Divine Retribution

Divine Retribution

Copyright © 2022 by Virginia West

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN

978-1-958692-07-3 (Paperback)

978-1-958692-08-0 (eBook)

Chapter 1

The door swung open and he stood eying Della Divine. He didn’t say a word.

‘Please, please can you turn the music down? I have to get up for work in the morning and this is the third night in a row without sleep.’

‘Fuck off.’ He slammed the door in her face.

‘I’m ‘phoning the police.’ she screamed at the closed door, kicking it at the same time as the words spat out of her mouth. Her heart pounded in her chest. She walked deliberately to her front door, watching the stained lace curtains flicker as the neighbours strained to see what was happening.

‘You are a beech’ another voice crashed down on her from the flat above.

‘And I’m sure that you, sir, shouldn’t even be here! I’m phoning immigration!’

A glass flew from the window, missing her by inches and spreading glass across the road.

‘ANIMALS!’ she shouted up at the window as the volume was notched up again.

She slammed her front door so hard it rocked the house and then she dialled the police. ‘I want you to attend to a noisy party.’

‘We don’t attend to noisy parties madam. Have you tried Environmental Health?’

‘Yes I have, and they’re absolutely useless.’

‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do.’

‘GREAT! That’s what I pay my taxes for is it? So that you can let illegal immigrants ruin my life?’

‘I’m sorry madam; I will terminate this call if you persist in making racist comments.’

‘Madam’ Della said in her calmest voice ‘I was not aware that illegal or immigrant were racist words. In fact, I’ll look them up and give you the Oxford English Dictionary’s description shall I?’

‘That won’t be necessary madam.’

Della felt sure that the little courses they put their people on adequately prepared the police for talking people down, but it sure as hell had the capacity to wind them up as well.

‘I want to know if you will assist.’

‘We will attend if we have a car in the area.’

‘How dare you call yourselves keepers of the peace? Tonight you are in dereliction of your duty and I will be taking action against you.’ She slammed the ‘phone down and buried her head in her hands. Della had lived a life that had given her more pain than most deserved and to most she came across as a hard nut to crack, but now, at this moment, she cried like she had never cried before.

At 5 am, the music stopped pounding but, exhausted, Della knew that if she slept now, she would never wake up and she would miss yet another day of work. She made her weary way upstairs to the bathroom in yesterday’s clothes and looked at the mirror image of herself in the watery morning light. She looked ten years older than the 37 years she’d suffered; her normally bright eyes were swollen and bloodshot and she looked gaunt. She showered and put a suit on. She couldn’t face food and went straight out onto the street, gasping at the sight that greeted her. Scrawled across the bonnet of her car was the word ‘cant’, and deep scratches ran the length of her car.

If she ‘phoned the police, they wouldn’t attend, just as they hadn’t the night before. What could she do to settle the score? She was weak and vulnerable and she now knew, all alone. She picked up the ‘phone and dialled.

‘Oh hi Della.’

‘Look, I’m not coming in today. I’ve been kept awake all night again and they’ve vandalised my car.’ Her voice wavered. ‘I need to sort everything out. I’m very sorry – can I take it as leave?’

‘It’s OK Della. We know you’re having a terrible time at the moment. Take as long as you need.’

‘Thank you. Thank you’ Della was relieved at the kindness people showed her. She stripped off and went to bed and slept like a baby until 2 and then dressed herself in her smartest suit and went to the bank. She withdrew her life savings, twenty four thousand, two hundred and fifty five pounds. The bank huffed and puffed, saying that it took time to organise and looked exasperated when the told them that she’d wait.

At 4.32 she left the bank with her money in her gargantuan handbag and walked home. She was fearless.

She ‘phoned the police and explained what had happened and told them that she had put off phoning them today because of their apathy and false accusations the previous night. She told them that she feared for her life and that these men were dangerous. The police gave her a crime reference number which she ‘phoned through to her insurance company and at 6.42 her car was collected and a courtesy car delivered. She went to her bedroom, picked an elegant dress and put it on, applying the smallest amount of makeup. She picked the cheapest bottle of wine out of the fridge and wiped it over with a cloth and then wrapped it in tissue. She took a deep breath, smiled at herself in the hall mirror and locked the door behind her as she left her small terraced house. She knocked on the door to the flat.

‘What now!’ the young man glared at her.

‘Peace offering’ She held up the bottle.

He smiled. ‘I thought you’d be mad about the car.’

‘It’s only a car!’ she smiled.

‘Blav is a hot head sometimes. He was angry because you complained.’

‘I was tired – I needed sleep.’

‘Come in, come in. Let us share your wine.’

‘Thank you.’ She entered the dingy flat and looked around at the empty cans and plates of dried foot lying on the table and floor. The flat smelled of faeces and stale cigarette smoke. She tried to cover her shock.

‘Have a seat.’ He swept papers and dirty socks off of one side of the sofa.

The man went to the kitchen and appeared with two filthy glasses which he put on the table.

‘Let me give you a hand.’ She picked up one plate after another and took them through to the kitchen sink where she turned the tap on. She came back and collected another four plates. Putting a pair of rubber gloves on, she collected glasses, and the bottles she put in a bin bag which she put by the door. She emptied the overflowing ashtrays and collected papers together into neat piles. She wiped surfaces down with a damp cloth and washed and dried the dishes and the two glasses. When she had done, she sat and drank one glass of wine, washed her glass up and said that she was so tired, she needed sleep.

Zlav, as he introduced himself, assured her that there would be no music tonight and he thanked her for being such a sport and for helping tidy the flat. She picked up the bin bag on her way through and went back into her house.

Although she hadn’t planned any of it, her course of action was clear in her mind. She packed a case with bare essentials and put it by the front door. She put her rubber gloves on and looked through the bin bag and found two flat brandy bottles. She went down into the cellar and picked up the bumper carton of barbecue fuel. She filled the bottles and put a piece of linen in each. She put the bag in her car, lit the first taper and lay the bottle just inside the front door. She picked up the second bottle and locked the door behind her. She ran to the back of the house and threw the second lit bottle through the back window. She walked back to the car, got in and drove away.

‘So long suckers’ she hissed at the flats next door. As she turned the corner and looked back, she could see the flickering glow of fire.

Chapter 2

Zlav woke with a start, the acrid smoke seeping through the open windows. He sat upright ‘Blavadia, Blav, quickly, there’s a fire!’ The darkness of the flat now lit with the blue flash of the engine outside, its crew fighting furiously to contain the blaze.

The noise of the hoses was punctuated with the occasional blast inside the house and then, as if a crowning glory, the flames leaked out through the roof.

The two men crashed out of their flat and onto the street, still wearing sleep, confused and oblivious to the danger they had almost slept through.

‘What happened?’ Zlav was in the face of one of the fire fighters.

‘Stand back please.’ The sooty face glared at Zlav.

‘What happened?’ Again Zlav was in his face.

‘Get back for your own safety.’ The fireman put his sooty arm across Zlav’s brilliant white T-shirt.

'Look what you have done!' Zlav flashed anger.

A Police Officer now assisted and encouraged Zlav away from the scene. ‘Which property do you live in sir?’

Zlav pointed to the upstairs flat.

‘We’ll take you and your friend to the cells for the night. It’s warm and we’ll feed you. You can’t stay here, it’s not safe.’

‘Are you arresting me?’ Zlav was confused by the offer.

‘Should we be?’ The officer was dead pan.

‘Of course not, we are victims too.’

‘An unusual choice of words sir.’ The officer was unflinching.

‘We’ve lost our house and so has this lady.’

‘Don’t you want to know how she is sir?’ Again, challenging but not quite accusatory, the Officer pulled out his notebook. ‘Can I take your name please?’ His pen was poised ready.

‘Why?’ Zlav was wondering which name he should use, trying desperately to remember the names that he’d used to gain entry into the UK.

‘Of course, my name is Zané Ferizi. I am from Polski.’

‘Poland’ The officer wrote and then stopped ‘spell your name for me please.’

Zlav obliged and even provided the accent over the e.

‘Thank you’ the Officer was not a linguist. ‘I will need to see your papers.’

Zlav pointed up to the flat ‘that might be a little difficult.’

‘That’s OK sir, we can talk to the Polish authorities.’

Zlav wiped his sweating brow and looked around for Blav. It appeared that his friend had left.

The Officer explained that all he was offering was free accommodation for the night until the extent of the damage was assessed. Zlav declined the offer ‘my friends live across the street, they will let me sleep at their house.’

‘Which number sir?’

‘140’ he pointed and waved at his friends who were watching from the upstairs window.

‘OK, just so we know where to contact you.’

‘Can I go now?’

‘Yes sir. I will be in touch with you tomorrow.’

The neighbours had now joined the two men and were shaking hands with Zlav who proceeded to talk extremely fast in what the officer assumed could only be Polish.

‘Everybody, please stand back’ the Officer looked up at the house, wondering how long it would be before the roof caved, and as if to cue, it did.

The crash was spectacular and the plumes of flames and sparks were like a firework display. A massive explosion inside heralded the gas mains igniting and the windows across the street fractured and blew in. And then the fire fighters turned the corner and the fire lost its anger and half an hour later, the shell of the house smouldered and sizzled. The fire investigator was on the scene as soon as it was declared safe. He quickly found the cause and bagged the one surviving bottle as evidence.

‘Arson’ was all he said as he left the house ‘I’ll write up my findings, but somebody wanted this person dead. Lucky she wasn’t here – but it’ll be a shock when she comes home.’

Della lay back on the bed in her luxury room at The Royal in London. Tonight she would eat and sleep well and tomorrow she would find out what had happened. She called room service and ordered Lobster Thermador and a bottle of Chablis. When she had had her fill, she lay on the bed and watched television until sleep claimed her. She liked the good life and meant to carry on living like a queen and she knew exactly how. Early in the morning, she sat at the writing desk, pulled out a piece of paper and composed an advertisement.

‘Noisy neighbours? Being bullied? Do you want help? Write to P O Box XXXX.’

She dressed, paid her bill and walked the streets of London, down Oxford Street, past the Selfridges Hotel and on to Wigmore Street and there was a Post Office. She paid for a Post Office box, put the number on the ad and ‘phoned the ad through to the Times. She organised for it to appear on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and then ‘phoned her office and told them that she would not be going back.

Her manager was very upset and asked her to reconsider, but Della was adamant ‘my destiny is to move away from that awful noise Sue. It’s nearly driven me mad.’

‘It must have been terrible and I do understand but you’ll be impossible to replace.’

‘Nobody’s indispensable. Someone will come along, you’ll see. I’ll be in touch.’

She snapped her ‘phone shut and smiled to herself. This was her new beginning and it was going to be good. She went to a letting agency and by mid-day had found the perfect flat in Camden Town. She paid a £2,000 deposit, put her keys in her bag and then visited the furniture shops down the Tottenham Court Road. She bought only the basics but they were all good quality and they would be delivered tomorrow.

She then decided it was time to go home and pick up anything that was salvageable from the house. She drove as quickly as she could, always mindful of the speed traps and arrived in Bradford at 8.30pm. She parked outside what used to be her house and burst into tears. Her head in her hands, she jolted at the gentle knocking on the car window. A uniformed Police Officer was bending over, looking at her through the window. She stared at him and he at her and then he motioned for her to undo her window.

‘Sorry’ she said ‘I’m so shocked, what happened?’

‘Is this your property madam?’ The Officer removed his hat.

‘It was my property, yes.’ She started whimpering.

‘Has it all gone?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ the Officer scratched his head. ‘I’d like you to come to the station, we need to see if we can get to the bottom of all of this.’

‘Of course.’ She wiped her tears ‘Do you want a lift?’

‘If you don’t mind, thank you.’ He got into her car and buckled his safety belt.

Della composed herself and started up the engine and they drove the short journey to the police station.

‘Park in the Police car park.’ He directed her to the car park she hadn’t even known existed until now.

He walked with her to the police station and showed her into a comfortable room ‘cup of tea?’

‘That would be lovely, thank you.’ Della put her handkerchief to her nose.

‘Sugar?’

‘Yes please one, or a sweetener if you have one.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ And he was gone.

She sat in silence, looking at the posters around the room. They covered every topic from domestic violence to protecting your vehicle. She read each of them in turn. The Officer broke her concentration when he came back with a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits. He sat down.

‘I don’t understand who would do such a thing?’ Della took her cup from him.

‘We’ll find that out. It’s lucky you weren’t in the house.’

‘I had a terrible week last week. The neighbours were playing their music so loud it was impossible to sleep. I called you but no one would attend. When I complained they vandalised my car. That really frightened me. I couldn’t take it any longer, so I went to my bank, drew out my life savings and decided to start to change my life. I booked into The Royal for a night of sleep and today, I put a deposit on a flat. I was going to put this place up for sale, but... ’ She started crying again. The Officer rested his hand on her shoulder.

‘What happens now?’

‘We found a bottle just inside the front door – it looks like arson.’

‘Oh my God, you mean someone wanted to kill me?’ She feigned shock.

‘That bottle didn’t get there by accident.’

‘I could have died in that.’ She broke down crying again. ‘You don’t suppose it was those men next door? No... It couldn’t possibly be, I went next door and took a bottle of wine to try and make them hate me less. I helped Zlav…’

‘There’s no one there of that name.’ The Officer maintained eye contact.

‘Yes there is. I thought it was funny because their names were Zlav and Blav. Blav’s the psycho who vandalised my car, but I was prepared to make the peace because I was so scared of them.’

‘But your car isn’t vandalised.’ The policeman was making notes all the while.

‘That’s a courtesy car. They took mine away to Dave’s Coach Works last night. Blav had written ‘Cant’ all over the bonnet and scratched down the sides.’

‘Cant?’ the Officer was struggling.

‘I can only assume he meant a derogatory term for female genitalia.’

‘Oh, c…’ he stopped himself in time.

‘Yes.’ Della didn’t bat an eyelid and would have said it in all its glory if it would have helped the PC to understand. ‘Which suggests that it’s someone whose mother tongue is not English, but if you prefer not to believe what I told you about Blav…’

‘How long had you lived at the property?’

‘Fourteen years’ Della sipped her tea.

‘Well Miss, er…’

‘Divine.’ Della offered.

‘Well, Miss Divine, I would say that we can safely knock you off our list of suspects.’

‘Odd choice of words!’ Della laughed.

‘Sorry?’ It wasn’t Della’s imagination, this policeman really was a little on the slow side.

‘Knock me off the list of suspects.’

‘Oh yes madam! Do you have a number where we can contact you to tell you about our progress?’ Della gave the policeman her new flat details and her mobile number and he, in turn, confirmed the crime reference number. ‘You’ll need this to claim for the house and contents.’

‘Thank you’ she put her handkerchief up to her nose again and sniffed. ‘I can't quite believe the depths to which people will go.’ ‘Oh, I’ve seen some things in my time!’

‘I bet you have.’ Della looked beyond the blue, straight into the Officer’s eyes. She drank the rest of her tea, picked up her handbag and left. It wasn’t until she was near Watford Gap on the M1 that she started to laugh.

Her new life would be charmed like her old life had never been. She would never do things by the book ever again. Look where it had got her. She would never be alone again. Tomorrow she would make it her business to find help for hire and her own personal, angry war on injustice would begin.

Chapter 3

Della made her way back to The Royal for a second night, knowing that tomorrow her new life would begin.

Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt Della consulted the concierge who haled a taxi. As she climbed in somewhat cumbersomely, she blurted ‘take me to where I can get some hired help.’ She figured that if anyone could deliver her to the right place, the cabbie could.

‘What sort of help love?’ The cabbie asked in broad cockney.

‘The sort that wants to be paid but won’t ask too many questions; the sort that likes to inflict pain.’ Della’s eyes met the cabbie’s in the rear view mirror. She wore a jet black, bob cut wig. No one would recognise her.

‘I’ve got some mates who could help, but what’s in it for me?’ The cabbie pulled into a lay bye.

‘A hundred for everyone you introduce me to who I think is right for the work, and two for you.’

‘Let me make a quick ‘phone call.’ He closed the glass window between them and punched a number into his mobile. ‘Forty Two?’ He waited while the person on the other end of the ‘phone acknowledged him. ‘I’ve just found an angel for you. She wants some hired help – are you interested?’ He quickly snapped his ‘phone shut and turned, opening the glass window again.

‘We’ll go round to Forty Two’s house, the others will meet us there.’

‘I don’t feel very safe.’ Della was thinking aloud.

‘You’ve got my license number. I’m hardly going to deliver you to danger’s door when you have that, am I?’ He had a point and she felt safe until it dawned on her that they could murder her and then whether she knew his number or not would be inconsequential.

‘Who are these people?’ her nervousness now showing in her voice.

‘Don’t worry, they’re friends of mine. We all grew up together – they are your boys, you mark my words. They’re all diamond geezers.’

‘Do people actually say that?’ She was charmed by the accent and the lingo.

‘I just did.’ He grinned at her with his eyes and she looked out of the window, trying to remember the route.

‘Where you from darlin’?’ He was looking at her again.

‘Out of town’ was all she was prepared to offer.

‘Just makin’ conversation’ he said, laughing.

‘Sorry’ she whimpered ‘I’m just tired and I want to hire some help, that’s all.’ She resumed her route watch and the cab fell silent once again.

They wound their way up and down one way streets until they came to Wigmore Street and the cabbie pulled off into a little side street and parked.

‘Come on’ he turned the lights off and got out of the cab, holding her door open for her.

The evening chill made the perfume from the flowers lay heavy in the air. Della looked around her at the beautiful hanging baskets, incredulous that in central London, there should be so much beauty.

The frontage of the house they went to was very pretty and, she suspected looking around, not cheap either. The cabbie knocked on the window and then the door.

‘Forty Two?’

Della gave him a sideways glance.

‘Forty Two!’ He knocked again on the door.

‘Is this number Forty Two?’ She looked across the black highly varnished door for the number. Then the door opened and a huge expanse of male muscle with a goatee beard and square blue glasses stood with arms crossed, accentuating his muscular arms.

‘I’m Forty Two. Alright Toady?’ His voice was low and gravelly. Della walked deliberately towards him, hand outstretched.

‘Hello, I’m Della.’

‘Whoa lady’ Forty Two took a step backwards.

‘Toady, is this the cargo you ‘phoned about?’

‘Cargo?’ Della was outraged. ‘I’m looking to hire people. Cargo indeed!’

‘OK, OK, no harm meant’ He grinned at Toady who moved over and shook Forty Two’s hand.

‘Anyway, don’t you people have proper names?’

‘Yes we do; this is Toady and I’m Forty Two. Very pleased to meet you.’ He faked a courtesy, putting a high pitched posh voice on. The two men laughed and led the way. Della followed conscious of her vulnerability.

The inside of the house was every bit as impressive as the outside, with every mod con and luxury that money could buy.

‘This is nice.’ Della sat in the chair offered her and looked at the other faces now looking at her.

‘Introductions.’ Toady gestured to Forty Two.

‘Right, you know me and Toady Della. This is Boris the Yob.’ The guy dressed in leather saluted ‘ ...and Slasher Gillespy or Slash for short.’ Slasher winked at her.

‘Alrigh’ darlin’?’

Della flustered.

‘Drink?’ Forty Two offered.

‘Wine?’

‘Oh, alright then – do you want a drink?’ He put a whiney voice on and they all laughed.

‘Champagne.’ She stared at Forty Two and he smiled back.

‘A woman of class, I like that.’ He left the room briefly and came back with a cool bottle which he opened properly, showing that he, too, had class.

‘Glasses.’ He clicked his fingers and Boris the Yob went to a cupboard and brought out five champagne flutes.

Della realised there was a pecking order here and Forty Two was the alpha male.

‘So, what shall we drink to?’ He handed Della her glass and then raised his own.

‘To new friends.’ She raised and touched his glass with her own.

Chapter 4

Everybody else joined in.

She looked at each one in turn. Forty Two was probably about forty two. She wondered if his name changed every year. He was about 5’8’ and in good shape. He wore a sleeveless black T-shirt which exposed his tattooed and muscular arms. He was tanned and wore designer labels. She suspected the Aston Martin parked out the front was his. He wore square blue shades so she couldn’t see his eyes, but his face was chiselled and ruggedly handsome. His goatee beard made him look mean, but his tough exterior did not allow for analysis.

Slasher was slight. He wore Denham and a crisp white T-shirt. His hands sparkled gold and diamonds and when he smiled, his teeth were a perfect patchwork of enamels and gold. His eyes were deep green and almond shaped and she suspected that his family origin was not British. His stare was menacing; direct and unblinking that made you shuffle but with discomfort, not embarrassment. He seemed to have a toothpick in his hand or mouth all the time. He spoke with a true London brogue and the group seemed to respect him beyond question.

Boris the Yob could only have been twenty if he was a day. He was bright, although Della imagined he’d been educationally labelled all his life; ADHD, Asperger’s, whatever. Labels given by those who couldn’t or didn’t care. But he was his own man and vibrant with it and she suspected he didn’t have a bad bone in his body. She imagined people had labelled him as trouble or bad news; a label that had attached itself to his lapel at school and he had worn unaware ever since. He didn’t say much. Della thought he was probably an introvert – thinking carefully and deliberating before saying anything. So far, all he’d said was ‘hello’ and the rest of the time he watched the others and, she suspected, her when she wasn’t watching him. He was at that lovely age where his body seemed to be outgrowing itself; long legs and arms, finished off with long fingers. He dressed in designer labels and on top of it all wore a ¾ length black leather, well-tailored coat.

And then there was Toady. Mid-forties, chunky and a real Londoner. He had a cabby’s wit and he treated the group as if they were family.

‘Boris, here, take this you plonker, or do ya think I’m a bleedin’ statue?’ Toady held the glass out to Boris who went to take it, but Toady snatched it back. ‘You’ll have to be quicker than that – come on son, keep up!’ They all laughed as Toady spilled champagne on the carpet.

‘Watch the floor coverings Toad, this cost me an arm and a leg.’

‘Whose arm and leg was that then?’