Toxic: The addictive new crime thriller from the best selling author that will have you gripped in 2018. Jacqui Rose

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СКАЧАТЬ up his Range Rover by a large thatched yellow house, set by a private lake and standing in several acres of pristine grounds, Alfie got out, resisting the temptation to call Franny again. That could wait. He didn’t want to wind himself up any more than he had to because if he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose it. Big time.

      Trying to crick the tension out of his neck as he pressed the buzzer on the gates, Alfie waited, the heavy rain trickling down the back of his coat.

      Eventually he heard a man’s voice crackling through the intercom, speaking in the broadest of Yorkshire accents. ‘Hey up Alfie, you look like you could do with a brolly.’

      Alfie looked up to the CCTV camera, his face curled up in a snarl. ‘Just let me fucking in.’

      He heard laughter as the electric gates duly swung open but before Alfie could get to the house, a large man with a protruding forehead and a Bryllcreamed sweep over, came around the corner armed with two golfing umbrellas.

      ‘Here take this, we’ll go into the garden and talk.’

      Alfie stared at Lloyd Page. Lloyd had come down from Sheffield fifteen years ago to become one of the biggest drug traffickers in the East of England, as well as one of the boldest swindlers around. The man wouldn’t lose any sleep over robbing food from his own baby’s mouth if it meant him getting a few more quid.

      ‘I ain’t partial to country walks, Lloyd. I’d rather talk here.’

      Lloyd belched loudly, sending the smell of pickled onions into Alfie’s face. ‘Suit yourself. You’ve always been a stubborn bastard.’

      Alfie narrowed his eyes, gazing coldly and evenly at Lloyd. ‘I’m not here to do niceties, I’m here to find out if there’s anything going on.’

      With the umbrella in one hand and a cigar in the other, Lloyd smirked, holding Alfie’s gaze.

      ‘This is what I couldn’t understand on the phone when you called. You see, I was under the impression that you were supposed to take over Reginald Reynolds’ crown. You and Vaughnie were supposed to be the next Kingpins, the whole of the East thought that, yet here you are, begging me for a touch.’

      ‘I ain’t begging no one.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘No.’

      Lloyd shrugged. ‘I don’t believe you Alf, I think something’s not quite right. I reckon you’re a bit desperate, otherwise why would you be here without your sidekick? Funny that.’

      Alfie stepped in close to Lloyd. ‘Do I look like I’m laughing? And you don’t need to worry about the ins and outs of my business. All you need to know is that I need a job, and quick. And you also need to keep your mouth shut about me being here.’

      ‘And why would I do that? I think a lot of people would want to know, don’t you?’

      ‘Because, Lloyd, you ain’t stupid and you like your life too much. You and me, we go back a long way, which means I know everything that you’ve done. I know everyone that you’ve turned over, everyone you’ve ripped off. Wasn’t it only a couple of years ago you pulled one over on the Peterson brothers. Robbed over a ton of heroin right from under their noses. To this day, Smithy Peterson and his brothers want to know who it was. And rumour has it, they like burying people alive.’

      ‘You wouldn’t snake?’

      ‘Oh, I would, Lloyd. I’ll do what I have to. I’ll take no prisoners, son.’

      Lloyd’s face turned into a picture of anger. ‘It’s quiet at the moment, there isn’t anything much about.’

      ‘Then unquieten it, because I need something.’

      Sighing, Lloyd said, ‘Look, there might be a shipment of coke coming through in the next few days. It’ll be on a lorry and I was hoping to get my fingers on it. I’m speaking to my sources at the moment. It’s not certain yet, but it sounds like it could be an easy job.’

      Alfie stared out towards the immaculate landscaped garden. Jacking lorries of coke was a young man’s game, often a mug’s game, and it certainly didn’t help that it was Lloyd Page he’d be working through. He was, as Vaughn had always described him, an idiot of the biggest kind. But then, it seemed like it might be his only option if he couldn’t sort out the problem with Franny. Not that jacking a lorry full of blow would give them the money they needed, but it was a start.

      ‘Then I’ll have that.’

      ‘Alf, come on, I needed that myself …’

      ‘I said, I’ll have that.’

      ‘But it might not even happen.’

      ‘So, you better make sure it does.’

       5

      Bree Dwyer felt her husband’s breath before she saw him in the dark of their cream-walled bedroom. Her body ached and the ropes tied round her hands and ankles cut deeply into her, burning and rubbing. The dried blood from her nose sat in crusty lumps above her mouth, and with the air of a priest, Johnny smiled warmly, kissing Bree calmly on her head before untying her from the wicker chair that had dug and scraped into the back of her bare legs.

      He looked at her, his head cocked to one side. ‘Well?’

      Licking her torn lip and flinching, Bree knew exactly what was expected of her. ‘I’m sorry, Johnny.’

      He leaned in, the overpowering aroma of his sickly-sweet aftershave rushing up Bree’s nose.

      ‘And?’

      ‘And I ain’t ever going to try to leave you again, because …’

      She faltered, feeling nauseous.

      ‘Because?’

      ‘… because no one leaves Johnny.’

      A wide grin spread across Johnny’s wind-tanned face. He laughed, pleased with himself.

      ‘So you’ve learned your lesson this time, darlin’?’

      Bree willed herself not to vomit there and then. Whatever she did, Bree Dwyer knew there was no way she could be sick in front of Johnny. Panicked, her eyes filled with tears as she desperately tried to swallow down the bile that rushed with force into her mouth.

      Johnny’s eyes darkened. ‘I asked you a question.’

      The door suddenly flung open, making Bree jump, and giving her the distraction she needed to alleviate the nausea.

      There, standing in the doorway, was Ma Dwyer; oedema-swollen ankles and feet pushed tightly into stained, pink fluffy slippers and dressed as usual in her thigh-length silk dressing gown.

      Looking contemptuously at Bree, Ma pulled out her nasal pump spray, keenly squirting it up into her left nostril. ‘What’s going on, baby?’

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