a hedgehog or a fox. This axe is shit. It’s blunt,’ Vinny complained, as he continued to hack away at Trevor’s flesh.
Averting his eyes from what reminded him of a scene out of a horror film, Michael heard another noise, turned around and nearly shit himself as two pairs of eyes met his. ‘Jesus fucking wept! I nearly had a heart attack then. There’s cows watching us, Vinny.’
‘Well, I doubt they’ll be ringing the Old Bill to give a statement,’ Vinny replied, laughing at his own wit.
‘It ain’t funny, Vin. Giving me the heebies, this place is. Let’s set fire to the van and get out of here.’
Vinny glanced at Michael, a manic glint in his eyes. ‘Not until I’ve finished chopping the thieving cunt’s hands off. He needs to be taught a lesson, taking other people’s possessions.’
‘But he’s already dead by the looks of it. He isn’t going to know whether you chop his other hand off, is he? I tell you what, give me the poxy axe and I’ll do the honours. You sort out the fire – and whatever you do, don’t leave anything lying about.’
Unlike his brother, Michael had never murdered anyone and the bile rose in his throat as he heard a whimper come out of Trevor’s mouth then saw his eyes flicker open. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he mumbled, dropping the axe in horror. He then took a deep breath, reluctantly picked the axe back up and started to chop at the man’s left wrist. Vinny would never let him live it down otherwise.
Flesh and bone was harder to chop through than Michael had thought possible. But by the time Vinny had tidied up after them and doused the van in petrol, both hands had been severed and Trevor looked as dead as a dodo.
‘Put them teeth on the front seat, Michael, then clean yourself up and get changed. Just chuck everything in the back of the van,’ Vinny ordered.
As strong as an ox, Vinny lifted Trevor’s body into the back of the van by himself. He then chucked the hands and tools in, before joining his brother in getting cleaned up. They had come well prepared; the Datsun’s boot held soap, water, towels and a change of clothes.
‘Trevor’s still alive, you know. Amazing how people die from slitting their wrists, yet you can chop their hands off and they don’t die immediately,’ Vinny said.
‘Well, he won’t be alive for much longer. I’m gonna throw all this clobber in the back. Where’s your gloves? Check all round, bruv, make sure we haven’t left anything lying about.’
For the first time in his life, Vinny Butler wondered whether Michael might actually be in the same league as him. He’d always been closer to Roy, who’d been a great sibling and sound business partner, but had never really possessed that killer instinct – until it came to putting a bullet in his own brain. Today, however, Michael had surprised and impressed Vinny immensely.
Before Vinny lit the kingsize match, he gave a little sermon. ‘Bye bye, Trevor. I hope the slag was worth it. May your soul rot in hell, you pilfering worthless wanker.’
The explosion was clearly audible as Michael drove at top speed down the narrow lane. He glanced at his brother in the passenger seat. ‘What you gonna do with the teeth?’
Vinny grinned. ‘Flick them out the window along the A13. One by one, of course. Be a bit like when we used to flick pebbles at people as kids.’
It was twenty minutes before closing time when Vinny and Michael casually walked into the Blind Beggar. Both men were suited and booted and reeked of expensive aftershave as always.
‘Vinny, Michael, let me get you both a drink. Me and the missus were so upset to hear about your Roy and Lenny. Great lads, the pair of them, and they will be sorely missed,’ Big Stan said in a sombre tone.
Vinny and Michael rarely ventured into the Blind Beggar. As they had hoped, the pub was fairly busy and already they were the centre of attention with all eyes on their grand entrance. ‘I’ll get the drinks, Stan. Ask around and see who else wants one,’ Vinny said.
‘Who shall I ask?’
‘Everybody. Just tell ’em I’m buying.’
When Stan toddled off to obey orders, more well-wishers came over to speak to Vinny and Michael, including the landlord. ‘Afters isn’t a problem, lads. You just say the word if you fancy a late drink.’
‘Actually, that is very much appreciated. Been stuck in that club all day, me and Michael have, and after everything that’s happened, we’re currently sick of the sight of the place.’
It was a good ten minutes or so before Big Stan wandered back to inform Vinny that the round had come to eighty-seven quid. ‘It would have been cheaper, but Bobby Jackson ordered a pint for himself and his pal, plus a large chaser each,’ Stan added.
Seeing his brother’s eyes glint dangerously as he turned to see where Jackson was, Michael grabbed hold of him. ‘Not tonight, Vin. We’ve had enough drama for one day,’ he whispered.
‘Big Stan should never have asked him. It’s common knowledge that I hate the cunt.’
‘But you did say ask everyone, so you can’t blame Stan. It’s only a poxy drink.’
‘I’d like to go over there and ram that glass straight down the back of his throat,’ Vinny hissed.
‘I’m sure you’ll have other opportunities to do that. For the time being, let’s just forget about Jackson and chat nicely to the locals. That was the whole point of us coming in here, yeah? We need to act normal, you said. Well, that does not include ramming glasses down the customers’ throats, does it?’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Vinny replied. He then settled back to watch his brother charm the locals as though he did not have a care in the world.
After leaving East Hanningfield, they had dumped the Datsun not too far from Hackney Marshes, set fire to it, then jogged through Victoria Park in the second set of hooded tracksuits and trainers they had worn that day.
Nobody had seen them sneak into the back entrance of the club, and there was no way they could have been recognized while running through the park. They both had their hoods up the whole time and it was pitch-dark.
Sick of people rambling on about the funerals, Vinny led Michael over to a table. ‘I just want you to know that I really appreciate what you did for me today and I won’t forget it. You’ve got a cool head on you, bruv. We are definitely cut from the same cloth.’
Michael shook his head. ‘I’m not like you, Vin, and I never will be. You thoroughly enjoyed yourself today – I didn’t. If you want the truth, I hated every second of it.’
‘So why did you agree to help me then?’
‘Because you’re my brother, and with Ahmed in hospital, you had nobody else to ask. Nobody you could trust, at any rate. As Mum always drummed into us, once a Butler always a Butler.’
Autumn 1976
Queenie Butler opened her front door and cursed the latest downpour. The hottest summer
