by Martina Cole
Patrick’s death had been such a shock that no one seemed to believe it was true. They were still unsure, although Spider had identified the body. But it had been unrecognisable as a human being, let alone Patrick. Cain’s death had hit Spider hard but Patrick’s death had hit him in more than just an emotional sense; it was the catalyst for a whole new set of problems.
As Jimmy and Spider stood in the cold air they looked at each other and neither knew what to say about the night’s events. It was so unbelievable that Patrick Brodie had been taken out by the Williams brothers: that it had been well-planned and well-executed was outrageous enough but that it had been the Williamses behind it was staggering. It seemed Ricky Williams was a law unto himself and within hours of Brodie’s death he had made himself busy. He had been ingratiating himself with Pat’s main contenders and displaying an acumen and intelligence that had brought for him, if not the friendship he craved, the respect that was his due off the people who mattered. The police had made a point of investigating the event with as much fervour as they would a black-on-black killing, meaning they wouldn’t break a sweat. Which told them that someone was already onside with the Williams brothers and that whoever it was had plenty of sway where it counted.
‘Fucking outrageous. Killing Patrick Brodie like that.’ Jimmy’s voice was loud and a couple of men smoking cigarettes nearby while waiting for a friend to get his head stitched looked over quickly and, seeing the men’s demeanour, decided not to rattle anyone’s cage. Jimmy looked bad enough with his scarred face and his obvious aggressiveness and the coon looked a handful and all, but the mention of Brodie and the night’s events was enough to quiet even their natural belligerence. A tear-up was one thing, certain death was something else entirely. They were strictly bully boys; a row in the pub, a nicking, and home in time for pub opening once again.
‘Had your fucking look, you cunts?’
Jimmy wanted to vent his anger and these muppets looked good enough for his purpose. He was paranoid at the best of times but now he was convinced they were tailing him and he was not going to let anyone mug him off. Brodie’s death had certainly fuelled his paranoia. For all he knew these were on a wage and were waiting to jump him and take him out. In their fucking dreams.
Jimmy moved towards them and Spider grabbed his arm.
‘What the fuck you doing? They ain’t worth a wank.’
Spider gestured to the men with his free hand, dismissing them with a wave. They did not need any more encouragement and hurried off into the shadows.
Jimmy shrugged Spider’s restraining arm away, clenching his fists in anger.
‘They mullered him, Jimmy.’ Spider shook his head. ‘He was completely destroyed. I said it was him but all I recognised was his ring, you know, the black onyx one. But truth be told, it could have been a side of beef lying on that slab.’
Jimmy nodded. He had seen Patrick lying in the hallway and he would never forget that sight. Poor Lil’s terrified screaming and the wide-eyed children huddled together on the sofa. Poor Pat Junior covered in his dad’s blood, his eyes red-rimmed from crying and still trying to protect his siblings. He knew the boy was terrified the Williams lot would come back. He wasn’t a stupid kid, he knew the score, he knew he had been lucky to escape. He had been told how they had nearly stabbed him and he knew then that the boy would never feel safe again. It was a disgrace, a diabolical liberty.
And it had thrown him off course, that was the worst of it. Patrick had left Spider to deal with the Williams brothers and Cain and he had made a fucking serious mistake. That error had led to him being taken out by a family of morons; it was the equivalent of the Boy Scouts creaming the fucking Paratroopers.
He looked at Spider then as the reality finally kicked in.
‘I ain’t sucking no one’s fucking cock, especially not a Williams’ cock. They are scum, fucking Irish scum and they can expect a visit from me in the near future.’
Jimmy Brick was beside himself now the actual events had sunk in. Him and Pat had made a nice niche for themselves and he had liked the man and respected him. That the brothers had the audacity to butcher the man in his home in front of his pregnant wife and his children was, to him, the act of animals. It wasn’t the death so much; in their game you knew you were a target but it was the way it had been executed, the way they had descended on him like a pack of fucking animals in full view of his kids. The twins were babies, little dots who Pat had doted on. The death had made a mockery of everything they held sacred; you didn’t touch family, civilians or the elderly.
‘Wait and see who is in the frame with them before you go making trouble for yourself.’ Spider’s calm voice annoyed Jimmy, even though he knew the man was right. There was serious skulduggery surrounding this night’s work and until he knew the score and who was involved, it was best to keep shtum.
They stood outside the hospital smoking cigarettes and both were quiet now, having said all that was needed. Both knew that everything was about to change, not just for them but for everyone in their circle. Patrick Brodie’s demise was going to cause all sorts of upsets and all those who had been involved with him were now either suspects or enemies, depending on what they did or didn’t know.
‘My money’s on the Palmers or the Brewsters. The Williams brothers had to have had a sponsor, they couldn’t fucking find their cocks without a fucking guide dog. They are amateurs, fucking no-necks, cunts. Pat should have taken them out when he had the chance, you should know that better than anyone.’
The barb hit home as Jimmy knew it would. Cain was a fucking no-neck and he had found his level with the Williams boys. ‘Show me the company you keep and I’ll tell you what you are. My mum was a wise old bird and she said that to me many times over the years. Cain was a knob and you know it, but he had you on his side. This shower must have a fucking good backer, they couldn’t fucking rob a fucking tuck shop without someone calling the shots. No, mate, they have to be doing this for someone in the know. Someone close to it all. Ricky Williams is the genius of the family and that just means he can tie his own shoelaces. Someone has courted this and used them for their own advantage. The question is, who?’
Spider shrugged. That was exactly what he had been thinking but, until he knew the score for sure, he was keeping his own counsel. Jimmy was sound as a pound normally, but until he knew who he was pinning his colours to, he would make a point of being non-committal. It was how you kept alive in their game and Spider was going to stay around for the long-term, even if it killed him. Careless talk cost lives and this could easily turn into a war with no one involved in it really sure of whose side they should be on.
This was a melon scratcher all right and as his brother’s death was still raw and the Williams brothers doing the star turns in this little drama, he knew he would have to box clever for the next few weeks. He was going to be shrewd and add to his crew, his all-black crew and, if nothing else, he was going to keep his businesses in south London and add to them as and when the opportunities arose. Spider knew that anything he had with Patrick was going to be taken away from him. This was what Pat’s death was about. Gathering turf, taking what was Patrick’s and using a scapegoat like Ricky to further their ends. The perpetrator of this heinous act was using the Williams brothers as a blind so they could then harvest whatever they wanted.
Spider was on his own and Cain’s death still hung over him like the Sword of Damocles. He was in a very precarious position; Cain had been in bed with the Williams brothers and that would not be forgotten. Now Spider needed to see what was going to happen to the business interests he had with Patrick. Nothing was ever on paper, nothing was ever straight and he knew that a lot of his private earners would now be up for grabs and there was nothing he could do about it. A lot of Pat’s clubs had silent partners, investors who would now want to stake their claim and, without Patrick around, that would now become easy. Spider had no idea who had put money in and who had not and Pat’s book-keeping would require the Enigma code breakers to
fucking work it out. He had never bothered with the books before because he had always trusted Patrick; he could be a cunt but he was an honest cunt and he was a good mate. The chances were that he was now fucked, well and truly fucked. It stung, it really stung, and he needed to think long and hard about his next move.
Lenny Brewster looked at Lil Brodie and felt a prickle of conscience; she was as thin as a rake and her black clothes seemed to accentuate that, as did the whiteness of her skin. She was still a looker though; her grief seemed to add a vulnerability to her that he found appealing. Once she had mourned for a reasonable length of time he thought he might have a crack at her. A few months down the line she would be missing the old one-eyed snake and the thought of shagging Brodie’s old woman appealed to him. Brodie had treated her like a goddess and he knew she hadn’t been mauled by anyone else; the thought of shagging her was a pleasant distraction. His wife knelt down to pray after receiving Holy Communion and he knelt beside her, looking pious with his head down as if in prayer. Lenny knew he was out of order but he was ready to take the lead and had put in place a few nice surprises for the Palmer crew. Now he felt he was entitled to anything or anyone that took his eye and tickled his fancy. Lenny had always been a force, a respected Face, and no one had realised, until now, just how big his empire had become. A genial man, he had a knack of putting people at ease. He had a repertoire of jokes that he told with skill and he was good company. He had sat and waited for his turn and it had arrived sooner than he had expected. Now it was here he intended to make the most of it.
Lil sat in the church watching her husband’s funeral and anyone could see she was not up to it. As she held her new baby in her arms she was causing not only the women’s tears but also the men’s discomfort.
She had been had over, no doubt about that, and she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She was in bits but she also knew she had to box clever to salvage anything for her boys. Patrick would be cursing them to hell if he was watching but there wasn’t anything he could do about it from where he was; it was up to her now.
Any monies in the bank were of course hers; not that they kept much money in the bank. Not real money anyway; if you banked it you would eventually have to explain its existence to the taxman. Lil was also the beneficiary of any insurance policies Patrick might have taken out and she should get a one-off payment from the powers that be. She would then be expected to keep her head down. Lil was now an embarrassment because everyone knew she had been royally had over. She knew the ins and outs of the clubs, she had helped run them, but that knowledge would not do her any good now; she was old news and she knew it. With five kids and a dead husband Lil was without any kind of protection. Even in her grief she knew she had to stay strong for the kids; she had to get herself together and collect what was owing her. She also knew where Patrick had hidden some of the proceeds from the various bank robberies he had given permission for over the years. She was going to make a visit to his main yard, under cover of darkness, and see what was left. It galled Lil that her life as she knew it was over, that everything Pat had worked for had been in vain. She had seen the fur coat on Lenny’s old woman, it had cost a bundle, and she had walked in the church like she owned the fucking place, waving at people and nodding. She was the new First Lady and she was loving it. Well, she hoped she had better luck in that capacity than she had had.
As Lil sat in the church she felt a strange calmness come over her; she was aware of how close her family had come to complete annihilation at the hands of Ricky Williams. She knew that Tommy would have killed Pat Junior without a second’s thought and she thanked God for sparing him. She accepted the fact that all her husband’s hard work, the clubs, the bookies, everything he had ever undertaken, was now under new management. She knew she couldn’t dispute anything, she had no power any more. As she had looked at her children that morning, she knew that she had to accept her fate with good grace and try to pick up the remnants of her life. For their sakes.
Ricky Williams had come through for his family and they were riding high on it. People were once more civil to them, overeager in their quest to be allowed a few minutes of their precious time. Ricky had known he had to do something spectacular to get them back in the groove and he had achieved his objective with outstanding results. Palmer and Brewster had both given him a public welcome worthy of a World Cup winner. Ricky was now the undisputed head of the family, he had dragged them back to where they belonged. As he stood in the toilet of the Speiler in Bermondsey that Patrick Brodie had once called his own, he looked in the mirror and admired his good looks and his dapper new outfit. Ricky loved the new fashions, he loved the materials, and in his fitted velvet jacket and his boot-cut jeans he felt like a real tasty geezer. He loved that expression, especially when he believed it pertained to him. His euphoria was at its peak and as he sauntered back into the bar he saw his brothers, what was left of them anyway, waiting for him with smiles and drinks. Ricky downed a double brandy and, feeling the burn, he held the glass out for a refill knowing that the barmaid would not optic it, not for him; he would be given the bottle on the counter as a measure of his prestige.
He fucking loved it, loved being on top, loved having the pick of the birds and loved knowing he was being talked about in hushed tones; his escapades being related over pints of lager by people who were impressed with him, were in awe of him.
Ricky was almost strutting, so pleased was he that his plans had made it to fruition. The little sort he had acquired earlier in the day, an eighteen-year-old from Mile End with big tits and an even bigger mouth, was drunk as a skunk. He watched her trying to articulate the bollocks that passed as conversation in her world and knew that these short sharp shags were going to be a thing of the past now. He would still have a dabble, of course, but he decided that a decent-looking bird with a bit of nous about her would look much better on his arm now that he was a man of substance.
Tommy and Dave were swearing their heads off as they spoke with her and he knew that was what was bothering him. Dave, Tommy and Bernie were louts. With Patrick on board they had managed an earn of sorts but none of them really had the concentration required for long-term skulduggery; they preferred to be ornamental as opposed to instrumental and that, again, suited him. Ricky liked being the alpha male, the doer, the instigator of events. He knew his guests had arrived by the cries of greeting he could hear coming from the front bar. He saw his brothers’ brows darken; they were still nervous that they might be brought to task over Patrick Brodie. It seemed that the frenzy of their combined attack, which he now knew had been brought on by the drink and drugs consumed by them earlier on in the day, worried them. They felt that people were maybe not as pleased as they were making out. He was pissed off with them. They were like old women with their fucking stupidity; their absolute cuntishness seemed to cling to them like shit to a blanket. He watched as Alan Palmer walked over to him with his usual swagger and he held his arms out in a gesture of friendliness. Alan stopped in his tracks and held his hands up in front of him, saying loudly, ‘Fuck me, we ain’t on a date,’ then, turning to the henchmen, who were as always half a step behind him, he called out, ‘He’s trying to fucking shag me. I told you, didn’t I? He’d fuck anything.’
Ricky was laughing with everyone else but the avoidance of the friendly gesture was noted and filed away for future reference. He was annoyed to see his brothers laughing like drains as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard in their lives. That’s how fucking stupid they were, they couldn’t see an insult even when it was in front of their fucking faces.
He had his work cut out with this lot all right and with Palmer and all, by the looks of things. He saw his little bird staggering to the toilet and, winking at one of the regulars, he gave him a score and told him to cab her. She was not going to add anything to this meet and he was sick of her.
They all ordered drinks and settled down to talk, but Ricky was not a happy potato. In fact he was about a hair’
s breadth away from stabbing Alan through the heart just for the fucking fun of it. He had been blanked and he knew it. But he controlled the urge to retaliate and, smiling easily, he chatted as if he had no worries in the world.
Lil was still tired from the birth and the trauma of that day. Shamus had weighed in at nearly ten pounds and, as she had remarked to her mother, it brought tears to your eyes did childbirth. He was a good baby but she was still not sleeping, even when her mother took over for her. She still had times when she believed Patrick was alive, that she had dreamed his horrific murder. Seeing him buried though had put it into perspective for her, he was gone all right and she had to try to keep herself going for the sake of the kids if nothing else. The luxury of grieving was not an option for her, she had to keep her wits about her and try to salvage something to secure their futures. There had been twenty grand in the bank accounts but she knew that was not a lot with five kids and a mother to support.
As she let herself into her husband’s scrapyard she hoped that no one came bowling in. She knew the place was used for a lot more than collecting old scrap. The dogs were running free as always; the two Dobermans knew her well and she petted them as she walked to the Portakabins that passed as offices. As she let herself inside, the animals lay down and waited for her.
Lil opened the safe without even turning on the lights; she didn’t need anyone seeing the place lit up. She had opened the safe and counted out wages or taken cash out for sundries more than enough times and, as the heavy metal door swung open, she felt a glimmer of excitement at what she was doing.
‘I’m stealing back our own money, Pat.’
She laughed as if he had been there to answer, to share the joke with her and appreciate the irony if nothing else. She was nicking back money that had been nicked in the first place; this was his cut from bank robberies, jewellery heists and wage snatches.
