LITMIR.BIZ

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measured up for his in the next day or two.’

      Gary Allen was pleased. He’d never liked Vinny Butler. Michael was OK, but Vinny had a cocky arrogance about him. Having built up his construction business from nothing, gangsters didn’t impress Gary Allen. He was a self-made millionaire through pure hard graft, so why would he be impressed by anything less?

      Gary introduced his future son-in-law to his tailor, Maurice.

      ‘I want all the main men at my wedding to be wearing the same suit as me. My fiancée has chosen crimson for her bridesmaid dresses, so I want a similar colour and style to this, but with a waistcoat underneath,’ Little Vinny explained, showing Maurice the magazine.

      ‘I have another suit in that colour. Would you like to try it on for size, sir?’

      ‘You got one my son can try on first? I’m dying to see him in it.’

      Oliver Butler’s hair was now a strawberry-blond colour, which today was Brylcreemed with a side parting.

      ‘Look at him, Gal. Cool dude or what?’ Little Vinny gushed minutes later, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

      ‘He most certainly is. Looks so grown up.’

      Little Vinny crouched down and put some aviator-style dark glasses on his pride and joy. ‘It’ll be sunny in June.’

      Gary Allen laughed. ‘Miami Vice!’

      Vinny Butler was in a foul mood. He’d drunk a bottle of Scotch last night, had woken up with the headache of all headaches, missed his son’s suit fitting, and was now running late for his meet with Eddie Mitchell.

      Cursing as he stubbed his little toe, Vinny punched the door that had caused his pain. Trouble was, the door wasn’t to blame. Bella was.

      Vinny stepped in the shower and closed his eyes. Engulfed by hot water, he thought back to the past. Only one female had ever got under his skin in his lifetime: Yvonne Summers. When she’d broken his heart, Vinnie had vowed never to allow himself to be cast under a bird’s spell again. He hadn’t, but there was something about Bella that had an undesirable effect on him, and he was sure the bitch knew it.

      The Enemy had learned a lot while banged up, including the art of deception.

      Today, he was back in Whitechapel dressed like a geek. He’d purchased the duffel coat, woolly hat and satchel in a charity shop. Glancing at his reflection, he smirked. He looked like a student. To carry books under his arm had been an awesome idea.

      Clutching the satchel close to his side, he walked towards Michael’s club. Inside the satchel was the filleting knife and the first opportunity that arose to use it, the Enemy intended to take it. Seeing his father in that hospital, unable to talk or eat, had been a sight that would live with him for ever. No kid should ever have to go through what he had. That was why he’d been so messed up. Not any more, though. He was ready to get even.

      ‘Sorry I’m late, Ed. The morning from hell,’ Vinny Butler apologized, shaking his pal’s hand. Eddie Mitchell was the youngest son of the legendary Harry Mitchell, and it was well known in the underworld that it was now Eddie who pulled most of the strings within the Mitchell firm.

      Ordering the waiter to bring Vinny a drink, Eddie grinned. ‘How’s tricks? Seems like ages since we’ve had a proper catch-up.’

      ‘All good my end, thanks. How’s Jess and the kids?’

      ‘Driving me mad and costing me a fortune, as per usual,’ Eddie joked. ‘How’s Michael doing?’

      ‘Plodding on. His club’s been busy, so that keeps his mind off all the other shit. Still cut up over Adam, but he’ll learn to live with it. I had to with Molly. Made of strong stuff, us Butlers.’

      ‘Did Nancy’s body ever show up?’

      ‘Nah. Long washed out to sea, her. Never mind. At least she died the way she wanted to die, so that’s a comfort,’ Vinny replied, his voice laden with sarcasm. ‘So, what’s this business deal you’ve got for me? Fancy opening a club together, do ya?’

      Eddie Mitchell chuckled. He liked Vinny Butler, but Vinny had a few skeletons in the closet. Ex drug baron, prostitute basher and suspected psychopath, to name just three. Perhaps one day Eddie would consider going into business with Vinny. But not until his pal had proved himself completely. Eddie was no man’s fool and even though he trusted Vinny, loose cannons were a liability. Eddie only had to look at his own brother to realize that. ‘Nah, I’m not ready to become a club owner yet, pal. However, I do have a container-load of booze up for grabs.’

      Knowing that whatever Eddie had on offer must be kosher, Vinny rubbed his hands together in anticipation. ‘Enlighten me.’

      Having had no joy spotting Michael Butler, the Enemy could barely believe his luck when he saw Vivian Harris strolling along the street, arms weighed down with shopping bags. He quickened his pace and furtively glanced around. There were only two other people about, an elderly couple holding arms.

      Sliding his right hand inside the satchel, he felt for his knife. He was a fast runner, had a change of clothes with him, and an alibi lined up.

      He thought back to the last time he’d used a filleting knife. He’d felt no remorse on that occasion, none whatsoever. The incident had happened inside a packed carvery. He’d been a young lad at the time, happily tucking into a roast lamb dinner when he spotted a boy from school. Martin Mabbutt came from a big, loving family, and resentment and hatred had flooded the Enemy’s thoughts as he’d lunged towards him. He’d ended up stabbing Martin twice and his interfering father once. Both had lived, but he’d revelled in the havoc he’d caused and how close he’d come to killing them.

      Breaking into a jog, he felt pure adrenaline pump through his veins as he inched closer to his prey. He glanced around again. The coast was clear. This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for. He pulled out the knife and was about to plunge it in Vivian’s back when he heard a voice shout ‘Rex!’

      The Enemy discreetly slid the knife back inside the satchel, before locking eyes with a bloke who asked, ‘You seen a black-and-white dog?’

      ‘Nah, mate. Sorry,’ he replied, before crossing over the road. The geezer had got a very good look at him, and he wasn’t stupid. Revenge would have to wait until another day.

      Chuffed with the container-load of spirits he’d just shaken hands with Eddie Mitchell on, Vinny Butler was celebrating the deal with a spirit or two himself. ‘I haven’t seen you since the Deborah Preston drama, have I? Did you hear what happened, Ed?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Deborah, the delightful mother of my ex-bird, Joanna. Well, she only went and made a home-made bomb with the intention of blowing up my club.’

      ‘You what!’ spluttered Eddie, spitting his Scotch back in the glass.

      Vinny laughed. ‘Honest to God. A nail bomb it was, the Old Bill told me. Her son tipped ’em off, apparently. Turned out she blamed me for Joanna and Johnny’s deaths and had gone off her rocker. They’ve carted her off to the funny farm now, thank Christ. That’s all I’m short of, some psycho bird lobbing bombs my way.’

      Eddie Mitchell shook his head. ‘I’ve never met the woman, but she sounds a proper nutjob. Speaking of the Prestons, how’s your Ava doing?’

      ‘Good, mate. Settled in well. Buying her that mutt helped. Took her mind off her mother’s death, and she barely mentions Jo now.’

      Eddie Mitchell studied his pal as he chirpily continued to chat about Ava. This wasn’t the first time it had crossed his mind that Vinny’d had something to do with Joanna’s death, but surely not? Even Vinny Butler would not stoop that low to get custody of a kid – would he?

      ‘I’d never have hurt Jo. You know that, don’t you, Ed?’ Vinny lied. ‘Me and her might not have always seen eye to eye, but she had a good heart and was a decent mother.’

      It

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