I blot my red lipstick on a tissue then bundle the rest of my make up on the sloping shelf in the bathroom cabinet. I don’t have a proper weapon. Bloody wanker, Jade’s father, went and hid the only gun we had. And he won’t fucking tell me where he’s stashed it cos I can’t be the one to sort out Ivan the nonse. Says all Jade’s got now is her mum and I can’t be doing no murder and getting myself locked up an’ all, not while he’s inside. “Jade’ll end up in care. You know what happens in care to young girls, Trish,” he said on my last visit to the Scrubs. Yeah, I do know, all too well, Tommy, and that’s why I know what needs to be done.
Since it happened, Tommy’s been saying how that cunt needs to be taught a lesson. Said he should’ve known what family he was targeting. Should’ve done his research, the sick fuck, he said. Well, that’s all well and good ain’t it, Tommy, but what you gonna do about it from your prison cell? And where’s your fucking firm? Plastic gangsters, the lot of them. They ain’t been round to see me and Jade once. They ain’t even given us no helping hand. We’re back on the breadline, proper skint. But it ain’t their dough I want. I just want them to sort out that cunt. “All in good time, Trisha. It’ll happen, but we gotta give it time,” they say. “It’ll be too obvious where the hit’s come from if we make our move now.” That’s what they said the day my Tommy went down. And since that afternoon at the Old Bailey, I’ve not heard from one of them once, not even a bleeding phone call.
No, I can’t rely on them, not for nothing. I could rely on Tommy. He’ll see it through but that’s when he gets out. That man says he’ll do something and he’ll do it. Said when we was thirteen in the school playground he’d marry me. And he fucking did, three years later. Said we’d have a house and a garden and a little girl. He came through on all of it. Okay, so he didn’t make his money in the most legal of ways, but he made it. He made a good life for us. Mind you, the last few years have been shit. He’s been in and out of nick, getting caught for most of what he does. He was a top burglar back in the day, but since he went on the charlie, he kept fucking up. And he’s shoved all our savings up his hairy nostrils. That’s why we’re skint now. Might have to sell the house if nothing happens soon.
In North West London it’s all la-di-da. If I look smart, I’ll blend in. So I put on my suit, the black one I wear to court. Think this is the first outing it’s had that ain’t to a court. I’ve got the briefcase, that’ll help too. Of course, Ivan won’t know it’s loaded with a length of rope and a couple of bricks. As long as he lets me in, it’ll be fine. Once I’m in, I reckon it’ll all come natural. In fact, I don’t reckon, I know it will.
From our terraced house in Bow, I drive to Hampstead where the rich cunt lives. I can’t park our old red Cortina on his road so I leave it in the car park on the Heath. It’s free to park there. I know about it cos me and Tommy and Jade have come to the fair here a good few times. Sad though, for the next seven years, it’ll be just me and my Jade.
My poor Jade, she told her teacher before she told us. That’s why the old bill got involved. If she’d have come to me and her dad first, he could’ve taken care of it. Tommy weren’t in prison then, not when we found out. I lug the heavy briefcase up the hill then turn off on Well Road. Houses up here are grand as fuck. Four bleeding stories high. People like him think cos they’ve got money, they’ll get away with anything. Might buy a better brief than we could afford. It fucking did. That’s why the cunt got off. But Ivan’s money won’t buy him jack shit today.
The nonse answers the doorbell quick when I ring. Fucking hell. My heart is thumping. I am ready for you, you cunt. “Mr Ivan Mannering,” I say in my poshest voice. “I’m here on behalf of the Metropolitan Police. There’s been a recent spate of burglaries in this street and the surrounding area. The Met have commissioned my firm, Stay Safe, to ensure residents are taking every necessary precaution and their security systems are fit for purpose.” I give him a business card out my purse. Handy that, as these are the cards Tommy uses and this is the spiel he gives to get into houses. Little do the people know he’s gonna be robbing them in a few days. Little does this nonse know what I’m about to do to him.
Seven years Tommy wanted me to wait. Seven fucking years. Seven more days would have been too long. The cunt needs his comeuppance. He ushers me into the hall. Bloody hell, what a high ceiling. Would be nice to see him hanging here. That’s a pretty picture but it ain’t what’s gonna happen. He shows me into a huge room with massive beige, velvet sofas.
“Can I get you a drink?” he says.
“Cuppa tea would be nice, thanks.”
He turns to leave the room, and as he does, I swing my arm back full and come down on his balding head with the briefcase. He’s out. His head’s bleeding on the wooden floor. Thank fuck I’ve got my leather gloves on. Don’t wanna get his blood on me. I bind his hands with the rope then his feet. I drag his long, fat body into the kitchen and turn on the oven.
While I’m waiting for the oven to heat up, I take a nosey round the house. Takes me bloody ages, but when I’m done, I’ve got two of his suitcases full of ornaments that look like antiques. I’ve also got a couple of watches, and what must be his wife’s jewellery box filled with gold necklaces, bracelets, rings and earrings. That was a wicked find, but the biggest touch was what I found in a drawer in the nonse’s study – a good few grand in cash. I’ll need to count it proper when I get home. Least that’ll keep me and Jade in our house a bit longer.
I check the time on the digital clock on the oven. It’s only one. Glad I made an early start this morning. Was good getting out just after the school run. I’ve still got four hours before I pick up Jade from the school gates. She’s late out on a Thursday now cos that’s the day she has her counselling.
The tricky part is if he wakes up, so I gag him with a tea towel in his cake-hole. Think I’ll do the feet first as they’re nearest the oven. I open the oven door and drag his body a bit closer. I lift up his legs from the knee, and shove his feet in the heat. He’s wriggling about all over the shop. Bloody nonse. I stamp hard on his balls. On top of his muffled screaming through the tea towel, his bright red face is wet with tears.
Cry you cunt, cry.
His feet look like gammon steak. Time to turn him round. He’s wriggling too much. I can’t move him, so I pick up my briefcase with the bricks in and batter his head. When I stop, he looks dead. I wanted to cook his face and his hands, especially his hands. I check the pulse on his wrist. He’s still alive. I swing his body round and get his head and his hands in the oven.
On the street, I realise the two suitcases will be heavy to carry back to my car. I take the bricks out the briefcase to lighten my load and leave them on the grass verge outside the nonse’s house. My job is done, and done well too. Those wankers, Tommy’s so-called mates, telling me I couldn’t sort the cunt out myself. Just cos they’re always boasting about their crimes, think cos I don’t make no claims I ain’t done nothing. Tommy knew though. Tommy knew what happened to me when I was in care. And he knew what I did to the nonse what done it. If there ain’t a hell, least I’ve given both those sick cunts the burning they deserved before I killed them.
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All royalties will be donated to Beyond the Streets, helping women exit prostitution.
In addition to fiction writing, Ruth is also involved in non-fiction, journalism and broadcasting for charity and human rights campaigning in the areas of sex workers' rights, anti-sexual exploitation and anti-human trafficking.
More information on the Soul Destruction series can be found at www.soul-destruction.com and Ruth's author website is at www.ruthjacobs.co.uk.