“I’m sure they will get over it. Brains like goldfish…
three second attention span.” Sean replied.
Ray laughed heartedly. “Goldfish! I like it.” The laugh lasted a full minute before he managed to resume his composure and get down to business. He cleared his throat and sat himself up in his chair. “He stays.” He said, gesturing to Davie, who stood behind him.
Sean nodded.
“I am sure you are aware, that the Anderson family and myself are not what you would call best pals and that over the years we have had our various turf wars, most of which I have won.” Ray continued.
“Are you aware I have worked for George Anderson, on more than a few occasions and at this precise moment Mr Jarvis, I don’t know why I am here, so forgive me if my loyalties, at present, lie with him?” Sean interrupted.
Ray took note of the young man’s antagonism; secretly impressed. He didn’t believe any of what Sean had said about loyalty. He knew as soon as Sean had walked into the portacabin that the boy could be bought; he had hunger written all over him. Hunger for the power and control Ray could give him.
But he liked the front the boy had. It reminded him of a younger version of himself, when he didn’t know just how evil the world really was. Sean would learn it, over time, just like he did. The Mr Jarvis reference was also noted.
Ray liked that. It showed respect for your elders. He was old school and manners were everything, as strange as that was.“That I am yes. I am also aware that Anderson pretty much has most of the south-east sewn up. Even you pay a tax for operating on his patch; albeit at a discount I’m sure, but all the same, it must nark you.”
“Interesting. I’m listening.” Sean leant back in his chair, crossing one of his legs over the other, so his foot was resting on his thigh.
“So it would benefit both of us, if George Anderson was taken out of the picture. His family is nothing without him and quite frankly, these days neither is he. He is an old man like myself, only there is a difference between him and me.
I haven’t lost it.”
Sean gave a half laugh and slightly nodded his head.
“And you want me to take him out.” It wasn’t a question.
Sean knew what Ray was getting at. “Why aren’t you doing it? Ray stared at Sean intently for a few moments. He pulled out a cigar from the top pocket of his suit jacket and picked up a strip of matches from a bowl on the desk. He puffed away on the thick Cuban baton, until it was unreservedly smoking away. Then he gave Sean a huge grin that exhibited a full set of crooked yellowing teeth.
Shrugging he said “I don’t need the attention or the glory. I have enough. You, my son, are just beginning. Your name is good but you need to build on that, or do you want to be a pimp all your life?”
Sean took the bait, as Ray knew he would. He saw it in the boys seducing blue eyes. The change in colour to a pale grey was remarkable. It was almost inhuman.
Ray continued to taunt Sean. “It’s an achievement, what you’ve got at your age. You run your girls tight and I like that. Tried a few out myself too, their nice, clean, amenable, but at the end of the day they are whores. Don’t you want more than that?”
“Like what? George’s role? No thanks Mr Jarvis. I like it just the way I have it. But I must admit I don’t like giving him a cut of my hard earned.”
“There is a huge difference between being respected and being feared. Respect is easy Sean. You give a little, you get it back, it’s simple, it’s life. But fear is better. So we have a deal?”
“I didn’t say that. What’s in this for you? Why you just handing me over a turf you and him have been fighting over, for how long you say? Twenty years was it?”
Ray grinned. The boy sure was shrewd, he thought.
Kenny had been doing a good job. He saw what attracted him to Sean, because it was attracting Ray more by the second.
It took either a very stupid person to be that arrogant, or a complete nutter. Ray doubted that Sean was stupid, which meant he was more likely the latter.
That could become extremely useful. If Sean felt beholden to Ray, like he was to Kenny, then Ray could pretty much have him at his disposal, anytime he wanted.
Sean however was on the ball. Whether it was the instant rush he felt from the cocaine, or whether he really had been paying attention to Kenny’s elongated speeches, no one knew, but he could read what was running through Ray’s mind.
“I don’t have the patience or the inclination to take over more Sean. I’m past the craving for being king of the manor.
I just want my old enemy gone. He is nothing more than an irritating itch now. It would be more beneficial for you to take over. Young blood is what the green yards need.”
The stories of Ray Jarvis and George Anderson were almost as old as they were. Sean had heard them many times. Details changed and names were added or omitted but it was generally the same each time he heard it.
In 1982 Eddie Fraiser, one of the Anderson’s associates, was shot unintentionally, during a brawl at a nightclub in Norwich. The owners of the club, Bristol based businessmen, had asked Ray to protect the club, in exchange for gaming machines being placed there. At this time, club machine gambling was in its prime.
The Anderson’s, not impressed that a club in their jurisdiction was being racketed by an east end face, muscled in on the contract and took over with the protection including the ejection of undesirables; which, presumably, meant Ray and his associates. It is not clear why the club owners changed sides at this time, but it was apparent that their preference was for George to handle all protection matters relating to the club.
It was never proven that Ray pulled the trigger himself and it was never determined which gun and which bullet killed Eddie, but he was more than happy to hold the responsibility for it. He wore it like a badge of pride and escalated the rumour further himself; that he shot Fraiser with a .38 pistol at close range.
The men spent the next two decades fighting and disputing the blame, but they were getting on in years now.
For Ray, it was time it ended; he no longer had the drive to carry on the feud.
Sean stood up from the chair and walked towards the desk.“You’re making the mistake that I want to be a don.
I don’t. I want people to know who I am Mr Jarvis but I don’t want the hassle of running half the bloody country.
I’m not Tony fucking Blair. I don’t aim to be you or Kenny or Anderson for that matter. I’m me. That’s it. I am not a gangster, I’m a business man, whose commodity happens to be cocaine and whores. I simply supply a market.”
“So you gonna keep paying Anderson his cut. Answering to him. Allowing him to dictate when and where you make your living? It’s them and us. Always will be.” Ray was goading Sean and he knew it.
But there was truth and reason to what the older man was saying. Sean saw the sense and logic and recognized when an opportunity was being offered, even if he disliked the way it was presented.
“No Ray I’m not.” Sean dropped the formalities. He had been backed into a corner but was determined to salvage something from it. “I’ll do your dirty work, but not for what you’re offering. I’ll do it for my freedom. There is one thing I’ll take though, as payment like.”
“What’s that then?” Ray asked even more satisfied than he could have imagined being.
“I’ll have Anderson’s house. The Sudbury one.”
“That it? Just the house?” Surprise showed all over Ray’s face. Sean Fergus was definitely a strange character. George Anderson may be an ineffectual waste of time but he certainly knew how to make money. He thought Sean was stark raving mad for not being tempted by it all. He would have jumped at the chance of being offered that kind of inheritance at twenty-two.
He nodded at Sean and raised his glass up in a toast.
“It’s yours.” He said.
Sean smiled then for the first time throughout the whole meeting. His whole stance changing and those seducin
g blue eyes returned. He looked almost regular then. Not the demonic fiend his status depicted.
“Just one thing, how you gonna get hold of Anderson’s properties and businesses?” Sean asked.
Ray really did smile then; a disturbing smirk that accentuated every sinister crease in his face.
“That, my boy, is what I have been slowly cultivating for the past three years. George Anderson is not going to know what fucking hit him, don’t you worry about that. You do your job and do it well and those deeds will be in your hand by the end of that day. You have my word.”
The last four words were all Sean needed to hear. Ray Jarvis was a common thug but his word was better than any legally binding document.
* * *
“You wanna do what? You in his fucking pocket orsummit?” Kenny asked Sean Though he was astounded by the boy’s eagerness to carry out the job he had just told him about, it was more anger that he felt; at the fact that Sean had a meeting with Ray Jarvis without Ray approaching Kenny first. That was just courtesy.
Kenny wasn’t happy at all. He felt stabbed in the back and slighted. Ray was supposed to be an old friend. They went back years. He should have been informed if he had an interest in Sean.
“I am in no-one’s fucking pocket Ken, not even yours and don’t you ever fucking forget it. I’m doing this for me.
Nice little drum that is. Not bad for my first pad. Invest legally. That’s what you have been banging into me since I met you. That’s what I’m doing. That house will be my first legal asset and the beginning of my retirement.” He looked at Kenny then, with a cheeky grin. “Not yet though of course. I aint ready to give all this up just yet.”
Kenny rubbed his face with his hands. Knowing, out of sheer stubbornness, Sean would not listen to any reason on his part. Turning away from him and walking over to a small mini bar that stood in the lounge of his four bedroom semi detached house, he pulled out a bottle of Jack and two glasses, pouring a generous measure into each glass.
He picked one up and took a great gulp. Glaring at Sean, he then moved towards the three piece suit that situated in the middle of the room and plonked himself down on a dark green leather armchair, leaving the other glass still on the bar.
Sean mentally smiled to himself and walked over to collect his drink, knowing Kenny was in the midst of throwing a hissy fit. For a hard villain, he really was a big girl sometimes, Sean thought.
He looked around the considerably spacious room. It wasn’t to his taste. The room was adorned in dark greens and mushroom creams. He liked the flooring though. It was a solid oak wood floor that screamed out class and sophistication to Sean. He made a mental note to put the same thing in his new house.
A huge, oil painted, portrait of Kenny’s late wife Audrey hung above a mantel piece. Sean hated the painting. He found it eerie. Her eyes followed you around the room. She was an ugly woman too, who bore the traditional Jewish nose. Sean couldn’t understand the fascination Kenny held for her. She reminded Sean of a dead fish, before it had time to stiffen.
The love he professed for her was just a joke, as far as Sean was concerned, considering he and Kenny’s first meeting was about the possibility of Sean supplying him with a constant stream of young men to satisfy his wayward sexual tendencies; the bottom line being that Kenny was a full blown homosexual. Although, this was common knowledge, it was rarely spoken about and would be in hush tones if it was.
“You would benefit just as much by having Anderson off the street. You just don’t like it cos it weren’t your idea.”
Sean blasted back at him knowing full well he had hit the nail on the head.
Kenny ignored him and sipped more of his drink. The thick dark liquid burnt the back of his throat. He knew Sean was right, but it didn’t make him feel any less covetous. He didn’t like Sean pointing out that he didn’t work for him either. As much as Kenny liked to think Sean was one of his boy’s, right now, it was quite clearly obvious this was not the case.
This aggravated Kenny. He had done a lot for Sean in the year and a half that he had known him and saw this as having it all thrown back in his face.
“Silent treatment?” Sean goaded him. “Because I won’t toe your line? Get over it Ken. This jobs happening, whether you like it or not and I will be the one that brings Anderson down. You mark my words.”
Kenny gave a deep sigh and then half smiled at Sean.
He didn’t want to row with the boy. It wasn’t something he enjoyed. He could never stay mad at him for long either. But he was determined to try and knock some sense into him.
“Jarvis’ word is as good as anything I have ever come across but the clever gits are the ones out here boy, not rotting away on the inside.” He eventually said in a resigned tone. The solemn look then appeared in his eye. A look which showed the vast difference, in knowledge and wisdom, between student and mentor.
“But we are talking murder here Sean. Premeditated murder. That’s if you manage to pull it off and what if you don’t? What if it all goes tits up and you end up with two of the biggest organised crime families in the fucking country wanting your blood?”
Sean stared into the old man’s eyes and in what he thought was a moment of clarity, he saw a lack of faith which, in his demented brain, signalled total lack of respect.
“You don’t think I can do it…do you?” Sean’s voice was incredulous. He slammed his glass back down on the bar and stormed into the centre of the room. He stood in front of Kenny who was still sitting in the armchair.
“I fucked up once. Once! But you can’t let it go; you throw it out there whenever I disagree with you.” He was offended and was determined to show it. “How many jobs have I carried out for you with meticulous precision… eh?
Fucking hundreds without so much as a fucking glitch.”
Kenny felt the intimidation Sean rendered. He wasn’t scared by him, he was too confident with his own aggression that he cleverly kept buried to be actually frightened of the boy, but he became aware of how terrified his victims must be when they were on the receiving end of Sean’s fury.
“Fucked up? Fucked up? That wasn’t just a fuck up son that was an almighty howler. I won’t be able to get you out of this one sonny Jim, I can tell you.” He took another gulp of his whisky. “There will be no cleaning up your mess this time. It wasn’t that long ago I had you on that blower, don’t matter how many other jobs you’ve done since, at the end of the day you fucked up big style. I don’t give a cats whiskers if it was only once. Once is one too many boy!”
“I aint your boy Ken. I’m no one’s boy. You’re fucking deluded. You don’t own me and you’ll never have me…”
Before Sean could finish his ranted sentence, he felt the full effect of his nose spreading across his face from the force of Kenny’s headbut. The pain was so immense he was surprised to still be standing.
The attack had been so sudden and immediate, that Sean hadn’t even seen Kenny stand up. He instinctively put his hands to his face and winced as his fingers touched his broken nose.
“Fucking hell!” He exclaimed, punching the air with his fists, in reaction to the pain.
“Don’t you ever forget who I am and what I did for you.” Kenny voice was quiet but the venom was clearly evident. “Kidnap… rape… I covered it all up, for a kid I barely knew.”
He pushed past Sean and walked over to the mini bar, grabbing a clean towel from under the counter and a handful of ice cubes from the ice bucket. He wrapped it up in the towel, silently cursing his protégé under his breath.
He had completely lost it, just for a second but he had lost it all the same.
Kenny didn’t like losing control of his behaviour. It scared him, what he could do if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t manage the side of him that was dangerous. Unlike most gangsters, Kenny hated the violence with a passion, yet the destructive and hostile monster that is the essence of all villains was also in him. No matter how hard he fought not to use it.
He walked back over to Sean, who was by now sitting on the sofa with his head between his legs. Kenny bent down in front of him and offered the ice bundle. He was surprised to see the eyes and face of a young boy, as Sean looked up at him. It was the look of an errant school boy being scolded by a teacher; sorry yet resentful at the same time. Even his bottom lip slightly protruded.
Kenny offered the ice again and, like Ray had witnessed a few days before, he saw the chameleon-like change in the boy’s facial expressions. After a few seconds of staring at each other, Sean snatched it out of Kenny’s hand and plonked it on the bridge of his nose.
Kenny stood back up and stepped back a little. He wiped his face with his hand and realised he was sweating.
His forehead felt tender from the connection with Sean’s nose and he was sure that he felt something in his right hip tear when he had leapt from his chair. He was getting too old for this, he decided, too old to suddenly lose his normally cool exterior to a blind rage.
“I guess I deserved that” The sudden confession from Sean completely threw Kenny. He wasn’t expecting that.
Sean jumped to his feet and moved towards Kenny with his hand already out in gesture of an apology. He needed to rectify the hostile atmosphere between them and needed to do it fast. As much as he professed to not needing anyone, he kind of needed Kenny. Why, he wasn’t so sure, but he had come to rely on the wisdom the old man had. He had begun to see him as a safety net.
Kenny took the hand that was available and pulled Sean in to a tight embrace, slapping his back to signify all was well between them again. But neither really felt it.
Something shifted in their relationship that day. An uneasy truth that now hovered between them.
For Sean, it was knowing that somehow he was beholden to Kenny, maybe for the rest of his life. It was an uncomfortable feeling. For Kenny, it was the reality of knowing the boy was never really his, that he was too much of a wild spirit to ever be tamed; by him anyway.
Matilda Wren Page 12
