by Martina Cole
‘Well, the Murrays are carrion, fucking parasites, I should know that better than anyone, as I’m sure you understand. Louie Stein is like the Virgin Mary in comparison. But why are you asking me all this now?’
Danny Boy ignored him. He had no intention of getting into any kind of conversation with this man. ‘Has Louie Stein ever been suspected of grassing anyone?’
His father shrugged and shook his head slowly. ‘Not that I know of but, remember this, son, Louie has been around for the duration, whereas the Murray boys rely on the likes of me, and that includes you, son. I ain’t excusing what I did, what happened, but I honestly don’t remember any of it, and the Murrays took us for six large. Us, mate, because once I owed them, you all owed them, young as you were. Oh, I know you’ll go your own road, but I hope you have better luck than me where that pair are concerned. Bollocks to you and your fucking dreams of the big time. The Murrays will destroy you and laugh while they do it.’ He pulled himself to his feet slowly, his body felt like it was on fire with pain. The stiffness was in every joint, and the popping of his bones was loud in the room. ‘You served me up to them, son, and I accept that, you did what you had to for your brother and sister. I mugged us all off, so I know what you did better than anyone. But don’t you ever think for one moment the Murrays will respect you for it. Because they won’t. They use everyone and anyone. Louie is the dog’s knob in comparison. You could trust him with anything.
‘Louie has a few Filth on his pay, of course he does. He’d have to in his game, wouldn’t he? I’d hazard a guess he’s had a whisper and he’s just putting the hard word on you, warning you to be careful.’
Danny Boy nodded in agreement. It was the answer he expected, he had trusted Louie but, as a young man, he needed his first impressions to be accurate. He had to learn the hard way how their world worked. He was fourteen going on ninety, and he had to be seen to back the winning team. He was sensible enough to know that he did not have the experience to do that yet. Though his instinct had been proved right, that Louie wasn’t a grass, it still didn’t mean he was on a winning streak.
‘Do you realise that this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had in our lives, Dad? Don’t you find that sad? I do.’
Big Dan looked down into his son’s eyes; it was like looking in a mirror. Oh, hindsight was a wonderful thing. For he had lost them all, just as he had finally understood how wonderful they really were, how blessed he was that they were his flesh and blood. Now it was too late to make amends, to tell them how lucky he was to have them in his life. He could cry with the realisation of how great his kids actually were, and how he had never bothered to find any of that out because he was too busy gambling and whoring, too busy forgetting that they actually existed in case he had to do something about it.
Danny Boy watched his father as he battled to keep his emotions under control, and he sighed once more. This man was everything he hated, everything he was determined not to be, no matter what happened to him in this life. But now that this moment had come, he knew he couldn’t let him go, let him leave them again. After all, people admired him because he let this old ponce live under his roof, even after what he had done to them all. Family, after all, was family. The East End code, the biggest fucking lie of all. The lie to end all lies really.
And if he let him go, who knew what he would say once he was back on the drink, back on the game circuit, back on the pavement, back losing and, subsequently, back needing money for his bets or his alcohol. He was a liability, there was no doubt about that. But he was also a fountain of wisdom where the Faces were concerned. For that alone, he would humour him, use him.
‘I appreciate what you’re telling me, Dad, and because of that you can stay. You are staying, I take it?’
Closing his eyes Big Danny accepted his fate. Unlike him, his son had a shrewd head on his shoulders and, though he was only a boy, he looked every bit the man and, more to the point, he was being treated like one by most of the people in his orbit. All the years Big Dan had bullied and controlled his family, ignored them, or conveniently forgot about them, were now coming back to bite him on his arse and there was nothing he could do about it. He had created this monster and it was evident that he was not going anywhere until this boy had decreed that he could.
As his son stood up to leave the room he pulled a half-bottle of Black & White whisky from his pocket. Placing it gently on the table he said sadly, ‘You drew first blood, Dad, remember that in the future, won’t you?’
‘You all right, son?’
Louie’s voice was low, but Danny could detect the nervousness that was there lately. Stein’s voice had developed a slight quivering quality that wasn’t evident to anyone except those closest to him. Danny didn’t know how to react, wasn’t experienced enough to suss out the situation properly, and this galled him. He shrugged his enormous shoulders and smiled gently. ‘I’m all right, Lou, give me a break.’
Louie didn’t say anything for a while, instead he poured them both a cup of tea. Danny looked round the office and, as always, his eyes skimmed over the pictures of semi-naked women Sellotaped to the door. They were there for no other reason than they were expected. Danny Boy knew that Lou had no real interest in the fairer sex; his wife and kids were enough for him. And with five daughters Louie Stein was uncomfortable with pictures that depicted girls younger than them. Danny Boy also knew though, that the majority of the men they dealt with spent their lives either eyeing up, reminiscing about, or talking about strange. And therefore it was part of the image, that was all. Strange was on his mind, but he was a kid; these pictures were a statement against old age. He could get a hard-on if he stood too near a spin-dryer. This lot would be hard-pushed to get an erection unless their wives won the accumulator on the bingo. They were all talk, all they had was their imaginations, and Danny Boy was sorry for them because of that. No woman would ever dictate his life, his leisure time or, indeed, his fucking wages. He was far too shrewd to get involved in that kind of game. He was keeping his family because of shite like that. Because his father saw his own world as far more important than his kids’ world, with their wants and needs.
As Danny glanced at the dark-haired girl in the picture, her legs splayed apart and her heavy eye make-up only serving to highlight her extreme youth, he wondered at the world of men. Men like his father, men like the Murrays, men who cared for no one but themselves. This girl was a wank, a toss, something to be used over and over again, even when she was a pensioner; the pictures would be around till the next millennium. Tits and arse, after all, were tits and arse. But at least she had a reason for flashing her clout; her kids more than likely. Women did things for their kids that were deemed awful by the majority of the community they happened to live in. Men, though, seemed to be forgiven for the most heinous of crimes.
Pictures were all right, but nothing like the real thing. He loved the world he had discovered; hot, wet girls and buckled knees. The breathlessness before and after the event, even the feeling of disgust as the girl tried to make conversation with him as she tidied herself up. Especially as, by then, all he wanted to do was leave as soon as possible.
Louie watched him and grinned. He could remember the constant hard-on years. When life was still for living and summers seemed far too long and humid. ‘You might not believe this now, son, but one day the world won’t be your fucking oyster any more, one day those girls on the wall will cease to be a possibility in your mind; they’ll be a fucking fantasy you hate yourself for instead. One day, you’ll wake up and thirty or forty years will have flown by. One day, if you ain’t careful, you’ll be me.’
Danny Boy smiled gently, his even teeth and square jaw reminding Louie how young he actually was, and how he would give anything to swap places with him if it was at all possible. ‘Could be worse, mate, I could end up like me father.’
Louie didn’t laugh at that as was expected, instead he shook his head and said abruptly, ‘Listen, that will never happen to
you, not if I have anything to do with it anyway.’
Louie’s complete dismissal of anything like that ever happening to him pleased the boy; it was his biggest fear and they both knew it.
Louie lit himself a cigar, pulling on it loudly, concentrating on it for long moments, savouring the bitterness of its taste, and the smoothness of the smoke when he eventually blew it out. He sat down then, opposite the boy, and stared at him rudely, his eyes taking him in from his shoes to his eyebrows; it was the long look, the once-over. It was a deliberate act, and Danny watched and waited for the man’s final remarks.
‘Did you heed my advice about the Murrays?’
Louie knew the boy was still a raving virgin where their world was concerned, and he also knew that this state of affairs wouldn’t, and couldn’t, last long. He blew a long, slow line of blue smoke into Danny’s face, knowing then he wouldn’t get an answer from him. Knowing the boy was worried about the advice he had been offered, and also knowing the boy had good reason to feel like that. Why he felt the need to justify himself, Louie Stein wasn’t entirely sure. He had more or less convinced himself it was because he liked the boy, but he knew it was about more than that. ‘Look, Danny, I am telling you this as a learning curve, right? I had a dabble recently with a few Faces from the Elephant and Castle. They told me to watch my back where the Murrays were concerned. I passed that gem of wisdom on to you; they own most of the Filth in their domain, and their opinions are sought after by the majority of people I work with or drink with, do you get my drift? So, if you are determined to pursue the criminal footpath, my advice would be to learn the difference between a spinner and player. Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your arse up, that way you’ll never go wrong.’ He puffed on the cigar once more, the smoke so dense that Danny had to wave his hands in front of his face to disperse it.
‘One last thing, son, never bite the hand that’s good enough to feed you either.’
It was a threat, a friendly warning, and Danny knew it was meant well, that Louie was offended and that he had every right to feel that way; he had been good to him, and it was only Danny’s youth that had made him so suspicious. It was a learning curve all right, that Louie would be in the know should have been evident to him, something he knew instinctively. He was aware he had been chastised and he was grateful for that. It meant he was still in with a chance, still on the payroll.
Danny sipped his tea, digesting everything with his usual calm, and Stein admired his stoic demeanour. He knew the boy had accepted this reprimand with equanimity.
‘You’re a good kid, Danny, kid being the operative word here, of course. But don’t fucking push it, you’re new on the pavement, and you’re a funny little fucker. People like you, but all that can change in a heartbeat; you ask the Murrays if you don’t believe me.’
Louie puffed on his expensive cigar, it was making his eyes water, but he loved it. Churchill had smoked these very cigars, though he had probably got them for free. He, however, purchased them cut-price from a little Greek fella with a temper that was worthy of a much larger man. He knew everyone who was anyone, and he had made it his life’s work to keep them all on-side. He kept out of personal feuds if it was at all possible, and he never discussed anything he overheard. In his line of business that had to be a guarantee. The boy’s obvious uneasiness over his friendly advice had angered him; he had stuck his neck out to help him in more ways than one. Although a part of him understood the boy’s reticence, knew he was a brand-newey and still wondering what end was up, another part of him was aching to slap him down.
Danny stood up and firmly shook the hand that was feeding him and his family, the smile on his face displaying what he regarded as the required expression of remorse he felt was needed. But the damage was already done; they both knew that.
Mary Miles was walking home from school with Jonjo Cadogan, and as they passed her block of flats they giggled. She was supposed to be at mass, and he was supposed to be playing football, they had told the lies so often they came naturally to them. As they walked towards the waste-ground that doubled as a park, they heard her brother Gordon approach on his bike.
‘Look at that bleeding thing, ain’t you embarrassed to be seen on it?’ Jonjo’s voice was heavy with malice; he resented the intrusion into their little world. Even though he didn’t think Mary harboured any of the feelings that he did, he still resented any kind of intrusion, even from her brother, her flesh and blood. His love for her frightened him at times; it was so intense. Just to be near her was enough for him most of the time, but when someone else entered the equation he couldn’t control his feelings. Gordon, however, rarely brought out the jealousy inside him, he was her brother after all, but he spent so much time with her that Jonjo saw him as a nuisance, as a necessary evil.
Gordon grinned knowingly. He had the same golden hair as his sister and the same crooked smile. They were a handsome family, and they knew it. Mary was already blossoming and that was why her older brother watched her like a hawk. At nine she already knew too much for her own good, and she understood how easy it was to get the males in her life to do whatever she wanted.
Gordon skidded to a halt beside them, his heavy body cumbersome and making him seem even more gauche than usual. The bike was a mongrel. It was an embarrassment really, made up from bits of scrap he had salvaged from friends and neighbours; functional but ugly. He was slaughtered because of it, yet he knew that it was a means to an end. He had wheels, which was more than a lot of his contemporaries could say.
He had learned many years before that front was the main ingredient needed to survive on the streets, and he possessed it in fucking glorious abundance. Now he grinned once more, only his sister knowing that he was seconds away from clumping his friend and neighbour over his derogatory remark. ‘I ain’t embarrassed, Jonjo, it’s one bike more than you’ve got, whatever it looks like.’
Jonjo knew when he was being put in his place and he accepted the reprimand with good grace. After all, any bike was indeed better than no bike at all. ‘I was joking, can’t you take a fucking joke?’
Gordon shook his head sadly. ‘No, actually I can’t, not from the likes of you anyway.’
He looked at his antagonist with real hatred as he said loudly, ‘You coming home, Mary? Mum was looking for you.’
Mary Miles sighed heavily; if her mum was on the prowl that meant she was pissed as the proverbial newt. It meant pain, physical as well as mental, it meant hours of drama and recriminations, and it also meant she would be expected to sort it out with the Filth when they arrived; and they would arrive, her mother would make sure of that. It was her new party piece, and she enjoyed the drama of it all.
The police were used to Mary’s intervention when her mother was on the rag; they relied on her, in fact, to talk her mother down, and to settle any disputes that were on her current agenda. Her mother had started to have arguments with the neighbouring households without a second’s thought; vicious, violent rows that were always her fault, and always ended in a physical fight. A punch-up was now her mother’s release valve, it was how she coped with her everyday life. She had become the local joke and it made her kids’ lives unbearable. They had to live with her personal vendettas, her increasingly frequent drunken ramblings and, worse than that, they had to face their classmates, all more than aware of the situation or, more often than not, whose parents were on the receiving end of the shouting and swearing.
Parents were a pain, but she didn’t care about any of that. Not until she had to anyway. All she cared about was the here and now, the future was a foreign country. Now though, thanks to her brother, Mary Miles had to go home and investigate her mother’s latest escapade, find out who she had fought with, then try to smooth it all over. It was so unfair; all she wanted was a regular life, no more and no less.
‘Is she indoors, Gordon?’
He grinned then, displaying his perfect teeth.
‘She is now. She’s indoors with Lily Law; they�
��ve nicked her for assault and battery, threats to kill and discharging a firearm.’
Jonjo started to laugh then, the charges didn’t really surprise any of them. Mrs Miles was a case; she was a one-woman arrest record. She was the loveliest lady in the world when sober, but give her a drink and she was a fucking nightmare. She was already on a suspended sentence for her last foray, that included shooting out the optics in the pub, and then somehow arguing it was mistaken identity. She was also still on bail for breach of the peace and lewd behaviour, this was caused by her insisting on stripping off in the local working men’s club while threatening the real stripper with death on pain of torture and destruction. Her sin being that she had accepted a drink off Mr Miles while his wife was within their vicinity.
Jonjo was sorry for his friend, but she had become used to this kind of thing happening. Her mother was the stuff of nightmares, a drunk who saw insults and aggro where there wasn’t anything remotely troublesome going on. She could make a simple ‘Good Morning’ sound like a declaration of war. She also had access to an air gun that no one, even her own family, could ever lay their hands on. She could be drunk as a skunk, but she always managed to hide the bastard thing before she was finally tracked down. When she had slept it all off though, no one was sorrier than she was. In their world, a woman who drank was vilified far more than a man. Women were still held up as paragons of virtue, even if their old men were robbing, thieving, lying shitbags. The women were held accountable for their actions, the men weren’t.
‘Discharging a firearm? How did she get hold of the gun this time?’
Gordon shook his head, the smile gone from his eyes now. ‘I don’t know, Mary, I think it was the old man’s. He was probably going out on the rob again.’ It was said simply, without any emotion or excitement.