Payback Time 6 ( The Hit )

Paul Fletcher’s wife Jenny and their two young girls were in Portugal. He had a villa just outside Albufeira in a small coastal resort called Santa Eulalia. Jenny took the girls there every year during the school holidays. Paul visited whenever he could but hated being away from his business interests for too long. Their relationship had settled into a nice routine, basically they both did whatever they wanted and were only together because of the kids.

Paul fucked for England! He always had at least three women on the go at any one time. Currently he had a Brazilian pole dancer that worked at his club in Shoreditch, a divorced neighbour who was a former page three girl who lived on the same estate and Kathy, a single woman who he’d been seeing for over four years. He really liked Kathy, she was younger than him by eight years, two years ago she told him she was pregnant. She expected him to tell her to get rid of it, instead he was overjoyed, he was desperate to have a son. Billy was born eighteen months ago and he doted on him, he and Kathy wanted for nothing. He put them up in a luxury two bedroomed flat just a few miles away and took care of everything. He wasn’t sure if Jenny knew about Kathy and the baby, but if she did she’d never mentioned it!

Paul was in the snooker room looking at the CCTV screens; he walked over to the bar and poured himself a large slug of twelve year old malt, then sat down in his oversized chesterfield armchair.

He sipped the drink slowly so he could savour the taste. He always found that a good malt helped him think clearly. Terry Murphy would be offered a deal by his Solicitor, Paul was sure he wouldn’t take it; there was too much anger in him. Paul remembered the day he shot Murphy, remembered it well, remembered the smell of burning, not just from the gun but from Terry’s flesh as the white hot bullets struck his body, he hadn’t planned to shoot him but as always his temper got the better of him.

He knew that Terry Murphy was his only competition in the area, Paul decided it was time he made a move, he made a meet with him, telling him that it was about time they joined forces and became a real strength. Terry agreed. They met at some waste ground in Docklands; both had agreed to come alone. In these situations it’s all about honour, if you agree and shake hands on a deal then that’s it, no paperwork, no Solicitors, no witnesses, just two men agreeing a deal.

Paul was sure that Terry would be armed so took along a piece just in case things got nasty. They met; Paul remembered the conversation clearly. It was very short!

“ It’s a bit cheeky Paul,you wanting to form a partnership with me, I’ve been on the manor a lot longer than you, why the fuck would I want a partner?”

“Because Terry we’re similar you and me, we’re both from the same manor, both have various business interests, no point in us being enemies is there, makes no sense!”

“But Paul you have to understand, this is my manor, you’re just a newcomer, new kid on the block, why should it be a partnership, why shouldn’t you just work for me, I’d pay you well, pay all your boys, you could be my number two!”

He remembered Terry laughing as he said it. Then Paul lost it, pulled out his gun, shot Terry in the groin. Terry went down a look of surprise on his face.

“What the fuck you doing you stupid cunt, I thought we’d come here to talk, let’s work something out!”

Blood was pouring from Terry’s groin area, he tried to stop it with his hand but the blood was seeping through his fingers.

“Look get me to a hospital, I’ll say it was an accident then after that we’ll talk yeh?”

Paul shot him again, this time the bullet tore a chunk out of his left shoulder. The force made Terry spin over on the floor, he was now face down. Slowly he turned to face Paul. This time his face was contorted in anger.

“You’re fucking mad Fletcher, you want it all? Then fucking take it!”

Paul aimed one more time and shot Terry in the chest. After this Terry didn’t move, his eyes closed and he just laid there. Paul went to the boot of his car, took out a large carrier bag and placed it at Terry’s side. He then got in his car and drove away. He was convinced Terry was dead.

He almost was, he was in surgery for thirteen hours, then in a coma for nine weeks. During those weeks Paul took over everything that Terry had, all his boys came over to work for Paul. The police had what they wanted, a known drug dealer in an exchange that went wrong. Terry went down for twelve years.

It was three hours since he spoke with Ross; an update was due in an hour’s time. Paul couldn’t wait. He called him. Ross answered.

“Well?”

“Just spoke with Dave, Murphy left an hour ago, he got into a car with the two unknown guys and went to an address in Kilburn”

“Kilburn? What the fuck’s he doing there?”

“Don’t know, but according to Dave he was greeted by an old guy like some kind of long lost son, cuddles and everything!”

“Oh fuck, he’s teamed up with the Irish!”

“What’s that mean Paul?”

“It means he’s done a deal with those fucking terrorist cunts, they’ve been trying to muscle in on my patch for years, Jesus fucking Christ, that’s all I need!”

He hung up.

Paul drank down the remainder of his whiskey, went over to the bar and poured himself another. He reached behind the bar and grabbed an old mobile. He dialled a number. A voice answered.

“Yes?”

Paul spoke slowly in short sentences.

“Terry Murphy.... just out of Brixton.... family live on the Island.... you know him!”

“I was expecting the call but not this quickly”

“How much?”

“Ten grand!”

“Done, but do it quick, within twenty four hours!”

“No way, I need two days”

“Ok.., but….. get….. it…… done!”

“I’ll need five tomorrow and five on completion, agreed?”

“Agreed!”

Paul hung up.