The Jade Garden (The Barrington Patch Book 2) by Emmy Ellis (reading diary txt) 📗

saved you hassle, and this is the thanks I get for it. Remind me not to help you out again.”

They stared at each other, Jiang’s sightless eyes gazing up at them—Jason caught it in his peripheral, and it gave him the jitters. He broke the glare, the tension easing a tad, and zipped the bag to hide the dead bastard. Ted came out with the clanking trolley, further diluting the tension, and Jason stepped back to give the men room.

Body bag on the trolley, the cousins pushed it into the meat factory. Felix closed the door, and Jason stood in the darkness, glad to be alone so he could put a lid on his anger and lock it up until he visited the masked man.

He took a deep breath and studied the sky. No stars tonight. The moon hung there like some spying lump of silver, the eyes drooping, the mouth downturned and sad. The expression gave him the idea he was being judged.

“When I’m king,” he whispered, “I swear to fucking God, Felix will get up close and personal with Marlene. Righteous old bastard.”

He stomped to the driver’s side and got in, gunning the engine and peeling away from the factory, speeding down the road, the thrill of going too fast easing his serrated nerves. A left turn, and he was on his way back to town, shooting towards the street where Richie Prince had lived in a shithole bedsit, a few doors away from Mam’s. Doreen still lived there in her little house, so he’d have to be careful. If she peered out of her window or her boyfriend, Harry, showed up and spotted Jason, Doreen would tell Cassie in a heartbeat, especially now she received a weekly cash-in-hand wage for spying as much as that creepy moon.

Jason parked in the next street along instead. He stuck a false beard and moustache on, some bushy eyebrows, a black beanie covering his hair, and struggled with coloured contact lenses in the gloom. An old jacket on the back seat would further disguise him—he wouldn’t be seen dead in that these days—and he switched out his nice, if filthy shoes for manky trainers, all the while keeping an eye out for people watching him. Gloves on, coast clear, he left the car, slipping down an alley that connected the two streets.

Ordinarily, he’d take the masked man to the squat and kill him, but that would need an explanation, and he couldn’t be doing with that. Cassie would ask how he’d found out who the killer was so quickly, and besides, it was better that he remained on the outside of things, as if he didn’t know the fella at all.

He walked up to the skinny two-bed with its green front door showcased by a porch roof lantern, one of the panels of glass missing. Taking his flick knife out of his pocket, he released the blade, which shot upwards from the handle, and he stabbed the bulb, sinking him and his surroundings into darkness. Glass clinked onto the path in the echo of the pop from the bulb.

Knife away, burner out of his pocket, he texted the masked man: I’m at yours. Open the front door.

It didn’t take long for the sound of a chain being drawn across to poke its scrape and tinkle into the night. The door opened a couple of inches, and a slice of Brett Davis’ bruised face and gangly body filled the gap.

“Move out of the fucking way,” Jason snapped, his voice belonging to someone else. Menacing.

He pushed the door, sending a scrawny, oily-haired Brett staggering backwards and dropping down onto the stairs, a bag of bones inside oversized grey clothing, the usual trackies and hoody so many opted for these days. Hadn’t he had a shower after the murder if his hair was chip-pan lank? And where were the clothes he’d had on? The mask? If they were stashed indoors somewhere, that wasn’t good.

I’ll find them.

Jason entered, turned to check the street—no one nosing as far as he could tell—then closed the door. He faced Brett, who stared up at him, clearly trying to work out if he’d seen him before.

“You fucked up. At the Jade.” Jason lunged forward and gripped Brett’s hoody in a tight fist. “Up you get.”

Brett’s blue eyes watered, and spittle formed at the corners of his mouth, the slack-lipped bastard. “There was nowt I could do. I had to slice him to get away.”

Jason propelled him into the kitchen at the back. The garnet-red blind was down at the window, scallops along the bottom, a gold pole threaded through them, and a scabby brown curtain hung over the back door, moth-eaten, or maybe the small holes were from fag burns created on drunken nights. Brett was known for his shitty parties, drug-fuelled evenings where the smoke from weed loitered close to the ceiling, grey-tinged indoor clouds that formed dragons and angels to those off their heads, their foggy hallucinations adding to the buzz.

“Take your kecks down,” Jason ordered.

Brett stood by the dining table, surface type unknown it was that cluttered with crap. “You what?”

“I said, take your kecks down.” Jason gripped the handle of the flick knife in his pocket. “You cocked the operation up and need to pay.”

Brett fumbled with the waistband of his trackies. “Aww, come away now, man. I told you, I had no choice. Li Jun was coming at me, and Jiang got there first. I said for them to back off, but they didn’t fucking listen.”

“Then you should have run out of the yard and pissed off, shouldn’t you, instead of murdering him. Bottoms. Off.”

“This is a bit much, this is. Why do I need to take them off anyroad?”

Jason took the knife out and waved the handle at Brett. “You’re a pain in my arse, and you need to