by Martina Cole
As she looked at her younger children she wondered at a life that had promised so much and delivered so little.
Michael Miles was tired out, and as he sat in Ange’s spotlessly clean kitchen he yawned loudly. Danny Boy was already on the way. He was striding around, his pent-up anger visible to anyone who knew him. He was bristling with annoyance because he knew that Mangan was going to give him a tug. He saw it as a personal affront, and was already seething with anger because he was convinced people would know what was going down. You could do a lot of things to Danny Boy Cadogan but showing him up publicly was a definite no-no. It was the one thing that anyone who really knew him would be sure to avoid.
But Mangan didn’t really know him, so Michael was certain that today was going to be another memory that he would have to file away for future reference. Danny was a star in so many respects, he was a good mate, a generous friend and he would kill for him, he was sure of that much. Unfortunately, he had found out to his dismay over the last few years that Danny was capable of killing on a whim. He enjoyed his notoriety, and was determined to make the most of it. He was also unable to cope with criticism of any kind, even from someone like Lawrence Mangan, who not only provided him with his daily bread, but was also known to put the fear of Christ up most people of his acquaintance.
‘Keeping you up, am I?’
Michael grinned, but his heart wasn’t in it. ‘ ’Course not, but I am fucking cream crackered.’
Danny Boy nodded, and began his pacing again. His tread was heavy on the linoleum and his hands were clenched into fists. He was ready for whatever calamity might befall him.
‘Relax, will you? Mangan ain’t a cunt, Dan, he’ll understand the economics of the situation when we tell him what happened. But promise me you won’t cause any unnecessary aggravation, start shouting your mouth off? Remember, we need him more than he needs us. For the time being anyway.’
Only Michael could say that to him, and they both knew it. Anyone else saying it would have been demolished on the spot. It was part of Danny’s charm as far as the older men were concerned. He lived by the old codes, naturally, and that was always going to stand him in good stead. He had the arrogance of the old-time villains, the need to be appreciated for what they were, and the determination to be treated how they felt they should be treated, not only by the general public, but also by their contemporaries. He was, in a lot of respects, a thug who expected even straight people to live by the criminal code. It was a tribal thing that Michael believed went back to the Dark Ages. Respect was all some people had and it was important to them, more important in fact than anything else. It stroked their egos, and their egos were, more often than not, all they had to keep them above the common herd.
‘I’ll be OK, as long as he don’t fuck me about. But we are entitled to an earn and he knows that, at least he should know that by now.’ It was said with his usual certainty. Danny was old school and, as it never occurred to him that not everyone lived by the same code as he did, when he found out different, it always disappointed him and caused him and everyone around him untold grief.
Michael was saved from answering by the quiet knocking on the front door. Mangan had arrived at last and he answered the door with a sick feeling in his guts. Danny was capable of taking offence at a moment’s notice, and Mangan was of a similar disposition. Michael’s nerves were shattered already, but he swallowed deeply and plastered a friendly smile on his face; it was the least he could do.
Lawrence Mangan looked at the two young men who he knew were going to be a problem to him sooner rather than later if they didn’t get what they saw as their due. He smiled that easy smile of his. He could feel Danny Cadogan’s animosity and, in a strange way, admired the boy for his front. Admired him for his complete belief in himself and his actions, no matter how over the top they might seem to others.
Danny was arrogant and Lawrence knew that he was being talked about by everyone who mattered. That was actually Danny’s main weapon at this moment in time. He was being courted by more than one Face who saw the opportunity to utilise his natural antagonism. The boy also knew exactly what he was capable of, and he revelled in that knowledge. It was in his stance, his demeanour. It occurred to Lawrence that Louie’s prediction was spot on; the boy would eventually make the grade and, when he did, woe betide anyone who had tried to stand in his way. He would have to make sure he felt more appreciated in the future, let him off lightly for this latest escapade. Watch his back and, when the time was right, he would know instinctively what to do about him. The boy was an anomaly and he would make good use of him until such time as he made a decision on how to proceed.
He had underestimated this kid and, as he stood in the boy’s home, he understood why his need to be noticed was so great. It was a shithole, a very clean shithole admittedly, but a shithole all the same. Danny Boy Cadogan had seen off his own father, so anyone else wouldn’t seem too much of a problem in his mind. He wanted to be a Face, a serious Face, and he was determined to make that happen, no matter who he had to destroy to achieve that end.
The silence was heavy, thick with menace until finally it was broken by Michael, who said quietly and respectfully, ‘Can I get you a drink, Mr Mangan?’
It broke the atmosphere, and the tension evaporated as Lawrence smiled again and nodded his head in agreement. Then he said jovially, ‘You lairy little fuckers! Jimmy Powell is in a right two and eight.’
Danny knew then that he had got away with his latest piss-take and that felt good. He liked to push the boundaries and Lawrence Mangan was the first in a long line of people whose boundaries he would make a point of obliterating. He had stepped over the line and got away with it; he was amassing money at every turn and he would now be used to his full potential. Mangan had no other options left open to him. Danny would work hard and wait patiently for the next opportunity to present itself. Money was crucial to his plans, and he was determined to amass enough money in his lifetime to cure any ills that might come his way. That included this man standing before them. When the time was right he would take him out and take what he had from him. He would do it with the minimum of fuss and the maximum of aggravation. He would use this ponce as the springboard for his career in villainy but, until that time came around, he would do as he was asked, and he would fulfil his obligations with a smile and a respectful demeanour.
Life was going to give him everything he had ever wanted or craved, that much he was determined on.
Big Danny Cadogan knew all about his son’s latest escapade, and the knowledge annoyed him. In fact, it was the main topic of conversation wherever he went and that disturbed him more than he’d like to admit. The boy was a legend in his own lunchtime and the jealousy was eating at him like a cancer.
As he drank his tea and scanned the Racing Post, he surreptitiously watched his younger son as he hung on to his elder brother’s every word while, at the same time, asking him for a favour, as if he was the real man of the house which, of course, to all intents and purposes he was.
‘What you telling me all this for, Jonjo?’ Danny Boy’s voice was low, full of friendliness and brotherly affection. Jonjo was close to him, at least as close as anyone could be anyway.
‘Please, Danny, everyone’s getting one this Christmas.’
Jonjo was staring at Danny, open-faced and convinced that if he asked enough times for what he wanted, eventually he would get it.
That was the usual scenario, especially if he asked for whatever he wanted in front of their father. Jonjo knew that Danny Boy liked to show off his largesse in front of him. Liked to show him that he could more than provide for the family. It gave Danny immense satisfaction to see his father belittled by his younger son’s demands. This was what made Danny Boy feel good, at least for a short while, anyway.
‘I reckon you might be in with a good chance of getting what you want this Christmas, Jonjo, but only if you help Mum around the house, and look out for your little sister. We have to take ca
re of each other in this family, we’re all we’ve got, mate.’
Jonjo breathed a sigh of relief, a heavy, heartfelt sigh that told him and everyone around him that his new racing bike was more or less in the bag, subject to him making sure he made no major fuck-ups, of course.
‘But I do look out for them, Danny, I always try to do my bit.’ This was a smart dig at his father and, as he knew it would, it made Danny Boy grin.
Ange listened to the conversation with a heavy heart. While she was pleased that her life wasn’t the hard round of grafting it had once been, she was sorry her husband had lost out on the love and respect of his children. Even if it was for no other reason than he was a lazy bastard. But he was her lazy bastard and that was the main thing as far as she was concerned.
Danny Boy was getting a bit too above himself, and she didn’t know how to curtail his behaviour any more. Since the loss of the last child he had been distinctly offish with her, and she knew she would have to fight hard to regain any kind of relationship with him before she fought once more for her husband’s place in the household. Life was hard, and getting harder by the day. The wheels of God grind slow, as her mother always said, and she was getting tired of waiting for the outcome.
Her daughter waltzed into the kitchen all shiny hair and perfect teeth and she saw Danny Boy’s face light up. This girl was the highlight of his days, and she knew it, and she made sure her parents knew it too. She was a little madam who needed taking down a few pegs and Ange would wait until that time was upon them, then God help the little mare. She would enjoy smacking the smug look off of her lovely face.
As Annuncia looked at her mother with her usual irritating haughtiness, Ange had to stop herself from lashing out there and then. Instead, she waited till the girl was seated and then she placed a plate of bacon and eggs before her, the tension between them almost palpable.
Danny Boy was observing the usual morning ritual between mother and daughter and, leaning forward in his seat, he barked out loudly, ‘Where’s the thank-you for your mother, then?’
It was said with such anger that both mother and daughter literally jumped with fright.
‘She just cooked you a breakfast, and you waltz in here like the Princess Royal without a word to throw to a dog.’
‘I’m sorry Danny . . . Thanks, Mum . . .’ She was looking at her mother now, her eyes huge with fear and her voice trembling with emotion. She didn’t look in her father’s direction as she was more than aware that he wouldn’t be sticking in his two pence to defend her.
Ange tried to diffuse the situation, her sorrow for this daughter of hers making her earlier annoyance forgotten. ‘She’s only a child, Danny, sure she’s grateful enough, aren’t you, girl?’
Jonjo pushed his empty plate away and sat back in his seat, hoping this latest upset didn’t nause up his chance of getting a racing bike. Trust his sister to fuck up as usual. Danny Boy had once more turned on a coin, reminding everyone sitting round the breakfast table that he was not someone to be taken for granted.
Even Danny Boy was sorry now, sorry for upsetting his little sister, but if there was one thing he couldn’t abide, it was disrespect. And his mother, whatever he might think in the privacy of his own thoughts, was still his mother and, as such, she should be treated with respect if only for no other reason than that.
Book Two
Chapter Ten
1980
The casino was not too busy and Danny Boy scanned the few remaining customers with a practised eye. He smiled and nodded at some of the clientele and deliberately disregarded the others with his usual disdain. He knew who to keep on-side and who to studiously ignore, this had become a part of his daily demeanour. People expected this behaviour from him. He had created a persona; he was friendly to anyone with a name or connections, but not overly obsequious. He treated them all the same, and was quick to reprimand if he thought they had stepped over his imaginary line. Anyone else was below his radar and therefore not worthy of consideration.
At twenty-five he was a big man with huge shoulders that looked good in his expensive suits. His hair was kept short in a college-boy cut, and he held himself well. He had the stance of a boxer, of a much lighter man. He still had his boyish good looks, only now they were marred by the frown lines that had developed over the years. He looked hard, even when he was laughing and joking with people. There was something about him, a dangerous side to him that was evident to most people he came into contact with. When he exploded, which was often in his world, he was a sight to see; his huge muscles rippled with the pent-up anger inside him. He looked what he was; a handful, a looney tunes and, most of all, he looked like someone who was going places. Provided he didn’t get his collar felt, a capture, he was on the road to riches.
As Danny made his way through to the foyer he had his eyes everywhere and, confident that no one was going to get out of order, he slipped through to the small office at the back for a rest.
It was the early hours of Sunday morning and he had a few things to sort out before he finished his day. He went into the small toilet cubicle that was hidden by a thick velvet curtain and, slipping off his jacket, he put the tap on full. As the water got steadily colder he rolled up his shirt sleeves and sluiced his face and neck. The icy cold of the water made him shiver and he dried himself on a rough piece of towel, rubbing hard to warm up his skin. This was something he did regularly: he was often tired out as he worked such long hours at his different jobs. But it suited him; he liked to be busy and he liked to be seen to be busy. It was another string to his already cluttered bow. He heard Michael come into the office and went out to greet him.
Danny had his usual smile on his face and Michael was, as always, amazed at how well he looked, considering.
‘Did you get it?’
Michael nodded, and poured them both a drink while Danny Boy tidied himself up. As he shrugged on his jacket again he said quietly, ‘How’s your mum?’
Michael took a package from the inside of his overcoat and placed it on the desk. ‘She’s still alive, I think even the fucking doctors can’t believe it. But she won’t last long. I put the other eighteen blocks in the usual place.’
Michael gulped on his whisky deeply. Even though she had been a nightmare of a woman, she was still his mother when all was said and done. It was the shame he hated having to deal with, knowing that everyone was aware she was lying in hospital. The DTs had taken over at last, and she screamed and swore about all and sundry while her body finally packed up from the years of boozing. ‘She’s bright yellow, like a fucking daffodil, Dan, and still demanding a drink.’
Danny was quiet for a few moments. He wasn’t sure how to deal with this latest drama in his friend’s life. ‘How’s Mary taking it?’
Michael shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, she turned up just before I left. Kenny dropped her off but didn’t hang around.’
The suppressed anger was in his voice, anger that his sister was sleeping with Kenny Douglas didn’t sit well with him. The man was twenty-five years her senior and he wasn’t what could be called reliable. In fact he was a thug, a vicious, womanising thug. He made his poke by intimidation and using young men looking for a bit of kudos. It was no surprise that he had never seen the inside of a police station; he ran his operation with nothing more than threats and intimidation and his young workforce were more than happy to go down for him if it all came out on top. They wanted to be known as part of his gang; it guaranteed them a measure of respect. Kenny also made sure their families were taken care of, so he came out of it like big benevolent Harry, when in fact he was nothing but a user. He was now using Michael’s sister and it irked him. But because Kenny was still a Face to be reckoned with, with extensive criminal contacts, not least Lawrence Mangan being an old school chum, he had to give him the respect due to him because of that.
‘The man’s a cunt.’
Danny didn’t answer. Instead he opened the package and, holding the block of amphetamine in his hand
s, he ripped off the plastic coating and nibbled on a corner. Within seconds his lips were going numb and he relaxed a little. This was good gear and they would out it in no time. This was the game now; recreational drugs, clubs and gambling. That little sideline had already amassed them enough money to open this place and purchase a couple of boozers. They were keeping a low profile in many respects, but those in the know were watching them with interest, as he had expected. Already they were being approached to do things without Lawrence, and it was all because of this white powder that was suddenly in abundance. He had the contacts, and he had the strength to go it alone. No one could sell it without his express permission, and he made sure that people knew that. Anyone with dreams of being a dealer were soon disabused of that notion with a pick-axe handle and a bicycle chain. Retribution was quick and bloody, as befitted the type of people they were forced to deal with. Now they had it more or less sewn up and it was a serious earner all right. This stuff would make his fortune for him, he was determined on that. Only a few more weeks and they would come out into the open and, when they did, it would be violent and bloody, and it would also catapult them into the stratosphere of criminal enterprise. He couldn’t wait to get started.