by Sam Michaels
Molly nodded. George could see the pity in her friend’s eyes and it wasn’t something she liked. ‘Come on, I’d better get you home then back to work before you’re late,’ she said as she stood up and wiped her face with the cuff of her donkey jacket, newly acquired for her by her father.
As they walked, Molly asked, ‘What are you doing this weekend?’
George appreciated her friend trying to lighten the mood and changing the subject. ‘Nothing,’ she answered.
‘I was thinking about taking Ethel and Charlotte to the park on Sunday to keep them from under my dad’s feet. Why don’t you come with us?’
‘Yeah, I’d like that. I haven’t been to the park in ages.’
‘Good. It’ll be nice to get away from these streets and the likes of Billy Wilcox. I don’t know why he’s so horrible. His mother is a lovely woman, and his dad seems all right.’
‘I dunno. I ain’t so sure about his dad. They say the apple don’t fall far from the tree.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. I don’t know what dodgy stuff his dad does, but I’ve heard Billy’s lot have been taking money from the people on my street in return for not having their windows smashed, or worse.’
‘I think that’s how Mr Peterson got himself done in. He said something about not paying Billy. It ain’t right, Molly, he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.’
‘Unless his dad stops him, I can’t see anyone else fronting him, can you?’
No, George couldn’t. She’d have liked to put a blade between his shoulders, and if she could have got away with it, she would have, but for now, thoughts of revenge on the policemen were more pressing.
Once Molly had quickly changed, and they’d reached the factory gates, Molly gave George a gentle squeeze. ‘I’ll see you Sunday,’ she said.
‘Yes, see ya,’ George answered, grateful that Molly didn’t mention the police again, though she could tell her friend felt sorry for her. It did feel better to share her secret, though it made her feel awkward and it hadn’t lessened her desire for retribution.
The days were short at this time of year, and the streets grew darker as ominous clouds covered the winter sun. George pulled her collar up round her neck and hunched her shoulders as she thought about an idea she’d formulated. She’d need Molly’s help to pull it off, and it meant Molly would be doing her a big favour. Their friendship went back years and George was about to test Molly’s loyalty.
22
Billy looked at Sid’s and Malc’s bruised faces and shook his head in disgust. ‘I still can’t believe you let a girl do that to you. You fucking pussies!’
‘In all fairness, she ain’t a normal girl,’ Sid said, his lip still swollen after nearly a week.
‘Granted, she’s a freak, but you’re a fucking disgrace, the lot of you!’ Billy shouted, as his eyes wandered over his gang.
‘Don’t include me in this. I wasn’t there. I was here, looking after the girls,’ Knuckles said defensively.
‘Do you want us to get her, Billy?’ Malc asked.
‘No. It’s too late for that. She’s shown you all right up! Just stay out of her way, for now.’
They were all gathered for their weekly meeting in Billy’s brothel. The three-bedroom house was rent-free as Billy had taken over the rent collections for the landlord’s other dozen properties. He’d increased the fees, and those tenants who didn’t like it, or couldn’t afford to pay, had been thrown out and replaced. The revenue from pimping out the Russian tarts was all profit, apart from the few pence he paid his whores.
‘Right, down to business. Knuckles, any problems this week?’
‘No, Bill, only Mike Mipple trying to get in here again. I told the dirty bastard to fuck off. If I start letting his sort in, we’ll have every fucking scumbag in Battersea knocking on the door.’
‘Good, he can go and fuck the streetwalkers. Now then, Malc, Sid… I want another ten per cent added to the rent collections. You know what to do if anyone objects.’
Malc and Sid nodded.
‘Knuckles, I’ve got twenty-odd blokes interested in the poker. I’m having a meet with Al at the Dukes Head tomorrow. He’s got a big room upstairs, and it’s one of the few pubs my old man ain’t got covered under his insurance policies. I want you and Pimples with me. I don’t think Al will have any objections, but bring your tools, just in case.’
‘But I thought Al was married to one of the Maynards?’ Knuckles asked.
‘Yeah, he is, but his missus has been shagging some geezer from up West, so word has it that Al gave her a good hiding. She’s fucked off back to her mother’s. I don’t know the full story, but from what I heard Al had a visit from Harry Maynard and now he can’t count to ten on his fingers any more.’
The men laughed, and Billy added, ‘See what I mean? Al ain’t going to mind us taking over his pub twice a week. In fact, unless he wants to lose a few toes too, I reckon he might welcome us with open arms.’
There was a tap on the door, and Malc got up to open it. Varvara – a tall, slim blonde girl – stood in the doorway wearing a lacy red bra with white silk kickers and stockings. Dina, equally tall and slim, in a cream satin slip, was standing beside her.
‘Are you ready for us?’ Varvara purred.
‘Yeah, let them in, but Sid and Malc, you ain’t having a treat this week, not after allowing that Garrett slag to mark your faces. The rest of you, fill your boots,’ Billy said, then cocked a finger at the girls. ‘You two, come here.’
The young Russian women approached Billy and stood in front of him. He ran his hand up Varvara’s thigh and dug his fingers into her buttocks. ‘Come, sit here,’ he said, and pulled her onto his knee.
Varvara looked uncomfortable and flashed a desperate glance to Dina. Billy’s hand slipped up the side of Varvara’s body and across her exposed breasts, finally resting around her long neck. He squeezed, ever so slightly, causing Varvara to flinch. ‘Knuckles tells me you’ve been good girls. Keep yourselves clean and stay out of sight. You know what’ll happen if you disobey me?’
Varvara gasped as Billy tightened his grip round her neck. ‘Yes, we know,’ she croaked nervously.
‘Right, have fun, boys,’ Billy said, and stood up, throwing Varvara to the floor.
Goodbyes were said as Billy left, and soon, as the sun was beginning to set on the weekend, Billy was outside his home.
As he put his key in the lock, Billy thought to himself that one day, this house and his mother would be his and he’d be more powerful than his father could ever imagine. When that day came, his dad would show him the respect he deserved, and he relished the thought. But for now, for the sake of his mother, he’d have to endure his father treating him like a child.
He loathed the way his dad tried to control him, always telling him what to do and thinking he had the right to chastise him. As far as Billy was concerned, the only authoritative thing about his father was the belt the man wore round his waist. Without his sharpened buckle, his father was weak. Billy thought he was too soft on his tarts and they made a mug out of him. The same could be said for his sister. Sally had him wrapped around her little finger. It turned Billy’s stomach to see how spoiled the girl was, but his father was too stupid to see it.
His mother was the only woman Billy respected. He adored her, but the thought of her sharing her bed with his dad repulsed him. He believed his mother should be cherished, admired from afar and not have his father’s dirty hands all over her. He had no doubt that his dad fucked his whores. Billy thought they probably sucked his dad’s cock too, then that same cock, the one that had been inside a tart’s mouth would contaminate his precious mother. He tried not to think about it, but when he did, he’d feel bile rise in his throat.
As he opened the door, he clenched his jaw, hating the pretence of being nice to his dad. He reminded himself to smile; after all, he didn’t want to upset his mother.
He strode into the lounge to find his father looking impatient and tapping his foot. He recognis
ed that look, the same expression his father always had before giving Billy a telling-off. He ignored the man’s obvious irritation and casually said, ‘Hello, Dad. Where’s Mum?’
‘Gone to visit your nan ’til Sunday. Sit down, Son, I want to have a little chat with you.’
Here we go again. His father was going to bore him with yet another lecture, Billy thought as he sat on the sofa. His dad stood up from his armchair and paced the room. Billy thought he looked nervous, perhaps of him, and he hid a sly grin.
‘Now don’t bother denying it, because I know all the facts. Would you care to explain to me why you think it’s acceptable to open a rival brothel directly under my nose and not tell me anything about it?’
So, his father had found out. Billy had expected this and was surprised it hadn’t come sooner. It just went to show that his dad wasn’t as all-knowing as he thought. ‘I don’t ask you about your business, so I don’t see what mine has to do with you,’ he answered brazenly.
‘You know I control this town. If you weren’t my own flesh and blood, you’d have seen the buckle of my belt by now. It ain’t on, Son. You can’t defy me like this and expect to get away with it.’
Billy refrained from laughing. He’d grown up with the threat of that bloody belt and thought his dad might have come up with something more original by now. ‘Is that right? Well, I have defied you, Dad. I’ve been getting away with it for several months now, so what are you gonna do about it? You’ve lost your grip. It’s understandable, you know, you’re getting on. Maybe it’s about time you stepped aside and let me take over running the businesses. I’d make a better job of it.’
Billy could see his father’s temples pulsing with anger. It didn’t worry him; after all, what could he possibly do to him? The belt would never be used – his mother wouldn’t allow it.
‘You’ve got some fucking nerve,’ his father said. ‘I blame meself. I made you like this, you cocky little dipshit. Just you remember, I built you up to what you are today, and I can take you back down.’
Did his father really believe he was the making of him and could destroy him? ‘Sounds like you’re threatening me,’ he taunted.
Billy watched wide-eyed as his dad flew across the room and grabbed him round the neck. As his father’s fingers clenched around his throat, Billy didn’t react or even flinch. In fact, he struggled to keep a straight face.
‘Don’t push me, boy,’ his father growled before releasing him.
As his father walked towards his drinks table, Billy decided to make him a fair offer. His mother would tell him it was the right thing to do and he’d always intended to, but he enjoyed winding him up. ‘Tell you what. I’ll stick to the rules. You allow me to carry on with my own small enterprises, and I’ll give you a cut of the earnings. That’s how it works, ain’t it?’
‘You don’t get it. Yes, I take a cut of anything that goes down in Battersea, but I also give it the go-ahead first. No-one goes behind my back and sets up against me. This was the last thing I expected from you. You’ve let me down, Bill, and you’ve let down the family.’
‘Oh, I see. You’ve got the ’ump ’cos I never asked permission from Daddy. You can’t stand it, can you? You hate the thought that I might be better than you.’
His father poured himself a whisky from the crystal decanter and quickly downed it. Billy noticed his father’s knuckles had gone white from gripping the glass.
‘I knew you’d be defiant, but I thought I might at least get an apology from you. Get this in your head, Billy – you’ll never be better than me. Now, this is how we’re going to resolve it. You will hand over all your books to me. I will oversee your operations, but you will still run them. I’ll give you a payment for your initial set-up costs, then fifteen per cent of all profits. I can’t say fairer than that.’
‘What if I don’t agree to your terms?’ Billy asked, knowing full well that he wouldn’t comply. Still, it was fun to tease his dad.
‘You will, if you know what’s good for you.’
‘I don’t think so, Dad. I don’t want to work for you, end of story.’
‘You have no choice. See, if I allow you to go unchecked it undermines my authority and before you know it, I’ll have every Tom, Dick and Harry nipping at my heels, thinking they can get one over on me. This is how it has to be, so don’t make it any more difficult than it should be.’
Billy had listened to enough and was bored of the conversation now. He jumped up and stomped towards his dad. It was time to lock horns, like stags jostling for territory and control. ‘If you want my business, you’ll have to fight me for it, ’cos I ain’t handing it over,’ he spat menacingly. He callously glared at his father, hoping the man would accept the challenge. There’d been many times when Billy had envisaged snuffing the life out of him, and now that thought flashed through his mind again.
As he scowled at his dad, he was sure he saw fear looking back at him and he sneered. He’d known the man was weaker than him and now he’d shown it.
‘I’ll give you until tomorrow to calm down and think about what I’ve offered. I know what a bad loser you are, so you don’t want to fight me, Billy, because believe me, you will lose and none of us want to look at your moody mug.’ With that, his dad prodded him in the chest.
Billy immediately went from bored to infuriated. He felt his father was trying to belittle him.
‘If you want to play with the men, Billy, you’d better stop acting like a brat. I’d have more respect for you if you’d been man enough to come to me instead of hiding your brothel like a naughty little boy. Is that it, Billy, are you nothing but a naughty little boy who needs his arse spanked? Do I need to put you across my knee like I did when you was seven?’ As his father goaded him, he began to unbuckle his belt.
Billy took a deep breath and felt as if he physically grew in width and height as his shoulders came up and he leaned towards his father. He could feel his cheek twitching and his face contorting as his eyes became empty. He no longer saw the man stood before him as his father – he was now Billy’s adversary, a feeble irritant that he wanted rid of.
In one swift move, he swung his arm out and thumped the side of his father’s head. The powerful blow knocked his dad to the floor. Billy stood over him and looked down at the man’s bewildered face. He tilted his head to one side as he studied his father’s expression that had changed from one of shock to terror now.
‘What have you done?’ his father whimpered, clearly disorientated.
‘You said you made me what I am, Dad… This is me, the powerful man you reckon you created. I ain’t no-one’s lackey and I never will be.’
His father attempted to get on his feet and grabbed hold of the armchair to pull himself up, but Billy found it amusing as he pushed the chair away and his dad slumped to the floor again.
‘All right, Son, you’ve proved your point, now help me up.’
His father held out his hand, but Billy was enjoying his supremacy and instead of aiding the man to his feet, he leaned into a heavy punch that left his father laid flat out.
Billy grinned when his dad groaned in pain. He would have been satisfied, but his father still dared to affront him.
‘You’ve just made a very big mistake, my boy. I would have let you get away with one punch but now you’re taking the piss.’
As his father pushed himself onto his haunches, Billy hissed, ‘I ain’t your boy and I don’t make mistakes,’ and though his knuckles hurt, he punched him again, this time between the eyes.
The breath seemed to come out of his dad and his head snapped backwards, yet still, though seeming dazed, he slurred, ‘You’re fucking dead, Billy… dead to me and dead to your mother.’
His mother! Billy couldn’t abide the thought of losing her love. After what he’d just done, he knew his father would force her to disown him, but he couldn’t, not if he rendered the man unable to speak. Not if he was dead.
Billy walked purposely across the room and grabbed a cush
ion from the sofa. As he approached his father, the man hit out, but his strength had waned, and his fists only hit air. Where he’d been moderately entertained at his father’s fight, now the sight of the man bloodied and defeated left him feeling nothing but revulsion. His father, who Billy had once admired, was now desperately failing to defend his life and Billy despised him for his faintness. He hated seeing the man’s fragility and he detested him for threatening to take away the one and only good, pure thing in his life.
Billy straddled his father’s chest, pinning him to the floor, and pushed the cushion into his face. His dad struggled but it was futile and as he gasped for oxygen, Billy pushed against the cushion harder. His dad’s legs began to jerk, and he stopped struggling. As his arms dropped to his sides, Billy was sure he’d almost killed him and pulled the cushion away. He wanted to see his father’s face when he took his last breath. He wanted his own reflection to be forever in the man’s eyes.
He placed the cushion to one side and whispered, ‘Any last requests?’
He hoped his dad wouldn’t plead and beg for his life – that would just be too predictable and tedious – but Billy was pleasantly surprised when his father answered hoarsely, ‘Hide my body well. Don’t let your mother ever know you killed me.’
His father’s final words had impressed Billy, and for that, he decided to take his life quickly and to not prolong the torture. He placed his large hands round his dad’s throat and squeezed as hard as he could, all the while staring intently at his own image in his father’s swelling eyes.
It wasn’t the first time Billy had killed, but murdering Mr Patterson hadn’t been nearly as enjoyable. As the old man had fled, Billy had whacked him with a spanner on the back of his head. He’d never got a chance to see the fear in the man’s eyes.
This had been different and as Billy climbed off his dead father’s body, he said, ‘Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll honour your last wish… Mum will never discover that it was me who killed you.’
23