us would know what one looked like.’
Tibbsy shook his head. ‘I’m telling yer now, the cunt was dead. Someone must ’ave found him by now, and I bet yer it’s swarming with police down there.’
‘Who can we send down there to ’ave a nose?’ Tommy asked. ‘We don’t wanna involve any of the other lads that weren’t with us last night. It’s a good job we kept the meet a secret, and never told any of ’em.’
Tibbsy agreed. Sometimes their gang consisted of about twelve but last night’s pre-arranged encounter was top boys only.
‘If we’re not gonna tell anyone else, the only one we can ask to go down there is Lenny Simpson.’
Tibbsy slapped Benno on the back. ‘Good thinking, Batman. We’ll finish this booze, then we’ll go and find him.’
Lenny Simpson was at home looking after his younger brother when the lads knocked. ‘I’ll go and check it out for yer, lads. I’m gonna have to take Matty with me though, there’s no one else to look after him.’
Lenny Simpson was one of the put-upon people of this world. His mother sold her body to fund her drug habit, and his two sisters were selfish and a complete waste of space. Lenny’s younger brother, Matthew, was fifteen and mentally retarded. It had been him that Smiffy had taunted and terrorised for years. Lenny looked after Matty almost twenty-four seven, and if it wasn’t for him, the poor little sod would have been stuck in care years ago.
‘Right, what’s the plan then?’ Tibbsy asked, as Lenny appeared with his little bro.
Lenny grabbed Matty’s hand. He had a terrible habit of running into the road. ‘I’ll go down there with Matty. You and the lads go to the park and I’ll meet yer back at the shelter.’
Tommo searched through his pockets and ordered his gang to do the same. Counting up the money, he handed it to Lenny. ‘Get us some cider, Old Man Tatler won’t serve us. Whatever’s left over, you can spend on sweets for Matty.’
Lenny went into the shop, handed the lads their booze and said goodbye. He couldn’t wait to find out what had happened to his brother’s tormentor. With a bit of luck Smiffy was brown bread and would rot in hell.
Tommy and the boys sat anxiously in the shelter, drinking and chain-smoking. The hour they waited for Lenny to come back seemed more like an eternity, and as they spotted him and Matty in the distance, they sprinted towards them. Tibbsy was the fastest runner and reached them first.
‘Well?’ he asked expectantly.
Lenny Simpson loved a bit of excitement. If it hadn’t been for having to take care of Matty, he would have been a gang member himself. Plonking himself on the grass, he relayed the full story.
‘Smiffy was found at ’alf six this morning, apparently. Old Mother Kelly said he was as stiff as a board. It’s swarming with Old Bill down there and they’ve even shut off part of the Mile End Road. I saw Graham Roberts, he said the Old Bill had been round his asking lots of questions. He reckons they’re doing loads of house-to-house enquiries. There’s tons of people hanging about, but the police ’ave put tape round. Everyone down there reckons that Smiffy had so many enemies, they’ll never find the killer.’
‘Wee wee, Lenny. Wee wee.’
Lenny glanced at his brother. He’d already got his cock out and was pissing on the grass.
‘Don’t piss ’ere Matty. Be a good boy and go over there by that tree.’
Cock in hand, Matty shuffled away.
Overcome by shock that he was actually a murderer, Tommy sank to his knees.
‘Move over Tommo, you’re kneeling in piss,’ Tibbsy said, laughing.
Tommy ignored his pal and put his head in his hands. Fuck the piss, that was the least of his problems. He was a killer, he’d wiped out someone’s life and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
Lenny put an arm around him. ‘You’ll be OK, Tommo, just stick to the story. Mine, records, beer, Bowie. Me mum and sisters weren’t about and I’ve clued Matty up on what to say.’
Tommy looked at Matty who was waddling towards him with his cock in his hand. That imbecile’s gonna be a lot of fucking use, he thought inwardly.
Dave Taylor downed the last of the cider and chucked the empty bottle. ‘I’m starving, who’s up for some chips?’
Tommy shot him a look of hatred. ‘I don’t believe you, Taylor. I’m looking at life and all you can think about is your gut.’
Taylor shrugged. ‘It was just a suggestion.’
Tommy stood up. These pricks were doing his head in and he needed to be alone. He forced himself to be polite. ‘I’m off now, lads. It’s me mum’s birthday and she’s having a party, she needs me to give her a hand with some stuff.’
The crew nodded.
‘See yer, Tommo. If we hear anything we’ll let yer know,’ Tibbsy said.
Tommy dug his hands deep into his pockets and trudged away. He couldn’t believe what had happened. He wasn’t that bothered about Smiffy – he hated the cunt, always had. It was himself he was worried about. Say the police found some evidence? Or the Bethnal Green wankers grassed him up?
Tommy’s instincts told him he was in shit street. Filled with worry, he took a slow walk home.
‘SUSAN, WHAT YER doing? Three times I’ve asked yer to help me with these sandwiches. Now move your fucking arse.’
Susan lolloped into the kitchen, picked up the knife and lunged at the bread as though she’d had an argument with it. She hated doing favours for anyone and on the odd occasion she was forced to, she made her feelings known.
Seeing the mess that her daughter was making, Maureen grabbed the knife and ordered her to go and get changed. ‘And make sure you ’ave a wash, yer dirty little cow.’
Tommy sat on the back step and lit up a fag. It was only recently that his mum had allowed him to smoke indoors. She wasn’t happy about it, but had told him he was old enough to make his own choices. ‘If you’re gonna do it behind me back, you may as well do it in front of me,’ she said.
Tommy’s ears pricked up as he heard his gran arrive. Her voice was like a foghorn and you couldn’t miss it. ‘There’s been another bloody murder down the road, Maur,’ she exclaimed. ‘You know Mary Smith, dontcha? Her lad, Terry, was found this morning. Apparently, the poor little bastard had been laying there, brown bread for hours.’
Maureen was preparing the pickles and nearly dropped the Tupperware dish in shock. She knew Mary Smith very well. She was a regular at the bingo hall and they’d often sit together and have a chinwag.
‘Gordon Bennett! I can’t believe it, Mum. It’s terrible, she’s such a nice woman, is Mary. She idolised her Terry, was forever talking about him. What must the poor woman be going through?’
Ethel
