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“Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“If you don’t, I will, remember? Three bullets for you, and two for the old battleaxe in the home.”
That phrase lit the blue touch paper.
“One.”
Where she found the strength she had no idea, but Mary stood up. Her legs were weak, but enough was enough.
“Okay, Mr Carter, if that’s the way you want it.”
Robbie smiled.
Mary quickly turned the gun on Robbie, pointing straight between his eyes.
Then she pulled the trigger.
Chapter Forty-seven
The last time anyone had dared to cross Robbie was thirty-five years ago. They had paid the price. No one had crossed him since; not and lived to tell the tale. He wasn’t about to change the habit of a lifetime.
Robbie shuddered as he re-lived the night in question.
He was twenty-one. As usual, it involved a woman. He’d seen a lot of her at the fairground where he worked. Seeing didn’t mean going out with, or having an affair, it was simply the fact that he couldn’t help noticing her. She had black, shoulder-length hair, and was about five nine – slim, attractive, nice white teeth. They started talking. Her name was Jane. She was unhappy. She hid her surname from him.
He tried to impress her. Let her on rides for free. Bought her a ticket to see Slade for a second appearance in the town. He was seen leaving The Pavilion with her on his arm. That was the night he finally found out how unhappy she really was. She claimed her husband treated her like garbage; he was tight with money despite having plenty of it, controlled her life to the point she didn’t have one, and he beat her. Robbie pressed for more information. She finally gave in, told him her husband’s name.
Robbie nearly fainted. She was married to a notorious gangster originally from London. An argument broke out. He accused her of all sorts: she had been using him. He wanted nothing more to do with her, despite his heart telling him otherwise.
Two days passed, and he figured he could no longer push his luck staying in the town. He packed his bags, took them to the fairground. Worked a shift, then decided to leave, but not before robbing the owner. From a safe he managed to steal three thousand pounds in cash and a box of cameras. Why he wanted cameras, he had no idea. After loading everything into his van, shutting the doors, he turned, only to be confronted by the gangster accompanied by two minders.
Robbie tried to flee. Alfie Peterson was not known for his patience. One thing he could not stand was a coward. He told Robbie he needed teaching a lesson he would never forget.
Robbie was dragged back into the fairground. Despite being a big lad himself, he was no match for Alfie’s minders. They frog-marched him into The Ghost Train.
Once inside, Robbie found he wasn’t alone. Jane Peterson was standing against one wall. She was crying, shaking, black mascara running down her cheeks; her face was covered with white powder, which made her more frightening than any of the things you were likely to meet on the ride.
Robbie lost his temper, shouted his mouth off, informing Alfie that if he had touched Jane, Robbie would kill him with his bare hands. He then experienced first-hand what Alfie’s minders could do with their hands and a couple of knuckledusters. When they’d finished, his face had been rearranged so much that Lon Chaney would have been pleased with the result. While the gangsters brutalised him, the sound system continually played songs by his favourite group Slade, as if trying to demoralise him further.
When they finished, his eyes were swollen, his cheeks purple, and his face a variety of colours. He was shackled to a wall. Alfie asked his wife about what had been going on. Jane claimed it was all Robbie’s doing, that he wouldn’t leave her alone. She had tried to dissuade him, told him she wasn’t interested, but he kept pestering her.
They turned their attention to Robbie. The music was lowered so Alfie could talk to him. Robbie tried to protest, told Alfie that Jane was lying. That didn’t go down very well.
They spent a further two hours teaching Robbie the error of his ways, with a number of torturous methods: attaching electrodes to certain parts of his body, plugging the bare wires into wall sockets. They stabbed him with the sharpened points of a variety of instruments. Forced him to play Russian roulette. They even practised their spelling on every part of his body they could see, using scalpels.
Robbie begged and pleaded with the gangster to stop. He promised he would leave town. Alfie said that would definitely happen. He told Robbie he was going to forget Jane and that he was never going to come back, ever, because if he did, Alfie wouldn’t be so patient with him.
But return he did.
Robbie shook his head, breathed in, and ran his hands down his face. The memory was still vivid.
He started the car and headed over to Manny’s place. He had a guitar to find.
Chapter Forty-eight
The mill house in Sowerby was in darkness by the time Grace coasted her rented Isuzu to a standstill. Leaving the main road, she’d killed the headlights, driving the rest of the way using night vision goggles. She switched off the engine and sat back.
It had been a long journey – over twenty years if anyone was counting, and many identity changes along the way. Not as many as him, though. Jane Rogers no longer existed. The Isuzu had been rented with false documents, the fee paid in cash. In her mind, the trek had all been worth it.
