Finders Keepers by Edie Baylis (8 ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Keith was just about to remark about how pleased he was to return to working the way he excelled at, when the distinct change in Saul’s expression made him hesitate and instead follow where his old bosses eyes had moved their intense focus to.

‘Did you hear that?’ Saul hissed. ‘Did that wanker over there say what I think he fucking said?’

‘Eh? I didn’t hear anythi...’

‘I’m sure that cock said something about me. That lot over at that table have been fucking staring since we came in.’

Keith had no time to respond before Saul jumped up, knocking his chair over and barged rapidly towards the group of men.

‘What did you just say?’ Saul roared, fronting up to the man sitting at the back of the round table. ‘You talking about me?’

The man wearing a grubby donkey jacket smirked, his piggy eyes glinting. ‘All I said was you’re a dead ringer for that bloke in nick. That geezer from the Powell firm. No offence, mate, it’s just you look a bit like him, that’s all.’

‘And what’s that supposed to fucking mean? What do you mean, no offence?’ Saul yelled, the whole pub now deadly silent.

Keith glanced warily at the barman who looked like he might be thinking about placing a call into the Old Bill. That was the last thing Saul needed an hour after being released from nick. Causing problems would mean his licence being revoked and he wanted Saul returning to prison probably less that the man himself did.

‘I’m waiting...’ Saul raged. ‘What did you mean by no offence? Come on?’

‘Fucking hell, mate. I didn’t mean anything! Some people might not take kindly to being likened to that nutter, that’s all.’ The man grinned. ‘Word has it the Powells are losing their clout around these parts nowadays.’

Hearing this, Keith got to his feet to intervene, but he was too late. He watched with growing apprehension as, in one swift movement, Saul smashed the man’s pint glass on the table and then deep into his face.

‘Nutter, am I?’ Saul screeched, watching with satisfaction as the man’s face split, large ribbons of flesh hanging from his cheekbones. With minimal effort, he dragged the howling man over the table, snorting in derision as his companions scrambled out of harm’s way.

‘No, please...’ The man raised his hands in a futile effort to protect what was left of his face.

With women screaming, Saul rained debilitating punches into the man’s face, his nose collapsing on impact. ‘My firm’s losing its clout? That’s the general consensus is it?’

Keith’s eyes darted back to the barman, his hand hovering by the phone. Shit. This wasn’t how he’d foreseen the afternoon going, but he couldn’t let this tosser call the cops. Pulling his pistol from his waistband, he aimed at the barman who lurched backwards into a shelf of neatly stacked glasses, sending them crashing to the floor.

With his hand still around the neck of the man he’d beaten to a pulp, Saul looked at Keith – his trusted right hand man and smiled.

Turning, he faced the room. ‘Listen here, you bunch of cunts. I don’t know what shite has been flying around about my firm, but if I ever hear anything untoward coming out of any fucker’s mouth, I’ll cut their bastard tongues out, do you hear me?’

Planting a kick to the side of the now silent man’s head, Saul’s mouth formed a menacing smile. ‘Do I need to make my point any clearer with this one here?’ He nodded to the unconscious man, his ruined face seeping thick blood onto the garish carpet. ‘Or will everyone remember that it’s rude and very silly to bandy around hearsay?’

Keith took his eyes off the barman and glanced at Saul, the mania clear in his face and a mixture of both elation and fear grew. Things were definitely back on.

‘I am Saul Powell,’ Saul roared, ‘and let none of you forget it!’ He smiled at the sea of silent acknowledgments from the room. ‘Now, let’s not spoil my homecoming by causing problems, shall we?’

Seeing everyone nod, Saul gave Keith the sign to put the gun away, confident none of these fuckers would involve the Old Bill. He glanced at one of the men. ‘You want to get your mate cleaned up? No hard feelings, but he’s spoiling the look of the gaff, don’t you think?’

Grinning, Saul slapped the man on the back and stalked over to the bar, grinning widely at the terrified barman. ‘Another two Carlings, please mate.’ He nodded to the shelf of smashed glasses. ‘Make sure there’s no bits of glass in the drinks, yeah?’

Nodding furiously, the barman flicked on the lager tap, eyeing Keith moving back to the table in the still silent room.

Saul turned and smiled. ‘Carry on as you were, folks. Nowt worse than a quiet pub.’

Keith leaned back in his chair and happily sparked up a fag. Saul was back alright. He’d get everything back on track and things would now be sorted.

One

JUNE 2005

GWEN VELLA WATCHED THE POSTMAN making his way up the road and aimlessly wondered whether there was anything for her.

She placed her hands around her mug of coffee, not knowing why, considering it was the tail end of June. It looked like it would be a decent summer this year, but what did it matter? Everything would be ruined if Lena had anything to do with it. To be frank, everything was ruined whichever way she looked at it.

Seeing the postman walk past the path leading up to her small block of maisonettes, Gwen got up from her chair by the window and padded despondently through to her little kitchen. She usually enjoyed watching the world go by in her spare time, but for six days now she’d stared miserably out of the window – and today, just like the others, felt that