Blood Sisters: Part 3 of 3: Can a pledge made for life endure beyond death?

He was looking at her so intently that she feared they were going to crash. ‘For fuck’s sake, Paddy, keep your eyes on the road!’ She also realised that they weren’t heading to her house, they were heading away from it. Ditto his. Where were they going then? And Saturday? Locked up? And he’d said nothing!

She felt suddenly irritable as well as anxious. What kind of game was he playing? ‘Oh, Paddy, for God’s sake, what is going on? What did you do?’

Paddy snorted. ‘You bloody did know, didn’t you? You already bloody knew!’

‘Knew what? For God’s sake, what are you on about?’

He grinned suddenly. Manically. ‘You’re fucking in on it too, aren’t you? My own bird in cahoots with those slimy bastards! How the fuck do you know that I did anything? Eh? Eh? Gurdy phone you up and give you the gen, did he?’

‘Because you must have done something!’ she retorted. What was all this nonsense about Gurdy? ‘Or did they just arrest you because they didn’t like your brand of jeans?’

He made a noise in his throat. One of what she thought was frustration, but which reminded her she’d do better to shut up when he was in this state. This state – on the bloody drugs – that he was so often in these days. Only worse. Where the hell was he taking her?

Some distance by the look of it, and she sat tight, clutching her seat belt, while he weaved in and out of the traffic at the end of Manningham Lane and they continued on to God knew where out in the sticks. She felt like crying, but some obstinate part of her refused to. She wasn’t going to act like the stupid girl he obviously thought she was. Oh, but Gurdy – what was all that nonsense about him? She started putting things together, remembering past conversations, remembering his paranoia about who’d said what to whom when he was inside. It made her feel even more fearful. ‘What do you mean about Gurdy?’ she finally ventured after five silent, high-speed minutes. ‘I’ve not spoken to Gurdy since back last week. What’s he done? Is it him that’s got you mad? Is that it? He’s your friend, Pad,’ she pointed out. ‘He wouldn’t hurt you.’

Paddy laughed then. A cold, manic laugh that sent shivers down Vicky’s spine. ‘Hurt me?’ Paddy scoffed. He sounded so, so strange. ‘That Paki cunt couldn’t hurt himself!’

He stopped laughing. Then slowed down a little before continuing. ‘Can I trust you, Vic?’ he said suddenly, his voice now low and conspiratorial. ‘I mean, can I really? I need to know, babes. This is important.’

‘Course you can trust me,’ Vicky said, venturing a hand to his thigh and squeezing. He glanced down at it. Nodded. Found a smile for her. ‘You are my world, Paddy, you know that,’ she said, sensing an urgent need to talk him down a bit. ‘What is it, babe? Whatever it is, tell me.’

In answer, he flipped down the stalk for the indicator, and turned the car into a yard beyond which stood a huge tin building. Corrugated roof. Very old. Like a shed. In what looked like a field. Surrounded by a fence, a bunch of bushes, a garland of monster-sized weeds. Isolated. That was the word that came to mind.

Paddy stopped the car, yanked on the handbrake and pulled the key from the ignition. Then he twisted in his seat and took her hands.

His huge pupils were like an advance guard, paving the way for what he was about to tell her. His hands were sweating. ‘It’s Gurdy, babe. He’s a treacherous cunt, and I’ve found him out.’

Vicky shook her head. ‘No, Paddy. He wouldn’t.’

‘Shhh,’ he said, stroking a thumb across the back of her hand. ‘Listen, I have the facts now. I don’t know when it all started but him and that Jimmy have been working together with the cops to bring me down, I swear it.’

‘But that’s—’

Now his hands gripped hers more tightly. ‘That’s the reason I’ve brought you here,’ he said quietly, speaking slowly, as if to an infant. ‘So you can bear witness. So you can listen to him admit it.’

‘What?’ she said, feeling her gorge rise. Was Gurdy in there? Or – God – in the boot? For a moment she thought that must be it.

She swallowed. ‘Paddy, please don’t tell me that you have Gurdy in there.’ He had to be wrong. Gurdy was a loyal, loyal friend. He would never, ever grass on Paddy, no matter what. Christ, yes, Jimmy might – probably would. But Gurdy? Never.

She said so. ‘You’ll see,’ Paddy said, reaching behind him to open his car door. ‘Come on. Come with me, babe, you’ll see.’

What choice did she have? So she followed him on shaky legs to the big corrugated and padlocked door, and stood silently while he sorted through his fob for the correct key. He had a key to a place like this? Chilling.

Finally he did it, released the padlock, and pushed the door open, where Vicky’s nostrils were assaulted by a foul faecal smell.

And her eyes to the sight of her poor defenceless friend, gagged and bleeding, tied to a chair, in the middle of the empty shed.

Chapter 24 (#ub203df04-782f-5e4a-9b4c-6f030dc8c4d1)

The lock-up still smelt of good, honest business. Of engine oil and petrol. Of hard graft and rubber. As it would. It was still haunted by the remnants of the past, when it had been the place where Mo had first plied his trade. Proper trade it had been, too – he’d sold car parts and tyres, almost all of it legit. Many moons ago, this had been, back when Paddy was just a boy and at a time before Mo realised that there was a great deal more money to be made on the wrong side of the law.

It was growing dark. There was no longer any electricity or running water, and the only light was what was filtering through the long-ago smashed-out windows, leaking in, along with the ivy and taller weeds. But that was fine. There was still plenty of daylight available. Plenty enough for him to complete his secret mission.

Secret mission. A bit rich, that, but he liked it, even so. Even as he was aware of his own grandiosity, he liked that his brain was so fucking razor-sharp. He shut the doors again, vaguely conscious of Vicky wrenching herself from his grasp, crossing the cavernous empty space and kicking up dust. He hoped she had the intelligence to understand why this was necessary.

Clearly not. ‘For fuck’s sake, Pad!’ she yelled at him, her voice shrill and aggressive. ‘What the fuck are you on! For Christ’s sake, untie him!’

Paddy studied Gurdy with scientific interest as he approached him. Still in pain, obviously. Still groaning. Still bleeding. Still staring at him, wide-eyed, from behind the drool and blood-soaked gag.

‘Had any flashbacks yet, you black cunt?’ he asked him brightly. The words boomed and echoed in the shell of the building. ‘Eh?’ he said, rather liking the way his voice filled the space. Like he was in a Bond movie, almost.

Vicky had sunk down beside Gurdy, and was trying to lift his head up. ‘He can’t answer you!’ she screamed at him. ‘Untie him right now, Paddy! God, I can’t believe what you’ve done. He’s my fucking friend!’

Paddy felt something shift in his stomach. Not like Gurdy – filthy cunt that he was – just a shifting of possibilities. How dare she stick up for this sneaking fucking grass? Even now. Even after he’d explained everything. ‘Are you right in the head?’ he barked at her. ‘I’ve just told you, Vic. He’s been on a right fucking grassing spree! Thinks I’m as thick as him and Jimmy, he does,’ he added. And would have added more, but she was screaming at him again.

‘No!’ she yelled, clambering up off her knees and heading towards him. ‘He wouldn’t do that. Christ, Paddy, you’re not thinking straight. Please take that thing off. Please take that thing off.’ She was trying to get round him now. ‘Take it off so he can explain.’

Paddy caught movement just behind her. The lying fucker was actually trying to nod! It made him want to hit him all over again. He clenched his fists. ‘Explain?’ he roared. Why the fuck didn’t Vicky get it?

He reached into his jeans, immediately clear what was needed. He pulled out his coke stash and set up three lines on the nearest window ledge.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Vicky squeaked. He ignored her. He snorted them fast and then carefully wiped his nose. Then turned around to see Vicky frantically tugging at the rope he’d used to tie up Gurdy.

Not that she’d succeed. Because he’d tied it like a pro. So he could leave her to it while he did another couple of lines. But it was the principle. Always the principle. Such arrogance. Such fucking disloyalty. Who was her fucking boyfriend here? Who mattered most?

‘You stupid cow,’ he growled as he stomped across the floor. Bits of glass crunched like cornflakes beneath his boots. He grabbed her by the shoulder, then grasped an arm and tried to hurl her out of reach, but as she’d grabbed the chair back, it toppled and crashed onto its side as she slumped in a heap a yard away.

Since Gurdip’s head was on the floor now, he kicked it.

Vicky sobbed. A sort of keening noise. ‘Keep out of this, Vic, I mean it. Stop trying to interfere. I only brought you here to hear his confession. Because when I get nicked, and I will, you can depend on that – see what you’ve done to me? – I want everyone to know that it was this fucker who saw to it.’

Vicky was whimpering on the floor now. Like she still didn’t get it. ‘Please, Paddy,’ she said, ‘I’m begging you. Just take that thing off his mouth. Please. Look. He can hardly breathe.’

She’d started crawling. Like an insect. Across the dusty, rubbish-strewn floor. Soon her face was only inches away from Gurdy’s.

Was he breathing? Paddy stood and watched Gurdy’s chest rise and fall. In and out. In and out. Yes, he was.

‘Don’t worry about that, babes,’ he told Vicky, righting the chair one-handed. He had the strength of ten men. Much good that would do him. The second thought booted the first into touch. Much fucking good that would do him.

‘It’s coming off, babe,’ he told her. ‘It has to come off. Remember? Because I need you to hear his confession.’

He scanned the room, the corners of which were already growing gloomy. Where had he put down the crowbar? Sighting it under a window he strolled across to retrieve it. Then returned to his trembling victim.

He yanked the gag down. ‘You ready to tell the truth yet?’ he asked, smacking Gurdy around the face for good measure.

Vicky squealed again, but he ignored her. Instead he looked into Gurdy’s eyes, which were bloodshot and wet. Why the hell hadn’t he seen what he was seeing now before? This prick was so obviously working as some kind of double agent. Just wait till he told Mo about him.

Gurdy licked his lips and spoke, and Vicky squeaked again behind him. This time Paddy silenced her by raising the crowbar. Not that he’d ever hurt her. Not really. But she needed to shut the fuck up and listen. ‘Please, Paddy,’ Gurdy whispered. ‘Please don’t hit me anymore. I swear, I never told a soul, not a soul.’ He raised his head slightly. Blood dripped onto his shirt. Why always a shirt? Did he think he was going to a fucking wedding? ‘I don’t know why you think I would. Honest, mate,’ Gurdy said with difficulty, ‘I was earning good money off you. Why would I betray you?’