Faces

by Martina Cole

  In their world, you were only allowed to work if you showed willing, and were prepared to make a generous donation now and again to whoever was allowing you to work in the first place. Up until now, they had not really understood the economics of the world they had decided to conquer. It was his job to explain the pecking order to them and, at the same time, make sure they understood that this was a non-negotiable situation. They had been allowed to run riot for a long time; now they were to be reined in and used, just like everyone else.

  But they were shrewd enough; they should have sussed this all out for themselves. He was aware that Danny Boy would be the problem child of this comedy duo, but he was also confident that Danny Boy would swallow his knob and do what was expected of him, namely accept his fate and wait his turn, like they had all had to. They were finally accepted, were finally in the world they had courted so earnestly, now they had to prove themselves worthy of it, once and for all, and that was always the most difficult bit.

  But he had confidence in them, well Danny Boy anyway; he had seen greatness in him even as a young kid, the man, he was sure, would become a phenomenon. He hoped so, because he had been working for them behind the scenes for years. Not that they would appreciate that, of course, like all youngsters, they thought it was their right. They thought they had earned it. Well, did he have news for them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jamie Carlton was laughing, and he had what was generally agreed to be a seriously funny laugh. It was deep, it came from the heart and it was infectious. He was the only person, Danny Boy joked, who actually guffawed. Jamie himself was tall, thin and, at twenty-four, he still didn’t need to shave. He was smooth-skinned and so fair he couldn’t go out in the sun without going bright red and looking like a Belisha beacon. His father was Donald Carlton, an old Face with a crooked smile, a vicious state of mind, and a genuine belief that Jamie was not his son but, because he was still legally married to the boy’s mother, he had to show willing where the boy was concerned or lose face. So he treated him as a son, gave him an earner, while his suspicions grew all the time.

  Jamie, as luck would have it, had a knack for bookmaking. He could lay off a bet in his sleep, and he made his staff in the betting shops so nervous that tills were never more than a penny out, and he hoped against hope that his father’s suspicions were unfounded. However, he could understand why his father felt as he did. His mother, a lovely woman, was not exactly what you could call the faithful type. Indeed, she had been seen with more men than Danny La Rue. It was a terrible situation really, because Jamie knew he was accepted as a Carlton, but he also knew that his position was tenuous, to say the least. In fact, if his father decided to give vent to his suspicions, he would become an outcast in minutes. And he was determined to make sure that didn’t happen. If his father was to die, however, there was no way anyone would or could question his paternity, and he could get on with his life without that shadow of doubt hanging over him. As his father was short, dark-skinned, overweight and bald, Jamie could understand better than anyone why he was so preoccupied with his only child’s parentage. Even as he understood this, after all, he had been taller than his father since he was twelve, he was still prepared to take his old man out to ensure he got what he saw as his due. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, it wasn’t his fault. He’d had no control over any of it whatsoever. He was, to all intents and purposes, Jamie Carlton, and his father had put his name on the birth certificate, so he was legally his old man.

  Now though, his father’s suspicions were getting beyond a joke. Especially since his old man was now shagging a twenty year old with firm tits and an active womb; Jamie therefore felt that this had now become a pressing problem. A new baby on the firm would cause untold aggravation, especially if the said child was unlucky enough to look like the ugly ponce who had sired it.

  Basically, he wanted to ensure he got what was coming to him, and he also desired the exact same thing for his so-called father. He loved the man but, at the end of the day, he had to cover his own arse. Hence his new-found friendship with Danny Boy Cadogan, a man who, like himself, had experienced problems with the man who had sired him. Like Danny, he was finally at the end of his patience, after all, you could only invest so much in relatives; eventually they proved they weren’t worth the time or the effort needed to keep them close by. Relatives were all right, provided they lived in another country.

  As they sat together, he was aware of Danny Boy’s dangerous air. Like most real Faces, Danny had the knack of making everyone around him wary. It was a useful tool in their world, and Danny was already making a name for himself because of it. Even the Filth were giving him a wide berth, accepting his new status, and more than willing to overlook his obvious mental defects; mainly that he had no conscience and had an unhealthy belief in his own righteousness.

  Danny Boy Cadogan was what was commonly called a looney tunes, a radio rental; in short, a nut-box. He was also a very clever negotiator who acted as normal as the next person until someone aggravated him. These two had been dancing around each other for a few weeks, and this meet, Jamie was sure, would cement their relationship.

  People like Danny Boy Cadogan were imperative to the criminal cause. In fact, without them, they were all fucked. Because the Dannys took the heat off everyone else, the run-of-the-mill Faces who did their business behind closed doors. As his father Donald had always told him, the real Faces were the ones you never heard about. The ones who kept a low profile, who were willing to let the more flamboyant Faces make their mark in the public psyche, leaving them alone to earn a crust in peace and quiet.

  That was proving to be more true by the day. It was the eighties, the old-timers were banged up, and the new generation were more than willing to take on the mantle of the old boys. Only now they had the added benefit of newspaper exposure, along with the goodwill of the general public. Punk rock had laid the foundations for the new breed of anti-hero; people were so heavily taxed now that they admired anyone with the front to tip the authorities’ bollocks. A bank robber was seen as someone who had the nerve to take back what the government was stealing off the average man on the street. People weren’t so judgemental about how a living was earned, and nearly everyone benefited from the black market; the clothes and other sundries that should have been out of their reach were there for the taking, were being sold in most pubs, working men’s clubs or local market stalls around the Smoke. It was a big earner, and everyone was a winner. For the person who supplied the goods, it was a win-win situation.

  Now though, Jamie wanted Danny Boy to take out his old man, therefore leaving the door open for the youngsters like themselves to finally come into their own. It was the law of the pavement, weakness was something that was watched out for, and violence was also something that was celebrated in the right quarters if it got them what they wanted. In fact, it was the only thing that guaranteed new blood, new Faces on the firms and, ultimately, a new order. Once he had done the deed with Danny Boy, Jamie’s father would be just another crime statistic whose previous and abundant criminal acts would guarantee the Old Bill’s utter disinterest in the matter. That, coupled with serious amounts of wedge of course; after all, everyone had bills to pay, holidays to book, and gambling debts to erase.

  Jamie had a good feeling that this young man’s acquiescence was a foregone conclusion. Because, like himself, Danny Boy Cadogan was looking for an edge, was patiently waiting for the chance to push himself to the forefront of their new world order. Drugs and clubbing were the path to riches, and they knew that better than anyone. They also knew how to make sure their new businesses were accepted and overlooked by the powers that be. All in all, it was as good a reason as any to take the old fucker out.

  Danny Cadogan knew exactly why he was there, he wasn’t a fool, but Jamie also knew he would have the sense to play the game with the required panache, act shocked at the sheer audacity of the favour requested of him, pretend a reticence he didn’t feel, an
d then, eventually, after much soul searching, do the deal that would in effect end his father’s life while starting off his own. It was sad; he had been a good dad in his own way but he had to watch his own arse and he couldn’t be expected to watch anyone else’s. Anyway he would give the old boy a good send-off; horse and cart, a decent coffin, and a piss-up that would be talked about for generations. After all, it was the least he could do.

  Danny Cadogan could have written the script for him, and they both knew that, so the meeting was beneficial for them both in more ways than one. Together they were a powerful force, and they knew that; in fact they were so in tune that the bullshit was kept to the minimum on either side. Respect was the order of the day, and Michael, observing them, was once more amazed at how easily Danny seemed to find the right connections, and how easily he fooled everyone into thinking they could control him. Well, Donald was going to be used as an excuse to take out Lawrence Mangan as well; Danny Boy wanted to kill two birds with one powerful stone and, as Lawrence Mangan and Donald Carlton were both known associates to the Filth and the criminal fraternity in general, it would be seen as a fair hit. Everyone would know the truth though; that Mangan was getting on everyone’s nerves with his constant mug-bunnying about Danny Boy and his so-called bad attitude since his shocking removal of Kenny. If they could pull this off, they would leap into the stratosphere of their chosen fields. Pull it off they would. Danny had been waiting for something like this his whole life, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up. These two young men had both known they would reach this moment; now all they had to do was make sure that what they had planned didn’t backfire.

  Ange was worried. She had heard rumour after rumour of her son’s involvement in a lot of not only dodgy, but dangerous, enterprises. That in itself didn’t bother her as such; it was the world they lived in, and it was these dealings that afforded her the standard of living she was enjoying so much. What was worrying her though was the fact that her son was disregarding not only her advice about it, but his father’s nod as well. Donald Carlton wasn’t a fool. Like everyone else he knew the score, knew what was happening around him. He would hear the whisper on the pavement about Jamie’s treachery at some point, after all, she knew about it, so the chances were he did as well. Her own son, in fairness, was a slippery little fucker when the fancy took him so she had kept her own counsel and hadn’t mentioned any of it outside the house. It was her husband who was the real worry; she knew for a fact that he was not pleased about his son’s latest scheme. In a way she could understand that, he found it hard to forgive and forget what had been done to him over the years but, as he had been the orchestrator of his own downfall she couldn’t really feel that sorry for him. She understood that it was hard for him to see his son making such a success of his life, especially since he had fucked his own up so spectacularly, never having managed to get past first base. She felt that Danny and Michael discussed too much of their business in front of him. She knew it was a calculated act as far as Danny Boy was concerned, knew he enjoyed rubbing his success in his father’s face while disregarding the fact that he had punished the man enough for what had happened in the past. But her main fear was that her husband might use the information he had garnered to teach his son a lesson. That he could use his knowledge to guarantee his revenge on the child who had, in effect, usurped him, not only in his own home, but also in the community he had lived in all his life. People gave him the time of day, but only because his son still gave him a modicum of respect in public. If Danny decided to blank him, then so would everyone else. He was tolerated, no more and no less, and he knew that as well as his son and everybody else did. Big Dan Cadogan had been living on his nerves and on borrowed time for far too long. It was human nature for him to see his son’s demise as the only way he could ever be truly secure. It was also the only way he could hold his head up once again. Donald Carlton would appreciate a heads-up and that would guarantee her husband an easy ride for the next few years. Even though it would involve his own son’s death, Ange could understand that, at this moment in time, that would actually be the reason for him grassing in the first place.

  Carlton was a hard bastard, and his son’s paternity had been a topic of conversation for many years. It was now an urban legend and, even though the boy looked like his paternal grandmother in drag, it was still something that Donald was troubled by. As all women knew, men liked to think that the kids who carried their name were actually their kids. Men pointed out their son’s likeness to themselves and others around them with a gusto that was brought on by their natural suspiciousness. A cuckoo in the nest was never an ideal situation and, as there was only the one child, Donald Carlton had good reason to believe the boy was more than likely an impostor. None of his birds had ever reproduced either, unlike the wife, but even she had been barren for many years before the much trumpeted arrival of young James. Donald Carlton was now with a young girl and, if the gossip was anything to go by, he was covering her at every available opportunity in the hope of a new sprog, and a chance to redeem himself.

  It was a tragedy all right, but it was also a dangerous situation for her elder son. She was caught between a rock and a hard place; she had to either tip Danny Boy the wink, all the while keeping his father’s name out of the frame, or she let nature take its course and bury either her husband or her eldest child.

  So she sat alone, she drank her tea, and she plotted. If push ever came to shove, Ange knew in her heart, without question, which of the men in her life she would protect. Life was a bastard at times, and her life was overshadowed by bastardy on a daily basis. It wasn’t fair, her having to choose, but then, what was fair in their world?

  Mary was watching her brother as he made himself a sandwich. Gordon had been a bundle of nerves since the funeral and Kenny’s untimely outburst; she had noticed that Gordon was suffering from what was generally referred to as his nerves. He spent most of his time with Jonjo Cadogan; that didn’t bother her but what did bother her was her younger brother’s reliance on drugs. If he wasn’t popping Drinamyl, the new name for purple hearts, he was dropping Mogadons, and sleeping the days away. Moggies as they were known, were sleeping pills that were readily available and used by junkies to settle them before or after a fix, depending.

  As Gordon spread salad cream on a slice of bread she said gaily, ‘Not going out, Gordon?’

  It was Friday night, and any teenager worth their salt would be out tonight. Gordon shook his head and she marvelled at the likeness to his older brother. Michael was like his twin. It was uncanny.

  ‘Jonjo’s coming round and we’re going to chill out, listen to a bit of music, and relax.’

  She nodded and he gazed at her distantly. ‘You all right, mare?’

  She smiled then, a real smile at his obvious concern for her, and said sadly, ‘ ’Course I am. I worry about you, that’s all.’

  He grinned, his handsome face open and honest. ‘Well don’t, OK?’

  Mary nodded, but she also knew that her little brother was not handling the events of the last few months very well and she was determined to try and do something about that. Like their mother he tended to obliterate the days instead of living them. Like their mother he couldn’t handle the real world when it crept up on him. With him it was the drugs; they were his way out, and she knew that she had to talk to Michael and Danny Boy about him before it was too late. Where they lived, getting wasted was seen as a natural progression; there was not a lot of incentive to make something of yourself or get gainful employment. In fact, like a lot of his generation, he couldn’t see the point in it all. Jobs, real jobs, were few and far between; unless you had family in Fords at Dagenham, or in the print, you didn’t really have much choice in life. Both those jobs were still being worked by the third generation of the same families. It was a guaranteed in and, once in, it was a job for life; the unions had seen to that.

  Michael could have given him an earn, but he hadn’t bothered because Gordon wasn’t exactly
the energetic type. He wasn’t a boy who had put himself about for a few quid, a paper round, whatever. He was more of the taking type. Coupled with the fact that his IQ was lower than his shoe size, and that he wasn’t mature enough to be trusted with anything that might involve discretion, he was pretty much left to his own aimless devices. This, she knew, had to stop. He had to start taking responsibility for himself; Michael was making it far too easy for him.

  ‘What are you on, Gordon?’

  He smirked at her, and she suppressed the urge to smack him one around the face, ‘Who are you, mare, the police?’

  She grinned, her short laugh full of sarcasm as she said nastily, ‘I could be, Gordon, if you ain’t careful. And if you bring the Filth to this door you’ll bring on the wrath of not only Michael but also Danny Boy Cadogan as well.’

  She let the words sink in before adding, ‘Now, for the last time, what the fuck are you on, and where did you get it from?’

  Michael was sipping his drink and watching as Danny Boy homed in on Pakash Patel. The man was heavyset, with a handsome face, and a reputation as a real player; a serious gambler who was known to pay his debts promptly. He was also renowned for his gargantuan appetite for gambling, whisky and leggy blondes. He was also now into drugs. Not the usual drugs of choice, but anabolic steroids.

  The craze for body-building that had suddenly caught on in the seventies had finally given way to gyms and sports clubs springing up all over the place. Men now craved a body like Arnie and they didn’t want to work too hard for it. A few injections could guarantee them the biceps of a gladiator and, unfortunately, the temperament of a scalded rhino. Pakash Patel had the contacts Danny Boy needed to bring the steroid market into the twenty-first century. Patel had family in the medical profession; most of his relatives were doctors or pharmacists, the fact that they were also involved in the distribution side of the drug industry was an added bonus as far as Danny Boy was concerned. As the law stood, it was perfectly legal to possess steroids; it was only illegal to sell them on in large quantities. These were a drug that could therefore be sold freely in any sporting establishment on the quiet, with the minimum of fuss and the maximum of profit. Anyone found in possession of it just had to say it was for their own personal use and that was that. Danny Boy saw the niche in the market and was seriously determined to exploit it to the fullest extent. Any drug was an earner, everyone knew that, but something like these, that were so easy to get hold of, and so easy to pass on it was laughable; it was amazing really that no one else saw the potential.