Sarah sat in her bedroom, alone and upset. It was hard for her to be dismissed like this by her own flesh and blood, her beloved grandson. Benny acted as if she was worth nothing. That Vic Joliff had only come to her home to score points in a game they were all playing.
It hurt. She knew there was some sort of panic afoot, she wasn’t stupid: hadn’t she reared Michael and his sister? Hadn’t she had guns in her outhouse and villains at her breakfast table? It was the way Benny treated her, like she was a silly old woman, that really rankled. It was this reminder that she was old and she was useless that was hurting her. In her day she had stood shoulder to shoulder with the best of them, her sons had been the terror of Notting Hill, and yet Benny treated her like she was a fool.
She deliberately put out of her mind the fact that she was supposed to be against their way of life. She was cross and wanted him to remember that she was the matriarch of the foremost criminal family in the south east. Suddenly the respect that afforded her was important to her. She remembered with nostalgia walking down the market and getting her due from the traders and her neighbours. Michael had seen to that, she was his mother and he had adored her. If he was still alive that little snipe Benny would have thought twice before he treated her like a fool!
Sometimes she wished for the old days so badly. The days when Michael was head of the house, and young and strong. When he had been just a bit of a lad, not the mad murdering bastard he had become later. She had fallen out with him over Maura because she could accept her sons being villains but never her daughter, and Michael had called her over that. She had buried her boys in turn, fine handsome young men, her Geoffrey set up by his own family. Maura had arranged his death by talking to her IRA contacts, though Sarah had never let on she knew that. In her heart she knew he deserved it for having betrayed Michael and framed him as an informant.
Secretly she still craved the notoriety of being the Ryans’ mother, especially at times like this when even her own grandson shouted at her as if she was nothing and nobody. He who wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her.
Years ago when she had tried to get Maura arrested, after her Geoffrey’s death, she had been sure that all she wanted was for her boys to be out of the criminal way of life. Now she wanted to be shown the respect that the mother of successful criminals should get. In fact, did get. Strangers treated her well enough. Even the young fuckers roundabouts, black and white, gave her her due. Her purse would be safe if she walked about with it on her head. She was Old Mother Ryan, and people knew that. The new and famous neighbours spoke to her about her children, whose exploits sometimes occupied the centre pages of the tabloids though nothing was ever proved, her daughter made sure of that.
Sarah sighed, and felt the urge to cry once more. For Benny to treat her like that! He had finally started talking to her again, coming round with that lovely girl, and then he had attacked her once more.
Silly old cow, indeed! Her husband would have skelped his arse for him.
She missed Janine, missed her so much. They had understood each other. She heard the front door open and footsteps thunder up the stairs. For a split second she was scared, and when her bedroom door flew open nearly cried out in fear.
It was Lee. He bundled her into his arms, fear evident in the close hug he gave her. Sarah finally succumbed to tears.
‘All right, Mum. I’m here, mate.’
Glancing out of the window she saw that Benny had sat outside with Carol until Lee arrived and that pleased her too. He wasn’t a bad boy really. Just hot-headed. Hadn’t he waited until she had someone with her? He must care deep down, he must.
That thought was a balm to her hurt feelings.
Chapter Ten
Trevor Tanks was being dragged up a flight of stairs by his hair. He felt the fear mounting inside him and wondered if he was going to defecate in his trousers. He hoped not, he depended on his own fearsome reputation for his debt collecting. But this lot was heavy duty and he was not about to attempt anything that would give Benny Ryan an excuse to glue his eyelids together and use that cattle prod. It was such an embarrassing way of being taught a lesson, which of course was half the psychology behind it. Instead he just relaxed his body as best he could and hoped against hope that he could tell this lot of fucking Loony Tunes what they wanted to hear.
Maura was at the top of the flight of stairs in her office in Dean Street. They had brought him here because he was a frequent visitor to Le Buxom, the hostess club downstairs, and if he told them what they wanted to hear he’d be getting a free night for his trouble.
Trevor, dishevelled and with a worried frown on his ugly face, looked at Maura and relaxed. If she was here then it wouldn’t get too out of hand. At least he hoped that was the case, because on reflection she did not look a happy bunny.
‘Hello, Trevor.’
Her voice was soft, friendly. Trevor found himself sweating with fear.
‘Have a seat.’
Benny smashed him down into the proffered chair so hard he nearly cracked his coccyx with the force of it.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
Maura’s voice was still calm, neutral. She was acting like this was quite normal, like it was a tea party or something.
‘That depends on whether I will be drinking it or wearing it, Maura.’
Even Benny smiled. You couldn’t help laughing at Trevor, he was so funny. He talked like Jeremy Paxman on an EastEnders trip. He also had perfect comedy timing.
Maura laughed as she said, ‘That’s up to Benny really. Eh, Ben?’
He grinned.
‘You can drink it, Trev. What do you want, the usual?’
Trevor nodded, relaxing a bit now.
A Bacardi and Coke was delivered to him within seconds and he took it gratefully.
‘So what have I done then?’
His voice was strong but still wary.
Maura smiled once more.
‘Who said you had done anything, Trevor?’ She stayed pleasant, she knew how to play the game. Thankfully so did Trevor Tanks.
He gulped at his drink.
‘Well, let me see.’ He made a big show of thinking, his usually open face a picture of concentration.
‘I think the fact I was dragged out of me house in front of all me neighbours by an irate and, if I may say so, Benny, horribly strong young bastard then forcibly put into the boot of a rather nice but uncomfortable motor first aroused my suspicions. Now I don’t know about you, Maura, but in my book that kind of treatment heralds trouble of some kind. On due reflection – and this is only speculation, you understand – I came to the conclusion I had pissed off someone quite badly, namely your good self. I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done but I am sure I will be enlightened at some point in the near future. Whereupon I shall beg and plead and try my best to ’fess up, and hopefully be allowed to go on my merry way.’
Benny was laughing so hard he was ready to bust a gut.
‘You should be on the stage, Trevor, you’re a fucking scream. Ain’t he, Maws?’
Even she laughed.
The constant thud of the stripper’s music was clearly audible below and every now and then a loud screech of laughter would waft up the stairs. The place smelled as always of cheap perfume and sweaty bodies. Trevor loved it here and wished he were downstairs now with a nice cold drink and every chance of an experienced blowjob at some point in the evening, instead of up here talking to these two nutters.
‘So I ask again, what am I supposed to have done?’
‘Where is Jamie Hicks?’
The question threw him and it showed. He was all righteous indignation; this was his livelihood they were touching on, for fuck’s sake.
‘Is that what this is about? He owes me the national fucking debt, Maura. I know you are a force, and I respect that, but I am only going about me lawful business. If everyone who owed me poke hid behind your skirts I’d go out of business in no fucking time.’
He was prop
erly upset now. He couldn’t afford to write off debts. Even Benny was sorry for him. Understanding his dilemma, they both hastened to assure him his business was all right.
‘No, it’s not that, mate. This has nothing to do with the debts. We just want to know if you located him, that’s all.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Benny, but a phone call really would have sufficed. Of course I have seen him. He came to me yard and paid me up yesterday afternoon. I must admit I was shocked – he is a cunt for not paying, is Jamie. I normally have to give him a slap before I even get a down payment. That poor wife of his, how she stands it I don’t know. He owes everyone, and it’s big amounts, not little pockets if you see what I mean. He’s into Jonny Ortega for over twenty grand, but you never heard that from me. He owes the coons in Brixton and the front wheels in East London. To put it mildly he owes more money than a banana republic, and you know Jamie as well as I do. He’ll carry on borrowing until he wins back what he owes.’
‘Was he on his own yesterday?’
Trevor thought again.
‘Yeah. Had a nice motor, though. A white Jag, brand new and still smelling of the showroom. I assumed he’d had a touch, a nice little earner, and was paying up his debts. Unbelievable, I know, but that was what it seemed like. He paid up with a smile and was friendlier than usual, if you see what I mean. Normally the fucking Queen comes to the opening of his wallet, but he was free and easy with the cash. Looked like he’d snorted enough coke to get the whole of a Basildon nightclub off their fucking boats too. But then that’s Jamie, ain’t it? Mr Sniff, the girls call him.’
‘Did he mention Vic Joliff?’
‘Did he fuck! Me and Vic ain’t spoken for over ten years on account of him shagging my ex-wife. Though it’s academic now. Let’s face it, everyone shagged my ex-wife. I was the only one who wasn’t getting a fucking portion!’
Maura and Benny were laughing once more. This was old news. Trevor’s wife had been a byword. She would shag anyone, anywhere, at any time. The crunch had finally come when she had given birth to a child of indeterminate race. As Trevor had said at the time, he could swallow a lot but no one was going to believe that the boy was his. He was as black as the Ace of Spades. The strange thing was, after the divorce Trevor got custody and openly adored the boy, and the boy adored him. As Trevor said, he couldn’t leave the poor little fucker with her, she had no interest in the kid at all. She left him down the shops twice! She was on the game now but everyone knew he still kept in contact with her and bunged her a few quid when she was down on her luck. Trevor Tanks was a good sort in many respects, though his rep said different.
‘If you do hear anything about Jamie or Vic, will you tip us the wink? There’s a good drink in it for you.’
Trevor smiled, sensing the danger had passed.
‘I’ll deliver them on a plate, girl, if that’s what you want and waive the drink. That ponce Joliff needs a good slap and you are just the people to give it to him. I’ll even supply the fucking Super Glue, Benny. I hate the cunt.’
Maura was satisfied and said in a friendly way, ‘Go down to the club, it’s on the house tonight.’
Trevor smiled.
‘Nice one, Maura. And can you do me a favour in future?’
She nodded.
‘Send a fucking cab next time, girl. My days of travelling in the boot of motors are long gone.’
He was friendly, but he was also saying it was unnecessary what Benny had done to him. He was a friendly face, not an enemy. Maura was inclined to agree with him. She would talk to her nephew about it later on.
Kenny Smith was going on a meet with an old mate. It was a lovely morning and he was looking forward to seeing Jack Stern. It had been a while since they had talked about old times, and since the demise of his beloved Lana, Kenny had been in a deep depression.
As he pulled into Jack’s driveway he glanced at the array of prestige motors and grinned. Jack was one flash bastard.
He parked at the side of the wide in-out driveway and strolled up to the house. It was a lovely place, an old red-brick mansion that Jack had taken in lieu of his usual fee for a contract killing. Jack would kill anyone for a price, but other than that he was a nice bloke. He had buried more bodies than the Flying Squad and that was going some. But he was a good mate and that was all that Kenny cared about.
The front door was ajar and he walked straight in as he always did. He was always a welcome visitor to this house. But as he strode into the large morning room he was nonplussed for a moment.
Vic Joliff was sitting on a Louis XV chair by the French windows, smoking a rather large joint.
‘All right, Kenny? Long time no see.’
He didn’t answer. Vic was being looked for all over the smoke. Kenny himself had had a call that morning from Maura Ryan asking if he had seen him, and now here he was standing in the same room.
He recovered himself quickly.
‘Hello, Vic me old china. Where’s Jack?’
‘He’ll be here in a minute, he’s sorting out a bit of business for me. Sit down, Ken, why don’t you? I’m sure Jack won’t mind.’
He was being treated like a stranger in his best mate’s house. But he did as he was asked. Kenny was a fixer and as such took the Swiss stance in any inter-firm disputes. He was a neutral observer. He wondered if his visit was why Vic was here today. Either that or he wanted someone dead. Then again, he could want both a fixer and a death. You never knew with him.
‘What brings you here then, Vic?’
Vic Joliff observed him dispassionately for a few moments with dead eyes before saying quietly, ‘Who are you? The fucking police?’
Kenny fronted him up and it took all his guts to do so.
‘Don’t you fucking talk to me like that! I had a casualty as well, you know. I lost me fucking wife. I have a kid at home with no fucking mother now. So listen to me, Vic, I have a few scores to settle and all but they ain’t with Maura Ryan.’
Vic sneered at him, lip curling in utter contempt.
‘Well, that is your fucking prerogative. Personally I will wrench her fucking head from her shoulders and laugh while I do it.’
Kenny had had enough. He said sarcastically, ‘Listen to yourself, Vic. You sound like one of the old Moustache Petes from the black-and-white films! It’s the twenty-first century, for fuck’s sake. Times have changed. You can’t tear around causing this kind of hag nowadays. You’re a fucking laughing stock with the youngsters. The Ryans had nothing to do with any of it, and you know it. Whoever you was in league with back then is behind it only you are too fucking stupid to accept that.’
‘Are you insinuating I am a cunt, Kenny?’
Kenny sighed heavily, his anger leaving him as quickly as it had arrived.
‘Of course not. But Vic, tell me this much. Who were you in league with when you were in Belmarsh? It had to be you behind that car bomb – or else you know who did it. Whatever you think of Maura, she is one shrewd fucking bird. She’ll have worked that out by now. She could give us lessons in skulduggery, I can tell you.’
Vic digested what had been said to him and answered in what for him was a sane and normal fashion.
‘I can’t tell you who I was driving with in nick, but I can tell you this much: they’re close to her. Closer than you would think. And I know she’s hiding behind her fucking good-girl façade as usual. She knows who killed my Sandra. She knows, and she couldn’t care less. I mean, that ponce Rifkind still runs with her pack and they wasted his boy! That should tell you all you need to know about the murdering scum.’
He was poking his finger into Kenny’s face now, standing over him like an avenging angel, and Kenny knew that the other man had lost it completely. He was high and half-drunk. Nothing he said made sense. Vic Joliff was not to be trusted in any way, shape or form.
‘You might have swallowed your knob over your Lana but I can’t let it go. It was a fucking liberty. Her and her fucking Scally shagbag of a ponce! From fi
lth to Scally, her. Fucks the scum of the earth and then acts like her shit don’t fucking stink . . . Well, I’ve had it. I’ve had it with the whole bleeding lot of them. Time to clear the decks and do it my way.’
Kenny was saved from any further harangue by Jack coming into the room.
‘All right, Vic. Calm down, mate. I just had a phone call from Glasgow complaining about the noise!’
Vic stared at him. He had little flecks of spittle at the corners of his mouth and his hollow eyes were completely devoid of expression.
‘Is that supposed to be amusing, Jack?’
Jack Stern walked over to him purposefully. He was a small man with short legs and a powerful torso from years of weight training. Jack was scared of no one and Vic remembered that fact just in time. He needed Jack at the moment and they both knew it.
‘Personally, I thought it was fucking hilarious, but then my sense of humour was never one of my strong points as we all know. Now sit down and remember you’re a guest in my house and this man here is me best mate.’
Vic stalked from the room and when they heard the sound of his tyres screeching down the drive they both breathed a sigh of relief.
Jack shook his head sadly.
‘Fucking Radio Rental or what!’
Kenny sat back down once more.
‘Does he want a contract . . .’
Jack was roaring with laughter now as he interrupted his friend.
‘A contract? He wants me to take out half the fucking south east and most of Liverpool! The only person not on his list of things to do is fucking Gary Glitter and I would kill that nonce for free!’
Kenny shook his head once more.
‘What are you going to do then?’
‘What can I do, Kenny? I’ll have to talk to the Ryans, won’t I? Try and set up some kind of meet. But I am telling you now, Vic is gone. I don’t mean just a bit touched, I mean he is off his fucking loaf of bread completely.’
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