Payback Time 12 ( North East Divide)

A white Transit Van pulled out of the old Spillers Warehouse in Silvertown. Two men got out, opened up the back doors, lifted up Terry Murphy’s lifeless body and bundled it into the Van. The Transit drove away from the deserted waste ground and headed towards North London.

Ross was back with Paul by seven thirty; Kathy had a peaceful night and was no worse. Ross took Paul back to the house so he could shower and change.

The two boys were outside in the Range Rover as usual, Ross flashed his lights once, they flashed back, everything was okay.

Paul had been silent all the way back, Ross knew not to try to make conversation with him when he was in this kind of mood.

He waited in the snooker room while Paul got changed, he picked up the battered old mobile that was in pieces on the floor, recovered the SIM card, then went to the cupboard below the scoreboard and took out another handset. He placed the SIM in the new phone. Almost immediately it rang. It was Cornwell.

“Paul, is that you?”

“No it’s Ross, what’s up?”

“Terry Murphy’s gone, disappeared; no one knows where he is.”

“Slow down, slow down, what do you mean disappeared?”

“I had a car with two men watching the Radisson, half an hour ago the McGinley boys left but without Murphy, my guys asked at reception if the room was still occupied and they said that the room was now vacant and that the bill had been settled.”

“So where the fuck’s Murphy?”

“I don’t know Ross, that’s what I’m saying, he’s gone.”

“You stupid cunt, Pauls gonna go apeshit, you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him, now go away, do your job and fucking find him.”

“I will, I will, I’m on it.”

Paul walked into the room just as Ross hung up.

“Who was that?”

“Cornwell, Murphy’s gone missing.”

Ross told Paul word for word what Cornwell had said, he could see the anger beginning to build in Pauls face.

“I told him not to fuck up, I told him if he fucked up I’d fuck him up and what’s he done? He’s fucked up!”

“Okay, let’s think about it Paul, he won’t come here, too much security, he’d be committing suicide if he took a step anywhere near here, he’s on his own don’t forget, no brother.”

“Something’s not right Ross, the Irish getting involved, looking after Murphy, trying to be all nice and concerned, something’s not right. I’m calling McGinley.”

Paul dialled a number on the old mobile. Frank answered.

“Good morning Paul, I was about to ring you but thought it might still be a bit early and you may be at the Hospital, my condolences by the way, terrible thing to happen to the lass. I’ve sent some flowers over to the Hospital, I hope she soon makes a complete recovery. It goes without saying Paul that I will do everything I can to help find the bastards that did it.”

Paul bit his lip, he knew how McGinley worked, all smiles and kindness but it was all front, he knew he hated his guts.

“Thanks Frank, what’s happened to Terry Murphy?”

“Well that was the main reason I wanted to call you, apparently my boys woke up this morning and he’d gone, left during the night it seems, he kept on about wanting to see his dead brother at the morgue and wanting to be with his parents at this time, my boys tried to talk him out of it but when they got up this morning he was gone.”

“Okay Frank, if you hear anything you’ll let me know yeh?”

“Of course I will Paul, sooner we get this mess cleared up the better.”

McGinley only got half of his last sentence spoken before Paul hung up.

“He is one smarmy cunt, I’m gonna rip his fucking Irish ears off his head soon.”

“One step at a time Paul, let’s deal with Murphy first, then, if you want, we’ll sort out the Irish. Do you still want the meet today with the boys?”

“No point now, let’s find out where Murphy is, send someone to his Mums house and someone to the morgue at East Ham, I don’t want that cunt on the streets a minute longer than necessary, if he’s seen, get him and bring him to me.”

In Kilburn, Frank put down the phone. His son Malachi was with him. Frank looked over at his son.

“Did I ever tell you about Tony Conlan?”

“No Da.”

“Tony Conlan worked for me for years, he was a good man, loyal to the cause, raised a lot of money for me to send back home. One day he went missing, last seen in Hackney, now as you know Hackney is where East meets North. Seems Tony had strayed into East without realising and was taking a few coppers from a snooker club there. Now this could have been settled quite easily between me and Mister Fletcher, I would have apologised for Tony’s ignorance and paid him anything he thought he was owed. But no, Tony went missing, body never found. Mister Fletcher said he had nothing to do with it but he’s not a man of honour so I never believed him.”

“When was this Da?”

“About nine years ago, I was in no rush then to have my day, but now I think it’s time.”

“So what’s going to happen now Da?”

“Well, Fletcher would be lost without his number two, so let’s make him lost shall we?”

Frank picked up his phone again and dialled a number.

“Hello Councillor Morgan, how are you today?”

“Very well Mister McGinley, how is your latest business venture going, well I hope?”

“Very well indeed, there have been a few developments in the past few hours and I am hopeful of another one very soon.”

“I am very pleased to hear that, and as always thank you for your continued support.”

Councillor Morgan put down the phone. He smiled and stroked his chin, he had come a long way in the past few years. From a humble Council Surveyor to leader of Hackney Council and if things went to plan, who knows, he would be in line to stand for Labour at the next general election.