by Martina Cole
She plastered on a sweet smile. ‘Honestly, Angus, you go and have a lovely time. It’s been a tough week all round. I need to knuckle down for my exams anyway. I intend to do well, you know that.’
He smiled back at her. She was a fucking Brahma, this girl of his. She was young – not that he was old – but she had the right mindset for the life she would be leading. He had found his life’s partner, young as they were. He had known, the first time he had seen her, that she was special – and that had been proved to him, time and again, since.
Even at fifteen, she looked and acted much older; she drank the occasional glass of wine but didn’t smoke anything, legal or otherwise. She was on the ball, she knew what she wanted to do in her life, and she was willing to work for it.
He would have more chance of breaking into the Bank of England than her drawers – and even that pleased him, if he was honest. Not that it stopped him trying, but he was quite happy to be naused off, because he knew the wait would be worth it. Plus there were plenty of girls out there only too willing to drop their drawers without a fight as and when he felt the urge – which he did on a regular basis. He had a feeling that Lorna knew and turned a blind eye. She was fifteen going on thirty. He actually loved her – not a word he would ever have used lightly.
But he was looking forward to a bit of suntanned skirt out in Spain. Everyone knew the sun loosened the inhibitions. Lot of blondes went out to Marbella hoping to snare a Face – and he was, after all, a Face. When he was finished, he was determined to be the Face. The Face of Faces, as he told himself. That was what he was working towards anyway. Like Lorna, he was a determined personality. And, like Lorna, he would stop at nothing to get exactly what he wanted.
‘It’s Maggie’s funeral on Monday, Angus. I don’t know how I can bear it.’
She looked totally woebegone, and he instinctively put his arm around her and hugged her close.
‘What a thing to do, eh? Step in front of a fucking train! I mean, why would she do something like that?’
Lorna shook her head and, pulling away from Angus, she whispered, ‘It was terrible, I couldn’t believe it. One minute we were there, waiting for the train, and the next she just threw herself in front of it. Just jumped! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I tried to grab her, but I was too late. I see it every time I close my eyes!’
‘Oh, darling, it must have been horrific! Did she say anything to you? I know you were good friends. Did she confide in you about what was bothering her?’
Lorna shook her head again, and Angus could see she was near to tears.
‘No, Angus. She said nothing about what was bothering her.’
He knew that she had had a big argument with Maggie a few days before the suicide, but he was too shrewd to mention that fact. Lorna must be feeling so guilty over it, and he wasn’t going to start that conversation tonight. There was no way he was going to postpone Spain to accompany her to Maggie’s funeral – and if he wasn’t careful, that would be the upshot. He knew it was selfish, but it was what it was. He’d never been a fucking romantic hero, and he wasn’t starting now.
What Maggie had done was an abomination, especially for Catholics. Worst sin you could commit, killing yourself! Life was a gift from God, for fuck’s sake! You shouldn’t mock God. Oh no, Angus had it all planned. Like his old man had told him: enjoy your life, sin yourself stupid. And, when you get to a certain age, you repent your arse off. It was how it worked – cover all your bases.
‘Listen, darling, you know that you were a good friend to her and you did all you could. She was obviously a bit fucking Radio Rental, that’s nothing to do with you. Go to the funeral and pay your respects, my lovely. But remember, she wasn’t the whole five quid, and that’s nothing you could have changed.’
Lorna looked at him and smiled again; she looked happier this time.
‘That’s just what I needed to hear, Angus. You always say the right thing. Her mum wants me to speak at her funeral, and I will. I will honour her and her life, because we were great mates.’
He held her close again, feeling the outline of her rather pert and firm breasts. He had a bet with himself that they were a D cup. He hoped that he was right.
‘Life is for the living, darling, especially at our age. Whatever demons she was battling, I honestly don’t believe anyone could have helped her with them.’
‘I know you are right, Angus. I feel so much better now.’
He hugged her tightly again, trying to cop another quick feel. He had dodged a bullet there. He loved this girl, but not enough to cancel what he knew was going to be a blinding week in Spain.
He was sorry for poor Maggie and all that, but she was the instigator of a lot of grief. He didn’t want any part of that circus, because that is what it would be – a load of hormonal teenagers with something to be neurotic about. He would send an outrageous wreath, his mum would go with Gabe, and he could lie back in Spain with a large joint and a compact little bird.
He remembered the priest at his father’s funeral saying that his old man was in a better place where he had thrown off worldly things and worries. Something like that anyway – he couldn’t remember the exact terminology. What he did understand, though, was that once you were gone then that was basically it. Nothing could hurt you any more. No, life was definitely for the living. The dead were to be remembered and loved. Or not, depending who the dead person was, of course.
Sinead Connolly, Lorna’s mother, came bustling into the room, making a big production of it as usual, causing Angus and Lorna to jump apart – as if they’d been caught in bed together naked.
Angus smiled at her amiably. She had missed her vocation in life, she should have been a nun. She watched her daughter like the proverbial hawk. She didn’t fucking need to. Lorna might as well have had barbed-wire knickers for all the chance he had of getting in there.
Silly old bat. But he smiled and said yes to the cup of tea, and then counted down the time till he could leave without a fight. Lorna’s mother made Nosferatu look like an amateur. He sipped his tea and made small talk with the potential mother-in-law. What else could he do but get the old bat onside? And even though they had a sort of stand-off, this was one war he was going to win. Her daughter would be his, by hook or by fucking crook. So she could keep her face that looked like a well-slapped arse, and suck it up. No one stopped him doing what he wanted.
Bring on Espania! He needed a bit of the old currant bun on his skin. And he wanted to get out of London and get this new business venture off the ground. He wanted to prove to his mum and everyone else just what he was actually capable of. He felt that this was his time and he wanted to cash in on that feeling, because he was determined to make himself the number one.
He had planned a quick night out before his flight tomorrow, with Tommy Becks, a mate who had just been released from Pentonville. He was a great guy who had been treated abominably by the judicial system. Angus was looking forward to it – the perfect evening before he went on his Spanish adventure. Tommy was home, and that was something to celebrate. He also felt that his own elevation into the criminal fraternity was worth a few chugs of vodka.
Life was finally looking up, and Angus Davis was going to enjoy every second of it.
Chapter Nineteen
Tommy Becks wasn’t a big lad, but he looked like he could handle himself, which he could. He was capable of causing serious violence at the drop of a hat.
Like Angus, he knew that the majority of the population would only fight if they needed to. Like Angus, he could harm someone badly without any real reason for it. Getting paid to hurt someone wasn’t beyond his remit, and everyone knew that – especially the police.
Since he was a schoolboy he had been repeatedly arrested for violence. He was what the psychologist at the young offenders’ unit referred to as ‘prone to violence’, to which he had answered aggressively, and with a large dose of sarcasm, ‘Gee, you fucking think?’
But this time he had
been on remand for attacking a man who had tried to sexually assault one of the dancers at the club he minded. Imelda was eighteen – well stacked and with the face of a virgin – earning her crust for her little boy as best she could. Tommy had heard her scream and found a forty-year-old money broker trying to get her into his Mercedes. Her top was ripped and her eye was already closing up.
He had smashed the man around the car park, and then smashed him again, explaining that he was out of order and she was a dancer, not a fucking escort. You pay to look, but don’t you dare touch, because that is one of the things that will get you hammered. No matter what you might do, legally or otherwise, women and girls were off the agenda. You didn’t ever hurt a female, even if you felt like it. Mouthy, argumentative birds were a part of their world. The women they dealt with were very vocal, especially if they caught you out with a bit of strange. It was their prerogative – after all, they were the number one bird, and they had the right. Even if they were so incensed they attacked you first, even with a weapon that could be anything from a stiletto heel to a glass or a bottle, it was still a big no to retaliate.
Tommy was now in the pub, being fêted by his friends as a hero. But three months on remand had not done wonders for his demeanour. The money broker had finally dropped the charges when he had been battered to fuck by a group of teenagers on skateboards outside his rather nice house in Sidcup. The leader had reminded him that this was just the start of a war campaign that would make Monty look like an amateur.
You had to look after your own: Tommy had with Imelda, and Angus Davis had with him. They had always been mates, but now Tommy owed Angus. He owed him big time, but that suited Angus down to the ground. They were birds of the proverbial feather.
Angus came into the pub like the champion he was. He had made a name for himself, literally overnight. He was finally someone in his own right, and not because of his parents. That alone was making him buzz. He could already sense the difference in the people around him – the respect – along with a new attitude that told him he had finally made his own name that had nothing to do with his heritage. He knew the value of getting the people who mattered onside. His mother had taught him that.
Angus stood in front of Tommy with his arms open wide, and the two young men hugged tightly. This was observed by everyone in the room.
‘Great to see you home, Tom, and not before time.’
It was dramatic, just what everyone wanted to see. These were two men who had earned respect and who were both dangerous as fuck.
The atmosphere in the pub was electric. Angus had put two grand behind the bar, and Roy had brought in a top DJ. It was packed out with young people determined to have a good time, and the free drink and the notable DJ guaranteed that.
The Oaks was owned by Diana and had been recently refurbished. It now attracted a much younger clientele, and that was why Angus had decided to hold the party there. It was ten minutes away from some decent clubs, and it was also off the main road. If any trouble occurred, it could be taken care of quickly and efficiently, without too many witnesses. That was the great thing about East London: everyone knew the score and they were more than happy to keep out of what wasn’t their business.
Angus looked at his friend with pride. Tommy was a handsome fuck, and no mistake. He had that extra something that guaranteed him an in to the world they inhabited. Like Angus, he had the likeability factor that was so important to success in their game.
He had been nicked for a crime that should never have been a crime in the first place. It was laughable to think that he had been banged up because a fucking middle-aged man couldn’t distinguish between fact and his fantasy. Well, that ponce was now in traction and would think twice before he hassled another young girl. Angus remembered his mum had always drummed into his head that sex offences against women – rape or assault – were the only crimes where the victim had to prove it had happened. She used to say, ‘No one asks a burglary victim if they wanted it to happen. Or a mugging victim. No one questions a bank when it gets robbed.’
She was right and all. Why should a girl have to prove she was attacked?
Tommy passed him a large tequila and, taking it, Angus shouted above the noise, ‘Come through to the back with me, Tom, and we can get away from the noise. We’ve got a lot to catch up on!’
Tommy followed him through the packed-out pub. He could smell sweat, Blue Grass perfume and Paco Rabanne aftershave.
After Pentonville, it smelt like heaven.
Chapter Twenty
Jonny Coleman walked into The Oaks pub with his head held high and his shoulders back. He knew that he had to front this all out if he was going to redeem himself and his family. And the only way he could do that was to make sure that Angus Davis and his mother knew that he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over his cousins’ demise. Truthfully, he could happily have whacked them himself for the trouble they had caused him.
He felt sure he could work with Angus and he hoped that Angus was willing to give him a chance. His cousins’ stupidity would always be there between them – that was human nature. He would just have to put the work in proving himself for years.
He looked around the pub and was impressed. It was expensively decorated and full of young people who were all either high or looking to get high at some point during the evening. There was a huge customer base in this place alone. Like Angus, he knew that the police were still unaware of the new wave of drugs. The plods were still going after the poor heroin addicts. They didn’t see cocaine as too dangerous because they were all on it themselves. It was taking over from speed – it wasn’t the drug of fucking rich people any more. It was within any clubber’s reach, along with MDMA.
It was a market that was desperate to be regulated – and with the foreign gangs involved, it needed to be regulated pronto. That was where he could come in, because he could sew it all up mathematically – he knew that Angus was as aware of that as he was.
They were young and they were hungry, and they recognised that in each other. They both needed to be that little bit more on the ball than their counterparts, and he would make sure that they were.
Angus Davis was becoming known as someone who was willing to listen to reason. Rumour had it he’d taken that on board from his mother – it was something people always said about her. The Davises weren’t like the old guard who were set in their ways and unwilling to change – which was why they were all either banged up or living on their past reputations. It was a different world now, and it was changing by the day.
Jonny was given a large gin and tonic at the bar by Roy, who everyone knew was Angus’s minder. He was expertly walked through the crowd to the end of the bar, where Angus would be holding court. He observed Angus and Tommy Becks walking out of the back office together, and he knew he was witnessing a match made in criminal heaven. He couldn’t fault either of them – he would have done exactly the same in their positions. He sipped his drink and looked around him at the strange that was congregating at the bar.
Angus greeted him like a long-lost brother, which told everyone there that he was an accepted part of the firm, that his cousins’ rash actions were forgiven, and that he was a welcome addition to the new order.
By the end of the night, Jonny Coleman was drunk – content in the knowledge that he was walking a brand-new road – and he couldn’t have been happier.
Chapter Twenty-one
Angus woke up at the Marbella Beach Hotel and stretched happily. He walked through his suite and opened the patio doors to step out on to his large terrace. He stood there for a few moments, scratching his nuts and taking in the blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. It was a beautiful vista all right, and he loved it.
He had been out to Spain many times as a kid, but now he was here as a businessman. He could feel the heat of the sun on his skin, and he closed his eyes in ecstasy.
Through his mum, he had an interest in quite a few clubs and wine bars. She had got in on the ground f
loor, with his dad. Puerto Banús didn’t even exist until 1970, when it had been built by a Spanish property developer – called Banús, of all things! Since then, it had become the playground of the rich and famous, and also the rich and not-exactly-kosher.
Marbella was the perfect place for anyone who needed to launder money or start a new life, because it was getting a bit difficult in the UK. Morocco was a short boat ride away, so for anyone interested in purchasing guns, drugs – or even going on the run for a while – it was the perfect destination. It had everything that a body could want or, indeed, need. Spain was where people retired to live in the sun, and where business deals could be done in relative peace. As long as you dealt with a like-minded Spaniard, you were rocking in more ways than one!
Spain was like the old Wild West, just waiting to be conquered by the right people. The seventies had been populated by people like his parents, and the eighties were when Spain’s non-existent extradition laws were being used to their utmost. There was a legal system in place that practically guaranteed that anything you felt like doing could, in time, be done.
It was a con man’s dream destination, and now that included the timeshare shysters and the people selling off Spanish land that they didn’t actually own to naive Brits looking for the dream home in the sun. The con men were starting to irritate the real criminals because they were giving the place a bad name, and that was not good for anyone. But, for all that, the place was still where people wanted to go to relax, drink and make merry.
