handmade sink, Gypsy wondered where her husband was. His phone was turned off. She’d tried the clubs but they hadn’t seen him; no one had. Not that she was worried, quite the opposite. She was going to luxuriate in the peace and quiet without him.

      Gypsy loved Frankie with all her heart. She always had done. From the moment she’d seen him at the Reno nightclub on the Mile End Road she knew he was the one. But his possessive nature was starting to become too much. She was no longer the starry-eyed teenager he’d first met in the East End all those years ago. She was her own person now and she wanted her own life. However, trying to tell that to Frankie would be as good as asking him for a divorce.

      It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to be married to him; she did. But him insisting on her having to call him throughout the day to tell him where she was and who she was with, had worn thin a long time ago. At first she’d thought it was sweet, Frankie wanting to know her every movement. However, over time sweet had turned sour; in fact, sweet had turned into a pain in the bleeding hole.

      Her best friend was going to Spain soon with some of the other girls from the East End and they wanted her to go with them. ‘Come on, Gypsy; just tell your old man you’re СКАЧАТЬ