by Martina Cole
While thoughts of Jenny and Cain Junior comforted him, his thoughts of Johnny Mac plagued him, broke into his dreams and upset his peace of mind. The fact that no one believed that he had been fitted up for his murder was what really rankled with Cain. Everyone knew that, as bad as he was, he could no more have harmed Johnny Mac than he could have harmed his own child. But there was nothing he could do to right that wrong − not banged up in here anyway − plus his priority now was to keep Jenny and Cain safe, and if that meant he had to keep his head down and do his time, he would do it for them.
He walked into the kitchen − or two cells that had been knocked into one and fitted out; it was a shithole but better than nothing. He opened the fridge and took out a large pack of minced beef. He was going to cook everyone on the wing spaghetti Bolognese − it was a favourite of the men − and he was going to make garlic bread and, for a few of the diehard Northerners, hand-cut chips to go with it.
Cain liked this time of day. It was late afternoon, and the knowledge that another day was nearly over was a good feeling for most. It was another twenty-four hours closer to getting out. Not that any of them talked about that, of course, but it was always on their minds. Even something as mundane as cooking was a pleasure when it utilised your time, and helped you get through another few hours.
Cain started to pull out the pots and pans needed when a PO came into the kitchen with a carrier bag. He opened it and took out a bottle of Scotch, three litre bottles of red wine and, with a flourish, a bottle of grappa.
Cain grinned and put the bottles under the sink. ‘Well done, my old son. Fucking grappa will go down well!’
The man grinned in agreement. He was a friendly screw − which meant he could be bought − and it was things like that which made this place easier to bear. He was paid on the outside so that no money changed hands on the actual premises. It was the only way they could get alcohol or drugs inside; even if they didn’t search family members visiting, they couldn’t bring in enough drugs for the whole prison system − and they certainly couldn’t bring in alcohol. The POs were seen as whiter than white no matter what, but who gave a flying fuck, as long as they got what they wanted from them?
This particular PO was called Tommy West and he was a decent bloke who genuinely thought that the men locked up like they were for the long haul should have at least some form of recreation. He wasn’t a PO who believed that the men needed a second sentence; after all, the judge had already given them one and it was a harsh lesson. Tommy West felt that losing your liberty was punishment enough. He was a well-liked and well-respected man who did what he could to lighten the load. And, of course, for a price which paid for his own little luxuries. He made a point of doing his damndest to make the men inhabiting M Wing feel like they were still part of the human race.
‘Listen, Cain, I don’t want to speak out of turn, but there’s a new guy on his way in and, from what I have heard, he has paid out a lot to get on this unit.’
Cain felt the familiar hand of fear creeping up the back of his neck. He knew the prison jargon and he understood what this man was trying to tell him. All the same, he just smiled amiably. Cain Moran knew exactly how to play the game. He was getting a heads-up, and if this man was laying it on the line for him out of friendship, then it was important.
‘Who is that, then?’
Tommy West liked Cain Moran a lot. He thought he had been given a fucking hard sentence considering he had not done all the crimes he was convicted of. Cain Moran’s circumstances were very well known in the justice system. The general consensus was, the bigger you were, the harder your fall would be, and he had fallen big time.
‘It’s Jimmy Boy Banks’s kid. He’s after retribution for his old man, or so I hear.’
Cain Moran closed his eyes for a few seconds. This was the last thing he needed − a young, up-and-coming bruiser looking to gain a reputation. It wasn’t as if Jimmy Boy Banks had even had a second for any of his kids − by numerous women he would add. He had been known as a slag. He fucked them, gave them kids, and moved on. But this boy was willing to defend his father. It was laughable, but not unexpected. There had been a few youngsters over the years who had confronted him, hoping to make their reputation by giving Cain Moran a hammering. Well, he had hammered them first and shown them that it took more than willing to put a man down − especially a man like him.
‘When is he due in?’
Tommy sighed. ‘Tomorrow, late afternoon. He is being shipped from Durham. He’s paid a good wedge for this wing, but I felt you had a right to know.’
Cain smiled easily. ‘Thanks for the heads-up.’ Then he set about the preparations for the evening’s dinner.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Caroline was in her diner, and she was eating as usual. As her son came inside, she smiled at him. He was his father’s double and taller than most of his peers. He would be like Cain, and young Michael Moran was sick of hearing it. He hated his father for abandoning him − especially for abandoning him to this woman who he loved and hated in equal measure, depending on her state of mind.
When she was drinking he loathed her with a passion so acute he could almost taste it. He felt the same when she went on one of her long tirades about his father and his utter contempt for his faith, for his marriage and for his family. And once Jenny Riley’s name was brought into the mix she was like a woman possessed. In his heart of hearts, he wished she would just let it go once and for all; it was ancient history now.
‘Have you heard the latest, Michael?’
He shook his head. It was typical − not even a hello or a greeting of any kind. This meant the news had to be about his father.
‘He is marrying it in prison.’ She said this last bit with a flourish. Then she laughed nastily, as she said, ‘A jailhouse wedding! Just about her fucking mark, that is.’ She was still laughing as she continued, ‘No fucking honeymoon either!’
Michael nodded. He had learned a long time ago that when she was in this kind of mood the best way to deal with her was to keep quiet and let her get it out of her system.
She carried on eating; she was working her way through two pies, a pile of chips and a huge mound of peas, topped off with gravy, and a mountain of bread and butter. He eyed her critically. She had to be twenty stone at least, yet her hair and make-up were always perfect. It was as if she couldn’t see the rest of her body, the fat ankles that spilled over her shoes, or the huge pendulous breasts that hung to her non-existent waist. It was such a shame that she had allowed herself to get so big, because it wasn’t good for her health, or her peace of mind.
‘Well, what have you got to say?’
He shrugged as if he wasn’t bothered. ‘It had to happen someday, Mum. I don’t know why you let it bother you so much. Who cares what that pair of wankers do anyway?’
He was trying to ease her tension, but she went behind the counter and poured herself a glass of red wine. As she knocked it back, he sighed. This was going to be a long night.
Chapter Seventy
‘Oh, Jenny, that is beautiful, darling.’
Molly was admiring the white suit and little lace hat that Jenny had purchased for her wedding day. It was understated, well-cut and she looked a treat in it. She still had her killer body and Molly mourned for the years Jenny had been forced to sacrifice without Cain by her side. It was a powerful love that would make a woman so determined to have her man and no other, no matter what. She never missed a visit and she never acted hard done by, she was always cheerful and happy. But Molly knew she was lonely, desperately lonely. It took a certain kind of woman to wait so long for a man, and she knew how lucky her son was to have found one.
Little Cain wasn’t so little any more. He was tall and handsome, he had his father’s build and his father’s good looks, but his mother’s disposition. Jenny had high hopes for him, especially as he was such a genuinely nice boy. He had always just got on with whatever he was asked to do, no dramas, no teenage angst. Cain w
as proud of him; considering he had grown up visiting his father as a Grade-A prisoner, he took his father’s predicament in his stride, and, as Molly was forever pointing out, kids were resilient. Cain Junior certainly was − he accepted the situation, and he lived with it. He supported his mother, and he loved his parents. It broke Jenny’s heart to see him sit every Sunday night composing a letter to his father about his weekly doings. It was so important for Cain to get those missives, but it was also important for her son to keep up that contact with his father, especially as Michael had no contact with him whatsoever. Every letter Cain had sent to Michael had been returned unopened, and that had broken his heart, though he would never have admitted it.
For Jenny, life had fallen into a pattern − she lived for her son and for her visits to Cain on the Isle of Wight. He had left her provided for, and she appreciated that, but it had cost them dearly to keep him from being shipped all over the country. He liked M Wing, and he enjoyed the company of the men there; that was good enough for her. All she wanted was his happiness, and she would move heaven and earth to help him achieve that. It was hard enough for her, and she was on the out, able to do what she wanted, when she wanted. It was different for Cain. She never let herself forget that − it was the mainstay of their relationship and her whole life was devoted to making him feel better about his position.
She was made up that they’d at last been given permission to get married. It was all she’d ever wanted. She would finally be Mrs Moran and they would chase away the ghost of Caroline, the first wife, the only wife. Until now.
Chapter Seventy-One
James Banks Junior was a strange man; he had more of his father in him than he realised. Not that he had really known the man, of course. There were a couple of photos of his father holding him as a baby and that was about it. His mother told him everything he needed to know and, despite her best efforts, he continued to idolise him. In fact, it was what kept him going as he grew up, trying to emulate the man who had spawned him and then cruelly rejected him. He looked just like his father which didn’t help either − he would catch his mother watching him at times, and he could see the naked loathing for the man whose child she had produced.
James Banks’s story was pretty typical. He had started out getting into trouble at school. And then school stopped. So he ran wild on the streets, and pretty much descended into violent crime.
It had not been easy, but he had wangled himself to Parkhurst so he could finally take out Cain Moran, right a wrong, and gain a reputation as the man who had taken out a legend. It would guarantee him respect and admiration, both of which he craved. He wasn’t a complete fool − he knew that Cain Moran wasn’t going down without a fight, but he was willing to give this his all. It was make or break time for James Banks Junior. And he was almost looking forward to it.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Word was all over the prison about James Banks Junior and his sojourn on M Wing. He had his own cell too, so it seemed that he already had a few friends in high places.
Cain Moran was monitoring the atmosphere, and he didn’t like what he was feeling. The younger men were already siding with James Banks. Cain could understand that to a degree, but it was the reaction from some of his own peers that rattled him. Prison was a strange place − the normal rules and boundaries didn’t exist. This would be making for excitement, something different; it was such a monotonous experience that it was amazing what constituted entertainment.
He dished up the dinner and everyone ate it with gusto. As the wine and the grappa flowed, the talk turned to local matters.
It was Frankie White, a huge bear of a man doing a thirty for drug and arms dealing, who said what everyone else was thinking. ‘How do you feel about your nemesis arriving, then, Cain?’
Cain shrugged indifferently. ‘What can I do? He’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. I just have to wait and see. Could be something or nothing.’
One of the younger men, a nice lad called Benny Pyle, said carefully, ‘You did kill his dad, though.’
Cain barely suppressed a grin at the boy’s words. ‘Well, Benny, I think we can safely assume that old Jimmy wasn’t exactly a fucking choirboy. Someone was going to take him out and he happened to get up my nose first. I ain’t apologising for the past, son. Fuck him. It was a mercy killing. If ever there was an argument for abortion, Jimmy Boy Banks was it.’
The older men laughed. They agreed with him in principle, but there was still an edge to the atmosphere around the table. Violence was always simmering away somewhere in the prison system. It was a real, raw emotion, and it was also a way to get things off one’s chest. There was nothing like a good riot to put everyone into a good mood. Failing that, a decent punch-up could do the trick.
Young Benny waited for the laughter to die down before saying carefully, ‘Just seems a coincidence him turning up in the same wing as you.’
Cain poured himself a large glass of grappa and knocked it back in one swallow. Then, grinning, he said to Benny loudly, ‘You fallen in love with me or something? Very concerned for my welfare all of a sudden, aren’t you? Is there something you’re not telling us?’ Cain fluttered his eyelashes like a girl and the men cracked up laughing, but the insult had been delivered − Cain was warning him off in a nice way. ‘The day I start to care about little fucking wannabes is the day I listen to the fucking Spice Girls, OK? Now stop worrying about me, son, and if you’re really good I will let you hold me hand in the shower!’
Everyone was laughing once more, and the tension eased. But it told Cain what he needed to know about young James Banks and his entrance into the criminal fraternity of M Wing. The lad had a few supporters, and that was natural, but it seemed he would have to take the fucker out sooner rather than later. Although any trouble and he would lose his wedding privileges − that was not something Jenny would take kindly to. She was over the moon about this wedding, even if it was a prison do. It was the least he could give her when she asked for so little and did so very much for him. It was a fuck-up all right, this James Banks turning up now, in more ways than one.
Later that evening, Frankie popped into Cain’s cell and in a quiet voice, he said seriously, ‘You never heard this from me, but there is a hidden agenda with this kid, so just watch out.’
Cain nodded. He didn’t sleep much that night, just lay there and pondered the best way to deal with the situation. He was still awake when the sun finally crept through his cell window. He would have to box clever to try and resolve the issue with the minimum of fuss. The wedding was the important thing at the moment, and he daren’t do anything to fuck that up.
Chapter Seventy-Three
One of the screws was a big Scot who answered to the name of Jock McFarland, liked and respected by fellow POs and prisoners alike. He was the one to keep order, and he had a natural ability to lead. He was also on the take, as were most of the other officers. They all took money for different reasons, for different services rendered. McFarland had brokered the deal that had brought young James Banks on to M Wing. He had not questioned it too closely; well, he wouldn’t, would he? It was for a flat fee, and it was a popular wing to be on − especially if you were doing a lot of bird.
Now, though, he was in a quandary and he wasn’t sure what to do for the best. This was a very delicate situation, especially considering the two protagonists involved. Cain Moran was a man with a big lump still to do, and a temper that could bring untold slaughter on the wing if pushed, whereas the younger man, James Banks, was just that − a man with a score to settle and a reputation to make. It could only end in disaster. This could end up a kill-or-be-killed situation, and that would not be good for anyone. The governor would not be impressed, this was worthy of TV news coverage, and that was the last thing anyone wanted. The prisons liked to keep their heads down these days. It was such a powerful subject for the politicians, and no one actually had to deal with these people hands-on except the prison service. It paid off all round to keep certain pr
isoners happy − in the long run anyway.
He would have to order a cell search, something that he hadn’t done for years. Most of the men would be found with various sorts of dope or prescription drugs − contraband was accepted as part of the monetary system of a prison. Debts were paid, certain things could be purchased, and it gave the men a feeling of wealth and security. Now they would have to instigate a huge search for weapons, because he would lay his last pound on there being at least one dangerous one already floating about − probably more. Shivs were the easiest − a Stanley knife blade in a toothbrush was a quick and efficient weapon, as was a billiard ball in a sock. But he would put his money on a knife of some description, and a stabbing either in the showers or a cell. It would be quick and brutal, and it would cause him untold fucking aggravation. He needed to monitor the situation, and keep his eyes open.
