and when she bellowed the words ‘Bail application rejected,’ Vinny went ballistic.
‘You fucking witch! I hope you’ve got kids and one of them gets murdered, you old cunt,’ he screamed, thrashing about and trying to smash up the court.
‘Do something, Michael. He’s gonna get himself into even more trouble,’ Queenie cried.
Visibly upset as his father was wrestled to the ground and then handcuffed, Little Vinny bolted from the court.
Ahmed and Burak kept straight faces but were secretly elated. The police had urged the magistrate to remand Vinny in custody until his trial. Their argument was, now that Vinny had been charged with murder they had serious concerns that he could and probably would abscond, given the chance. They had even hinted that he might disappear abroad.
Overwhelmed with the urge to howl with laughter when Queenie began to batter a policeman with her handbag, Ahmed knew it was time to leave. He grabbed Burak’s arm then shouted, ‘Stay strong, Vinny. Keep your chin up and I will visit you very soon, my friend.’
After dropping his mum and aunt home, Michael headed straight back to the club with Little Vinny. He had a bit of a dilemma on his hands now. His nephew had to be found a place to stay where he would be safe and someone would keep an eye on him. Michael could think of only one solution: his father. But whether Albie would consider moving back to Whitechapel was another matter.
‘So where am I sleeping tonight? Ahmed said he will look after me if I have nowhere else to go.’
Michael looked at his nephew in horror. Over his dead body was he letting Ahmed take care of the boy. The buzzer stopped Michael from replying. ‘Go and answer the door, Vin. And unless it’s Paul, Pete or family, do not let anybody in.’
Little Vinny opened the main club door and was horrified when a tearful Alison Bloggs lunged towards him.
‘Get off of me, you slag. Touch me again and I’ll kill you.’
‘It’s Ben! He’s gone. My Ben has gone, Vin,’ Alison screamed.
Little Vinny felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. ‘Gone! Whaddya mean gone?’
Michael stormed into the foyer. ‘I’ve had enough poxy drama for one day. What’s with all the shouting, eh?’
Alison Bloggs let out a racking sob and sank to her knees. ‘He’s dead. My Ben’s dead. He hanged himself from a tree in Hainault Forest. Why did he do it, Vin? Why?’
Feeling sick, light-headed, shocked and at the same time shit-scared, Little Vinny turned on his heel and ran.
Over in North London, Vinny Butler was struggling to cope with his new surroundings. After being literally dragged from the court he had been driven to Pentonville Prison – or the Ville, as it was known in the circles Vinny mixed in – and forced to undergo a strip search.
It had been the most humiliating experience of Vinny’s life and, after kicking off big style during it, he’d been put on suicide watch and slung in a cell on his own, on what he could only imagine was the ‘nut-nut wing’. It had to be as he seemed to be surrounded by a load of loonies who were continuously screaming and shouting.
Hearing the Glaswegian in the cell next door yelling for methadone yet again, Vinny leapt off his bunk, ran to the door and began kicking and punching it in frustration. ‘I swear to you, if you don’t shut the fuck up, you Scottish shitcunt, I will cut your tongue out that big mouth of yours and ram it straight down the back of your throat.’
The Glaswegian chuckled. ‘I’d like to see you try, you cockney prick.’
Absolutely seething at being defied and laughed at, yet unable to do anything about it, Vinny crouched in the corner of his cell, put his hands over his ears and rocked to and fro. He had promised himself on the way here that he would allow himself to think of anything or anyone other than Molly. That was the only way to stop himself going totally insane and he knew it. As an image of his daughter’s beautiful face flashed through his mind, Vinny turned his attention back to the Glaswegian and tried to build a picture in his brain of what the tosser would look like. He then made a vow to himself. Whoever the Jock was – and he would make it his mission to find out – he would carry out his threat and mutilate the fucktard.
Little Vinny was drunk, distraught, tired and cold. Ben Bloggs had been the only true friend he’d ever had and now he was dead. Why was it that everybody important in his life was taken away from him? First his mum, dying of an overdose when he was only five. Now, on the same day his dad had been sent to prison for Christ knows how long, Ben had been found hanging from a tree.
As he crawled into what he and Ben had always referred to as their ‘special place’, Little Vinny had tears rolling down his cheeks. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Ben’s death was partly his fault. His pal had been a shadow of his former self ever since Molly’s demise, but having inherited his father’s genes, Little Vinny preferred to blame others rather than himself.
‘I’m gonna miss you so much, Ben. We had so many laughs together, didn’t we? Who am I gonna ride up and down on the District Line with now? I blame your whore of a mother. If you hadn’t had such a shit upbringing and home life, you would still be alive. I’ll make sure that slag pays for the way she treated you. That’s the least I owe you, pal.’
Staring at the spot where he had brutally throttled the life out of his three-year-old sister, Little Vinny began to cry. ‘I am sorry, Molly. I blame your mum and our dad for making me do what I did. When you was born, nobody wanted to know me any more, and I hated you for that. I suppose I was jealous.’
Full of self-pity, Little Vinny wiped the tears from his eyes and clambered to his feet. Taking one last look around, he made a vow to himself that this would be the last time he’d ever visit this spot.
‘You’re late,’ Queenie informed her youngest son.
‘Give me a break, Mum. I’ve been running around like a blue-arsed fly since Vinny got bird. Why have you summoned me round at this time of the morning anyway? I’ve only had four hours’ sleep.’
‘We’ll get to that in a minute. How d’ya think Vinny’s coping? He sounded very stressed when he rung me yesterday. I’m ever so worried about him, Michael. Why didn’t he want me to come with you today?’
‘Probably because prison’s no place for a lady. And it’s no good asking me how he’s coping because I won’t know until I visit him, Mum. You’re the one he’s been phoning, not me,’ Michael hissed. It was a week to the day since Vinny had been refused bail. To say Michael was miffed that his brother had not bothered to contact him once in that time was putting it mildly.
‘Why you so ratty?’
‘Because I’ve got a lot on me plate.’
‘Like what?’ Queenie enquired.
‘Like the club’s takings are in freefall, plus I’ve got my wife on my case the whole time because I’m having to sleep at the club to keep an eye on my nephew because no other bastard will do it.’
Knowing Michael’s words were a dig at her for
