Lost Angel by Mandasue Heller

‘It doesn’t feel right with your mum and dad in the next room.’
    But she was obviously more desperate than he’d thought, because she said, ‘They won’t hear us if we’re careful.’
    So Johnny was forced to play his trump card, telling her, ‘I’m worried about hurting the baby.’
    ‘You can’t hurt it,’ Ruth assured him, touched that he was being so protective. ‘It’s perfectly safe.’
    ‘I don’t want to risk it,’ he insisted. ‘Talk to the doctor. If he says it’s all right, I’ll think about it.’
    Ruth couldn’t argue with that, not when he was showing genuine concern for their unborn child. So, off the hook – for now, at least – Johnny was able to go to sleep.
    Honeymoon officially over, Johnny was up and out of bed before the alarm went off the next morning, and he was dressed and waiting by the door by the time Frankie came downstairs.
    It was only half-seven, and he hadn’t been up that early on a weekday since he’d been at school. But this was the first chance he’d had to escape from Ruth, her mum, and this prison of a house since the wedding, and he couldn’t wait to get out of there.
    Frankie’s car lot was situated at the end of a little industrial estate on a cul-de-sac off Great Ancoats Street. It was surrounded by six-foot-high metal railings and had two gates, both of which were closed when Frankie pulled up outside, secured by a thick steel chain and a massive padlock.
    Frankie beeped the horn, and Big Pat came to let them in.
    ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem with that thing you sent the lads to do last night, boss,’ he said, casting a cautious look at Johnny.
    ‘What kind of problem?’ Frankie demanded, not giving a shit if Johnny heard or not. He was part of the family now, and if he forgot the loyalty rule and opened his gob about anything he saw or heard here he’d only have himself to blame for the consequences.
    ‘You’d best come and take a look.’ Pat relocked the gates and walked back the way he’d come.
    Johnny gazed out of the window as Frankie drove through the front part of the lot. There were loads of cars parked haphazardly around, and they looked in even worse shape than the shit-heaps back at the house. Some had windows missing, most were minus at least one wheel, and they were all battered, with dents and scratches on their bodywork. If these were the ones that Frankie expected him to clean, he’d be here from now till the next blue moon.
    A low prefab-type building sat around the corner, its windows protected by thick wire meshing, its roof edged with deadly-looking rolls of barbed wire. Two vicious-looking dogs were chained up at the side, and when they saw the car they started barking and straining to get free.
    The prefab door opened as Frankie drew up, and two lads stepped out onto the top step.
    ‘What happened?’ Frankie demanded, hopping out of the car.
    The lads exchanged nervous glances and came down the steps.
    ‘It wasn’t our fault, boss,’ one of them said. ‘We got chased, so I had to squeeze through some bollards and go over a field.’
    ‘You fucking what?’ Frankie roared. ‘What’ve I told you about going off-road?’
    ‘I had no choice,’ the lad insisted. ‘It was either that, or get nicked. And I didn’t think you’d want them getting hold of me and risk having them come sniffing round here.’
    ‘You’d best not have messed it up too bad,’ Frankie warned as he marched over to the garage. ‘Shut the fuck up,’ he yelled at the dogs as he rolled up the metal shutter. They both lay down immediately and gazed sulkily up at him.
    Johnny climbed out of the car. Shivering when the dogs locked their stares onto him and started growling deep in their throats, he gave them a wide berth and followed Frankie into a big, dark workshop. The combined stench of grease, oil, petrol and sweat hit him smack in the face, and he wrinkled his nose as he gazed around. There were tools strewn all over the floor and