Crooks - A London Gangsters Tale | COMPLETED

Chapter Twenty One

Wayne wanted to puke. He had seen this kind of stuff plenty of times before, but had never gotten so up close and personal with a fresh corpse. The smell of it. The feel of it as he heaved it out of the chair and dragged it across the carpet. He'd never had the stomach for this kind of stuff. But he couldn't let his dad know just how repulsive he found this aspect of the job. So he swallowed his pride – and a mouthful of bile – and got on with it.

The worst part was that he had known George McMinn ever since he was a little kid. In the early days, before David Carter was top dog, McMinn had been a kind of benevolent uncle; rather like Max Linley. Uncle George always gave him a five-pound note when he popped round to talk business with Dad. That's what Wayne was thinking about as he hauled the old man's corpse into the bathroom, bundled it headfirst into the bath and got to work.

Time was of the essence, so he would have to make do without the ideal tools for this particular task. Instead of a power saw, he had an electric steak knife. It took him all night, but he got it done. His dad supplied him with a roll of brown paper and some string, which he put to good use. Soon George McMinn was just a bundle of parcels that you might find under a Christmas tree.

When it was done, the bathroom was awash with blood – and so was Wayne himself. Coated in it like a baby fresh from the womb. "Almost a shame to clean it off," said David, playfully slapping his son on the back. "You know, pink is Felicia's favourite colour." Wayne couldn't bring himself to laugh. The work was not yet done. Next he scrubbed the bathroom from top to bottom, scouring every surface till the blood began to fade. "Don't worry too much," David reassured him. "I'll get some lads with chemicals to give the place a going-over tomorrow."

Next, Wayne showered. He stood naked under the torrent of water, and turned the heat all the way up. He wanted to scour the very flesh from his bones. Not just to erase every trace of what he had done, but to erase himself, as well. He felt both sickness and shame. He scrubbed himself with soap until he was raw and (on the surface, at least) clean. David had left a fresh set of clothes for him, and he slipped them on and stepped out of the room, still towelling his hair.

David was waiting at the kitchen island with a pot of black coffee. "You did good, kid," he said. The sun was rising behind him, giving him a kind of halo. "Drink some of the black stuff, then we can take the bits down to your car."

"What? You mean I've got to get rid of him, too?"

"Well, what did you think? That I was going to say a few magic words and make him vanish?"

Wayne sighed and took the mug of steaming coffee. He downed it, letting it scorch his palate and throat. The pain felt good. Almost like expiation.

When the last of George McMinn had been loaded into the boot of Wayne's car, David waved him off with a cheery smile, like a sick parody of a parent sending his kid off to school. Wayne lit a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully as he drove. He didn't notice the Fiat in his rear view mirror.

He drove aimlessly for an hour or two, trying to forget about the grotesque cargo weighing down the back of his car. It was early morning – not yet rush hour – when he decided he'd better do something about it. His first thought was the river. Good old Father Thames swallowed mealier stuff than this all the time. But it was too easy. Too traceable. If someone caught him in the act, it would not be too easy to explain.

Before long, he came up with an idea. He headed back out towards his home, but stopped off at a garden centre en route. There he bought himself a shovel, attracting a few amused glances from football fans. Wayne Carter, taking up landscape gardening! Then he drove out into the countryside and made the first of several stops in a layby. Marching out to the centre of an isolated field, swinging the shovel with one hand and clutching a parcel under the other arm, he knew this was going to take a while.