Everybody appeared to treat Eddie with wariness as he stepped out onto the stone-tiled patio.
‘Oi, Ed. Over here, bruv’. Eddie looked to his left and saw his brother sitting at a table under a sunshade. He was with a group of several people which included the Ferrari-owner, although the man’s beautiful female companion was nowhere to be seen. Charlie clicked his fingers at a lanky ginger-haired man to beckon him over. ‘Hey, Kieran, fetch my brother here a cocktail, will yer? I reckon he’ll have a…Martini. Or maybe a Daiquiri. Yeah, Eddie?’
The waiter looked to Eddie for approval.
‘A beer’s fine, mate,’ said Eddie to the waiter who then turned away and sauntered off towards a makeshift bar on the opposite side of the patio.
Charlie stood up and greeted his brother with a firm hug.‘Good kid that,’ said Charlie. ‘His Dad was in the IRA and is doin’ time down here for gun-running’. Asked me to watch out for his boy while he was inside. Suits me, the kid makes the best cocktails anywhere on the Costa’. He lifted a conical glass up from the table and slurped at the bright red liquid.
‘What? Are you friends with the bloody Provos, now?’ said Eddie.
‘Nah. Well, yeah. But it don’t matter to me what he did before’.
‘I did two tours in Northern Ireland,’ said Eddie. ‘I lost friends to those bastards’.
Charlie put the drink back down and raised his hands. ‘I’m sorry, bruv. It’s just that it’s different down here. We don’t do politics and religion and that crap. We left all that bollocks behind when we left England. Everyone’s the same down here. Us Brits, the Micks, the Krauts, the Frenchies. Whatever. It don’t matter none where you come from, or what you did back home. Down here on the Costa, it’s just about doin’ business and, well, enjoying life’. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Know what I mean?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Eddie. ‘Fuck all that, right?’
Charlie smiled. ‘That’s the spirit, Ed,’ he said, failing to pick up on the cynicism in his brother’s voice. ‘This is my life now. And this sorry bunch of people here…’ he said, waving his hand in the general direction of the group, ‘these are all what matters to me now’. He took another slug of the cocktail, then took a step back and eyed his sibling from head to toe. ‘Fuck me, I’m glad I kept all them old clothes. You look like a right player’. He turned to face the group of men and women gathered around the table. ‘What d’ya think, guys? This is my kid brother, Eddie. I’ve not seen him for a few years. He turned up at my bar this morning looking like a right down and out, he did. Now, look at him. Scrubs up well, don’t he girls?’
‘Cor. Not half, Charlie!’ said one of the women, a bleach-blonde woman in her forties who had not taken her eyes of Eddie since he had stepped out of the villa. She was dressed in a tight black skirt and a flower-patterned blouse designed for a younger, slimmer body. ‘He’s in much better shape than you. You sure he’s your brother?’
Another woman next to her, also of a similar age and dressed in a shiny gold blouse, almost spat out her drink laughing. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. ‘I think Judy’s got a point, you know?’ she said. ‘This geezer’s slim, right good-looking, and he’s got all his hair still. I reckon one of you’s adopted’.
The women looked at each other and cackled. One of the men next to them, a rugged-looking man in a blue pair of shorts and a white polo shirt, shuffled in his chair. He glanced up at Eddie and then at the woman at his side. The surrounding conversations paused.
‘Shut it, Judy,’ he said while grasping her arm.
The woman yelped in pain and yanked her arm free. ‘Fuck off, Roger’. She rubbed her arm. ‘That fucking’ hurt,’ she slapped the man on his arm.
‘Nah, it’s alright,’ said Charlie. ‘She don’t mean it. She didn’t know’.
‘Didn’t know what?’ said Judy, still angry and oblivious to the changed mood.
‘I was adopted,’ said Eddie. He looked at the woman in the tight blouse. The group of people took a collective gulp. ‘My mother gave me away in the hospital. She was a dancer in a club. That’s right, weren’t it Charlie?’ He looked at his brother then back at the two women. ‘I’ve no fucking idea who my father was. No idea at all. Don’t want to neither. They didn’t want me, so fuck them’. Charlie stood frozen to the spot, unable to speak. ‘I got put with a couple, the Lawsons, in West London when I was still a baby. They already had Charlie’. Eddie looked at his brother. ‘You were what, eight?’
‘I was nine when mum brought you home,’ said Charlie.
‘Right. Nine,’ said Eddie. ‘Anyway, the Lawsons were planning to tell me this when I was in my teens. You know, when I’d be better able to handle it. But Charlie -’.
‘Ed -,’ said Charlie, trying to interject, but Eddie held up his finger and wagged it at his sibling.
‘But Charlie here, my big brother…he told me when I was just four years old’.
‘Shit,’ said Judy. Roger looked at her with despair.
The ginger waiter was standing next to Eddie with a pint of beer on a tray.
Eddie took the drink. ‘Cheers,’ he said. He downed half of it then wiped his face. All eyes were on him still. He looked back at his brother. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Charlie. I just assumed that you’d have told all your close friends here about where I came from. No?’ Charlie cast his eyes to the floor. ‘Mrs Lawson, Mum, she treated us both decently’. He looked at Judy. ‘Mr Lawson, not so much’. He pointed at an old circular scar on the back of his left hand. ‘That’s from a belt-buckle. The old bastard hit me with his belt one night coz I hadn’t taken his mangy dog for a walk. I hadn’t done it, coz I’d been doing my homework. Funny, huh?’
Judy glanced towards the sheepish-looking Charlie. Carol, standing next to her, stood motionless with her mouth wide open.
It took a few seconds of uncomfortable silence before one of the other men cleared his throat and stood up. It was the Ferrari owner. He was robustly built and taller than Eddie, with tight cropped blonde hair and bright blue eyes. An old scar ran from the lower part of his nose and across his right cheek.
He put one hand on Eddie’s shoulder while gripping his hand with the other. ‘Nice to meet you, son,’ he said. The man relaxed his grip, looked at the two women, then back at Eddie. ‘Pull yourself up a chair and get under this umbrella. You’re lookin’ a bit pink already. Gotta watch this flipping sun, it’s hotter here than Southend’. He sat back down, chuckling.
‘Sorry, Eddie. We didn’t mean nuffin,’ said Judy. She glanced at the woman next to her.
‘Er, yeah. Sorry Eddie. Sorry Charlie. We were just havin’ a laugh. Didn’t mean nuffin by it.’
‘It’s alright girls,’ said Charlie. ‘Don’t you worry your pretty faces over this’. He swivelled around to call the waiter over again. ‘Hey, Kieran. Go fetch three bottles of Bolli from my private stash, alright? There’s a good lad’.
‘Ooooh, hark at you, Mr Flash,’ said another of the men, a short, wiry-looking man in a yellow Fred Perry polo shirt and white cotton shorts. ‘Gettin’ the good stuff out now, are we?’
‘Too right I am, Kenny. My kid brother’s in town, ain’t he? I think that’s a cause for celebration’.
The ginger waiter arrived with the champagne and a box of plastic tumblers.
‘Sorry Mr Lawson, I couldn’t find no more clean glasses’.
‘Don’t you worry son, there ain’t no airs and graces among this lot,’ said Charlie. He handed a bottle each to Mike and Roger. ‘Here, everyone take a glass and fill ’em up. This stuff’s a hundred quid a bottle. Don’t let it go to waste. He poured a glass and handed it to Eddie and one for himself then put his arm around his brother. ‘Lets get formally introduced. That gorilla who just tried to crush your hand is big Mikey. He’s from South Harrow’. Eddie nodded at the man with the scarred face who raised his glass in acknowledgment. ‘This is Roger and his wife, Judy. Roger’s from round our way, South Ruislip,’ said Charlie while ges
turing towards the man in the blue shorts and white shirt, and his recently chastened wife. ‘That’s Bill at the back there with the ridiculous comb over. And his wife, Carol. Bill used to drink in The Windmill in Ruislip Manor’. The man in the yellow polo shirt crossed his arms and nodded.
‘Nice to meet you, Eddie’.
‘And this charmer here is Kenny. He spent a few years in the forces too, didn’t yer Kenny?’
‘Yeah, in West Germany. On the Rhine. A good couple of years it was too,’ said Kenny.
‘Yeah, till they caught him selling the supplies on the black market!’ said Charlie, chuckling. ‘He got eighteen months in the lockup for that’.
‘And a good kicking from the bloody MPs,’ said Kenny.
Eddie, who had several altercations with the military police himself, raised his glass towards Kenny. ‘So how’d you lads all meet then?’
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. Eddie looked at his brother, an expectant look on his face.
‘Well bruv,’ said Charlie. ‘Let’s just say, we all worked together. If you know what I mean’.
Eddie wasn’t sure how to take that answer at first. Then the penny dropped.
‘Sorry, Dumb question. I’m a bit tired still’.
Charlie laughed.
‘So are you stopping here for a bit then son?’ asked Bill, clearly seeking to change the flow of the conversation.
Eddie shrugged. ‘Nah, I’m just passing through’.
The conversation was abruptly interrupted by the sounds of an argument a few feet away. Eddie looked towards the raised voices. It was the woman he had seen earlier who had been wearing a white top and pink trousers, only now she was wearing a revealing scarlet swimsuit. From the shouting, Eddie deduced that the woman had been lying by the pool reading a paperback when a man had jumped in close by. A portly individual, he had soaked her and her novel. The woman was shouting at the rotund man who stood before her, dripping wet and wearing only a skimpy pair of swimming trunks.
‘Get your gut and them ridiculous budgie smugglers out of my fucking face, you fat son of a bitch’. She started poking him with her finger.
‘Watch your mouth, girl or -’.
‘Or what, you fat fuck? What you gonna do? The man grabbed her wrist and looked like he would hit her, but checked himself when he heard glass breaking. Mike was standing behind the woman holding a broken beer bottle.
‘Touch her again, and I’ll gut that fucking whale belly of yours’.
The man in the swimming trunks let the woman go. ‘Right. Yeah. Sorry, Mikey,’ said the man. ‘My mistake’.
‘Don’t apologise to me, you wanker. It’s me missus what you need to be saying sorry to,’ said Mike.
The man looked at the woman. ‘Sorry lass. Maybe I’ve had a few too many. I wasn’t gonna hit you. Honest’. The woman glared back at him, saying nothing.
Three large men had gathered close by, seemingly deciding whether to stand up for their mate. Mike took a step towards them, still wielding the broken bottle.
‘Take that lump of lard away. He ain’t welcome here,’ he said.
‘What if we don’t?’ said one of the men. A faint smile appeared on Mike’s face, and he took another step towards the men.
But before events took a turn for the worse, Charlie arrived holding a bottle of champagne.
‘S’alright boys, no need for any aggro. We’re all friends here. Here, have this on me. It’s Bollinger. It’s the bee’s knees, this stuff,’ he said. ‘Kieran over there, the ginger kid. He’ll get you some glasses. Alright. Good. Nice one’. He turned back to face Mike. ‘Mate, calm down. It’s nuffin, alright. Nuffin,’ he hissed.
‘He had his paws on my Veronica, Charlie. He was gonna hit her. You saw it’.
‘How many times have I told you, Mike? We need to think of the bigger picture here. We need allies. Not more enemies’. Veronica was standing close by listening to the engagement. Charlie shot her a look. ‘Besides, you know as well as I do, she was winding them up. She was sitting right next to a swimming pool. Course she’s gonna get wet. It’s a pool party for Christ’s sake’. Mike looked at his girlfriend who smiled cheekily back at the two men. ‘Get her under control, mate. We can’t afford no silly business here today. Okay?’
‘Yeah, you’re right Charlie’. Mike turned towards his girlfriend. ‘Get yourself over here, girl. Stop causing trouble. You’re upsetting Charlie’.
She shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t wanna do that, upset the mighty Charles Lawson, now would I?’ She reached down and picked up her things. ‘I’ll be in the house,’ she said as she strode away.
Both men watched her walk away. As she passed Eddie, she looked him over from top to bottom in the manner of a tradesman sizing up a potential job, before concluding that it would be lucrative. She licked her lips in a provocative motion, and winked at him. He watched her from behind as she walked away, her shoulders and hips swaying perfectly in rhythm to the Lionel Richie song playing from inside the villa.
‘Sorry, Charlie. I know she’s a pain sometimes,’ said Mike as he walked past Eddie.
‘But the crazy ones are the fun ones?’ said Charlie. ‘Yeah, I know mate’. Eddie watched as his brother gave his friend a playful punch.
The party carried on long after the sun had disappeared behind La Concha, Marbella’s iconic, hulking mountain. Eddie sat watching, listening but keeping himself to himself as best as he could. He was warming to the group and, despite the initial resentment he had felt towards his erstwhile brother, he had to admit that it felt good to be in his company once more. His pint glass was empty, and he needed to take a leak.
‘I’m going to the John’.
‘There’s a bog in the hallway, behind the kitchen,’ Charlie informed him.
Eddie nodded, got up and made his way to the toilet.
Kenny was already in the large bathroom standing at the one and only toilet, one hand on his penis, the other patting down his hair.
‘There you go, son,’ he said whilst pushing the flush button. ‘She’s all yours’. Eddie stood at the pan, unzipped his fly and let out a sigh of relief as he started urinating. ‘Sounds like you needed that,’ said Kenny as he washed his hands. He reached for a towel. ‘I don’t want to speak out of turn here. But I think your brother’s hoping you will stick around here for a bit. He could really do with your help, you know’.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Eddie. ‘He ain’t got a clue what I’ve been through since we last saw each other’. He turned on the tap and ran the water over his hands.
Kenny handed him a fresh hand towel and fixed him with his stare. ‘He’s always talking about you, Ed. Told us all about what you’ve been up to’.
‘He did, huh?’ said Eddie, unsure whether to believe the man.
‘In the paras wasn’t yer? Served in the Falklands’.
‘That’s right,’ said Eddie.
‘You were at Mount Tumbledown. And Goose Green. Right shitty deal that must have been. You army boys did our country proud. You have my respect. You have all of our respect’.
‘So, how long have you been down here, Ken?’ said Eddie, keen to change the subject.
‘Christ, over five years now. Yeah, I came down about six months after Charlie. I didn’t plan to leave, truth be told, but I had no choice. The fuzz was all over us. Someone grassed on us. We never worked out who’.
‘Do you miss it?’ said Eddie.
‘I miss me Mum, I guess. And the lads down the boozer. But other than that, nah’.
‘And is it as safe as Charlie says? I mean with the “no extradition” thing?’
‘Kind of’.
‘What’s that mean?’ said Eddie.
‘Well, officially the Spanish won’t do nothing, as long as we keep our noses clean down here, but there was this one guy we all knew, Terry Gibson, he was wanted for a bunch of bank jobs back home. He refused to pay the locals, didn’t he? Not a smart move, it turned out’.
‘H
ow so?’
‘Gibbo ran a club down here, just up the coast. In Mijas. Raking it in, he was. But this one night, about a year ago it was, he vanished for a few days before turning up in England a few days later in the back of a bleeding Black Mariah’.
‘He got deported?’ asked Eddie.
‘That’s one way of saying it, I suppose. What we heard was that he was locking up his bar one night, when a group of men with ski masks jumped him. Some old granny who lived nearby saw it from her bedroom window. They hit him over the head with a cosh or something. When he woke up he was tied up and gagged in the boot of a car. When it eventually stopped, the occupants had left the scene, but he realised they had taken him to France when a local gendarmerie officer opened the boot. It’s at least a twelve-hour drive. More, maybe. He was laying there, in the back of the car covered in his own piss and shit, so I heard. It must have been disgusting. Anyway, the French rustled him off to England and now he’s doing a fifteen-year stretch. People say the Spanish, French and Brit police planned it all. He got off lucky, mind you.
‘Lucky?’ said Eddie. ‘That don’t sound very lucky to me’.
‘Yeah, well, Gibbo was high profile. Had something to do with that Security Express job, I think. The Flying Squad wanted him bad. Others less well-known…well, they tend to just disappear. Especially if they’ve been up to their old tricks down here. The local families - the old money - they don’t appreciate that. The hills around here are full of bodies’.
‘Fuck me. How do you lot sleep?’
‘Ah, it’s not that bad. You just got to keep paying the right people. Money talks down here. They’re all leeches, I tell you. Fuckin’ leeches. I’ve spent over ten grand this year, trying to keep their noses away from my business. But you’ve just got to view it as a kind of tax. And just enjoy yourself’. The door opened, and another man entered. Kenny stood out of his way and beckoned Eddie to go through the door. ‘Enough of this depressing talk. I need another drink’.
Den of Snakes Page 5