Sisterhoods

Book 0: The DI Johnson Series

by Linda Regan

Genres: Police Procedurals

Synopsis

Alysha and her girl gang, the Alley Cats, have defeated their rivals for control of the Aviary Estate in South London, while managing to win the trust of DI Johnson and the police. The girls dream of a day when they can live normal lives, but their crime enterprises are the only way they can fund better lives for people like them. And other people soon want a piece of the action? When the Alley Cats win a pitched battle against a new rival gang, one of the girls is taken and horrifically attacked in retaliation. Violence escalates as the gangs face off, and lives as well as livelihoods are in serious danger ? especially when the police finally realise that Alysha isn?t as innocent as she seems?

Release date: November 26, 2016

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 261

Sample

––––––––

Tink couldn’t see, she could only feel, and the pain felt almost unbearable.

She assured herself that she had endured worse, and soon this would pass. There was nothing this gang of animals could do to her that she hadn’t experienced before. She had worked the streets since she was a child, and suffered years of abuse from her drug-addicted mother. If these wimps thought this was going to make her cry out and beg them to stop, tell them everything they asked, and give them everything they wanted, then they were bigger wankers than she already had them down for.

With her face covered, she couldn’t see to take a swing back at any of the bastards even if she wanted to, but she had weighed up the pros and cons: there were at least four of them, so it was better to take the beating and get it over and done with. As another blow shook her bony body, she bit into her already bleeding lip. This was just another beating, it would pass, she told herself.

She closed her eyes and dreamed of being the best hairdresser ever, creating new colours and styles, and leading fashion trends. That was going to happen, no matter how many beatings it took, no matter how many buildings on the estate got burned down, and no matter how many rivals thought they could terrorise her gang into giving in. The Alley Cats weren’t wimps, they were stronger and better than any of these wankers, they would rebuild all the burnt outbuildings and make a different future for the Aviary Estate.

It wasn’t the pain that was the worst bit anyway, it was the humiliation. This gutless gang had caught her off guard, or else she wouldn’t be here, locked in this van, with six of them knocking the shit out of her, holding shanks and lighters against her face, threatening they hadn’t even started on her yet, and guaranteeing she would soon be begging them to let her hand over the goods that they kept telling her the Alley Cats had stolen from them.

The pain was bearable, just, but the shame – now that was different. She should never have let this happen to her. She was a lieutenant in the Alley Cats, and her gang had respect round here, big time. Respect they had earned. They were looked up to on the Aviary Estate, and Tink had that reputation to keep up. The residents on the Aviary trusted the ACs and depended on them. Even the pensioners weren’t afraid to leave their flats these days, knowing that Alley Cats policed the grounds so no muggings happened. The estate kids too, they were all looked out for. No kid from the Aviary went hungry because their parents were too busy sticking needles in their veins or chucking booze down their throats to even remember they had kids – the ACs gave them food and kept a close eye on them. And the Alley Cats did any dealing that happened around the grounds of the estate. No dodgy pushers were getting near the Aviary: the ACs did whatever it took to keep them out and away from the kids. The girls sold drugs, but only to the addicts. They also pimped their own street girls, the ones that still wanted to work the streets around the area, but they took good care of them. They took a cut of the street trade, but the corn they earned from that was used to make the Aviary into a better place for everyone that lived on it.

And, up till now, it had been doing fine. They even had money to pay for rehab for those residents who wanted to kick their habits, and if any girl wanted off the streets but still needed her fix, then the ACs supported her – though everything came at a price.

They had rebuilt the run-down recreation grounds and the community hall so the kids had places to play and things to do on the estate. No kids were going to suffer the pain of hunger or the feelings of humiliation that all the AC lieutenants had grown up with. The new estate young ’uns wouldn’t have to sell drugs or hide firearms or use their young bodies in order to eat.

Tink had been in the process of opening one of the run-down shops at the corner of the estate as a hairdressing and nail salon, since the Alley Cats had invested in her and had sent her to do a beauty and hair course to learn the trade she loved. And she had never been happier, she was going to do hairdressing and pass her skills on to the kids on the estate.

The ACs had plans to rebuild more of the burnt-down shops, to make more to do for the residents; judo was planned, self-defence, different music nights and recording sessions, some gardening for the elderly and cake-making and stuff, but for all these plans the ACs needed to bring in money. So the AC lieutenants, Tink, Panther, Lox and their leader, Queen Alysha, had become snouts for the police. They were on the police payroll, and were making good money from that. It also meant they could keep trouble off the estate with the quiet back-up of the feds, and the feds had promised they would push the council for a second rebuilding grant for the estate.

Being snouts and drug dealers was dangerous, the ACs knew that, but then these four lieutenants had grown up facing danger every day. If any local gangs got wind of what they were up to, though, all the girls knew they would be dead meat. The price of informing was death, on any turf, all of London knew that, but the girls were willing to take the risk. They all wanted kids and they didn’t want their offspring having to face the starvation, stealing and prostitution they had all been brought up with. They were all at least sixteen now and feared nothing and no one. Being snouts helped their ambitions. If a dealer or a pimp trespassed on the Aviary and got in their way, then the ACs would simply set them up with the feds. That got dealers off their territory and into prison. But as one gang went down, another one always surfaced, and it was a constant struggle to protect their territory and the new breed of estate kids.

But even after a local gang had burnt down the recently rebuilt community centre, these girls weren’t giving up. They were the Alley Cats, and they would find a way to rebuild and keep their dream of a better future alive. However, the powerful East is Best gang, run by the ruthless Zhang family, and the Rifles in Peckham gang from closer to home had now reared their heads again, both determined to take over the Aviary and its rich pickings.

These pricks were RIPs. Some said RIP stood for Rioters in Peckham. Tink didn’t give a shit what it stood for, she just knew they were evil bastards who enjoyed inflicting pain. She winced as the ring-adorned fist landed again, and she tasted more blood. Another blow, and her head hit the hard metal of the floor behind her with a painful thud. She of thought the black fed who had assured her police protection was theirs at all times. Police informants were always looked after, that fed Johnson had blabbed to her. So where were they now? Where was anyone when she needed them? The only people who never let her down were her gang, and her sister lieutenants. She knew, only too well, that they would kill these pricks when they found out what had been done to her, and that was the thought that kept her strong, and the fact that she had promised the pensioners on the estate that she would finish making all the cards for their bingo night on Thursday. Even if they didn’t have a community centre, they would still have the bingo club: the ACs were running it in their flat on the thirteenth floor of the Sparrow block, with or without the lift working. So she would take this beating, and get through it, she wasn’t going to let anyone down. One day a week she did the pensioners’ hair too, so she had to protect her hands right now, even if her face was getting messed up. People relied on her, and her fellow lieutenants would get even for this. The arson attacks hadn’t stopped them, and this beating wouldn’t either. The Aviary Estate was going to change, for the good. This was a mere blip.

The RIP gang were dirt. They didn’t like the fact that girls were running the territory and that the young ’uns were listening to them, and not taking the drugs the RIPs dished out, as a way of pulling them into starting the habit. The Alley Cats would have left them alone, they could do what they wanted on their own turf, but now they had trespassed on the Aviary they had to be stopped. Who did they think they were? How did they think they could get away with doing that? They had driven onto the estate, as large as life, in a BMW they had nicked from the East is Best gang, obviously intending to leave it on the Aviary so the EIBs would think the ACs had nicked it and start a war with them. or else they thought they could fool the ACs into thinking the EIBs were on their territory. Well, the ACs weren’t fooled for a moment. They had watched the RIPs drive onto Aviary territory as large as bloody life, so, of course, they had to be taught a lesson.

The girls had immediately been on their phones and summoned their soldiers. They now had a full strength of almost eighty members in the gang, and nearly thirty were there within minutes. They surrounded the BMW and seized the four trespassers inside, and then took them to one of the lock-ups on the Aviary.

Firstly they gave them all a good kicking – that in itself would have been demoralising for those so-called blokes. They would have to go back to their leader, the supposedly formidable Ray Maxted, and admit to being beaten up by a gang of girls. But the girls didn’t think a little beating was enough for the crime they had committed, so they took possession of the black BMW that the RIPs were driving, which, as luck would have it, turned out to be housing ten grand’s worth of heroin and a consignment of handguns. ‘Finders keepers’, the girls had told the RIPs, as they unloaded the gear, delighting in the knowledge that by the time they had moved all that gear on in another part of London, they would have enough money to rebuild the community centre and help one of their residents who was in deep debt with loan sharks. This woman, Lisa Hardy, was a junkie with two children, and was so deep in debt that she had endured many beatings over it, and now faced being shot if she didn’t pay up. The ACs had told her that if they raised the money to pay her debts then it would be on the condition that she went into rehab to get off the stuff before that killed her too.

The girls locked the rival gang members in a garage and made plans. The Alley Cats wanted to send out a message: if you mess with us, you’ll pay the price. The rival soldiers had to pay, and the stash of heroin and guns would be the price. It would go a very long way towards rebuilding their estate.

The girls also decided not to return the car to the East is Best gang. It was probably stolen anyway, and if they were seen, which they probably would be, then it would be obvious they had nicked the gear from it. Instead they drove the motor to a back street a few miles away, where Lox set fire to it. The girls knew this would mean East is Best would blame the RIPs for stealing their drugs and firearms, putting them at war with each other, which in turn would keep them busy and out of the Aviary.

After the girls had given the trespassing RIP soldiers a good beating, they had stripped them all naked. Tink then wrote, in bright red nail varnish, across all their backs: Stay off the Aviary Estate, it aint your territory. Then the girls tied them up.

Lox called a cab, and gave the driver twenty quid, telling him to take the naked gang boys as far east as the twenty quid went, and then to throw them out into the street. However, the cab driver refused to take them, so they went down to where the street girls solicited, and while Alley Cat soldier Summer was servicing a noisy punter, who conveniently happened to own a 4x4, the girls climbed into the back of the car, held one of the stolen guns to the punter’s head, and told him to get out of his car. As they drove off in his car, with the four naked RIP soldiers, they promised the punter they would be back, and told Summer to give him another free trick or two for his trouble.

Tink drove the car as far east as she dared, then turfed the naked RIPs out onto EIB territory, before driving the 4x4 back and returning it to the punter, who was getting a very long, with extras and at no cost, service from Summer. The punter couldn’t say anything, as he couldn’t admit to the embarrassment of being in that predicament. He got in his car and drove off as fast as he could, and hadn’t been seen in the area since.

Tink had been seized from behind as she walked along the street around the estate. A sack had quickly covered her head, a rope was thrown around her neck, then she had been dragged along the road and thrown into the back of this van. She recognised some of the voices. It was definitely Ray Maxted and some of his disgusting gang.

She only knew for certain that there were four or five of them, and that they had all decided to have a go at raping her. Maxted himself, the sadistic Jamaican leader of the Rifles in Peckham gang, was a short-arse. He was five foot four or five, so chances were he had a tiny prick. She had just had one of those up her back passage, and had she not known that this gang would kill at will, she might have laughed when it was pushed inside her. She could hardly feel the fucker, but she knew not to say so. She’d whored for years as a kid, so she knew how to play the game and pretend. She screamed out, as if in pain, as he rode her from behind. Truth was, that bit was merely boring. Being beaten up and raped by this gang wasn’t half as demoralising as being caught. How she wished, at this moment, that she had been more on her guard and hadn’t let them get her. She had been standing looking at her burnt-down shop when it happened, and was so immersed in sadness she hadn’t seen or heard anyone creep up behind her.

After the humiliating gang rape, the sack was removed from her head, but from behind, so she still didn’t see faces. A blindfold was quickly tied round her eyes, then she was turned again, to face them, and had taken a severe beating. She was already feeling drowsy from the smacking she had taken, so she knew it wouldn’t be long before she lost consciousness. She would be out of it very soon, and then she’d wake up and it all would be over. She lay back, willing herself to pass out.

That was when she heard the flick of the lighter, and then the smell of the gas. She became very awake as her whole body tensed. She hadn’t reckoned on being set on fire. Now she was afraid, very afraid.

The blindfold was ripped from her bleeding face and she found herself staring at a flame which was inches away from her face. Everything else was blurred, even the hand that held it. Her swollen black eyes meant she couldn’t focus clearly, but she knew she was facing Ray Maxted. The naked flame was now less than an inch from her face. Then the hand moved it away and down, now within inches from the bare skin on her body where all her clothes had been ripped off. And Maxted was grinning, she could see that grin, displaying his gold tooth. She gritted her teeth as he moved the naked flame towards her body, now an inch from her bruised and raw skin. He stopped at her pubic hair. Her body shivered, and then shivered again. She was unable to control herself. He grinned again, and then the flame moved quickly upwards and he dug it into her bare nipple. She screamed out in agony. The pain was like a firework exploding inside her,

‘About my brown?’ he said, grabbing the back of her hair and moving the flame to in front of her face. ‘I think you were about to tell me where you’ve been keepin’ it, since you stole it from my car.’

She spat in his face.

The flame was pressed into her other nipple, and the electrifying pain filled her breast and then her stomach. Then as she screamed again, and gasped for air, she felt the flame catch her ear and hair.

‘I asked you a question, bitch.’

She wished with all her might that she would pass out there and then. All the memories of being abused as a frightened child came flooding back to her. She had to fight with all her being not to scream out again in fear and pain.

There was a hammer now, resting against the side of her jaw, which took her terrified attention. Her eyes were too swollen to see which of the RIPs held it. But she recognised the voice.

‘Shall I do her skull in, bro?’ It was Muscle, Maxted’s right-hand man. He had a reputation for brutality and torture.

‘Nah, let’s burn the witch.’

To her right she was aware that someone held a knife. Christ, she just wished someone would give her one hard bang on the head, and she could pass out. Brave as she knew she was, this pain was just too much to bear. The burning of her nipples was tortuous. She had to keep gasping at mouthfuls of air to tolerate the pain it gave her.

The gang rape had been a joke, she had endured a lot, lot worse, and the beating had hurt a lot, but she’d had loads of those over the years. But this, this was different. She was going to have scars, permanent scars! If she lived, that was. How she could have a hair and beauty school and be disfigured? Just when she had thought life might change for the better, her worst nightmare was happening.

Another stab with the flame, in her stomach again, and this time she threw up.

‘Fuckin’ bitch! Oi! I’m talking to you, bitch,’ Maxted said between his grated teeth. ‘Where’s my gear, or don’t you wanna live?’

Tink could now barely breathe, and she was seeing stars. She had to get through this, she told herself, she had to hope for unconsciousness to come. She’d been glad that she was blindfolded when her knickers and jeans were cut from her, and her bare legs and buttocks pulled into the air, then her legs pulled open as if she was a shopping bag. One after the other, they’d raped her and roughed her up, ripping her top and bra off, then biting hard on her nipples. And then the last one, it was Tip, she knew that ’cos he kept shouting, ‘Hey, Man!’ as he hammered into her eyes with his fist, the back of her head bouncing against the metal door handle.

‘Last time I fucking ask you, bitch!’ Maxted shouted at her, as the blurry lighter moved back and forth in front of her face. He didn’t give her time to answer. ‘Take this as a message to the other cunts,’ he continued, his voice now low and threatening. ‘Tell them if we don’t get back the gear you’ve stolen, then it’s gonna get a lot worse than this, for all of you. Got that?’

He moved the flame again against her arm and singed it up and down, like he was painting the ceiling. She felt her skin shrivel from the burning flame, and she screamed out.

Then the flame was against her body and moving around like a metal detector. She closed her eyes, fought for breath, and prayed for darkness. It was all too much.

She hadn’t seen it, so she didn’t know it was coming, but now she felt the knife. It was like another burn, an agonising sting, and it hurt like hell. She knew she’d been shanked. Blood was pumping from her stomach, but she felt so dizzy ...

Just as she lost consciousness she heard the engine of the van start up and the back door fly open.

‘Get the message now, do you,’ Maxted shouted as she was kicked, still naked, from the van into the street.

But Tink could no longer hear. She hit the ground, unconscious, and bleeding heavily.

––––––––

Detective Inspector Georgia Johnson was in her office catching up on paperwork. She had watered and sprayed each leaf on her pot plant, then polished her desk until she could see her own reflection in the shining wood. It didn’t matter that the cleaners came in twice a week; nothing was ever up to her own meticulous standards. Then, having flicked the ceilings with a duster, checking carefully for cobwebs, she sat down behind the pile of papers on her desk and started to catch up on reports.

She was still relatively new to this serious crime and murder department. At thirty-three, she was quite young to have reached the position of detective inspector, but she was very ambitious and now had her sights set firmly on getting a DCI post, which meant putting in many extra unpaid, hours, and taking risks to keep catching criminals and keep reaching and surpassing her targets. She came from a family of high achievers: her parents were both doctors, and her siblings too had all gone into medicine in some form or another.

Georgia had set her sights on a career as a detective after she had been raped as a fifteen-year-old. He had never been caught, as she had been too ashamed to report it. She blamed herself. The night it happened, she had disobeyed her parents and walked home, alone, in the dark, across the local common, where she had been jumped on and dragged into bushes and raped on a pile of filthy autumn leaves. It had left its mark in the form of her OCD, the compulsive washing habit, but also in her determination. Once there was a criminal out there who needed catching, especially one who had committed a crime against women, Georgia would stop at nothing until she had the bastard locked up.

Competition was fierce, as hers was one of the busiest police stations in South London, and a lot was against her. New gangs were springing up weekly, and with that came a sharp rise in stabbings and shootings on her South London patch. Consequently, Georgia often found herself working double her usual hours to get results. But results brought promotion. She was aware that no matter how much the Met bleated about racial and sexual equality and distributed their countless memos about it, being black and a woman was still a disadvantage in the force. Police work was a white male-dominated profession, and anyone else still had to prove themselves many times over.

Georgia had already made a few mistakes since being seconded to this station, but she was also very astute, and had helped to lower crime figures on the infamous Aviary Estate. The powers that be knew that that in itself was nothing short of a miracle. In the past, the Aviary had been responsible for a high percentage of the knife, drug, and gun crime that was rife in the local area, and, up until recently, no resident on the estate spoke to the police – or ‘the feds’, as they called them – except to say they had seen nothing. The residents were too terrified of the ruling gangs and the consequences of speaking to the police. Anyone known to have talked to ‘the feds’ was severely punished, and that meant a deep scar or maybe the loss of a finger – and that was if you were lucky.

The problem for the police was breaking the gangs up, which meant arresting the leading gang members and getting them sent down. However, as soon as they rounded up one dangerous gang leader, and got them sentenced and off the South London streets, then another rose up and took over.

By chance, when investigating a murder, Georgia had befriended a few of the street girls on the Aviary estate. She had found them helpful and unafraid of the consequences from their pimps and gang leaders. The girls had been more concerned for the welfare of the estate residents, and future of. . .