by Martina Cole
Lawrence Mangan knew that he had been smartly out-boxed, and he also knew he was not going out without a fight. That these two youngsters could come to his home, his fucking home, and act like they were the dog’s knob was practically beyond his belief. As he looked past them, he saw two of his workforce, his so-called minders, watching the proceedings with vacant eyes and knew that they were in on it. Knew that the men he paid a wage to, who he had been so convinced were his loyal minions, were waiting to see what was going to happen to him. In that moment the fight left his body, and he realised that, for all his money, and his connections, no one was going to come to his aid, even if he could ask them to. As he saw the grinning face of Danny Boy Cadogan, he knew that he would be the only witness of his own demise. When Danny Boy pushed him back into his bedroom, he saw Michael Miles holding a carrier bag full of tools and Danny Boy empty them out onto the bed, and it finally dawned on him that his demise was not going to be quick or, indeed, painless. Danny Boy wanted pay back for every slight he had ever experienced from him, real or imagined. He was going to use him as a warning, as a theatrical occurrence; his death would herald the boy’s entrance into the world of the real grown-ups.
As the seriousness of his situation was sinking in, Danny Boy sliced Mangan quickly and cleanly across both eyes with a box-cutter, the action effectively blinding him in his own blood. As he sank down onto his knees, his hands instinctively covering his face, he could hear himself begging for mercy with all the humility he could manage, with all the self-pity he possessed, and he hated himself for it. He pleaded with the boy to finish him off quickly, to let him go like a man, not to torture him as he had tortured others, because he was, after all, a Face, and that should count for something. Eventually though, he could only weep and plead until, finally, he was simply groaning, accepting his fate and praying that it would be over quickly. But he knew that was impossible; Danny Boy Cadogan was out to set a precedent, was out to make his mark in a spectacular manner. He was guaranteeing his acceptance into the world he wanted so badly to be a part of, to ensure that he was seen as a future main player.
Then, his natural antagonism coming to the fore, he screamed out blindly, ‘Look at me, Danny Boy, look at me long and hard, because one day this will be you.’
Danny Boy laughed at him and then said chirpily, ‘Your eyes look like boiled eggs covered in ketchup. I bet that hurts, don’t it?’ He slapped him none too gently across the face.
Lawrence’s blindness now made him even more frightened than he was before.
‘Remember that old saying, Lawrence? What goes round fucking comes round. How true is that, eh?’
Lawrence could picture young Danny Boy then, from his strong jawline to the powerful shoulders that he never made any attempt to show off, and he knew his eyes would be blank, but his excitement at the thought of a kill would be overwhelming. He had heard all about Danny Boy’s overly casual attitude to violence, even by their standards, but he had never dreamed that it would one day be turned on him. Now he knew that his own viciousness and hatred was coming back to bite him.
Danny Boy was a thug. He had underestimated him and what he was capable of. He also knew that this would bring Danny Boy Cadogan to the forefront of everyone’s minds. A Danny Boy Cadogan was needed, Lawrence understood that now. There hadn’t been anyone even remotely like him for a long time. He was that maverick villain, that mad bastard known to the police as a psychopath and, to his friends and neighbours, as a nice bloke who was afflicted with a terrible temper that, unfortunately, he couldn’t control.
His eyes were screaming with pain, and his body was already going into shock, the tremors so acute he was having difficulty breathing. He could hear Michael moving around as he searched the premises for anything that could be used by them in the future to further their own ends. He knew that his life’s work was going to finally be spent by a couple of fucking thugs without thought or reason, and that he would only be remembered because of his gruesome death. Danny Boy knew what he was doing, and even now he had a sneaking admiration for him, even as he hated him with every bone in his pain-wracked body.
When he heard Danny putting the tools in some kind of order, Lawrence went quiet and he prayed for death as he knew it was inevitable.
Danny Boy whispered in his ear, ‘We’re going to have such fun, Lawrence, and I am determined to make sure you don’t miss out on any of it. I want you around for the grand finale.’
The condition of Lawrence Mangan’s tortured body hit every daily paper, and caused an uproar for a few weeks over its severity and the fact that organised crime was once more safe and well in the capital of this great country. It was eventually knocked off the front pages by a randy vicar whose wife was nearly as amoral as he was.
The events of that dreadful night had worked in Danny Boy’s favour though; he was now not only respected, but also feared as part of the new breed of criminal that was gradually pushing out the older men. The sheer violence they used to gain what they wanted was now becoming commonplace and, amid all these rising stars, was Danny Boy Cadogan with his unique brand of villainy. The Yardies, the Greeks, the Turks and the Chinese all saw him as a force to be reckoned with, as did the majority of the home-grown criminals he consorted with. What no one was saying out loud, however, was that the demise of two men, both classed as social dinosaurs, or agitators, had opened the door to all sorts of new earners. These young men were bringing in new money-making schemes, and were then spreading the wages around with an almost childlike abandon. They were still willing to take the chances and still too young to have succumbed to the fear of being caught, of being found out, and then having to accept the consequences. Ergo, a hefty prison sentence. They were young enough to believe that a twelve would see them come out in their late thirties with enough time on the clock to make their mark all over again.
Between them they had brought in a new lease of life to the older, bomb-damaged generation, and were also giving out work to the younger, more virile members of the community and helping to swell its numbers with much-needed new blood. All in all, the murderous and greedy intentions of these two young men had worked in their favour, even better than they could have predicted. But, like the men they had removed, it could just as easily work against them.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Come on, mare, give us a quick flash and a bacon sandwich.’
Mary laughed lewdly at Danny Boy and he hugged her to him tightly. They were on the beach at Brighton, and she was enjoying their easy camaraderie and grateful that he was happy to wait until she felt ready to take the relationship further. It wasn’t that she was a wilting violet; she had enjoyed her fair share of men, and boys, come to that. But she sensed that this was what Danny wanted from her and she was desperate to please him. He was everything to her now; when he had taken out Kenny it was as if a weight had been removed from around her shoulders. There was no need to lie about bruises or bumps any more. There was no need to try and talk her way out of trouble just because Kenny had decided to be awkward and make her sweat with fright. No more being dragged from the bed by her hair at three in the morning. With Danny Boy she felt safe and secure, actually felt wanted and needed and loved. She didn’t listen to the things that some people were saying about him, the things he was accused of doing, the torture, gun-running, drug-dealing and loan sharking.
She knew that people thought that she was the only person who could bring out the kind and generous side to him; the man who was talked about in hushed tones since the tragic deaths of Donald Carlton and Lawrence Mangan. Rumour was that Lawrence’s kidneys, liver and spleen had turned up in the freezer of an abandoned caravan that had been found dumped in Brighton after weeks of being parked up in Louie Stein’s yard. It had been a five-day wonder at the time, and it had also ensured that Danny Boy Cadogan went down in local folklore as the baddest of the bad. He was revered by the people he had on his payroll and the people he was good enough to earn money for.
Even her brother Michael was now a part of the new generation of Faces, the new order who were rich and successful and not ashamed to show it. Who, thanks to Danny Boy, were able to make a generous living and, because of that, pledged their allegiance to him. Danny understood that to get people on-side, you had to offer them an incentive, make sure that no one else could tempt them away. He did this by giving them a good living, and then encouraging them to invest in his legal businesses. Michael was the one who found the opportunities for legitimising the money they earned; Danny was how they earned it in the first place. And it was a good partnership because of that. Her brother, she knew, didn’t have the killer instinct; that was Danny Boy’s department. And, even though she knew, better than anyone, that the rumours about him were true, it didn’t turn her away from him, if anything, it just added to his attraction. She liked the danger of him, the feeling that, for all his violent reputation, he was soft-hearted where she was concerned. She felt she had tamed him and that, coupled with his new-found status, was more than enough for her. She knew that Michael was not really happy with the situation, but she understood his concerns and brushed them aside. She knew exactly what she was doing and, for the first time in her life, she was really in love.
‘Let’s get married, eh?’
Mary was astonished at his proposal and he laughed at the look of incredulity on her lovely face.
‘Really, Danny?’
He shrugged then, and the power of him was obvious to her. She knew that other women would always be a problem where he was concerned, and she accepted that fact. She knew she had to if she wanted to make a life with him. Men like Danny Boy Cadogan were always going to be around the kind of women who would be willing to be used by him, even if it was just briefly, and feel honoured by that. A few might manage to keep his interest for a longer while, she was a realist, and she accepted that as well. Strange would be laid out on a plate for him all his life; he was a Face and, as such, young girls would always be up for it. Mary accepted that, to be his wife, the mother of his children, she would have to overlook his sexual infidelities. Would have to learn to deal with them, because she also knew that a church wedding would guarantee his loyalty and his respect. Once married, there would be no going back on either side.
Mary knew that a priest marrying them would be her passport to having him constantly by her side. He still attended mass, and he took communion; like her he felt the shadow of the Catholic church in all his daily actions, and she knew that his belief in the sanctity, the sacrament of marriage would always colour his every act, would also bring him back to her, and their children, no matter what. That was important to her now, Kenny had made her realise that what she wanted was love, real love; on her side as well as the man’s. Her mother’s influence was still in place though, Mary wouldn’t have married Danny Boy if he had not been able to provide for her and keep her in the manner she had become accustomed to. She had wanted him since her school days and now she had him. Her feelings for him were a bonus.
As they planned their life together it never occurred to Mary that he might not be the man she believed him to be; she saw him as a romantic hero who had saved her from a man who had hurt her, a man who had known deep inside that she was only with him for what he could give her. Who had known, like Danny Boy knew, that she had slept with more men than was good for any of them. Like many a woman before her, she was seeing Danny Boy as she wanted him to be, and not as the man that he really was. But she loved him, and made plans for their future together, completely unaware that her past would always be between them.
As she hugged him to her, and whispered her words of love, she felt the happiest she had ever felt in her whole entire life. For the first time ever, she was completely secure, totally happy, and his strong arms holding her tightly eased the gaping void that her mother’s death had left in her life. As he slipped his tongue into her mouth she was aroused, as always, and she wished with all her heart that he could have been her first. She had wasted the most precious thing she possessed, her virginity, without realising just how important it was in the great scheme of things. Had never realised that it was the one thing most men prized over everything, and that most women didn’t have the sense to see that it was a one-time only offer. That, once it was gone, it could never be replaced, and she wished that someone, at some point in her young life, could have explained its importance to her. Its emotional importance to the girl in question; for her self-worth and her self-belief.
Mary had seen her virginity as nothing more than a means to an end, something to get rid of, something that was a stigma somehow, when in reality it should have been a means to a beginning, not an end. As a gift to be presented to someone who would appreciate its value and her sacrifice, and treasure the experience with her. She had wasted it, and now she was living with the consequences of her frivolous attitude. Too much, too young, that was her problem, and she regretted her hard-headed approach to life. She would spend her life making up for it, she knew, because Danny Boy would always know that some other man, in fact, many other men, had been there first. And she wished to Christ that was not the case.
But, like many a woman before her, she had to live with her foolish actions and try to make the best of what she had. He had killed for her, how many women could claim that kind of devotion? And what more could he do to prove his loyalty?
Louie was smiling at Danny Boy and Michael as they walked towards his scruffy old offices; he was rich as Croesus but he still had the same tatty old Portakabin he had always had in his yard. He possessed plant worth in excess of half a million pounds. His car crusher alone was worth more than most politicians’ houses. But he was old school, and didn’t believe in bringing attention onto himself by looking like he was in possession of a few quid. By being what he termed ostentatious. Unlike these two, with their Jaguars and their hand-made suits. Even though they were making good coin with their clubs and their other legit businesses, mainly the casinos, to him they were still flaunting their wealth and asking to be investigated. Filth didn’t mind a tickle, and didn’t mind a few bob for extras such as school fees or exotic holidays but, at the end of the day, if they were told to scrump someone’s wages, they would. It was the nature of the beast, and they would go scrumping without a second’s thought, because they were first and foremost Old Bill, and they had to be seen to be doing their jobs. They couldn’t put themselves in the frame, could they? It stood to reason that they would have to have a spring clean at some point, that was why they were often referred to as Filth. But, as always these days, he kept his own counsel; he had voiced his opinions about all this on many occasions and seen the polite smiles and barely suppressed irritation his words had caused. His advancing age had suddenly made him a muppet, and he was sorry that his knowledge and advice, gained over many years in the game, were not seen as the jewels of wisdom he believed them to be. But, being a man of sensitivity and crafty intelligence, he had wiped his mouth and kept his thoughts to himself. These were young men without any kind of fear where Old Bill or illegal enterprises were concerned, and that was their prerogative. Personally, he had never sailed too close to the wind, but then a wife and five daughters could do that to you.
What he did know though, was that Danny Boy was the reason he was suddenly getting so much work offered to him; his instincts all those years ago had paid off, plus, unlike everyone else, he genuinely liked the boy. Michael Miles though, was a different kettle of fish; the jury was still out on him as far as he was concerned, though Louie knew that Danny would always keep him in his place. Danny Boy was the thug in their equation, he was the brawn, not the brains. Danny didn’t have the staying power; once he started something he was already looking for the next thing to add to his agenda. The day-to-day running of it was not for him; he was the grafter, the hunter. He wasn’t the accountant. That was the domain of Michael; he was the money man, a natural-born accountant, and he had proved himself a serious contender as far as that was concerned anyway. They
were now worth a small fortune legitimately, and could explain away anything they owned or possessed with the minimum of aggro; Michael had seen to that. But the point was, they were still drawing too much attention to themselves, and that was never a good thing in their game. This was still a country that attempted to uphold its laws and, with the advent of the serious crime squad and the IRA causing murders, literally, it was also a country looking for people to blame. Those blamed were generally from the normal criminal fraternity, only now their nefarious earnings, from anything from the bets to knocked-off clothes or electrical goods, were said by the Government to be in some way financing the Irish cause. It was shite, and everyone in the know was well aware of that; the Irish had their own fucking network, they didn’t need anyone else. They had money coming in from America, from all over. But it was a good enough reason to bring the public on-side, and it had worked, and that was why their world was now a dangerous place, especially if you were not sensible enough to keep a low profile. Still, Danny Boy had the back-up of enough people to make sure he was protected.
As Louie grinned at them both inanely, he opened his office door wide and, motioning with his head to the young lad who was now fulfilling Danny Boy’s old job to leave them alone, he sat back behind his desk. Opening the bottom drawer he took out a bottle of Bell’s whisky and had poured them a drink by the time they had removed their expensive overcoats and sat themselves down.
His drink was the largest, and he gulped at it before saying merrily, ‘So, what brings you here?’
As if he didn’t know.
Annie was watching her future sister-in-law as she examined her wedding dress with the same exactness as a bomb-disposal expert would a defused explosive. She was even checking over the hand-stitching on the seams, and Annie felt the usual annoyance building up inside her. That Mary was beautiful didn’t bother her; she knew she was as beautiful in her own way. It was the fact that Mary, through the simple act of being her brother’s intended, now generated the interest and friendship of just about everyone she came into contact with. Annie understood that to an extent; she generated a similar reaction, but it still galled her. She had expected to be asked to be a bridesmaid, as was usual, but the offer had not been extended. She knew that Mary was uneasy about it and, as she couldn’t take it out on her brothers or her mother, she was quite happy to take her ire out on her sister-in-law to be. It was bad enough that she had been punished by her family for what they saw as her lapse in morals; knowing that Mary had lapsed far more times than she had was something she found hard to digest. Her mother had not really given her the time of day since the debacle with Ian Peck, neither had Jonjo; in fact he had made a point of ignoring her at every available opportunity. Only her father had bothered to treat her with anything even resembling kindness, but then she had always been his favourite. Danny Boy, however, had not really been any different towards her, so she could only assume he didn’t know the whole story. If he had, surely she would have heard about it by now? So she was pleased she had not had to face his wrath along with her mother’s. She had been severely battered, and she knew Danny Boy would have accepted her mother’s explanation for her bruises by saying that she had mouthed off, or stayed out too late. A hammering was not out of the question where she was concerned, even one as vicious as she had experienced at her mother’s hands.