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by Cole, Martina

  Lil had developed enough of a body to attract any red-blooded male but he had not thought back then that she would have known how to use it and keep a man interested in her for as long as she had. Four kids and one on the way and Brodie still acted like she was his first girlfriend.

  ’Are you listening to me?’

  Mick Diamond was brought back to the present by his wife’s strident voice.

  ‘Course I am!’

  ‘Well, what do you think then? I heard that Dennis Williams was on the warpath again. He is a nutter, him.’

  Mick nodded. ‘True, Annie, very true.’

  He watched her as she cooked him bacon and eggs. She was a good old stick was Annie, really. She was just a miserable bitch and he knew he had contributed to that over the years.

  ‘How is Lil anyway?’ Mick asked about her because he could not think of any other topic of conversation and he knew Annie was after a chat.

  Annie smiled. A rare smile that made the years drop from her and softened her face so that she looked almost beautiful.

  ‘She ain’t a bad girl really, Mick. There’s plenty worse than my Lil.’

  Mick was so flabbergasted at her words that he forgot to swallow and nearly choked himself in the process. As he coughed like a TB patient, Annie slapped his back for him and he was saved from saying anything that would have alerted his wife to the shock and absolute amazement her words had caused him.

  Annie, though, was more than aware of the effect her words had had on her husband and she finished off the breakfast in silence.

  She wasn’t going to enlighten Mick about why she had changed her opinion of her daughter because he would only use it against her in some way. But the fact that Lil could still find it in her heart to make sure that her mother was solvent as she approached old age, despite her upbringing, had really affected her.

  To know that someone cared about you was a new and wonderful feeling for Annie.

  As Mick had battered her down and broken her spirit within months of their marriage, she had done the same thing to poor Lil, blaming her for the abortion that her own life had become.

  Lance made up for a lot with her; she had seen that boy born and felt, for the first time in her life, what love could be. She had experienced the selfless love that a mother should feel for her children, though she had never felt it towards her own daughter.

  When Lil had called her into the kitchen the day before and handed her the paperwork to her little flat, she had been speechless. Even more so because she knew that Lil would have had her work cut out convincing Patrick Brodie to give her a penny sweet, let alone the roof over her loaf of bread.

  Lil had explained that it was in her name but that the solicitor had written up a contract that stated it was Annie’s until her death and only then would it revert back to her daughter. This, she knew, was so that Mick Diamond didn’t get a look in and she could understand that. He was capable of bumping her off if he thought he would get his mitts on a few quid.

  When Annie arrived home she looked around her. For the first time in her life, she was secure, really secure, and she wondered at how lucky she was that her only child had her best interests at heart, despite everything. She had made herself a stiff drink and then she had found herself being bombarded with memories of every little thing she had done, or, if she was honest and more to the point, not done, for her daughter.

  It was only now that she was finally understanding what other women had taken for granted. All you really had in the end was your kids. Rich, poor, beggar or king, the children you had were the only people who cared about you in the end.

  The knowledge that she was set up for the rest of her life had also given Annie a confidence that she would never have thought she could possess.

  Whatever else Annie might have thought about her daughter, she would always appreciate what she had done for her. Even more so because she had done it without any kind of fanfare whatsoever.

  Mick Diamond watched the changing expressions on his wife’s face and knew from long experience that something of moment had occurred. What that might be, he had no idea. He would have to bide his time and ferret it out of her gradually. He was a patient man, he could wait.

  Whatever it was, it had to do with money. That was the only thing that brought a smile to this woman’s face. Other than Lance, of course, but he didn’t count.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘No, fuck off. You are having a tin bath, I hope?’

  Trevor didn’t laugh as he didn’t think it was actually expected of him. Pat Brodie’s voice was high enough not just to sound surprised, but to also convey major disbelief.

  ‘How much did they skank then?’ Patrick was trying to keep his breathing normal and not let his anger get the better of him. When he was like this he was capable of anything and he needed to hear everything that had occurred so he would not go off half-cocked.

  ‘Over a hundred grand and, have a guess what, I had to go and get the money for them. They knew I pay out quick and that is what they were banking on. I had to hand over my hard-earned poke to those fucking eejits without being able to say anything. If I had argued, they would have graved me without a second’s thought.’

  The fear was still in Trevor’s voice and Patrick knew that he was obviously still feeling the terror that only that kind of threat could bring. Death threats were bad enough but when you knew it was not just a threat but a real possibility, it could really fuck up your day. Especially when you also had to undergo open-wallet surgery or the threats would materialise in seconds.

  Patrick was itching to make amends; the fact that Trevor was not just a mate but under his protection was well-known. Trevor paid him a decent slice of wedge to make sure he could sit in any game and be safe and secure.

  The cards were a hard game for people like Trevor. He was a one-off, a real player; he was the exception to the rule. Somehow, Trevor won more often than he lost. He was a nice bloke as well, a decent guy, in fact. Patrick had always liked him and, more to the point, respected his talent because he knew that only a few people were given such a gift. He had watched Trevor over the years and he could not express in words just how fucking amazing the man was with a deck of cards and a decent pot. But the bottom line was that Trevor was not a fighter. He was not a hard man and he didn’t want to be. That was the whole idea of making a few quid, you didn’t have to be anything. You bought the safety you required and you got what you paid for. To have Trevor here now, in a terrible state, telling him that he had been fleeced by three baboons and a nancy boy, was so outrageous that Patrick wanted to rip someone’s head off just for the hell of it.

  ‘Did you know them? Do you know where they drink? Anything that might tell us who was the brains behind it.’

  Trevor nodded. ‘The big one I recognised. It took me a while to suss it out but I’ve seen him with young Dave Williams. He’s been in the casino a few times. I think he was nervous of me because I kept staring at him; he was getting right shirty.’

  ‘Dave Williams?’

  Patrick just stopped himself from saying, ‘My Dave.’

  Trevor nodded. ‘I’m sure, Pat.’

  Pat stood up and looked at Trevor for long moments, his eyes darkening with his growing anger. Then he suddenly said, ‘The fucking two-faced cunt.’

  Patrick’s answer and the way it was delivered was the single most shocking thing that Trevor had ever heard. Patrick Brodie was known as a hard case but no one knew what he was really capable of.

  Pat was sensible enough to keep the real villainy out of the mouths of locals. He knew that gossip was what put most people behind bars. Gossip usually had a grain of truth in it and it always amazed him when men discussed their skulduggery in public; it was like asking for a tug from the filth. Being well known was a very good reason to keep your trap shut because everything about you was discussed, exaggerated and believed by everyone around you. It was human nature and the only way to keep safe was to keep quiet.

&
nbsp; Patrick had done some bastard things over the years and very few people knew about them. If they were ever discussed and the story made its way back to him, he would be able to pinpoint the culprit in seconds. The only way you could keep on top of the game was to fucking keep shtum.

  Dave was probably only the fall guy, it was obvious who the big man was. It was Dennis he should be going after. And not before time either. He had warned Dave what would happen if he stepped on his toes again and now it was time to dole out some retribution. He had swallowed because of Dave and the fact that he had always had time for him. Even after the last debacle he had tried not to go over the top.

  Well, he was done with being nice and trying to honour a friendship that was well past its sell-by date. He was just about ready to cause serious damage and the recipient was going to be Dennis Williams. He was actually looking forward to it.

  Jimmy Brick was a big lad and, like most big lads, he was used to people either trying to fight him or being convinced that he was going to hurt them. Although Jimmy could have a row when necessary, he much preferred not to, if he could avoid one.

  Jimmy had a large head that was overlong, his chin was thick and angular and, coupled with his wide-spaced eyes, his protruding, thick eyebrows and his buzz cut, he was often called Frankenstein. Even his mum had mentioned the likeness on more than one occasion. The family joke was that when he had finally emerged from his poor mother, the size of his head, which had caused her such torment, was commented on by all the women helping with the delivery. His granny had apparently taken one look at the boy who had taken nearly forty-eight hours to come into the world and shrieked.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, shove the ugly bastard back in!’

  The laughter this had always received was not so much hurtful any more, as it was expected. Jimmy was past caring; looks were never going to be his strong point, he had soon sussed that much out. And as he had seen his baby pictures, he was the first to admit that his granny had got a point.

  He had been a very ugly child and adolescence had not made him any better. He had appalling acne and, coupled with his protruding brows and his loose bottom lip, he had settled down to a life of tranquillity. Jimmy had been his granny’s favourite in the end and she had helped him come to terms with his looks by telling him that he had two choices: to hide away or to learn to accept the stares he got from people and remind himself that they couldn’t help it. He was an ugly fucker and nothing was ever going to change that. Harsh as that was, he was glad of her and her common sense; he had learned to live with himself and he was more than aware that many so-called beauties would never achieve that. Good looks, his granny had always told him, were a curse. He had the chance to be loved for himself. No one had loved him yet, but he was confident that once he had cracked it and had a few quid, that would come.

  Women were willing to overlook a lot for a nice house and an easy life. He just hoped the kids did not get his big head and cause whoever he married the same pain he had caused his poor mother. She was still going on about it now, all these years later.

  Jimmy smiled at the thought. He had a nice easy temperament that stood him in good stead with the people who finally bothered to get to know him properly; his features made him look ferocious and stopped most overtures of friendship in their tracks.

  Jimmy Brick was a really nice guy and he knew that better than anyone else. He was happy enough in his way and he enjoyed his life and enjoyed his job. As he often wondered, how many people could say that?

  As Jimmy walked into Patrick Brodie’s office, he was smiling. Pat grinned at the guy he genuinely liked and who he also felt so very sorry for. He was one ugly bastard and that was being honest.

  ’All right, mate?’

  Patrick nodded and said nonchalantly, ‘Sit down, mate. I have a proposition to put to you, Jimmy, me boy, and I want an answer soon as. OK?’

  Jimmy nodded and, as he sat down, Patrick saw the way he hitched his trouser legs up so as not to crease them too much; he was so fastidious in his dress that it was almost sad to watch him. As Lil had once pointed out, Jimmy looked like the Missing Link. At the time, Pat had laughed, but the more he looked at the lad, the more he saw what she meant. Jimmy Brick was like a huge ape stuffed into an expensive suit. He was a lovely bloke, a decent bloke, but he was disturbing to look at for any length of time.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mr Brodie?’ The voice was rich and deep, the only asset Jimmy possessed.

  Patrick loved the way Jimmy always addressed him by his full title when work was being discussed. It was another of the things he liked about Jimmy Brick. He knew that Jimmy separated his work from his real life, which was something he did as well. It was a necessity in their game.

  ‘Jimmy, mate, I want to offer you an in, a real in. Good money and a lot of hard work. What do you say?’

  Patrick was pleased to see the boy blush with pleasure and he was more certain than ever that he had chosen the right candidate for the job.

  Jimmy held open his arms but he was having difficulty in finding the words he needed to accept the position. His face, though, spoke volumes.

  Patrick poured them both large Scotches and, placing the cut-glass tumbler in Jimmy’s hand, he said happily, ‘To many years, mate.’

  Jimmy clinked his glass with gusto, nearly shattering them both, and reminding them of his extraordinary strength. He said shyly, ‘I am absolutely over the moon, Mr Brodie. It is an honour to be allowed to work with a person such as yourself.’

  It was flowery, it was cheesy, but it was from the heart. Patrick Brodie shook his head and, laughing, he said sotto voce, ‘Enough of that poof talk. Anyone hears us and they might think we’re a couple of shit-stabbers!’

  Jimmy Brick laughed out loud then; his head was thrown back and the laugh was loud and expressive. Patrick decided he liked the sound of it. Jimmy was going to be an asset, he was sure of that.

  ‘We have our first assignment tonight, mate. We are going to give Dennis Williams the fright of his fucking life.’

  Patrick saw that Jimmy was pleased about that and wondered if anyone, anywhere, had ever actually liked Dennis Williams.

  ‘Shall I get me tool kit?’

  Patrick grinned then and said happily, ‘What do you think?’

  For all his big talk, Dennis Williams was not expecting Patrick Brodie to come looking for him personally. It was something he had not allowed for at any point, or even thought was a possibility. Consequently, when Patrick Brodie swooped on him and his brothers on their territory, in their own local, he was nonplussed, to say the least.

  Patrick had crashed through the heavy wooden doors of the Mill House in Dagenham like an avenging angel. It was a Saturday night so it was packed out with families. Children ran around in their best clothes playing kiss-chase and waiting for the band to play ‘Pennies from Heaven’. This was the highlight of their evening, when the adults would throw their change on to the dance floor and the kids would scramble round collecting as much money as they could. Then the disco would commence and the lights would be dimmed and the parents would feel like they were out for the night at last, as the kids went outside where there was bright light and other kids’ chatter to interest them.

  The Mill House was a real social club. It had the atmosphere that guaranteed a good night out for families and couples alike. It was shabby in the light of day but, come the evening, it took on a magic all of its own. It smelt of crisps, stale beer and a multitude of different perfumes. The tables shone with polish and huge tin ashtrays bore legends such as Marlboro Reds or Senior Service. The floor was wooden and scuffed but so shiny the children could start their night off by sliding from one end of it to the other until they would eventually be told off by an adult. The boys would swagger away like little hard men and go outside into the evening air where they could swagger some more and swear their heads off to impress the girls. It was the beginning of the mating ritual, the first lesson in making a girl notice you and respect yo
u. It was a timeless dance that had been enacted by their parents and grandparents before them. They learned to court while drinking Tizer and playing kiss-chase. Fingers would explore and hands would be allowed liberties and everyone was hot and flushed with this new knowledge that they had acquired.

  It was a real family club, not really the kind of setting the Williams boys wanted and not the kind of place where the regulars wanted to see the numerous Williams brothers. Now, though, Dave Williams and his brothers used the Mill House as their base, mainly because they were not sure if they were really welcome in any of the pubs they had frequented for years.

  The Williams boys were used to the Mill House now and they were pleased to discover that they were the only real Faces who used the place. They were at first an anomaly and, for the most part, their foray into a local club house had been treated with a certain degree of excitement, until, that is, the novelty had worn off. Seeing the Williams brothers now and again was one thing. Having them there all the time, using the place as their office, was now starting to irritate a lot of the regulars. They were all right, but dangerous. The committee members, older men with families and jobs, were unable to stop the Williams lot from wheeling and dealing as and when they wanted to, yet they were desperate to put an end to the trade that seemed to bring in a lot of unsavoury characters. The big fear, of course, was that the place would be raided and closed down by the police. No one had the nerve to discuss the worries of the family men and the fear for their kids with the Williams family because they were not what was commonly known as approachable, if the subject touched on them or their businesses in a derogatory way. In fact, they were distinctly cold and menacing. Dennis in particular, who, with his scarred face and head and his broken-toothed grin, could frighten a banshee, let alone anyone else. Dennis was a hard man and he didn’t try to hide it. He revelled in his notoriety and it was this that was such a worry to most people. He was vicious when viciousness wasn’t warranted or indeed needed.