Billie Jo. Kimberley Chambers

unsteadily from his seat.

      ‘Look, I’m really sorry, Tel. I’ll have your money back by Saturday, I promise.’ On exiting the run-down pub, Paul found the nearest kerb and retched.

      Michelle looked at the minicab driver and snarled, ‘You’re taking the piss. You ain’t getting thirty-five, you robbing bastard. I’ll give you a score.’ Ali hated being a minicab driver. He made his own fares up as he went along. The worse the customer, the more he charged. Snatching the money, he breathed a sigh of relief as the abusive, drunken women got out of his car. Furious, he opened his window. ‘I know where you live, you English bitches. I will be back.’ Pulling her trousers down, Michelle gave him a flash of her fat arse. Hazel, Julie and Suzie opted for wanker signs.

      In stitches, the girls spilled into Hazel’s kitchen. ‘I’ll be back,’ Hazel said, mimicking an Indian accent.

      ‘Fucking Delhi’s answer to Arnie Schwarzenegger,’ Chelle screamed. Crying with laughter, the girls fell onto Hazel’s kitchen floor.

      Over in Stepney, Terry’s face was like thunder. He’d had a proper little deal going for years now, with an old boy from Bethnal Green who answered to the name of Archie Cox. Archie and Terry had originally been introduced by Terry’s old boss, Benny Bones, and over the years they had built up an honest and trustworthy friendship. The little scam they had going had brought in bundles over the years and until recently was infallible. Buying up write-offs from salvage yards that were badly damaged but not mangled beyond recognition, the motors were loaded onto recovery trucks and driven out to the remote outskirts of Cambridgeshire, where they owned a couple of yards in the middle of nowhere. They would then call on the services of the top-class young car thieves who were on their payroll, to go out and steal the exact same model. The stolen vehicles would immediately have the number plate removed and swapped for the write-offs. They would then be driven out to Cambridgeshire in the middle of the night where three trustworthy mechanics would swap all the parts over, change the chassis number and make them reasonably untraceable. In reality, the original vehicles were stripped down and ceased to exist. The newly built motors were then shipped abroad to start a new life.

      Terry and Archie didn’t bother with any middle of the range motors, all the vehicles involved were top jolly, including Mercs, BMWs, Jags and Range Rovers to name but a few.

      They had over a dozen salvage yards dotted across the south-east that notified them of any suitable vehicle and readily accepted a large backhander for their trouble. It was an easy little scam, and very profitable, but just lately things had started to get a bit on top of them.

      Archie Cox, who organised all the shipping and was also the man that had all the contacts, had started to become greedy. At fifty-eight and already as rich as any fucker would ever need to be, Archie had decided to retire at sixty and head off to live in his villa in sunny Marbella.

      Being a gluttonous bastard and also becoming a bit careless in his latter years, Archie decided that he could improve on his income and he recruited a few extra lads to do some motors up locally. He was hoping his new venture would pull in at least another fifty grand a month.

      Terry had adamantly wanted nothing to do with Archie’s new idea. He’d told him he must be bonkers to change a system that had worked so well for years and he’d insisted he was playing with fire. Archie should have listened to the advice he was being given, as six months later the Old Bill raided a yard just off the Bow Road and found three of the ringers. Archie was jailed for four years.

      Terry wasn’t surprised when he heard about the arrest. Archie had played too close to home. He had no worries about the old boy opening his mouth. He was one of the old school and would rather have his bollocks cut off than grass up a mate. Terry felt so sorry for the poor old sod. He couldn’t understand why a man who had the credentials of Baron Rockefeller would choose to be so greedy in his last couple of working years. Nothing like that would ever happen to him while he had a hole in his arse; he was far too clued up to go down that road.

      Years ago, Terry could easily have taken over Archie’s contacts and run the show himself, but he’d chosen not to. He’d rather pay the old boy a percentage, which is what he’d done for the last fifteen years. Archie took sixty per cent of the profits and Terry took forty. What’s ten per cent if it keeps your name out of the equation?

      Not once had Terry ever been hauled in by the Old Bill. He was sure the filth was aware of him as he had his finger stuck in many pies, but he was a background man and that’s the way he liked it. He made sure that he kept well away from the dodgy motors, the thieves and the yards. He had a lackey boy to do all his shit jobs for him and this was probably the reason why he’d kept his nose clean for so many years. In Terry’s world you had to trust your instincts, and at this present moment he had a real bad feeling about Archie’s quivering wreck of a nephew. If Paul got his collar felt, he’d sing like a songbird, his type always did.

      Terry decided to get Dave or one of the other lads to pay Archie a visit in the Scrubs. Someone had to inform the poor old sod that his nephew had turned out to be a wrong’un. Terry wouldn’t go personally; the less he was linked with Archie the better.

      Noticing his pal had something on his mind, Davey Boy aimed a playful punch at him. ‘What’s up, Tel? You don’t seem yourself tonight, mate, you’re knocking ’em back like they’re going out of style. What’s the matter?’

      ‘I’m all right, mate. I’m just stressed. That cunt Cox has put me in a bad mood. If he weren’t Archie’s nephew, I swear I’d fucking kill him. You know what I’m like, Dave, I hate being had over.’

      ‘Don’t worry about him, Tel, the geezer’s a cock.’

      Terry gulped at his drink. He felt weighed down with worry.

      ‘That’s what worries me. Now Cox has been working with us, he probably knows too much. Archie’s a fucking nuisance bringing him into the fold.’

      Dave shrugged. Terry rarely went on a downer, but when he did, he was hard to snap out of it. Dave decided to change the subject. ‘We’ve got old Albie’s wedding next week, ain’t we?’

      Terry sighed. He was dreading the occasion. ‘Wonderful, I’m taking Chelle with me. All her gym cronies are going. There’s bound to be some fucking fiasco, you mark my words.’

      Taking a sip of his Budweiser, Dave smiled at his pal. The poor bastard looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘I’ll get my Lisa to sit with Chelle and keep an eye on her. She’ll be fine, you’ll see.’

      Terry wished he could share his friend’s optimism. Michelle behave? That was a joke. It was odds-on that the fat cow would show him up in some way, shape or form. He hated weddings, he really did. Every time he attended one it reminded him of the biggest mistake that he’d ever made. Still, he wouldn’t have to suffer it much longer. This time next year, he and the wildebeest would be separated and awaiting their divorce.

      Unknown to Michelle, Terry had been preparing for the occasion by offloading many of his assets. Chelle knew nothing about what he owned and what he didn’t. All she knew was that he had two houses, which he rented out to students, the car lot and their own house.

      What Chelle didn’t know was that, over the years, he’d purchased four other properties, which he’d rented out. Most of the tenants had been Albanian or Bosnian and the DSS had eagerly paid whatever rent Terry had demanded.

      When Archie got arrested, Terry wondered if it was wise to have so many properties in his name, just in case someone came sniffing around. It was that thought, and the fact that he didn’t want Chelle to get her grubby paws on them, that had made him decide to get rid of them. He’d sold all four of them on the cheap in cash-only deals to fellow business associates of his with the tenants still intact.

      Davey Mullins was looking after half of his cash for him. The other half Terry had hidden in the safe at the car lot. He’d told no one it was there, not even Dave. He trusted Dave more than life itself, but in this day and age you could never be too careful. Money did strange things to people.

      The