Dangerous Lady

by Martina Cole

  Ten minutes later, as he placed breakfast on the table, he heard the front door slam. Michael had gone without even kissing him goodbye! Richard sat at the table with his face set in a frown. Damn that bloody bitch! He looked at Michael’s fluffy scrambled eggs and, smiling, picked it up and scraped it on to this own plate. Waste not, want not, that was his motto.

  Michael got into his car, his mind working overtime. As he made his way through the busy morning traffic his rage subsided. Maura had said that they had to think this thing through calmly, and she was right. He had a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind about who had grassed him up. His face set into a hard frown. From what Maura had told him the paper had more or less said that whoever had been with O’Loughlin had been responsible for his being picked up. Joe Public didn’t know who that was but the IRA did. And that could mean big trouble. He had been dealing with them for years.

  He carried on driving out of London towards Essex. He could not understand why Maura lived in that great big house out in the sticks. He pulled into her drive and got out of the car. She already had the front door open. He kissed her on the cheek. She put her finger to her lips and he followed her through the house to her kitchen, where her daily woman, Mrs MacMullen, was pulling on her coat.

  ‘You’ll be paid for today, Mrs Mac, but I need the house to myself.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, lovie. I don’t mind.’ She smiled at the pair of them and walked out of the kitchen. They both stood silently until they heard the front door slam.

  ‘She let herself in while I was in the shower. Sorry about that. Coffee?’

  Michael nodded.

  ‘Look, Maws, whoever fingered me was very close to home. The only ones who knew about the meet were me, you and Geoffrey.’

  Maura shrugged, not taking in what he was saying. ‘It could have been someone from O’Loughlin’s end.’

  Michael sat at the table. ‘Why would one of the Micks want to set me up?’

  She turned to face him. ‘Well, it certainly wasn’t me!’ Her voice was cold.

  ‘I know that, Princess. That leaves only one other person . . .’

  When Maura realised what he was saying she began to shake her head in disbelief.

  ‘No. Not Geoffrey. For Christ’s sake, Mickey, he’s our brother.’

  She poured out the coffee with trembling hands.

  ‘I think that Geoffrey has tucked me up, Maws. It’s a gut feeling. He ain’t been right for a long time now. Whoever grassed to the old Bill knew exactly where we were meeting, everything. I only knew an hour beforehand myself. You know I have the phones swept once a month. They’re cleaner than the Russian Embassy’s. No, whoever it was, was close to home. There’s no doubt about that.’

  ‘It could have come from O’Loughlin’s end.’ Her voice was sad. Even as she spoke she knew that Michael was right. She sat down heavily, as if very weary. ‘So, Mickey, what are you going to do?’

  He sipped his tea. ‘What do you think? I can’t let this go.’

  Maura bit on her thumbnail. ‘You don’t know for sure yet, Mickey.’

  ‘Listen, Maws, there’s a few things that have been bothering me for a while. He asked to be put back into the clubs, didn’t he? He didn’t want to work with William any more. Right?’

  Maura nodded her head slowly.

  ‘Well, the takings were right down. I asked him about it and he said that all the clubs were in the same boat. Then I find out that the New Rockingham Club and the Pink Pussycat have nearly doubled their takings. So I know that he has his hand in the till. He was also seen with Old Billy Bootnose, a known nark. Richard saw them.’

  Maura flapped her hand at him. ‘I’m sorry, Mickey. For all Geoff’s faults he ain’t a grass. As for your Richard . . .’

  Michael bellowed at her, ‘Oh, Maws, grow up for fuck’s sake! It’s staring us in the face. Richard works in and around London, picking up garbage for the gossip columns. There ain’t nothing that he don’t know or can’t find out. You might not like him but that don’t alter the facts. Geoff is selling us out. Not just me. I bet you any money you like, it’s you as well.’

  ‘So what’s the next step?’ Her voice was small.

  ‘Let’s just say he won’t be going home to dinner with that snot-nosed bird he’s got himself.’

  Maura gave Michael a level stare, then shook her head, ‘No, Mickey. You can’t! Not your own flesh and blood. For me, Mickey. For Mum. Don’t do it.’

  Michael placed his hand over her smaller soft one and squeezed it.

  ‘I can’t let this go, Maws.’ His voice was quiet now. Final. Maura looked at him wildly, trying to think of a solution to the problem.

  ‘Mickey, please. I’ll sort this out.’ She forced conviction into her voice. ‘I’ll get rid of him to another country. He can go to Spain, look after our holdings there. I’ll sort it out with him, I swear. He’ll toe the line. He must know that you’ve tumbled him. I’ll be responsible for him.’

  ‘All right. All right.’ Michael’s voice was annoyed. ‘You’ve got twenty-four hours to get rid of him. If he’s still around after that, then he’s dead. You can tell him that from me. Now I have got to go and square it all with Kelly. You can bet your life they all think it was me fingered O’Loughlin.’

  He stood up abruptly and Maura was reminded just how big and dangerous he could be. He kissed her on the forehead and left the house. She sat for a few minutes letting all he had said sink in. Then, lighting another cigarette, she went to the phone and called Geoffrey. Her heart was so heavy, she felt physically sick at the turn of events. If Geoffrey refused to leave the country he was a dead man.

  * * *

  Michael drove to Le Buxom. Although they had offices all over London, the club would always be his favourite place. He had built an empire from these tiny offices and always felt safe here. He had never enjoyed working on the building projects, always feeling more at home with the seedier businesses. To all intents and purposes they were legitimate, valid excuses for spending money. They paid tax, they paid VAT. But deep in Michael’s heart it would always be the clubs, the betting offices and the robberies that were his forte. Unlike Maura, he had never lost touch with his poverty-stricken roots. He only had to close his eyes to see once more the cockroaches, the bare floors, and his mother’s ever-swollen belly.

  Michael wanted money that would astound the senses, money that would be a never ending pit to draw from. He wanted to be like the educated villains he had met through Templeton. He wanted to wear his riches like a cloak, he wanted to be able to buy anyone and anything that he desired. And with the gold heist and the docklands’ holdings he would be able to do that. He knew that they had pulled off one of the biggest scams in the history of English crime. That the police were no nearer solving the case of the stolen gold than they were to solving the murders of Jack the Ripper. He had been secretly pleased with himself. Now Geoffrey was going to ruin that.

  He had an insight into himself that would have amazed and confused his sister. He knew in his heart that Geoffrey was his Achilles heel. If he ever got caught or called in for questioning, he knew that it would be because of Geoffrey. None of the other boys would ever dream of trying to implicate him or Maura. But Geoffrey would.

  In 1980 Garry had been identified at the scene of a robbery. He had appeared at the Old Bailey, accused of armed robbery. Michael had retained the best barrister in London, Douglas Denby QC. Garry had walked free, but Michael knew that if he could have been persuaded to chat to the police about his eldest brother, the boy would never even have had to go to court. Yet Michael had not been worried. He knew that even if Garry got fifteen years, he still would not open his mouth to anyone. Not so Geoffrey. Geoffrey reminded him of a snake, fooling its quarry into a false sense of security, before pouncing on it and destroying it. He had a viper in his camp and his sister could not see it. And the sad part was, Geoffrey wanted to destroy her more than he did Michael.

  He parked his car. Af
ter carefully scanning the road for anything suspicious, he got out and went into the club. Gerry Jackson was there.

  ‘Hello, Mickey!’ Michael heard the pleasure in his friend’s voice and was gratified. Gerry was wearing his toupee. On the night of the club bombing his hair had been burnt off and it had never grown back. During the day Gerry wore his hairpiece. He had also lost an ear, and part of his face and neck was still raised and mauve all these years later. Michael cared for Gerry as much as he did his younger brothers.

  ‘All right, Gerry? Anyone been asking for me?’ He kept his voice light.

  Gerry shook his head.

  ‘The Irish looks better. Is it a new one?’ Gerry laughed at the reference to his wig. He was very good-natured despite his ferocious looks.

  ‘Yeah. Cost me nearly two hundred quid. Real hair, see.’ He took the toupee off his head and handed it to Michael who took it from him. He did not know what else to do.

  ‘Yeah. It’s lovely.’ They both laughed together. For the first time in years Michael remembered them as children, playing together. Gerry’s dad had been killed in the war and his mum had worked the Bayswater Road. She had brought up her six children on the proceeds of the game and National Assistance. She lived out in Enfield now, a respectable old lady who doted on her grandchildren.

  Michael had a terrible feeling of foreboding as he stood with Gerry. He threw the wig back to his friend and, smiling, went up to the offices.

  It took him a while to get through to Kelly. When he finally did he was not surprised to find that he was treated with the utmost suspicion.

  ‘Look, Kelly, I was set up. I take oath on that.’

  Kelly’s thick Northern Irish accent crackled over the wire. ‘Pat O’Loughlin was a bad man to cross, Ryan. Once they ship him back to the Maze he’ll be back in the driving seat. You’re a dead man.’

  Kelly’s voice was matter-of-fact, as if he was discussing the weather.

  Michael was having difficulty in controlling his temper. The famous temper that could instil fear into the most hardened of criminals.

  ‘I told you, it was a set up. What more do you want from me? I’ve been associated with your bloody organisation for nearly thirty years, mate. I was giving contributions before you was even born.’

  If he told them about Geoffrey they would never trust him again, and then his brother would be dead and his mother would be heartbroken.

  Kelly broke into his racing thoughts.

  ‘We think, Mr Ryan, that you have done a deal. An hour ago Sean Murphy and Liam McNamara were picked up at another of your so-called safe houses. You’re a dead man, Ryan.’

  The phone went dead.

  Michael sat staring at it in amazement. Murphy and McNamara! He put the phone back in its cradle. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. He got up from his chair and went to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. He poured himself a large brandy and drank it straight back. Geoffrey had done him up like a kipper. Well, he would wipe Geoffrey Ryan off the face of the earth. Sod Maura, and sod his bloody mother! He would get the word out that Geoffrey had grassed the Irishman up. That way, if the IRA got to him first, all well and good. If not, then Michael himself would blast the bastard through his guts. He could do without the Irish anyway. He phoned Maura’s house. He had to let her know what was going on.

  Templeton answered the phone.

  ‘Willy?’

  ‘Why, hello, Michael.’ His voice was warm.

  ‘Is Maws there?’

  ‘No. She’s gone to your mother’s to see Geoffrey. Can I help? I said I would man the phones for her. I wanted to take her out to lunch, but you know your sister. Business first!’ His tone was jocular and friendly.

  Michael forced himself to laugh.

  ‘If she comes back before I see her, will you give her a message for me? Tell her that I must, absolutely must, get rid of the employee we were discussing. Tell her that Kelly insisted. Got that?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ve written it down.’

  ‘See you later then, Willy.’

  ‘’Bye, Mickey.’

  So Maura had swallowed her pride and gone to their mother’s house. Obviously that was where she’d tracked the little bastard down to. He must think he was safe there. The slag!

  Michael pulled on his coat and left the club. It was now early afternoon and the traffic was thick. He finally drove into Lancaster Road, seething with anger. Geoffrey had tucked him up and Geoffrey would pay. He would try to get his brother to leave his mother’s house, but if he wouldn’t then he would drag the bastard out if need be. Fuck his mother! Fuck the lot of them! He wasn’t going under for the toe rag. In his temper Michael did not notice the black Granada Scorpio that was parked opposite.

  Maura had finally located Geoffrey at their mother’s house. Garry had answered the telephone and she had told him not to say she had called. She had a feeling that if Geoffrey knew, he would try and get away. She had to see him before Michael did. She told Garry to keep him there until she arrived. She had parked her car in Bletchedon Street and walked around to her mother’s house, in case Geoffrey had been scanning the road from the window. As she had walked up the familiar steps her heart had been hammering dangerously. She had not been to this house in over ten years. Not since the fight after Benny had been murdered. She shuddered. She did not want to see her mother and open all the old wounds, but she had to. She only hoped Geoffrey would realise that she was trying to help him.

  She plucked up her courage and knocked on the door. She could hear the dull taps of her mother’s shoes across the linoleum and guessed that she had come from the kitchen. The door opened and the two women came face to face for the first time in eleven years.

  Maura was shocked at the sight before her. Her mother was nothing more than a fat little old lady. Her face was wrinkled up like a walnut and her hair, still in the scraped bun of old, was completely grey. Only the eyes were as she remembered them, alive with malice and triumph.

  Maura realised her mother thought that she had come to beg some kind of forgiveness. Well, that was all right with her. She would play any kind of game she had to today. She knew, though, that seeing her mother meant nothing to her now.

  ‘Hello, Mum.’ She was amazed to find that her voice was normal.

  Sarah’s eyes swept her from head to foot. Maura was wearing a black trouser suit with a white cashmere jumper underneath. She could practically hear her mother counting up the cost in her head.

  ‘What do you want?’ Sarah’s voice was flat. It was obvious to Maura that she was going to make it as hard as possible for her.

  Maura walked into the house without being asked. She had to push past her mother, and was made aware of just how tiny she was.

  ‘Is our Geoffrey here?’

  As Maura spoke she walked through to the kitchen. Sarah followed her. Her mettle was up but she kept silent. There was something funny going on here. Geoffrey was like a scalded cat. Every time the phone rang or someone knocked, he nearly had a seizure. Well, she had a feeling that her daughter held the key to a mystery and for that reason, and that reason only, would stomach her presence in her house.

  Maura entered the kitchen. Geoffrey and Garry were sitting at the kitchen table. Garry smiled at her, but Geoffrey looked as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt.

  ‘Hello, Geoffrey.’ She looked straight at him. The kitchen looked and felt familiar. It had not changed one iota in the last ten years.

  ‘Can I speak to you? Alone, please.’

  She saw Geoffrey’s eyes go to his mother who was standing behind her. Maura nodded at Garry. Getting up from the table, he went to where his mother was standing.

  ‘Come on, Muvver. Let’s leave the lovebirds alone for a minute.’

  Sarah pushed at him roughly. ‘Get your bleeding hands off me! What’s going on here?’

  Maura turned to her mother and, grabbing her shoulders, bundled her none too gently out of the kitchen door.

&nbs
p; ‘Let go of me, you bloody lanky bitch!’

  ‘Garry, take her into the front room. Her statues are probably lonely.’ Maura’s voice was sarcastic. She looked closely into her mother’s face. ‘Keep your nose out, Mum. It doesn’t concern you.’

  She shut the kitchen door firmly, blocking out her mother’s raised voice. She could hear Garry trying to pacify her. Geoffrey was watching her warily. Maura could feel the fear emanating from him.

  ‘Michael knows everything.’

  Geoffrey dropped his gaze.

  ‘Let’s face it, Geoff, it wouldn’t take long to sniff out something so putrid, would it? I’ve come to help you, though looking at you, I don’t know why I bothered. You’ve got twenty-four hours to get out of the country.’

  Geoffrey’s head shot up. There was a peculiar light in his eyes, as scared as he was.

  ‘I ain’t going nowhere. You don’t scare me.’

  Maura laughed out loud. ‘Oh, but I do. I scare you shitless, and so does Michael. And the mood I left him in, he’d scare the devil.’

  As she spoke, she heard four loud bangs, then Geoffrey began to laugh hysterically.

  Michael screeched to a halt outside his mother’s house. Fiona Dalgleesh was walking her young son to the shops and was startled by the squealing of wheels. She grabbed her son’s hand. Bloody lunatic drivers! She saw a large, good-looking man get out of the offending car. It was about fifteen feet away. Then, in the weak October sunshine, she saw a distinct gleam. She looked across the road to where a black car was parked and opened her eyes wide with shock. A man was sitting in the passenger seat of the car, and he had a gun! Without thinking she threw her son to the pavement and lay on top of him. A piercing cry escaped from her lips.

  Michael got out of the car still seething with rage. He heard the girl scream and looked in her direction. He saw her throw herself on top of a little boy. It was the last thing he was to see. A moment later a bullet entered the side of his head and splattered his brains all over the pavement.