by Martina Cole
Loneliness was a terrible thing; it ate into you and, if you weren’t careful, it could cause a body to become bitter. You birthed them, you brought them up, and then you stepped back. It was the way of the world, but it was a hard road for someone like her, someone who had been everything to her children, and had made sure they knew it. At least, that was how she saw it now; the truth was a different thing altogether. The past was often better viewed through rose-coloured glasses.
Now she was older and greyer, and had been forced to take a back seat and it galled her even though a small part of her was relieved to have had the burden of them lifted from her. She had a fine house, a house that would knock the eyes out of anyone she knew, and she had a good few quid to do with as she liked as well. And, more importantly, she had a family who had all done well for themselves in one way or another. She missed the old house though, and her old friends: this place was like living in a prison camp. Everyone kept themselves to themselves, and no one thought to knock unless there was a valid reason to. No cups of tea and a quick gossip here, it was all lawns and fencing. Garages and barbeques. Radio 4 and documentaries. She was like a fish out of water, but she knew her Danny thought he had done the best for her, and she couldn’t tell him otherwise, could she? Not after everything he had given her, everything he had provided for her. If he had not paid her phone bills she would have gone doolally tap, as her mother used to say, without a friendly voice now and then. For an Irish immigrant she was living like a queen but even though she missed her cronies, she couldn’t bring herself to admit that to her son. So she talked to them for hours at a time, even though she knew that they were long past her and her new life, that she was different now, and it was only her son’s reputation that kept them from mugging her off once and for all. She even missed that drunken bastard she had married. At least with him she could have a conversation without having to think it through thoroughly first, in case she offended him. Having a conversation with this lot around here was like a military operation, what with their ‘Good Mornings’, and their pleasantries.
At least the church afforded her a few friends, anyway, but even they were intimidated by her family though, in fairness, they were chatty enough when she did see them. Maybe she would go on one of the coach trips the church was always arranging for the older people, do her good to have a break from cleaning the house and waiting for the kids to come round and see her. God was good, she knew that, and God himself knew she had sacrificed a lot for her children. The shame was that she wasn’t sure if her children realised that. Especially her only daughter.
As she sipped at the whisky she suddenly had a terrible feeling of foreboding wash over her; it left her breathless with its intensity, and with a layer of sweat that left her clammy and cold. A wave of sickness came over her, and she saw the broken body of her dead husband in her mind’s eye. Her son had beaten him nearly to death, left him a cripple and had then proceeded to terrorise the rest of his life. Yet, she still loved her son, still watched over him. Even though she knew he was a bully, a vicious bully. Life had seen to that much. Life had broken them all in one way or another.
She had an awful feeling that Danny Boy was in danger, but then, he lived in a constant state of anger and danger that put him in the frame on a daily basis. The feeling was now gripping her heart, she could feel an invisible hand squeezing the life out of her. She clutched the back of her chair, unable to call out with the pain. She attempted to rise, tried to stand. Poor Mary was lying in her bed upstairs, sleeping off her day’s alcohol consumption, and the girls were in the lounge watching their shite on television. She had to try and attract someone’s attention, she knew that much. She was in serious trouble.
‘Stop it, Danny, you’ll cause more trouble than you’ll prevent. Losing your temper and getting hot under the collar will gain us nothing.’ Michael poured them both a generous measure of Chivas Regal Scotch before he spoke once more. ‘Crystal meth is going to destroy everything we’ve grafted for if we don’t distribute it properly and with due thought, you know that. We’ve already been through this, timing is key and you know it. We need to see what the demand is like before we start to supply it. For all we know, it might not take off over here. America is a different market, and they have a much larger proportion of junkies per capita than we do.’
Danny took his drink and sipped it, waiting for his friend to finish what he had to say and using the time to gather his thoughts as well as his temper.
‘At the moment it’s a gay drug: they always get things first. Let’s pick and choose our distributors wisely because this is going to hit the streets with a fucking big bang and we have to make sure that the reverberations from that don’t come back to bite us. It’s not like coke and it is definitely not like grass. This is like the brown, the big H mixed in with a nuclear warhead, and it’s going to make a major fucking hole in our society. We can sell it all right, we can sell anything, but even we won’t be able to walk away from this if we ever get a capture.’
Michael was sitting with the man he wanted dead, and it was not something he was surprised about. In fact, he had known deep inside that it would not have come to anything because, without a break, such as a gangland murder, or a car crash, Danny Boy Cadogan was not going anywhere he didn’t expressly want to go. But there was still time to make the break, time was all they had now. Michael sipped his Scotch slowly, thoughtfully. He had thought this through with his usual caution. He had a bad feeling about crystal meth. He knew it was going to either take off like a Jumbo Jet on speed, or die a death overnight. The secret was to wait and see how the preliminary findings worked out before committing themselves. But Danny, as always, saw only the pound signs, and the power that a major distributor of such a product would wield.
‘This has to go out through a trusted subsidiary company, and it can never lead back to us. All our tame Filth and contacts will run a fucking mile if it does. So just wait a bit, hold your hand, and let’s see what develops, eh?’
Michael was speaking as quietly and as sensibly as he always did, in fact it was one of the things that Danny liked most about him. He always thought things through; Danny often joked that Michael spent a fortnight weighing up the pros and cons before he had a wank, let alone anything else. But there were a lot of people interested in this product and, at the moment, there was a growing sense of excitement in their community. Like crack before it, this was a drug that appealed to the useless, and ended up being taken by the foolish. It could be a licence to print money, and that was something that attracted them both. So Danny nodded his agreement, as Michael had known he would. It was talking Danny down that was the easy bit. As long as it was about the business, Michael knew he would be heard. If it was about grudges, however, or the slights that Danny seemed to see all over the place, then that was a different ball game. But Michael allowed for that, it let Danny get rid of some steam and it calmed him down, at least until the next time, anyway.
‘Anyone in mind?’
Michael shook his head and smiled. ‘Not yet, but we’ve plenty of time for all that. Let the drug filter through to the straights, let it hit the pavements first, see how it is welcomed, then we’ll be in a much better position to make an informed decision. Until then we’ll keep our options open and not rush into anything. The Russians are fucking useless at distribution and so are the other Eastern Europeans, fucking useless ponces the lot of them and, more to the point, they don’t know how to work together on anything, and that will eventually be their downfall. They live big and they die young but, on the plus side, they have a large army of disposable people. We’ll make a decision eventually and, when we do, it will be the right one, as always. The Colombians are still in the running, as are the fucking Blacks. Let’s see who comes up with the goods first, and then wait and see how the weekend dance mob takes to it. After all, Es are so cheap now, and are easier to get than aspirin and a line of coke is cheaper than a glass of wine. Crystal meth is a tenner a time, and it kee
ps people going for fucking days; it could be the new drug of choice just because of its price, let alone its other benefits. That gives us the council estates and the hoorays. We need in on the beginning, for the big bucks, but we need to be out of the game well before it becomes the new social problem.’
Danny nodded his head sagely, as Michael knew he would. ‘Yeah, you’re right, Mike. As always, you’ve done your market research.’ He grinned, showing expensive and intricate bridgework. The smile was warm, it was bright, and it hid the fact that it barely touched his eyes.
Danny had no finesse, and he knew it. He spoke and people jumped. And, as far as he was concerned, that was how it should be. No one was allowed to question him except this man in front of him. His best mate, his business partner and, most important of all, the person whom he called his other half, his sensible head, in private. The only person in the world he actually trusted.
Michael had always been the voice of reason and somewhere in Danny Cadogan’s brain he knew that. Mike’s voice had always been the only thing that could cause him to question his own actions. Even as boys, kids together, that had been the case. They were of a size, both large men, both well made, and both had the good looks that money and prestige could only enhance. But whereas Danny had a dangerousness that had been apparent from an early age, Michael had been blessed with a reasonableness, a quietness that in its own way made just as big an impact. People listened to Michael because of Danny, then, if they had any kind of nous, they listened to him because he made a lot of sense. Women loved them, especially the kind of women Danny actively sought out. Good looking, well stacked and with a haphazard approach to romance. No questions, no demands and, certainly, no intention of refusing a request, no matter what it was, or what time of the night they happened to turn up. These women kept themselves clean, smart and well groomed, and they waited on the off-chance they might get a visit from their provider.
Both men dressed well, fucked with ambivalence, and they both liked kudos. And they saw the world as an oyster created especially for their needs. The difference between them was that although Danny had an innate shrewdness and a viciousness that had made him someone of note, it was Michael who possessed the actual acumen needed to make them as rich legally as they were from their other, less legitimate enterprises. Everything they owned they could account for if necessary, from their large houses to their diamond Rolexes. Everything they possessed had been bought on the up and up, was insured properly, and they paid their tax and VAT without a murmur. They were, to all intents and purposes, Diamond Geezers, Faces.
But to anyone in the know, they were far more than that. Theirs was an operation that was more global than the United Nations, and more local than a kebab shop. No one did any kind of business without their express permission and goodwill. Whether it was ringing a motor, or selling a snide DVD, they were involved somewhere along the line. But there was such a hierarchy involved, it would take decades of intense investigation before their names were even mentioned. Danny was far more of a threat than a twenty-year stretch could ever be and, if that was ever the case, if an accident did occur at any time and a capture came out of it, the person involved knew without a shadow of a doubt that their family would live a life of luxury and private education that most MPs could only dream about. Loyalty cost money, but it was a small price to pay when you weighed up all the other options. It was their generosity towards even their lowliest of workers that had got them this far in the first place. As Danny always argued, Tony Blair should have remembered who had put him in the hot seat in the first place, and then maybe he would still be the dog’s gonads as far as the electorate were concerned. Danny had admired Blair at first, but the war had finished him as far as he and New Labour was concerned. What real leader would sacrifice his own people, his own countrymen, in a war that was not only pointless but, ultimately, unwinnable? What leader would put his own people in jeopardy because some Yank told him to? What leader would expect such loyalty without giving it back in some way? Blair had tucked them all up and, thanks to him, Danny knew that he and all his ilk would thrive. Thanks to him, the criminals were given the opportunity to expand and unite without even having to jump on a plane. Thanks to him, they could ply their trades with much more ease, because the police were far too busy hunting down terrorists.
Now Danny Boy Cadogan was the biggest Face in the United Kingdom, dealing with the rest of the criminal world on a daily basis and getting far more respect than his own prime minister. He ran an enterprise that would put the Wellcome Foundation to shame, but at least he sold his drugs at a reasonable price and ensured that they were accessible to everyone who wanted them. Such was the mindset of Danny Boy Cadogan, a man who saw himself as above everything, and everyone, especially the law.
From small acorns, as his old man had always said to him. The same old man who couldn’t keep a pound in his pocket if the pubs were open and his kids were starving. A man who would have applauded the new licensing laws and robbed a pensioner without a second’s thought, to make sure he had enough poke to make use of them. Who would never have seen his kids if he had not been forced to by the fact that once the pubs had shut, there was nowhere else to go but home. Danny had never forgiven him for that, for the fact he would rather get pissed with his cronies than see his kids taken care of properly. It had been his father’s complete disregard for anyone other than himself that had made Danny so determined to make something of his own life. He had his own father crippled and not felt a smidgeon of guilt. The bastard had asked for it and, after a while, he had got it.
They had started out small-time, him and Michael, like every big business, and now they were not only as rich as Croesus, they were also untouchable. They had money everywhere, all over the world, and they had a lifestyle that was good by anyone’s standards, but not even half as good as it could be if they used their real money. And Danny would have done just that if it had not been for, as always, Michael’s warning voice bringing him back down to earth. Danny accepted that he was still around, and still without a real nicking, and he also accepted that this was because of Michael, and Michael accepted that, without Danny, he would not have lasted five minutes in their world. He didn’t have the killer instinct, the need for violence that Danny did. He was also basically straight; he was always far more interested in the economics of their deals than the deals themselves. Danny knew Michael loved the creating of the wealth far more than he enjoyed the spending of it. Michael thrived on the making of the deals, whereas Danny thrived on the excitement and the danger of their various ventures. They were a good team because of that, and they both knew it.
One day they would retire, and the world would be their playground, and then they could spend their hard-earned dosh in any way they saw fit.
Not any more though. If Michael had his way, Danny would be retiring to the big score in the sky. ‘I’ll meet you later in the warehouse, OK? We’ll sort it all from there.’
Danny nodded absentmindedly.
Jonjo was quiet, the marks from his brother’s angry attack still livid on his face. Jonjo wanted it all over, but for a very different reason than the others. Danny was his brother, and they were close all right, but not as close as everyone thought, at least not from his side anyway. This had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get Danny out of his life once and for all. Unlike Michael who, in fairness, was looking out for his sister and her children, he was looking only out for himself.
‘It’s make-your-mind-up time.’
Michael shrugged. The cold night air seemed to have brought them both back down to earth with a resounding thud.
Jonjo shook his head sadly. ‘It’s Mary I feel sorry for. We let her get involved. Then we let her down.’
‘She loves him you know, Jonjo. In a strange way, we all did once. Without him, what would we be?’ Michael was silent then for a few seconds before starting up the car and driving them out of the breaker’s yard.
As they drove away Jonjo wonde
red how it had come to this, how their lives had ended up bereft of anything even resembling normality. He had been so close to his brother once, and he knew that his brother still felt a connection with him. Danny would give him the world on a plate if he could, he just never understood that not everyone was like him, not everyone wanted that much. As kids it had all been different, and Danny had been the only real constant in his life. Not only had Danny been his hero, his role model, but he had also been the only thing that stood between him and his father’s colossal anger. Then, of course, he had needed his brother’s strength, had welcomed it even. Little had he realised it would eventually be the thing he hated most about him. Be the thing that made him determined to bring him down.
Danny was completely out of control now, but after the night’s events all Jonjo could think about was his childhood, and the fact that without his brother, he would never have survived it.
Now the man who had protected him, bullied him, and destroyed him, was finally going to die. At least he hoped that would be the case, though knowing his brother he would turn this around to his advantage and that would be the end of them all.
Either way though, tonight was the end of it, whatever the outcome. It would finally be over.
Book One
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.
-W. Blake, 1757-1827 ‘Auguries of Innocence’
Chapter One
1969
‘Am I, by any chance, keeping you up, Cadogan?’
The boy didn’t answer, the fear of saying the wrong thing making him wary. He shook his head violently in denial instead.
