by Martina Cole
‘Go on then, Eli, finish him off. We ain’t got all fucking night.’ Danny was shouting now and his voice, and the urgency in it, communicated itself to Eli, and he brought the machete down onto the man’s head with all the force he could muster, splitting his skull open. They watched in fascination as Eli tried unsuccessfully to retrieve it. Tried to pull it back out, but it was stuck there; it was buried deep in Ali’s brain.
That’s when the man finally started to scream, his voice started babbling out in Turkish, his terrible pain evident to anyone who could hear him, sounding like an animal caught in a man trap. He was trying to get up once more, trying to walk about, as Eli was still trying to remove the offending object from his skull. Eli was slipping all over the place in Ali’s blood, it was everywhere, and Ali was still not going back down. He was a strong fucker, there was no doubt about that.
Danny Boy walked over to them and, lifting Ali up from the floor as if he weighed nothing, he wrenched the machete from its new home. Then, he threw Ali over the balcony without a second’s thought. He picked up the man’s severed hand and threw that off the balcony after him, throwing it as if it was a rugby ball, with all the strength he could muster. Then, passing the bloodied machete back to Eli, he said angrily, ‘How long were you going to make that last? For fuck’s sake, three of you and one of him, I mean it ain’t rocket science is it?’ Shaking his head once more, Danny’s anger was almost tangible now; his huge muscular body reminding them just how strong he really was. How he was capable of taking them all on without even breaking into a sweat. Then he said casually, his mood changing as always with lightning speed, ‘That was fucking terrible really. You got what you came here for though? You got the poke?’ The Williams boys nodded gently; the evening’s events had left them a little subdued. ‘Come on then, back to the yard.’
As they walked out Danny picked up the kebabs and took them with him. At the lift Danny looked at them and said gaily, ‘Waste not, want not, eh?’
The twins were still in shock at the night’s events, and Eli was not sure just how he felt about Danny Boy’s interference in all of this. He felt as if he had been set up somehow, as if he had not really had any control over what had just happened. They had their money back, but it all seemed staged, contrived, somehow. This bloke had not even had a fucking decent minder on his case. When it came down to it he was just a fucking ponce, not worth a wank. What on earth had made him think he could have taken them on in the first place?
As they left the flats they heard the ambulance sirens in the distance. Danny laughed once more and, taking a big bite of his kebab, he said through a mouth full of reconstituted meat and wilting salad, ‘Bit fucking late for them, ain’t it? Typical fucking national health.’ Everyone laughed; suddenly they were glad that it was over.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Arnold Landers wasn’t sleeping and this was affecting his day-to-day living. In fact, he was so tired at times he wondered at how he managed to keep on top of his workload. That Annie had noticed this was also a worry. Danny Boy had eventually welcomed her back into his fold with open arms, even though it had never been really mentioned between them, he’d known that Danny Boy had had the ache with his sister for a long time. He also knew that it was her association with him that had softened Danny Boy towards her; he was always telling him how much he appreciated the way he had taken his sister under his wing. How he saw the way he kept her on the straight and narrow, cared for her, and made her respect herself once more. All these compliments were a heavy burden for Arnold, especially as he didn’t feel he warranted them. It also made it impossible for him to ever leave her, not that he wanted to. But the knowledge that anything like that was now completely out of the question did not exactly enhance their relationship. He cared for her but, at the same time, Danny Boy’s presence was always there, hovering in the background of their daily lives, reminding him of how precarious his position could be if Annie decided to turn against him.
Becoming a part of the Cadogans had been such a buzz at first, now though, he saw it for what it was, a fucking prison sentence. You could never have another individual thought with people like them, everything you decided was with the Cadogans in the back of your mind. From how they might react to his actions, to how they would perceive his opinions and, worst of all, how they expected him to automatically adopt their points of view, as if anyone who disagreed with them were anarchists, were being deliberately disloyal to the family. He had preferred it when Annie had still hated her brother and wanted to go against him at every opportunity. Now she was basking in his new-found interest in her, in his brotherly concern for her well-being.
Even Jonjo seemed to be socially acceptable these days; he was a useless drunk who was either stoned or coked out of his nut but he had still been given a lot of responsibility in the businesses anyway. Responsibility that he, Arnold, was expected to make sure wasn’t fucked up in any way. In effect, he was Jonjo’s unofficial minder. Basically that meant that he did all the main work, sorted out the employees and made sure that everything ran smoothly. It also meant that he was run off his feet, and yet was still seen as nothing more than the number two, after Jonjo of course, and only given any kind of kudos by Danny Boy in the comfort and privacy of the offices they frequented all over the Smoke. Not an ideal situation for anyone, but it was beginning to wear him down. He was not happy being used like this, and he had to make that point sooner rather than later. If Jonjo had at least a working knowledge of what he was supposed to be doing it wouldn’t be too bad, but he was completely in the dark about it. From the nightclubs and the debts right through to the bookies, Jonjo was in complete ignorance about even the most basic workings of anything going on around him. He couldn’t even understand that a seven to two bet on a dead cert was just a professional gambler’s way of buying money for himself. That they put on seven quid to win two quid back was beyond his comprehension, and he then voiced that opinion to their regular punters, very loudly; as he voiced many other opinions that would be best left unsaid.
Jonjo was so fucking backward that he had no chance of ever coming forward. And he was carrying him, doing all the main work, the real collar, seeing to the day-to-day running of everything. He was the one who was making sure the profits were not tampered with, and that the workforce were doing their jobs properly. He oversaw the bookies, both the legal and the off the books, and made sure the clubs were up for any kind of inspection, from anyone, from the VAT people to the silent investors. He made sure the debts were collected in good time and with the minimum of fuss and the maximum of efficiency. Now, though, it was starting to get him down. He was being royally mugged off and he knew it.
Danny Boy had given him the chance to prove himself, which he had done, and he had then left him to do his level best against all the odds, carrying that ponce of a brother as best he could. Danny Boy had to know that Jonjo was a liability, that he was a fucking ice cream freezer, a silly little geezer with a mistaken belief that he was a major player in the Cadogan organisation. And, even though Jonjo knew that without him in his corner he was fucking finished, that he would be sussed out as a prize cunt within days, he still played the big I am, acted the part of the fucking gangster. He played to an audience who pretended they believed it all because the fact that Danny Boy acted like it was the truth meant they had to as well. Yet they came to Arnold if they needed anything, came to him if they wanted anything done.
Just the thought of it was enough to make anyone with half a brain think twice about their position in the world they inhabited. Jonjo was a muppet, and Arnold was not going to carry him any longer. And, to make matters worse, he had also started treating him as if he was a lackey, ordering him about in public and demanding money. It had gone too far, and Arnold knew he had to do something about it sooner rather than later. He had his creds, and they didn’t allow for a fucking wank job like Jonjo Cadogan to treat him like the hired help, treat him as if he had no standing in this organisation what
soever.
Well, today he would find out exactly where he stood. He had brought a lot of good people in with him and they were still loyal; he had the right to withdraw from the Cadogans at any time he chose. He was still nervous though, but he knew that if he didn’t do something now, he never would. It would be too late because Jonjo was using his power and his position at every available opportunity. If he let him carry on much longer it would be too late to rectify the situation. He would then stop being so careful, so loyal to his friends. And it was rank stupidity like that was what caused Old Bill to start looking at them a bit too closely, and all the bent Filth in the land couldn’t stop the Serious Crime Squad when they set their sights on someone.
Michael was happy. He was pleased with his morning’s work. As he drove into the scrapyard he was singing under his breath. Danny was already there, but he wasn’t surprised at that, he sometimes thought the man lived there on the quiet. He didn’t let that thought take root, the truth of it was not something he wanted to dwell on. As he got out of his air-conditioned car the warmth of the afternoon air hit him like a wall of sweat. It was so hot, the August sun was relentless, and he wondered if the extreme heat in the yard could be caused by the scrap metal around them being baked in the sunlight. He knew that at times the scrap became far too hot to be touched, even with gloves, and they had to hose it down if a punter wanted to purchase it.
Michael went into the office quickly, the stench of the oil and petrol already too much for him to bear. The oil was everywhere, and he knew it was this that could cause the place to go up like a tinderbox. The years of leakage alone was astronomical; the ground soaked with all sorts of flammable materials. It was another reason why they kept the dogs on the prowl, they provided early warnings in more ways than one. An arsonist could easily render this place an inferno in minutes.
Inside the offices, Danny had on three large fans, but they did little more than recycle the stale air that was a constant seeing as the windows didn’t open, had all been nailed shut by Louie for security reasons.
‘Fucking hot, ain’t it? I have drunk the fucking fridge dry!’
Michael grimaced and sat down heavily. ‘I have a case of beer in me boot, but it’s probably fucking boiling by now.’
Danny laughed, his big, deep booming laugh that always made people forget about his anger and his knack of taking offence on a whim. Something that seemed to be happening more and more lately, and with more and more regularity. ‘I’ll go and get it, mate, you sit down and have a relax.’
As Michael watched Danny Boy go and fetch the case of beer he was amazed, as he always was, that Danny Boy would even do that for him. He was the only person Danny Boy would have done it for and knowing that made him feel sad. He was under enormous pressure because of his relationship with Danny Boy. People came to him because they knew that he was the only person Danny Boy even remotely respected. He loved the man, even as he wished, at times, that he was on the other side of the world. Danny Boy was once more out of control: this happened periodically, it was as if he needed to get rid of his pent-up anger and frustration. He did this by causing fucking murders with people he felt needed a tug, who he felt needed a physical reminder of his place in the criminal community. That was all bollocks of course. Danny just took umbrage every now and then at someone he saw as a threat, someone he saw as capable of one day taking what he had from him, or someone who was maybe just a bit too good-looking for their own good, or that bit too clever. It didn’t matter what the reason was, once he got the thought into his head, no one could convince him otherwise. He would take against someone for the slightest of reasons, or welcome them into the fold for no other reason than they made him laugh.
Danny Boy could go for a drink with his cronies, all open wallet and happy of countenance, and then suddenly someone there was now his biggest enemy, was out to get him. Was now a target for his anger and his frustration. He would then set out to destroy them, and no one would lift a finger to stop him. It was at times like this that Michael really hated this man, even as he was desperately sorry for him. Because he knew that Danny Boy’s life had been stunted many years before when his father had left him to cope with the gambling debt and a mother and two siblings who depended on him to make things right. Still did. Well, he had made things right, he had looked after them all and, along the way, he had turned into this vicious, vindictive man who was now about to start a campaign against someone who they both knew deep down didn’t deserve any of it.
Michael knew the signs, and he would do his best to provide some damage limitation, but he knew it was a waste of time really. Danny Boy was on a mission, and no one was going to stop him once he got started. On the bright side though, once he got it out of his system he would calm down again for a while, and life would return to normal, until the next time.
As Danny Boy placed the beers in the fridge, Michael sat back on the old settee and enjoyed the cool air from the fans. He wished he didn’t know so much about this dangerous man that he was in partnership with, who he knew he owed so much to; not only his success, but his whole life. He was the actual brains of this outfit, everyone knew that, but Danny Boy was the main man. Without him, no one would bother to give him the time of day. He wasn’t really a violent person, not in the way that Danny Boy was, or in the way that most of their contemporaries were. Michael needed a reason to fight, a good reason, but when he had that reason he could hold his own with the best of them. He acted the part when it was necessary but, in truth, he had no real stomach for any of it.
Michael knew though that it was a staple part of their business, that the only reason they were at the top of their game was because they had the reputation for taking out their rivals violently and permanently. Danny Boy Cadogan took no prisoners; if you crossed him in any way, you were obliterated. Simple as that. Well, business rivals were one thing, they were fair game, it was an us-or-them situation. But these terrible grudges that Danny Boy would suddenly amass, for no reason that made any logical kind of sense, would one day prove to be their downfall. He was convinced of that much.
One day Danny Boy Cadogan would come up against his nemesis, would take umbrage against someone who would turn out to be a bigger and better nutter than him. It was the way of the world that they lived in, and Danny Boy’s penchant for suddenly taking against someone for no real reason other than he didn’t like them was likely to backfire on him with dire consequences. And that meant it would backfire on him as well. So he had a personal stake in all this. But, for the moment, he displayed all the usual signs of a man who was on a mission, and Michael hoped and prayed that whoever had rattled his cage this time round wasn’t anyone who would be missed too much and, more importantly, missed by anyone who really mattered.
Mary was still shaking and, no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t control it this time. Normally she could rein it in, so to speak. She could usually force herself to calm down by sheer willpower. But that was not working for her today. In fact, she had the distinct impression it was actually making her worse. She had already put on her face, as she referred to her morning make-up routine, so she was pleased about that anyway. Once her make-up was in place she could cope with the rest of the day. It was like a mask that she used to hide her real self, to make her into a different person: without the thick make-up and the carefully drawn eyebrows she felt exposed. Felt naked. But the sudden onset of this latest bout of trembling had thrown her. It was so forceful that she couldn’t control it at all. Going into the drawing room, she opened the drinks cabinet and poured herself a large vodka. It looked so innocent, the clear liquid in a cut-glass goblet for all the world looking like pure spring water. Yet, as she gulped it down, she felt the burn as the raw alcohol invaded her morning stomach, hitting the bile in her belly, bile that was already trying to make its way upwards, trying to burn her throat out once more.
Mary slipped her hand into her dressing-gown pocket and took out a packet of Rennies; she ate a handful o
f them quickly, chewing them without thinking, trying to stem the burning. She felt the burning subside and sighed with relief.
Then, pouring herself another large drink, she gulped it down. She felt the shaking subside at last and enjoyed the cloak of calmness that was suddenly surrounding her being. Closing her eyes, Mary burped gently, placing her slim hand with its expensive rings and expensively manicured nails over her mouth in a parody of lady-like manners. She closed her eyes for a few moments, letting the alcohol take effect, waiting for the next stage in her morning routine: the feeling of complete and utter disinterest that seemed to get her through each day. It took longer and longer for it to settle on her lately, but she was patient, and she was never disappointed. When it finally arrived she was so relieved, she celebrated with another drink. She was a functioning alcoholic, she knew this because she had read up on the subject.
