Crooks - A London Gangsters Tale | COMPLETED

Chapter Fifteen

Traffic was heavy that morning. Rob swore under his breath as a people-carrier swerved in front of him, cutting him off. Funny, he thought. When he was a kid, he had dreamed of being a taxi driver. It had looked like so much fun. And now here he was, fucking doing it. He glanced at Enrico Brigante in the rear view mirror. The South American was gazing out at the road with a kind of childlike wonderment. Rob wished he could get that excited about anything any more. But no, his life was nothing but misery, from his job to his wife.

So Chloe was fucking Wayne Carter. It shouldn't have surprised him really. But it had.

Then again, could he really be sure the information Yuri had given him was accurate? Chloe had told him no one had called at the house, when he'd asked her the night before. And he trusted her... as much as he could trust anyone.

He chewed his bottom lip and changed lanes. Not far to go now. The plan was simple: he would discreetly pull over when he reached a specified point. He had studied the detour so many times now that it was programmed into his brain like a GPS. The Popovs' men would be there, ready and waiting. They would pounce, seize the car, and give Brigante a beating. They would give Rob a few slaps too, for the sake of authenticity, and prevent awkward questions. Simple as that.

He glanced again at Brigante. It might be best, after all, if the young player was not permitted to walk away from this little fracas. His command of English might not be the best, but he could still make trouble for Rob if he was so inclined. And if he were dead, that would be yet another blow to David Carter's crumbling empire...

Rob's mobile began to ring. "Shit," he said, fumbling for it in his pocket. Yuri, maybe? Some kind of change to the plan?

He looked at the caller ID. Chloe. Fucking Chloe.

He declined the call, shaking his head. What the hell did she want? She knew he was working. She knew today was an important day.

Wayne could fucking have her, he thought bitterly. It was only a matter of time, anyway.

*

"You shouldn't have done that," said Yuri Popov, crushing her phone beneath the heel of his polished leather shoe. He kicked her again.

Chloe rolled over onto her side, blood dribbling from both nostrils, sobbing. This was a nightmare. It couldn't be real. It was something out of a bad movie...

The two bodyguards looming behind Yuri watched in indulgent silence as he battered the young woman within an inch of her life. They did not know exactly what she had done to deserve such treatment, but of course it was not their job to know.

Yuri had dragged her through to the spacious living room by her hair and now stood over her as she bled all over the cream carpet. It was days like this that he really loved his job.

He turned to one of the bodyguards: "You. Take the upstairs." Then the other: "You. Watch the door."

The guards did as they were told.

Chloe's head was swimming, and her vision was blurred, but she heard the thumping footsteps heading up the stairs. "No..." she heard herself say, scarcely above a whisper. "Please..."

"Too late for please," said Yuri.

There were screams from the bathroom, then a rapid succession of thumps. Then silence. Awful, wretched silence.

"Not the babies..." she said.

"Yes," Yuri said coldly. "The babies."

The henchman descended. "Upstairs is clear, boss."