fucking stupid are you? See how you like it, eh?'
Cakes grabbed Larry in a headlock, picked up a rolling pin from the counter-top and thwacked it hard four times on Larry's skull. Larry screamed loudly. Cakes let him go and he scurried into the corner by the bread-slicing machine. He crouched down behind it, holding his head in his hands, and whimpered.
Cakes regarded him with disgust and shook his head and then looked up at the other two men, Scottish Jim and an older man called Smith. Smith was carefully inserting small bundles of plastic-wrapped pills into hollowed-out scones.
âI'm sorry for what happened and the boy needs to be taught a lesson right enough,â Scottish Jim said, âbut what do you want us to do about it?'
âDo? It's not what I want you to do but what you're going to do. Both of you.'
âAnd that is?'
Cakes leaned back against the fridge and picked up a Bakewell tart. He bit into it and pulled a face. He spat half-chewed pastry out onto the floor and then threw the rest of the tart at Daft Larry who howled again and shrunk further into the corner.
âTastes like shit. No sugar in it. Who made that? That brain dead dickhead over there?'
Smith shook his head. âNo. I did. You never said anything about making the cakes taste good, boss. I mean, nobody's going to eat them, are they? Not this batch, anyway. And sugar costs money. That's what you said.'
Cakes stared at Smith until Smith looked away and then he said:
âRight. This is what's going to happen. I'm going to Wales to find that thieving bastard Lewis. It'll take me â'
âHow will you do that, boss?'
âWhat?'
âHow will you find him? I mean, how'd you know where he lives?'
âOh, I'll find him, don't you worry about that. I'll find the fucker. Follow him to the fucking moon if I have to. But it's going to take me a couple of days, and in the meantime here's what you're going to do.'
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
âYou're going to bake me a wedding cake. Big one, three tiers, loads of icing. Little bride and groom on the top of it. Here's a list of the ingredients. Special ingredients.'
He gave the list to Jim and both he and Smith read it together. Smith gave a low whistle and Jim raised his eyebrows.
'You sure about this?'
âNever been surer.'
âI mean, this is a lot.'
âI know that. Got to make it worthwhile, thoâ, Jim, haven't I? Got to cause a lot of trouble. Not going all the way to Wales to just mess about, know what I mean?'
âOkay. You're the boss.'
âAnd don't you ever fucking forget it.'
Cakes pointed at the piece of paper in Jim's hand.
âAt the bottom of that list is an address. I want the cake delivered to that address at three in the afternoon on the day after tomorrow. Understand?'
âHow can we do that?â said Smith. âPost Office can't guarantee time of delivery, can they?'
âThen use Parcelforce or something, shit-for-brains. Jesus, pay a fucking cabbie to take it if you have to. I don't care as long as that cake gets to that address at that time on that day. Three oâclock, day after tomorrow. Understand me? Do what I pay you to do.'
Both men nodded. Cakes went on:
âDon't fuck up. âCos if you do I'll come back and I won't be carrying a bag of flour. '
He picked a bag of self-raising from the counter-top and held it up in his hand to show the two men, then he threw it, with force, at Daft Larry. It struck the bread-slicing machine and burst and Larry howled again as the white powder covered him and turned him into a cringing ghost. Cakes again shook his head in disgust and left the bakery. He got into his van, started it up and headed westwards out of London.
Chapter Three
Lewis got off the train at Swansea, stood on the platform and stretched and yawned. People scurried past him and the accents they spoke in were pleasing to his ear; such a relief to hear them after
Cakes grabbed Larry in a headlock, picked up a rolling pin from the counter-top and thwacked it hard four times on Larry's skull. Larry screamed loudly. Cakes let him go and he scurried into the corner by the bread-slicing machine. He crouched down behind it, holding his head in his hands, and whimpered.
Cakes regarded him with disgust and shook his head and then looked up at the other two men, Scottish Jim and an older man called Smith. Smith was carefully inserting small bundles of plastic-wrapped pills into hollowed-out scones.
âI'm sorry for what happened and the boy needs to be taught a lesson right enough,â Scottish Jim said, âbut what do you want us to do about it?'
âDo? It's not what I want you to do but what you're going to do. Both of you.'
âAnd that is?'
Cakes leaned back against the fridge and picked up a Bakewell tart. He bit into it and pulled a face. He spat half-chewed pastry out onto the floor and then threw the rest of the tart at Daft Larry who howled again and shrunk further into the corner.
âTastes like shit. No sugar in it. Who made that? That brain dead dickhead over there?'
Smith shook his head. âNo. I did. You never said anything about making the cakes taste good, boss. I mean, nobody's going to eat them, are they? Not this batch, anyway. And sugar costs money. That's what you said.'
Cakes stared at Smith until Smith looked away and then he said:
âRight. This is what's going to happen. I'm going to Wales to find that thieving bastard Lewis. It'll take me â'
âHow will you do that, boss?'
âWhat?'
âHow will you find him? I mean, how'd you know where he lives?'
âOh, I'll find him, don't you worry about that. I'll find the fucker. Follow him to the fucking moon if I have to. But it's going to take me a couple of days, and in the meantime here's what you're going to do.'
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
âYou're going to bake me a wedding cake. Big one, three tiers, loads of icing. Little bride and groom on the top of it. Here's a list of the ingredients. Special ingredients.'
He gave the list to Jim and both he and Smith read it together. Smith gave a low whistle and Jim raised his eyebrows.
'You sure about this?'
âNever been surer.'
âI mean, this is a lot.'
âI know that. Got to make it worthwhile, thoâ, Jim, haven't I? Got to cause a lot of trouble. Not going all the way to Wales to just mess about, know what I mean?'
âOkay. You're the boss.'
âAnd don't you ever fucking forget it.'
Cakes pointed at the piece of paper in Jim's hand.
âAt the bottom of that list is an address. I want the cake delivered to that address at three in the afternoon on the day after tomorrow. Understand?'
âHow can we do that?â said Smith. âPost Office can't guarantee time of delivery, can they?'
âThen use Parcelforce or something, shit-for-brains. Jesus, pay a fucking cabbie to take it if you have to. I don't care as long as that cake gets to that address at that time on that day. Three oâclock, day after tomorrow. Understand me? Do what I pay you to do.'
Both men nodded. Cakes went on:
âDon't fuck up. âCos if you do I'll come back and I won't be carrying a bag of flour. '
He picked a bag of self-raising from the counter-top and held it up in his hand to show the two men, then he threw it, with force, at Daft Larry. It struck the bread-slicing machine and burst and Larry howled again as the white powder covered him and turned him into a cringing ghost. Cakes again shook his head in disgust and left the bakery. He got into his van, started it up and headed westwards out of London.
Chapter Three
Lewis got off the train at Swansea, stood on the platform and stretched and yawned. People scurried past him and the accents they spoke in were pleasing to his ear; such a relief to hear them after
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