by Jack Rylance
It was definitely a case of ‘They’. He and John were now in this together. Pete was no longer simply an intermediary. He had clearly gone against Vincent and Totsy in harbouring the boy and they would not believe for a moment that he hadn’t known who the money belonged to. Pete was not completely sure that he’d ever believed this himself.
It would have helped if Vincent and Totsy were insular figures who liked to stick close to home, but this was not the case either. The pair of them had travelled the world extensively. They would not be out of their depth in Rio de Janeiro. No more than anybody else.
Their lines of inquiry would no doubt have led them to the door of John’s mother. Knowing what he did of Jeanette, Pete expected she would have told them everything they wanted to know, not out of treachery, but because she was smart and because she knew her information was of little extra help. It would make no difference to John’s plight, one way or the other. Also it would serve to illustrate that they were not that close, mother and son, and that might be enough to keep her safe from harm.
Pete reached the 150,000 pound mark. The loss of this money would make little difference to Vincent and Totsy’s finances, but there was no doubt it would excite them both once they’d pieced things together.
Hello, hello, what’s going on here then?
It would strike them as an attractive proposition: to reclaim this money and also renew their old control. For a long time Pete had thought that his relationship with Vincent and Totsy had culminated in the worst night of his life. Now it looked like he’d been wrong. The worst was still before him.
Even as teenagers Vincent and Totsy had been precocious, far-sighted, steeped in ambition. Back then it was comforting for others to believe they were stupid on account of their age and callow appearances, but they were not at all stupid. Already it was fear, as much as anything, that often led people to underestimate them. They preferred not to face up to the truth. Of course Vincent and Totsy took advantage of this reticence, just like they exploited everything else.
To begin with they did work for older villains, but Vincent and Totsy were never in awe of these elders, only learning what they could in the process. Already they saw room for improvement. They were young pretenders from the word go, ready to branch out and take over.
Vincent and Totsy went way back with Pete, as far as primary school. In their opinion, his character had not changed in all this time. This provided them with a background check which could not be replicated and it was sufficient to secure Pete their trust. This was a rare privilege – in fact, nobody else enjoyed it – and it led to the assumption that he would figure largely in their future plans; always be there to back them up and keep his mouth shut.
Pete was known to be a people person, likeable across the board. He had at his disposal methods of persuasion which complemented Vincent and Totsy’s own. They did not have the power as yet to run everybody down. It was better to use their friend for the odd charm offensive.
For Vincent and Totsy, crime was their absolute vocation. Pete could not say the same, but he desperately needed a lot of money at this time in order to look his very best. This goal became an obsession. It continued to make the most outrageous demands on his pocket.
At night Pete went where the professional footballers gathered to be seen. He frequented The Continental. He compared himself to these players on a regular basis and concluded that he looked every bit as good as they did. In a way it did not matter how much money he made, Pete would always find a way to spend it all quickly and end up in debt. This was his nature at that time. He bought GQ, Arena, Vogue Pour L’Homme, and rifled these pages for the latest, the most luxurious products. He ached for the top of the line, the limited edition, whether this related to a pen, a watch, or a car.
But Pete’s wardrobe always came first. There were certain designers he trusted implicitly. He drew incredible confidence from these labels. It was a mystical procedure almost. He felt transformed by the clothes on his back and they readied him for the evening ahead. In this respect, he relied upon Yohji Yamamoto, Willi Smith, Comme de Garcon.
Pete dressed up in order to put other men in his shade. Women were always the prize. Their hearts, minds, bodies. He was dedicated to winning them over, taking them home. He could include the gift of the gab in his arsenal. He was never stuck for something to say and showed great interest in the replies that followed on. His performances were sporty, polished, seductive, and for all these reasons Pete enjoyed an enviable success rate. On this fact rested his self-respect. He was only interested in a fleeting domination. He simply wanted to be the coolest bastard in the club and have the pick of its female guests. This ambition differed greatly from Vincent and Totsy’s. They already had one eye on conquering the city. In order to do this, it was necessary for them to look far beyond it.
In 87, they heard about Thailand in some detail. A lad they knew was over there already, based on Koh Phangan island. He described the party scene to them vividly. It was better than virgin territory – everything was being run by a few hippy types from the home counties and these trailblazers were laughably weak, ready to be replaced. All Vincent and Totsy needed to do was turn up and take over. This ripeness incensed them. They wanted to leave immediately. Money was being lost for every day they were not there.
They asked Pete to come out with them. Again, it was enough that they trusted him. They could not say this of anyone else. Pete knew this to be true. It was starting to feel like a burden, this trust.
He would be the one employed to soften up the competition, to first make friends of these forerunners and find out everything they knew. It would be a simple betrayal. These innocents would inevitably warm to Pete, give themselves away, and then Vincent and Totsy would step in and say what had to be said, do what needed to be done, carry out their much loved dirty work.
This scheme was put to Pete in The Grapes pub. He listened carefully as they laid it out, and then pretended to hesitate, although he’d already decided to stay at home. He cited his current girlfriend. He told them he was very much in love.
“Suit yourself, lad,” said Vincent. “Noone’s forcing you.”
“That’s right,” said Totsy. “It’s your call.”
But they were disappointed, Pete could tell that. They had strongly desired his help. They had wanted to use his charm in the first instance. Because it was not available to them, they would be required to change their plans.
One night, a month after Vincent and Totsy left for Asia, Pete was persuaded to visit a small nightclub which had just opened. The idea was his new girlfriend’s. He was won over to the idea by Sally’s incredible beauty. She led him by the eye, the nose, the mouth.
The club was a sweat-box, its clientèle entirely spaced out, and the music gratingly repetitive. None of this was to Pete’s liking. It was when he said as much, and spoke about leaving, that Sally opened up her left hand, referring to the pale green tablet resting in her palm. After a moment’s hesitation, Pete picked up the pill – spurred on by the look on her face, the prowess of her smile – and popped it in his mouth and waited cautiously to see what would happen next. Half an hour later Pete came up on the drug and it struck him as a bona fide miracle. The music seconded this idea for hours and hours and he danced in accordance with it. His Paul Smith shirt was ruined by sweat and he found that he no longer cared.
Within a month, this sense of elation came to dominate Pete’s life.
Vincent and Totsy stayed in Thailand for eight months in total. The trip went according to plan and they made a killing before getting out at the right time. This brief residency was the making of them in many ways. In the end they pulled off one last major deal, found themselves a fall-guy, and laughed all the way home. They had done things over there which they would allude to later on with a keen sense of amusement. Very bad things. On Koh Phangan their limits had been tested, stretched. Consequently their bond was strengthened. They returned to Liverpool as an out and out partner
ship and started to move up in that world which they had long wished to own. Afterwards it became customary for them to be spoken of in the same breath, with the same profound unease.
Vincent & Totsy.
Both men started to believe that they were a match for anybody and this belief was confirmed for them by the rapid progress that they made. Everywhere they went they saw nothing to fear. They were already thinking in terms of rising to the top: fledgling tyrants at the age of twenty four.
Vincent and Totsy caught up with Pete again at a club called Macmillans. He was out on the dance floor when there was a tap on his shoulder and turning round he was startled to see them both there. At once they began laughing at him, looking him up and down. “What the fuck are you wearing, lad?” Pete was wearing nothing except purple Wallabies on his feet, a red bandana on his head, a pair of denim dungarees. “Gone for eight months and Britain’s best dressed man has turned into a gypo,” Vincent added.
“Alright lads. How’s it going?” Pete was high as a kite and his chemical instinct was to hug them both, go overboard on this reunion. It took all of his remaining good sense to rein these feelings in.
“How’s it going yourself?” Vincent asked.
“Sound. Do you want a pill?” He looked from one man to the other hopefully, desperate for them to join him in this blissed-out state; to submit to the drug and undergo an astonishing transformation. He had seen it happen to others like them. “Go on. You’ve got to try this at least once. It’s fucking great.”
“Ecstasy?” Said Vincent.
“Yeh.”
“‘The love drug’. Think I’ll give it a miss, meself. Have you seen the state of all these cunts grinning from ear to ear.” He looked around at the clubbers in question, grimacing at their pleasure.
“Aye, I’ll stick with the ale, thank you very much,” Totsy added, raising his pint glass.
“Big market for it, is there? This ecstasy,” said Vincent.
“I guess so, yeh,” Pete said, trying to pull himself together.
“That’s good, isn’t it Totsy?”
“Oh, that’s very good.” Totsy confirmed.
The way they addressed him was different from before they’d left. There was a slight shift downwards. Pete was hard pressed to explain it. It was not a demotion which offered itself to words, but he knew it was there, more than a suspicion. Maybe they had guessed the real reason for his decision to stay at home: because Pete thought they might get themselves killed out there in Thailand. That they would finally be out of their depth. He could see how such an assessment might have offended both men. It meant that he lacked faith. Did he not know what they were capable of? Perhaps this was where Vincent and Totsy’s grudge was first borne. Later Pete wondered about it – what exactly had he forfeited by deciding not to go along?
In Thailand they had established a Midlands connection, and this same gentleman was now ready to supply Vincent and Totsy with a constant supply of the now popular narcotic. Ecstasy would travel up the motorway each and every week. It was decided that Pete was to be their main man on the ground, inside the local clubs. He understood the marketplace.
Despite his many reservations, Pete agreed to front for Vincent and Totsy. He saw the potential in this arrangement. But more than that, Pete realised that there was no arguing with them.
Especially not now.
Chapter Ten
Waking, Pete felt a strange pressure around one of his knuckles. Eyes closed, he put his other hand to it and touched the metal band and remembered exactly what it was and why it was there. Last evening Ester had taken the ring off one of her fingers and placed it on his own. As a gesture it was both playful and sincere, as if symbolizing a marriage which would last one single night. Typical of their arrangement. It made Pete turn round now and look to the other side of the bed where she was sleeping soundly, the white sheet wrapped below her armpits, her brown shoulders bare.
His mouth parched, Pete turned back and reached for the plastic water bottle on the night stand and found that it was empty. There was nothing for it but to crawl out of bed and make his way to the kitchen.
Entering the room, Pete switched on the ceiling fan. Opening up the fridge, he took out a litre of Minalba and went and sat at the small table and sighed heavily as if he’d overexerted himself and was finally coming to rest. He listened to the drone of the fan and again scrutinised the ring on his wedding finger. It was smooth, purely circular, gold coloured. He wanted to extract meaning from this symbol. Exactly the meaning he liked. He was tempted to see it as a new development. He remembered how easily it had slipped over his knuckle the night before. Ester had admired this ease too. “Perfect,” she’d said.
Maybe the ring symbolized that they’d be together in spirit while their flesh did the rounds. Maybe it celebrated all their little secrets. In all likelihood, it proposed very little, and for just that reason Pete found it deeply affecting. The problem, or lack of one, was that they could both see the obstacles for what they were, and if either of them entertained the thought of overcoming these, it was only fanciful and fleeting. If they both imagined a future together then it was one which neither of them belonged to and neither of them believed in, and yet they were both loath to discount it altogether. It was still upsetting to write it off. They both deserved nothing finer. They plugged each others’ gaps. They played their lives off against the lives they claimed to desire. And so their hearts went out, but only so far, and with no real ambition.
None of this had stopped them from spending another night together.
On the way out of HELP, they’d grabbed a few beers from a street vendor and taken a taxi back to his apartment building, all over one another, bouncing off the walls of the elevator, bouncing off the walls of the corridors, tilting with lust, tailor-made for bed.
In the dark, he told her he loved her. She told him she loved him. It was as if they were at a fairground, each with a handful of tokens which couldn’t otherwise be redeemed. The tokens had a time-limit and were site-specific and so they threw them about and received these swift pleasures. Much was whispered and shouted out loud as they got themselves worked up into a slippery tangle and passed through all those age old permutations of give and receive. It was poetry of the moment. That passionate think-tank which leads nowhere. They did wonders for each other, only these wonders never lasted. Their relationship was like a tonic. It pepped them up. It would not change the course of their lives. And yet these nights answered for a lot. They gave Pete sustenance, although it was never enough.
Could money remedy this situation? Two hundred thousand pounds?
Personally, it did not inspire him. He could not go back to that way of thinking, Pete realised. He had too thoroughly dismissed the notion of conspicuous wealth and never again would he lay out a grand for a suit, £200 for shirts, or spend £80 on a tie. It was an incredible saving he had made by accepting these purchases as flawed. Now Pete bought fake La Coste shirts from the hawkers along Atlantic Avenue. They cost him 15 reais each and did him fine – it was a different type of pride he now took in his appearance.
Pete was loath to tell Ester that he was potentially rich. It was hard to see what this news might change for the better. He was concerned that he would lose his edge as a result of this new-found wealth and that she would start to see him in the same rational light as her Chilean Industrialist, her Italian restaurateur. Far better to leave the old dynamic in place and remain the charming underdog. He made Ester happy already. That was why she was here with him, against the odds, arousing the indignation of her friends. By publicising the money, the odds would become very much in his favour. It would clear up any mystery and her friends would begin to understand and there would be nobody left to criticize him.
Pete knew that the money was certain to put ideas in Ester’s head. He would not blame her for that. It was enough to put ideas in anyone’s head, barring his own.
What ideas had it provoked in Vincent and Totsy? That w
as the most important question by far. At the very least it meant that he was back in their thoughts, and for this reason, Pete was now dangerous to be around. This was by far the worst of all these considerations; the saddest of all these truths. There was an orbit of blame surrounding him at present. He knew Vincent and Totsy well – they would be only too happy to associate Ester with this crime and punish her accordingly as it was commonplace for their violence to extend to lovers, family, friends. For this reason, it would be best to drop her altogether, but Pete realised that he would find this hard to do. He felt a sudden surge of anger and directed it towards John, that stupid little prick. This situation had been completely avoidable to begin with, but through John’s mindlessness he had put them both in harm’s way.
What made it so terrible was that John had no burning desires which needed satisfying either; not even some vague notion of the high-life which he wished to entertain. There wasn’t any greed to dignify his actions or explain them satisfactorily. Instead he’d taken the money for no other reason than it was there; then he’d carried it to Pete like some faithful dog, dropping dead prey at its master’s feet, looking up hopefully, expecting praise. At that point John wanted nothing more to do with the money. But Pete wanted nothing to do with it either. And so they had both been condemned on account of a theft for which neither of them cared.
Pete looked up at the wall clock. Ester would rouse herself soon. The afternoons were her own. She would go to the beach, sunbathe, sleep some more. It was a form of preparation. She was getting herself in shape for the night ahead so that the darkness would find her in peak condition. Incredibly supple.
Now Pete did what he always did when he felt the lure of Ester becoming too much. He started to correct himself. He thought about the strange detritus she left lying around. He would sometimes find business cards, men’s phone numbers on hotel stationery; once, the dog-tags of a Mexican marine. She did not try to hide these things. She was careless and complacent. It was a type of slovenly realism.
