Man of Blood by Margaret Duffy

Author:Margaret Duffy
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2015-10-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Len Dorney’s ‘manor’, in Hackney in the East End, an area of some twelve square miles and roughly bounded by Graham Road to the north and the Grand Union Canal to the south, was all urban, the only green open spaces worth mentioning those of London Fields and Well Street Common. It was near the latter that Dorney lived, in a red brick Victorian semi-detached house in a cul-de-sac.

One did not, however, arrive at the house unannounced if one valued a long and healthy life. One did not, for that matter, go to the house at all, business being carried out at an office over a shop in Mare Street. It was to these premises that Piers went. Rolt had not sent him, he had made the decision after having a conversation with a man in a pub in Soho.

Dorney had decided, rightly, that a business purporting to be an educational video distributors would not attract many casual callers. Those who climbed the narrow stairs were either expected, having appointments, or had already been spotted by the lookouts who had warned those within. Piers had not made an appointment. It would make no difference if he had.

The lookout — Vince, on this occasion — was standing talking to Jacko, a disabled man who had a flower stall on the corner of Bush Road. Vince went from sight as soon as he caught sight of Piers, not even waiting to see if he was heading for what Dorney liked to describe as his HQ. Piers knew that he had gone down the alley into the car park behind the shops, run up the fire escape, probably two steps at a time, and from that climbed through a window into a room used as a store. Len Dorney’s office was next door to this.

Bracing himself, Piers mounted the stairs. He wondered who would be on duty and how many of them there would be. Too many probably. They might be waiting for him in the small, dark space at the top of the stairs just in front of the lavatory door.

They were, men he had never seen before.

“Okay, let’s leave it at that for a moment,” Dorney said a while later. He stared with the intensity of a cat at Piers as he was hauled up from the floor.

“Still got that rebellious look on your face?” Dorney asked. “Yes, I think you have.” He signalled to his henchmen.

It was the mildest retribution he could expect: being held while his face was slapped until he either passed out or vomited. Both of the goals were well in sight when he received what he knew were the final blows, back-handers, the rings on the man’s finger splitting his lips like over-ripe plums. Then he was allowed to fall to the floor again and find a corner where he could retch in comparative privacy.

“I told you to report to me when you were released,” Dorney said after a while. No one seemed to be in any hurry.

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