Page 47 of Ruthless Vengeance

Zak

We climb into Maddox’s BMW, and I snap my seatbelt on as Maddox moves off down the drive. As we turn out into the road, I ask, “Do you think Kavanagh’s right and Rogers and Noah are working with James?”

“I’ve no fucking idea, but if he is right then we have a bigger problem than any of us thought.”

He’s not wrong on that front because everyone knows having someone with the ability to pull some strings gives you an edge over your rivals in this business but having someone with that much clout on your side will blow your biggest rivals out the water. It also begs the question of what the fuck is James involved in if he’s happy to swim with the shark that is Rogers.

Maddox chucks his phone into my lap. “Look for a message from B with the details of the warehouse owner. I think it’s time we pay them a little visit.”

I find the message quickly and put the address in the satnav, and it doesn’t take long before we are driving past the address, checking it out while we look for a parking space. As with most roads in London, there’s nowhere to park unless you have a permit.

We find a disabled bay a little up the road and park there. The house is a bay fronted Victorian terrace and seems well maintained. This guy, whoever he is probably doesn’t know anything and simply rented his warehouse out.

After our own warehouse got hit twice, we started renting one, but the last time there were only four people who knew about that warehouse. That means someone somewhere opened their mouth.

Now that there’s a question mark over not only Rocky but Bowser too as they were the other two people to know about the warehouse, we need to check out every other avenue.

Maddox bangs on the door. I can tell he’s pissed. Some of the shit we just discussed means things are a damn sight more complicated than we thought. We haven’t even broached the subject of the info Marchant shared with us.

Kavanagh has to have been the guy that Marchant overheard talking to Rogers. And if what Roxy told us earlier is true then, he’s been playing Rogers to keep him close.

It’s the weekend and still early, so it’s not a surprise when a guy answers the door wearing tartan slippers and a towelling robe.

Maddox doesn’t waste a second and forces his way in as soon as the door is open far enough. The man hollers and yells—that is until Maddox claps a hand over his mouth while the other grips his throat, not only preventing him from anymore shouting but breathing is a little difficult too. It seems Mad has reached his capacity for bullshit today.

“Shut the fuck up, Mr Jenkins. Do you think you can manage that?” Maddox asks, and I watch as his eyes almost pop out of his head when he uses his name. The fact he can’t breathe probably isn’t helping.

“Yesssss.” It’s a whisper and hissed out, no doubt using the last bit of oxygen he has.

Maddox eases his hold. “Do you know who I am, Mr Jenkins?” he asks, smoothing and patting down his ruffled dressing gown. He shakes his head, which is no surprise.

“Do you own a warehouse out in Bermondsey?” This time he nods. Maddox releases him and steps back, calming a little now. “Do you remember the name of the person who is currently renting it?”

“Off…ahem…off the top of my head, no.” He’s nervous but it looks like he’s found his courage for now at least. “What’s this all about?”

“This? Well, this is something you’d be better off staying out of. Do you advertise your warehouse?”

Standing a little taller now Maddox isn’t in his personal space, he replies, “Yes, normally, but I didn’t get the chance this time. A gentleman called before I had the chance to place the ad claiming that my niece had passed him my number.”

“And who’s your niece?” I hear Maddox ask, catching my eye as I wander off to look around the house.

The house is quiet, so I can still hear their conversation from the lounge just down the hall. It’s modern with a large screen TV on the wall and several display cabinets. Two green leather Chesterfields are situated along the back wall, facing the TV. Stepping toward the first cabinet, I scan over the contents while still keeping an ear on the conversation out in the hall. My eyes land on a photo of a young girl and immediately recognise her.

“Delilah, but she hates that name, so most people know her as—”

“Lila,” I announce, cutting of Mr Jenkins as I step back into the hall carrying a photo frame, which I thrusts at Maddox.

“How did you know that?” Mr Jenkins asks, moving toward us this time as Maddox looks down at the photo. “Who are you, and what does my niece have to do with all of this?”

“That’s a very good fucking question, Mr Jenkins,” Maddox says, shoving the photo frame into his chest and pushing him back a couple of steps with the force. As we head for the door, ignoring Mr Jenkins who is calling out behind us, Maddox says, “Call Ripley. He’s doing a job for me but should answer.”

I pull my phone out and call Ripley as we walk back to the car. He answers quickly and after a short conversation with him, I relay it to Maddox.

“She’s not there, and Ripley hasn’t seen her for a couple of days, but she’s not been rostered on.”

“Great! Got an address?”

“Yep, Ripley gave it to me. It’s a couple of streets away from The Scarlett Door.” I programme it into the satnav. “Ripley said to tell you that Bowser has just picked his car up and looks to be heading home.”

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