Dangerous Games

by Gillian Godden

  There seemed to be peace on the streets. Marlon, true to his word, kept to his own turf, and Tony and Jake kept to theirs. Everyone seemed happy and everyone was making money.

  ***

  It was now four months after the deal with Marlon had been shook on and, as there had been no complaints from either side, it seemed a mutual respect had begun. Even the police seemed satisfied that whatever deals were being done were all low key.

  Tony and Jake had gone back to the Crown one evening and sought out the youth that had thrown the rocket in the pub. They had found him and his gang hanging around, as usual. They were known all around the streets as troublemakers and petty thieves, but Tony had other plans for them.

  Again, as before, he had driven up to the corner where they all stood around, wearing their hoodies, making even the bravest people feel vulnerable, and called the ringleader over. Recognizing the car, the youth had approached, and Tony wound the window down.

  ‘You’re a good guy,’ said Tony, ‘but I need another favour from you, a regular one, if you want it.’

  The youth pulled his hoodie closer around his face, then leaned on the car. ‘What’s that, then?’ he said, showing his usual bravado.

  ‘I want you to be my eyes and ears. You know how to keep your mouth shut and I respect that, but I want these streets clean and I want you and your little friends to stop frightening the neighbourhood. I want you to look after it, for a change.’ Tony knew he was challenging the boy, and he liked his spirit.

  ‘How, mister? What do you want me to do, and how much are you paying?’

  ‘You keep me informed of any strangers in the area, any burglaries that your friends are involved in, and tell me any gossip that may interest me. For that, I’ll pay you fifty pounds a week – if you’re up to it, of course. If you’re no good to me, then you don’t get your money.’

  ‘You’re that Lambrianu bloke they’re all talking about, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Why do you want me to grass on my mates when you know everything, anyway?’ Again, his tough manner made Tony smile; this teenager reminded him so much of himself.

  ‘Yes, I am Tony Lambrianu, and because people say things in front of children that they wouldn’t say in front of adults. Is it a deal, then?’

  ‘Sixty pounds,’ said the youth. ‘And you won’t be sorry, I know everything that goes on around here.’

  ‘Done,’ said Tony, and held out his hand to shake the teenager’s grubby paw. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Daniel,’ said the teenager, ‘people call me Dan. Does that mean I work for you, now, then?’

  Tony nodded and handed him a twenty-pound note for the time being, to set the wheels in motion. Obviously, Dan was going to enjoy the esteem of telling everyone he worked for Tony; it had given him a step up the ladder.

  As they drove off, Jake turned to Tony, ‘You’re actually going to trust that little runt and pay him money?’

  ‘I sure am, Jake. He knows these streets and everyone on them, and he’ll be valuable. Stupid, though, if I were him I would have asked for a hundred pounds, I was expecting that, and I was prepared to pay it.’

  ***

  When Tony’s apartment was put up for sale, he had moved his own things out and handed the keys over to the estate agent; the last thing he needed was to have to organise his life around property viewings. Initially, he had stayed at Jake and Sharon’s house, but now he was living in his exclusive apartment above the club in the West End, one of the most fashionable postal codes in London.

  Jake had been right to suggest asking Miriam for the money to help them get by, because the apartment was taking time to sell and her money had allowed them to begin the refurbishment at the club. Miriam had been more than generous.

  Tony and Jake, under Elle’s guidance, called in a building firm to rip out the guts of the building, bit by bit. Every stick of furniture, and even the doors and windows, had been removed. It had become an empty shell, a blank piece of paper to start afresh on. Some of the builders had started renovating the living quarters, while others had taken the club apart. Tony needed somewhere to live, his own space, and Jake and Sharon needed their home back. The only instructions he had given the builders and the designers were to make it a very light, modern bachelor apartment, suitable for entertaining.

  They instantly knew what he meant – for entertaining females, something Tony just hadn’t had time to think about for a number of weeks. Now things were up and running, it was time for some light entertainment and some fun. The designers, knowing they had free rein and a blank cheque, worked their magic and transformed the place.

  Sharon had applied for the necessary licences, and after weeks of investigations and checks, she had been given not only a drinks licence, but an entertainment licence, also. The licensee nameplate above the door read ‘Sharon Sinclair’. Everything, finally, was coming up roses.

  Tony and Jake had had a few skirmishes in the beginning, when some local businessmen had tried getting out of paying them and they’d had to use brute force to get their point across. Tony was still fighting and getting his hands dirty; he wasn’t prepared to sit back like the other bosses and let everyone else do his work for him. This way, he could keep in touch with everything, and make himself known to the possible troublemakers. They all soon learnt not to mess him around. Even though he appeared to be a calm, charming boss on the surface, they all saw that underneath he was still Tony, the well-known leg-breaker, running all the usual protection rackets.

  Tony liked the fact that fear awarded great power and both of those things brought wealth. He would never be poor again, scratching around on the streets, searching bins for pieces of leftover pizza and begging money from people passing by.

  The work was pouring in, and the money was mounting up. Sharon had been right; they couldn’t cope on their own anymore, they needed help. Jake and Tony were at a loss. Where were they going to get more security collectors from? Any collectors they hired would have to go from pub to pub and any other business who wanted their protection and pick up a lot of money, and find out if they had any problems that needed sorting.

  They needed to look like a business, but the only people they knew were the same collectors they had hung around with when they were both collecting for the bossman. They had decided they wanted new people, fresh faces, not the same corrupt men they had worked with. The question was, who?

  The last few months had been hard going, as they were managing the work at the club and the protection racket on their own, and then, on top of that, Tony had started a money-lending business. The owner of a local off-licence and grocery store wanted to extend the shop into a sort of mini-market. He mentioned that he had been to the bank to see if he could borrow some more money, but had only been offered half of what he’d asked for and needed.

  Tony saw this as another opportunity to make money. He offered to lend the owner the twenty thousand pounds he needed to extend his shop, but at a very high interest rate, and as collateral, he demanded the deeds to his house. The owner had seen it as a good offer. He knew, given the chance, he could pay what Tony asked. His credit limit was stretched, and the neighbourhood his shop was in had a bad reputation. The bank felt it was high risk, considering how many burglaries there were in the area.

  The shopkeeper had agreed to Tony’s terms and, through a solicitor, had made a contract stipulating that once all the money was paid off, the deeds of his house would be returned. Each month, the man paid the amount agreed, plus the interest, and seemed very satisfied, so much so, word spread throughout the neighbourhood.

  Jake had thought Tony was taking a big risk, handing over large sums of money to these guys when there was no guarantee he would get his money back. Still, he had the deeds to their property, plus any other guarantees they could give.

  Before long, Tony was approached again, this time by a local restaurateur who wanted to redecorate. The man was already pleased that his windows were no longer being regularly broken by Da
n and his gang and nor did they hang around outside, intimidating would-be diners. He wanted to borrow money to do the place up to attract new customers, as the area felt safe again, something they all knew was down to Tony and Jake. The same arrangements were made and the debts were being repaid.

  Sharon, who always seemed to think of the practical side of things and pour cold water on their grand schemes, had said they had a flourishing business, but no headquarters or office to do business from. It was time for them to think again.

  ‘Badger,’ said Tony one day, as they watched more scaffolding being erected around the club. He slapped his hand against his forehead. ‘Why didn’t I think of him before?’ At last, he had the answer to his problems. Badger would have some contacts, especially the kind they needed for the work they did.

  Jake frowned; he knew their workload was stressing them both out, but now he thought Tony was losing his marbles. ‘Who the hell is Badger?’

  ‘My old cellmate from prison. You met him once, remember? He’s been in and out of prison so many times, he knows everyone. He’s bound to know some ex-prisoners who can’t find a job because of their record.’

  Jake thought back, and then nodded. ‘Yeah, I remember him now, but you can’t be serious. They’re all thieves and God knows what else, why would we employ those kind of people?’ When Jake saw Tony’s stern expression, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  Tony raised one eyebrow and looked at Jake, his face serious. ‘What, you mean ex-prisoners? Like me?’

  ‘No, no, Tony, that wasn’t what I meant and you know that. All I’m saying is, what makes you sure you could trust those guys?’

  Tony took a deep breath before he spoke. He knew Jake didn’t mean to put his foot in it, but there it was; the prejudice.

  ‘Because,’ Tony said, ‘self-opinionated folk like you are not prepared to give those guys a second chance. They all have to report to a probation officer weekly and they are all trying to find jobs. That, Jake, is why they all end up back in prison again, they’re living on meagre benefits and the future on the outside looks bleak.’

  Jake could see Tony’s reasoning and felt guilty about what he had said. He remembered how low and despondent Tony had been when he came out of prison; maybe he had a point. ‘If they’re on benefits and reporting to probation officers weekly, how are they going to work for us, cash-in-hand?’

  ‘They won’t be. It’s all going to be above board, they’ll be paying taxes and everything. Club bouncers with wage slips. Of course, what we give them cash-in-hand as a bonus is our business.’ The more Tony thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Those guys would be grateful; if they messed up, that was their business, but he reckoned most would welcome the opportunity.

  Tony contacted Badger – so known because of his hair – and sure enough, he knew of a few good guys that were having a hard time now they were back in the real world. He gave Tony all the information he had about them and where they lived. Prisoners hardly ever spoke about their private life inside prison. It was personal.

  Following Badger’s leads, they managed to trace some of the men. Some were living in hostels, others were back with their families, living hand-to-mouth. Tony recognized that bored, depressed feeling they all seemed to have. He had felt like that, once, enough that he had worked for the bossman again. One of the men Tony and Jake visited was a mechanic from the garage he had worked in himself.

  They used a backroom in one of the pubs to hold proper interviews for the jobs. They both outlined that they would be employed as security guards, for the Sinclair Security Agency, and would be paying tax. Of course, if they proved reliable, there would be bonuses. It was up to them to earn them.

  Jake was surprised that they all seemed to jump at the chance with no arguments, they wanted that feeling of independence and a chance to work. In short, a little respectability.

  Twelve of them were accepted; their crimes had been petty – nothing sexual and no drugs. One of them, John, had been the driver of a getaway car, and Tony chose him as his personal chauffeur. John went on to work for Tony for many years.

  At last, Tony’s apartment was finished. The designers had telephoned him to come and see if he liked it. Inside the club, work was still ongoing. Wiring was hanging from the ceiling where the electricians were still working and the plasterers were making the walls more presentable. Jake and Tony walked up the new spiral staircase that had been put in place, opened the door and looked inside.

  They were amazed, and stood in awe, just looking through the doorway. It was a beautiful, classy apartment, fit for royalty. The designers had really worked their magic and let their imaginations run wild. The kitchen floor was a grey marble. There was a glossy black breakfast bar, with a glitter sheen that sparkled in the shape of an ‘L’, for ‘Lambrianu’. There was a fully fitted kitchen, with every appliance you could think of. There were white horizontal blinds hanging at all the windows. The lounge area had large cream leather sofas standing on dark cherry laminate flooring, and sheepskin rugs. And, at the head of the room, was a large white fireplace with a log burner. It was a totally different place.

  The main bedroom made them both laugh out loud – what a sight to behold. Tony had said that he wanted a bachelor apartment to entertain the ladies in. One wall was completely mirrored, making the room look larger. A king-size-plus black velvet bed dominated the room, and there was a full music system installed in the headboard. There was even a mini-bar against the wall.

  ‘Bloody hell, Tony,’ said Jake, laughing his head off and looking around the room, ‘it looks like a tart’s paradise.’ They were both laughing, while looking around. This was definitely not the same dump the bossman had lived in, even though it did have its quirky points.

  Tony’s new workforce were all dressed in black suits and ties, and they were instructed to attend the gymnasium weekly. He didn’t want fat, out-of-shape men, who didn’t look and couldn’t act the part.

  His old apartment finally sold and the moment he got the money for it in his bank account, he transferred it all to Miriam. He wanted to look like a man of his word to her, and he vowed to himself that the rest would follow. At long last the designers and decorators were given the green light to work their magic in the club; if they did half as well as they had with his apartment, it would look fantastic.

  Tony had his own vision for the club, and he discussed it with Jake and Sharon at their house. He had one selfish desire, and wanted to see what they both thought about it.

  ‘Jake, Sharon we’re equal partners in everything we do, you know that, don’t you.’ Jake and Sharon both thought that Tony looked embarrassed. He was starting to blush and looking down at the table as he spoke. Sharon took hold of Jake’s hand; what could possibly be so important to Tony that it made him look like a schoolboy in front of the headmaster?

  They looked at each other. ‘For God’s sake, Tony, whatever it is, spit it out, will you?’ said Sharon.

  The air was tense; there was a dramatic pause, as they waited for Tony to speak.

  ‘Well,’ he said. He ran his hands through his hair, as though too nervous to say anything else. ’The designers want a name for the club, and as we haven’t discussed it yet, I thought …’ He coughed to clear his throat, then took a drink. Jake and Sharon both sat on the edge of their seats, waiting.

  Tony looked down at the table and, almost in a whisper, he said, ‘“Lambrianu’s”, that’s what I was thinking.’

  Sharon and Jake both took a breath; was that what was causing all of this nervous tension? They squeezed each other’s hands and nodded. ‘Is that it?’ said Jake. ‘Is that the big secret idea?’ He had been waiting for something far worse than this.’ I like it, Tony, it has a glamorous ring to it. What do you think, Sharon?’

  She nodded and smiled. ‘Definitely, it sounds classy.’

  ‘What about you two, though?’ said Tony. He was biting his bottom lip and still looked nervous.

  Jake spoke first. �
��“Sinclair’s” doesn’t have the same glamorous ring to it, does it? And you deserve something. Sharon’s name is above the door, apparently I own a security firm, so now it’s your turn.’ They all agreed it was a good name for the club, and then Tony went on to tell them, if they approved, he would like it in fancy pink neon writing. That shocked them both.

  ‘Why pink, Tony? It’s not very masculine, for a man of your reputation,’ said Sharon.

  Tony shook his head. ‘I don’t want it masculine. It’s a nightclub for men to bring their girlfriends to. It looks different and fancy.’

  Jake raised his glass. ‘Okay, here’s to pink neon “Lambrianu’s”.’ They all put their glasses together to seal the deal.

  Tony had his own reasons for calling the club “Lambrianu’s” – it was pure vanity. People knew him, they feared him, but he wanted them all to see he had done well for himself. He wanted everyone who had looked down on him and dismissed him as a common street urchin to know that he was Tony Lambrianu, the man who had the best nightclub in town. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

  ‘What if,’ said Sharon, ‘what if you can’t afford to buy the club when the time is up? What happens then?’ She was again baldly stating a fact that both Tony and Jake were conscious of, but chose to ignore.

  Jake gave Sharon an angry glare. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we, Tony.’ He didn’t want Sharon killing Tony’s dream. For once, he was happy. He pulled his hand away from hers in disgust.

  ***

  Each day, in between seeing to his usual day-to-day business dealings, Tony popped into the club to see how they were doing. He loved watching this downtrodden dump rise like a phoenix from the ashes. He was like a kid in the run up to Christmas, anxiously waiting for the big day.

  His name had already been put above the door by the sign makers and he loved just looking at it, switching it on and seeing the neon burn hot pink in the dark of evening. Lambrianu’s.