Kimberley Chambers - Queens of Crime - 3-Book Thriller Collection

‘Right, we’ll have two cups of rosy and I’ll have one of them scones with thick butter on it,’ Queenie said.

‘I’ll have a scone too and a can of pop and an iced bun for my Lenny,’ Vivian added.

Remembering Mad Freda’s warning about the Butlers not paying, Mary was relieved when Queenie handed her a pound note, then thanked her as she gave her her change.

Mary followed Donald out into the kitchen. ‘Well, that Freda was obviously mad. She said the boy was a mongol and even though you can tell he is a bit backward, he certainly isn’t one of those. And even though the women seem a bit rough and ready, they were polite enough and paid for their order.’

Donald kissed his wife on the forehead. ‘I told you everything would be fine.’ There was no way Donald would worry his Mary, but he really hadn’t liked the look of those Butler women. The atmosphere in the café had been normal before they’d walked in and he could tell people were only offering them their tables, fawning over the child, and generally falling over backwards out of some kind of fear. Donald wasn’t stupid. Those Butlers had danger stamped all over them.

Vinny and Roy Butler grinned as they divided up the previous evening’s takings.

‘Blinding! And another good night was had by all,’ Vinny said, as he handed his brother a pile of notes.

Roy chuckled. ‘You sticking the other pile back in the kitty?’

‘Yep. We gotta speculate to accumulate,’ Vinny replied, in a sensible manner.

At twenty, Vinny was two years older than his brother Roy, and between them they were on their way to becoming a force to be reckoned with. A container-load of TVs they had stolen had paid for them to buy the rundown snooker club, and even though it had taken six months to save enough money to refurbish it to their lavish taste, it now looked very classy.

Unlike a lot of young East End wannabes, Vinny and Roy had gone down the clever route of keeping themselves to themselves. Their father Albie was an arsehole. He was also an alcoholic, and watching him make a complete prick of himself over the years had put the boys off ever frequenting pubs.

Neither Vinny nor Roy was a complete teetotaller. Both lads enjoyed the odd Scotch on the rocks here and there, but they only ever drank in front of friends and family, or on their own premises. In their line of business, both lads always liked to have their wits about them. Being clever was part of their image.

One of the reasons Vinny and Roy had decided to buy the club and turn it into the headquarters of their empire was that they hadn’t wanted to tread on anybody else’s toes. The East End was littered with villains, with the two most frightening families being the Mitchells and the Krays.

The Mitchells were based in Canning Town and were heavily into pub protection. They were a family firm, run by the old man, Harry. He pulled the strings while his three sons, Ronny, Paulie and Eddie, terrorized people into handing over their hard-earned cash.

Then there were the Krays. They were local lads who had made a real name for themselves. They were virtually beyond the reach of the law now. Earlier this year they had escaped conviction for nightclub extortion. They’d even been given an interview on TV after that and hung out with film stars and celebrities.

Vinny didn’t know if being that famous was a good thing or not, but he was determined to be feared, well-respected and rich. As a lad, he had idolized both the Mitchells and the Krays for what they had achieved in life and he was hell-bent on topping their glory. Wanting to be the best was part of Vinny’s nature.

‘Who is it?’ Roy shouted, as he heard a knock on the door.

‘It’s the bleedin’ woman who gave birth to the pair of ya,’ Queenie yelled.

Vinny grinned as Roy unlocked the metal door and Lenny ran towards him. ‘All right, Champ? What you been up to?’ Vinny asked, lifting the boy off the ground and swinging him around in the air. Vinny adored his nephew, all the family did.

‘Been Nanny’s grave, then I went dancing in the café,’ Lenny replied, sporting a big grin.

‘Dancing in what poxy café?’

‘Old Jack’s café. It’s re-opened today. New people have taken it over and it’s got one of them jukeboxes in there. I wouldn’t swing him around too much. Three iced cakes the greedy little sod has eaten and he’s bound to be Tom Dick at some point,’ Vivian explained.

Not wanting sick over his brand-new shirt, Vinny sat Lenny on a chair. ‘So, what do you think of the décor, Auntie Viv? You haven’t seen the leather chairs and sofas yet, have you?’

Vivian grinned. She loved her nephews. Unlike a lot of young men these days, Vinny and Roy had impeccable manners. They still referred to her as ‘Auntie’ and probably always would. Viv sat down on one of the burgundy sofas and stroked the quality leather. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful, boys. Looks like a palace now, eh, Queenie?’

Queenie felt as proud as a peacock as she nodded her head in agreement.

Roy stood up. ‘I’ll get you and Auntie Viv a glass of sherry,’ he said, gesturing for Vinny to follow him.

‘What’s up?’ Vinny asked.

‘Why don’t we tell her now? Seems as good a time as any,’ Roy whispered, when his brother joined him behind the bar.

‘Nah. Not in front of Champ,’ Vinny replied.

‘Well, we gotta tell her soon. I hate seeing Dad take the piss out of her like this. He’s such a bastard.’

Vinny nodded in agreement. Breaking the bad news to his mother was not going to be easy, but it had to be done. ‘We’ll find a way to tell her in the next couple of days. And don’t worry about Dad. That treacherous piece of shit will be dealt with, I promise.’

Noticing the dangerous glint in his brother’s eyes that he had seen many times before, Roy felt his stomach knotting. ‘What do you mean by dealt with? I know he’s a prick, Vin, but we can’t do anything bad to him, he’s still our dad.’

Leaning towards his brother’s ear, Vinny spoke loudly and clearly. ‘I wouldn’t care if he was the King of England. Nobody makes a fool out of our mum and I mean fucking nobody. Our dad will pay for the liberty he has taken. Trust me on that one.’

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