The Confessions of Paul Davis ( Part 6).

He remembered smiling as he took the call from Seamus. At last, someone was more powerful than the mighty George Kelly.

Make no mistake; George had been good to him in the early days. Two grand a week was no small change. It enabled him to do what he wanted. It paid for his addiction. But George was a cunt of the highest proportion and now he would be dealt with.

It would take some planning. Both George and his brother Thomas would have to go at the same time. Sean couldn’t know anything about it, for obvious reasons, so he would have to be careful. He would have to cover his tracks.

He pictured their deaths. For some reason he could see their skulls being crushed by a large lump of concrete. Fuck knows where that came from. But it excited him.

He knew George and Thomas’s movements well. Sean was always telling him about where they went, where they drank and what they did. On Thursdays, George and his brother visited a bar they owned in Dalston. They spent an hour watching the dancers, then they would choose whoever took their fancy and partake of their spoils. There was a private room at the back of the club where they would bonk themselves silly. Sometimes they would even share the same girl. Sordid? Yes, but usual behaviour for the Kelly’s.

He decided that the club was the ideal venue for the deed to take place. Tomorrow was Thursday. No time for planning. He had an idea that could work. He didn’t sleep that night he was so full of adrenaline. So much so that at 2am he got up and walked to Aldgate on the edge of the City. He found what he was looking for. A dosser on a park bench. He slid the knife in slowly while his other hand was over the old man’s mouth. He whispered in his ear.

“Shush now. Let it go, let it all go.”

He saw the life in the man’s eyes begin to fade as he pushed in deeper and twisted. It was another two minutes before the man took his last breath.

He took out the knife and carefully wiped it on the old man’s coat. Within the hour he was back indoors and pouring himself a night cap.

He woke at nine thirty. He showered and dressed. He left the flat at midday. George and his brother wouldn’t be at the club until after two and wouldn’t start shagging until four. He headed for Smithfield market and his favourite shop.

He bought a seven inch boning knife and a bag of saltpetre. He loved the way that you could just walk in to a shop and buy such dangerous things with no questions asked. An occasion such as this called for new equipment. He already had two or three long knives but George deserved something new and fresh. The saltpetre would be a nice change. Its proper name was potassium nitrate. Used to cure and preserve meat yet also the main ingredient for gunpowder. It stung and burned like buggery if you got it in a cut or even worse your eyes. He had a spring in his step as he made his way to the club that day. He was ready.

There was a small Italian coffee shop opposite George’s club. At two thirty he got himself a large black coffee and sat by the window. Thirty minutes later a large silver Bentley pulled up outside. George and Thomas got out and walked into the club. They were greeted warmly by the two bouncers on the door. The car pulled away.

He sat there for another hour. Sipping at his coffee. Beginning to get that familiar feeling. That anticipation, just as an addict does before their first fix of the day. He finished his third coffee, paid and walked across the road. There was a back entrance for the girls.

George didn’t allow them to go in or out through the main doors. He had a thing about the punters only seeing them looking good. He didn’t want anyone to see how they really were. Normally hung over, no make-up, puffy eyes, the odd bruise here and there. All things that could be sorted out quickly with a couple of lines of coke, some make up and high heels.

There were two girls standing outside smoking. He waited just out of sight. As soon as he saw them stub out their fags, he put the hood of his duffle coat up and ran over just as the door was about to close.

“Hold up girls, gotta see a man about a dog.”

He put on the most cockney accent he could. They took no notice of him. He was in a narrow corridor with rooms either side. The music from the club was loud and the whole place seemed to be pulsating. Toilets were on the left and two changing rooms on the right. Then there was a door that said PRIVATE. He didn’t knock, just went straight in. The scene before him was like something out of a porn film.

George was standing on a beer crate with his trousers and pants around his ankles.  A naked girl was in front of him furiously sucking on his cock. Fucking her from behind was Thomas. He was standing with his knees slightly bent and his trousers at his feet. His hands were around her waist and his face was dripping with sweat. George turned and saw him. A confused look on his face.

“What the fuck are you…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. A hand full of saltpetre was thrown in his face and something long and sharp was thrust into his chest. The girl screamed. Thomas fell backwards desperately trying to grab his trousers. He was stabbed three times in the chest. It had all happened in less than ten seconds. The girl was sitting on the floor shaking.

He still had his hood up and tried to keep his face hidden.

“Don’t fucking move or make a sound and you’ll be okay. Understand?”

She nodded.

George was on the floor gasping for breath. He was making a gurgling sound as he tried to speak. Thomas was dead. He stood over George and smiled. He enjoyed seeing the look of complete hopelessness on George’s face.

“You killed my brother Ray two years ago you slimey cunt and now it’s time to pay the piper.”

He said it loudly so the girl behind him could hear every word. He stabbed George again twice.

He ignored the girl and walked towards the door. He turned the handle slowly, walked out and shut the door closed. He made his way along the corridor again and out through the back door.

He kept his hood up while he made his way home. He caught the number nine bus to Paddington, then jumped in a cab at the station that took him close to his flat. He walked the last mile. He was only indoors a few minutes when his phone rang. It was Sean.

“Their dead, both dead, stabbed at the club. Can you fucking believe it? At their own club!”

“Calm down Sean, what you talking about? Who’s dead?”

“Uncle George and me dad. Both dead. Stabbed in the club at Dalston about an hour ago.”

“Jesus Sean. Who the fuck would do something like that?”

“We know who it is Paul. One of the girls saw the whole thing. The bloke that did it said to Uncle George something about being revenge for killing his brother Ray two years ago. It’s one of the Costigan boys from Bethnal Green. You did Ray Costigan for George a couple of years ago.”

“But they wouldn’t be strong enough to take on George and your dad, surely?”

“Well they’ve fucking gone and done it Paul. You’ll be called on to sort this out and I want to be with you when you do it. I’ve got to call the Irish and let them know. Fuck knows what they’ll say. They loved George and me dad.”

Sean hung up.

He sat down and poured himself a large whiskey.  He raised his glass and looked up to the sky.

“The King is dead. Time for a new era to begin.”