by Kerry Kaya
Their meal eaten, they stood up to leave, and as they reached the door, Kieran turned back to face the woman. He flashed her a wide smile. “Are you all right, sweetheart? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost?”
Donna Cassidy smiled. It was a shy smile, and considering the way she was dressed, it looked out of place. Beside her, a small child sat in a stroller eating a sticky bun, the white icing smeared across his chubby cheeks. “Sorry,” she said, “it’s just, well, you look like someone I used to know.”
Jonah laughed out loud and clapped his brother on the back. He knew instinctively that Kieran’s rather large ego was about to rapidly deflate. So much for his brother’s belief that he was God’s gift to women. The only reason she had been watching him was because he resembled someone she knew.
“Right.” Kieran was clearly embarrassed, but he hastily composed himself. “Well, I can assure you, there is only one of me, darling,” he grinned back.
Donna laughed lightly. She took a cigarette out of its packet and placed it between her lips. “Well, you’re his double,” she said, lighting up and blowing a thin stream of smoke up into the air. “Maybe you know of him, Terrance Matlock?”
Kieran pretended to think it over. “Nah, never heard of him, sorry.”
Shrugging her shoulders, the action caused Donna’s ample breasts to rise and fall, and it took all of Kieran’s strength to keep his eyes focused on her face. “Like I said, you’re his double.”
“Right.” With his brother’s laughter still ringing in his ears, Kieran none too gently pushed Jonah out of the café.
“You’re losing your touch, bruv.”
“Yeah, all right.” Kieran screwed up his face. It was no skin off of his nose. The woman was a dog and he hadn’t even been that interested, even if his cock had told him otherwise.
Jonah continued to laugh, and turning his head, he noted the woman was still watching them intently through the café window. “So who’s this geezer you’re supposed to look like?”
“Fuck if I know.” Kieran glanced at his watch. “Come on, if we don’t show our faces and sharpish, then Dad will end up blowing his fucking top.”
Jonah sighed. Their dad was a hard taskmaster and the fact that they were his sons, his own flesh and blood, made absolutely no difference when it came to business matters.
* * *
Seated behind the desk in the office suite above The Jolly Fisherman public house that he now owned, Paul glanced at his watch and sighed with irritation. Where the fuck were his boys?
As the minutes passed by, he tapped his fingers impatiently on the chrome and glass desk. “Where are they?” he barked out.
Seated on one of the velvet couches scattered around the office that looked far too small for his large frame, Jason shrugged his shoulders. They were good lads, and as fond as he was of his nephews, he knew for a fact that they took what they had for granted. They had never had to graft like the elder generation had. Everything they had ever desired had been handed to them on a plate. Even their positions within the firm hadn’t been earned. As Paul’s sons, it was a given right that they should sit at the very top of the ladder.
“Fuck knows,” he sighed, and glancing toward Darren Mitchell, one of their trusted firm members who sat on a second sofa, he raised his eyebrows toward him before answering. “But I can tell you this now, mate, they’re not pulling their weight.” He held up his hands, knowing for a fact that his best friend and brother-in-law wouldn’t like being told the truth. “They should be out grafting, not chasing after every piece of skirt who dares to look in their direction. It’s like they’ve got a radar on top of their fucking heads. Just one whiff of a bird on the horizon and fuck work. All they can think about is dipping their fucking wicks.”
Paul closed his eyes with irritation. The way his boys, especially Kieran, chased after women was alien to him. What was so wrong with finding a good woman and settling down like he had done with his Cathy? All these years later, and still, she was the only woman he would ever want.
“Jay’s right.” Taking his cue from Jason, Darren cleared his throat, feeling more than a little bit uncomfortable to be discussing his boss’s sons. “They’re good kids.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “You don’t need me to tell you that, but they’ve got the attention span of a fucking gnat, and if I’m being honest, I’m sick and tired of cleaning up after them. They’re becoming a liability. Three times last week alone, I had to chase after them, and when they did finally put in an appearance, they were as high as a fucking kite.”
“I’ll have a word.” Paul swallowed down his embarrassment. In fact, he would do more than have a word. The boys were taking the piss and that was the understatement of the century.
Just moments later, the boys burst into the office and he glared at each of them in turn.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“What?”
It was his youngest son who answered, and the nonchalant tone in Jonah’s voice was enough to make Paul charge out of his seat. The scrape of the chair on the polished wooden floor as he jumped up was loud in the otherwise quiet room. About ready to commit murder, Paul grasped a handful of his son’s shirt in his fist and pulled him bodily toward him.
“What?” he growled. “You lairy little fucker. You’ve got the audacity to stand there and say what? What the fuck am I paying you for, eh? You earn a good fucking wedge and for doing what?” he roared. “For doing fuck all, that’s fucking what.”
“All right, Dad.” Always ready to defend his brother, Kieran’s back stiffened. “We get the picture; you’ve made your point.”
It was said in such a carefree manner that Paul snapped his head toward his eldest son. God only knew how much he loved this boy, and even though he hadn’t sired him, from day one he’d treated Kieran as his own. He had even given him his surname. The fact that he wasn’t his real father, his own flesh and blood, had always remained a closed family secret. He would be as devastated as the boy would be if the truth was to ever come out. “Don’t you all right, Dad, me,” he growled. “What the fuck do I pay you for, eh?” He shoved his youngest son away from him and bellowed in the elder boy’s face.
Kieran sucked in his bottom lip. His cheeks flamed bright red and he was thankful there and then that their Uncle Jason and Darren, a trusted firm member, were the only witnesses to the long overdue bollocking their dad was giving them. They took the piss and he was the first to hold his hand up and admit that fact. “Sorry, Dad.”
Paul walked back around the desk, and taking a seat, he shook his head. He had built his business up with nothing but a reputation and hard work, and he would be fucked if his sons were going to bring them all down, because, as both Jason and Darren had rightly pointed out, they couldn’t keep their minds on the job in hand.
“It was his fault.” Jonah jerked his thumb toward Kieran and smirked. “He was chatting up some old dog.”
Raising his eyebrows in a warning, Kieran thumped his brother on the arm.
“Do fucking what?” Paul was up and out of his seat once more. The tone in his voice was enough to alert any bystanders with half a brain cell that he was about to erupt with fury. As he stalked forward, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jason throw up his arms. Wasn’t this exactly what he had been trying to warn him about? “What did you just say?”
Jonah had the sense to look down at the floor. “Nothing,” he mumbled, “it was a joke, that’s all.”
“A joke?” Paul bellowed. “Do I look like I’m fucking laughing? Are you taking the piss out of me?”
“No, of course not.” Resembling a naughty child in the headmaster’s office, Jonah kept his head firmly down.
“Am I paying you to chat up women?” He stabbed his finger none too gently into the side of his son’s head. “Is that what I’m fucking doing?”
“It wasn’t like that, Dad.” Despite the fact that he could happily throttle Jonah, Kieran would protect his brother to the hilt. It had
been ingrained in them as children to always look out for one another and have each other’s backs, no matter what. “What happened was, we were in the café, you know, having a bit of grub like, and there was this bird, right old fucking dog she was, and well, she said I reminded her of someone she knew and,” he gave his brother a death stare, “we just lost track of time, that was all.”
“Oh, that’s all fucking right then, is it? You pair of lairy little fuckers lose track of time and leave me, your uncle, and Darren to do all the donkey work, which I might add, is nothing fucking new, is it?”
The two boys looked contrite, and as he looked at each of his sons in turn, Paul shook his head. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand what went on inside their heads. They’d had it too easy, he rightly guessed. When he had been of the same age, he’d been a grafter and had had to fight his way to the top. He’d beaten some real hard men to get to where he was today, whereas, all the boys had had to fight for was the surname he’d given them. There was always some muppet somewhere who wanted to take them on, because of who they were, all so they could boast they had taken down one of Paul Mooney’s sons.
“Buck your ideas up.” He stabbed a stiff finger into each of their chests, then returned to his desk. Wearily, he rubbed at his temples, and snatching up his cigarette packet, he took one out and placed it between his lips. “Barkley,” he cupped his hand around the flame from the lighter and took a deep drag before noisily blowing out a cloud of smoke, “the bastard is causing us aggro.”
Kieran glanced toward his brother. Personally, he couldn’t stand the man. He swanned around with long swinging dreadlocks and spoke with a mockney Jamaican accent. “I’ve never liked Barkley,” he piped up.
“No one likes Barkley,” Jason quickly answered, screwing up his face. “He was a ponce back in the day and is still a ponce now. It’s all that mockney Jamaican talk I can’t stand. The prick thinks it makes him look like a bad man, the fucking ponce. I highly doubt he has even been to Jamaica.” As if reading his nephew’s mind, Jason pondered over the enigma that was Devan Barkley.
“Been to Jamaica?” Paul chuckled. “I doubt he’s even stepped foot outside of London.”
Together, the men laughed.
“So what’s his problem with us then?” Taking a seat, Jonah looked between his father and uncle.
Paul glanced toward Jason before answering. “Lucas.” He heard the boys groan and held up his hand. “Seems that Luke has got himself into some trouble with Barkley, a gambling debt or something, and well, he used this place,” he gestured around the room, “used all of the boozers, in fact, as a commodity.”
“Do what?” Jonah was up and out of his chair, his fists clenched at his sides. “You ain’t gonna let him get away with that, Dad, are you?”
Paul held up his hand a second time and glanced across to Darren before answering.
Taking that as his cue to leave, Darren got to his feet. He didn’t take his dismissal personally. He wasn’t family, and the way he saw it, the less he knew the less he could repeat should he ever find himself on the wrong side of a capture. “I’d best be off,” he grinned.
Paul waited for the door to close before turning back to his sons. “This place,” he said, “just like all the other pubs, I’m the majority stake holder.” He held out his hand toward Jason. “With a second and third share belonging to your uncle and Luke.”
The boys nodded their heads. They already knew this.
“The thing is, Luke’s share,” he gave an embarrassed shrug and wagged his finger between his sons, “this stays strictly inside this room, do you understand what I’m saying?”
The two boys nodded their heads and leaned forward in their seats, more than intrigued as to what their father was about to say.
“Well, Luke’s share, in principle, he is a joint owner, but,” he took another drag of his cigarette, “it was never put through the legal system.”
“And thank fuck for that,” Jason interrupted.
“So,” Paul gave the boys a wry smile, “as far as Luke knows, he has a stake in the pubs. He gets paid, same as we do,” he gestured once more to Jason, “but legally, his name isn’t stated anywhere on any documentation where the businesses are concerned.”
Both Kieran and Jonah sighed with relief.
“What’s the problem then? What’s Barkley causing hag for? Just tell him Luke has nothing to do with the pubs. It’s nothing to do with us.”
Paul turned to look at his eldest son. “I wish it was that simple, son.” He rubbed at his temples. “Barkley is demanding for the debt to be repaid. He wants the pubs and he doesn’t give a fuck how he gets his hands on them. That makes it personal—personal to me and your uncle.” He gestured to where Jason sat across the room. “The fucker has already been in here this morning, throwing his weight around. Scared the shit out of poor old Sue, he did, and that’s something I can’t and won’t swallow.”
“Fuck Barkley.” A mental image of the barmaid Sue entered Jonah’s mind. She had to be in her mid-sixties, if not even older. She was part of the furniture and had worked behind the bar for years. “And fuck Lucas. He ain’t your problem, Dad, the low-life fucking junkie.”
“Oi.” Paul stabbed his finger toward his youngest son and shook his head in a warning. “That’s enough of that.” A familiar flurry of guilt spread through his veins. The boys would never know just how much he owed to Lucas. To them, he was just some junkie, someone not to be trusted. They didn’t know the truth of the matter, didn’t know that Lucas had only started out on the wrong path, because of him and his plan to take control of Mad Dougie Ward’s assets.
“What about Barkley’s firm though?” Kieran asked. “I’ve heard they can be a bit tasty.”
“What firm?” Paul looked toward Jason, who shrugged his shoulders in return. “If you’re referring to that bunch of cowboys he runs with, then they are fuck all for us to worry about. Fuck me, if they had half a brain cell between them they’d be fucking dangerous.”
“I’ll tell you what …” Jason dug inside his trousers pockets, and pulling out his car keys, he threw them toward his nephews. “Go and find Lucas. One of you can take my car, just make sure you look after it,” he grinned. “You know the usual places to look for him.”
The boys nodded their heads, and silently, they left the office.
As he watched his sons leave, Paul cocked his head to one side. “You’re sending them on a wild goose chase.”
“I know.” Sitting forward, Jason spread open his arms. “It’s pay day, mate, and you know as well as I do that there is only one place he’s gonna be, where he always fucking is on pay day—the Fiddlers.”
Leaning back in the chair, Paul rubbed at his temples. Everything Jason had said was true. The Merry Fiddlers, in Dagenham, was one of the larger boozers they owned, and after taking over, gutting the place out, and giving the décor a modern twist, not to mention a blinding deejay, it seemed to pull in the younger clientele. With the younger crowd, came the drugs, hence why Lucas always put in an appearance on pay day. The fact that the drugs he bought in large copious amounts were being supplied to the dealers by Paul himself seemed to be a big part of Lucas’s attraction to the pub. It was done as a fuck you, and both men were more than aware of that fact.
“Come on.” Paul slowly rose to his feet. All of a sudden, he felt his age, and twirling the keyring around his index finger, he pondered over the idea of retiring. As quickly as the idea came into his mind, he pushed it away. How could he pass the reins over to the boys? They were nowhere near ready to take over, and in a way, he supposed that was his fault. He’d never given them anything remotely heavy to deal with, just the odd debt that was owed to them, debts he knew would be repaid with the minimum of fuss. “Round up some of the lads. We’ll take him mob-handed if need be.”
They headed for the door, and reaching for the door handle, Jason looked over his shoulder.
“Do you want me to whack him one?”
> Paul laughed. It was a long-standing joke between them. Over the years, and on more than one occasion, they had wanted to smash their fists into Lucas’s face, if for no other reason than to knock some sense into him, to make him see the error of his ways, and to make him kick his coke habit, for once and for all. But of course they wouldn’t. Lucas was like family, and just like family, they remained loyal to one another through both the good and bad times. Although, Paul had to admit that when it came to Lucas, there were more bad times than good.
* * *
Leaning back against his car, Jaden Collins was smoking a cigarette as he waited for his two best friends. When he saw them emerge from the pub that their father owned, with faces like thunder, he sighed heavily and crushed the cigarette out underneath his heavy boot.
“I know that look,” he grumbled. “Problem?”
“Problem?” Kieran growled. He lit a cigarette and took a deep lug before blowing the smoke out noisily. “Lucas is on the missing list, as per fucking usual,” he said, leaning his body against the car. “The waster has been causing aggro with that snidey fucker Barkley.”
“Nothing new there then,” Jaden answered. It was no secret that Lucas had had a very expensive coke habit. The coke Paul had been able deal with, but in recent years, Lucas had progressed to crack. The hard man was a shadow of himself, a dangerous shadow at that, who wouldn’t think twice about selling out his own granny for the price of a hit.
