Faces

by Martina Cole

As her two young daughters started to wail with her, frightened by their mother’s obvious suffering, Danny Boy just laughed louder and louder. The beautiful house he had bought for them was resounding with the noise of his vicious laughter and his family’s despair. It was then that Mary finally knew, once and for all, that this had to stop.

  Jonjo was savouring his pint, he loved the first pint of the day; it was like the first fix when he had been on the brown years ago. Only, instead of floating up to cloud nine, he wafted towards the men’s toilets. He could piss for England when he got a thirst on, and he had found out quite by accident that he could take his drink. So he had embraced his new pastime with a fervour that had astounded him. For all his drug-taking he had never really liked alcohol, only consuming it to keep him chilled until the next hit. Now though, it made him feel alive, made him aware of his surroundings, and exacerbated the sounds from the music on the jukebox. He loved it. In fact, unbeknownst to him, he was one of the large breed of men and women who should not drink. It made him aggressive, it made him opinionated and, worst of all, it made him reckless.

  Sitting in the Blind Beggar he looked around him at the clientele and smiled happily. He was on a good vibe; it was later on, when he had downed ten pints in the belief that he was sober and able to take his drink, that the nastiness would emerge. When someone asked him to go away, or a girl asked him to leave her alone. Or a cab driver would refuse to let him in because he was chundering all over the pavement. That was when he convinced himself that all these people, these strangers, were out to put him on a downer. The misconception that he was happy and everyone else was a miserable bastard would creep into his psyche and he would suddenly decide that the only way to sort it out once and for all was to either glass someone, nut someone, or punch someone, depending on who he decided to fight with on that particular occasion. It was only the fact that he was Danny Boy’s brother that had stopped someone from harming him, but he had not sussed that out yet. But for now, he was happy; he was enjoying the first flush of the lager and debating whether to have a whisky chaser.

  It was cold out, and he watched as the people around him talked and laughed. He saw them remove their winter coats and settle themselves down for a night’s drinking and chatting. He felt the warmth from the heating, coupled with the general camaraderie, and decided he would have one more pint, then go and meet his brother at a little drinking club they frequented in south London. He knew he was already late, but he decided to have another pint anyway.

  When Danny Boy and Michael walked in two hours later, he was convinced that they had actually arranged to meet there all along. He tried to explain that to his brother who, he noticed quickly, was not giving him his full attention. That was rather annoying, and he was pleased with himself for not rising to the bait and arguing with him.

  Danny Boy was not in a good mood, he could tell, and Michael Miles was in an even worse mood. It occurred to Jonjo that he was very unlucky in many respects. All he wanted was to be happy, but everywhere he went people were determined to be fucking miserable.

  Ange was making herself some cocoa when the back door opened and Danny Boy carried Jonjo inside. He was roaring as usual, and she kept quiet as she listened to Danny putting his brother to bed. The banging and crashing as he tried to get him up the stairs was like someone scratching their nails across a blackboard, setting her teeth on edge. The eventual shouting and hollering of Danny Boy was the last straw.

  Ange sat at her kitchen table and, lighting a cigarette, she waited patiently for Danny to come back down. She had automatically made him a cup of cocoa as well, knowing he liked a hot drink in the cold weather.

  As he walked into the kitchen, his huge frame making the normally spacious room look small, she pointed at the hot drink and was pleased when he sat down at the table with her. ‘Thanks, Mum. This is just what I needed.’

  He took a few sips before saying loudly, and with deep annoyance, ‘I had to clump him in the end. Fucking real, ain’t it? Got him off the skag and he’s gone on the piss. He’s like the old man, if it ain’t one thing with him, then it’s another.’

  She didn’t answer him; she was, as always, subdued in his company these days. He noticed it, but he chose to ignore it. Even he didn’t want to admit to himself that his own mother was terrified of him. But he knew that she was and it galled him.

  ‘He needs sorting out, Mum, and I am going to fucking sort him out once and for all.’ He laughed at his own words and she smiled on cue.

  He placed his mug gently on the table and, looking into his mother’s eyes, he said quietly, ‘Talk to me will you, Mum?’

  She looked so old and so small that it occurred to him she might not be around for as long as he expected. She was so thin now, the weight had dropped off her steadily over the last few years, and she was completely grey now as well. And not even bothering to hide it any more. The wrinkles on her face were deep grooves, and he felt his own age creeping up on him as he looked at her.

  ‘What do you want to talk about, son?’ She was talking to him like he was a stranger. As if she was just humouring him. And this was the woman who had birthed him, who had cared for him.

  Danny felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to lay his head on her chest and cry, as he had done so many times before, when he had been a kid and someone had hurt him. This woman would always be there to comfort him, to hug him, she had wanted him when he thought no one else in the world did. She had fed him, taught him to walk and talk. She had worked every hour God sent to make sure he was clothed, secure, and he had never once thanked her for that. He had treated her badly, and he wished now that he had not been so judgemental. So harsh in his treatment of her. But, when she had accepted her husband back into her bed after all the upset he had caused, after all he had been forced to do, because of his father’s recklessness and selfishness, something inside him had died.

  Now though, tonight, he wished he had not been so hard on her, she was after all his mother and she had loved him. She had loved her husband more, that was the problem. But he understood her, in a strange way, he knew it wasn’t anything personal. Not really, she was just selfish, and her selfishness had destroyed them in the end.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum, for all the hurt I’ve put you through, over the old man, over everything really. I am truly sorry.’

  He sighed heavily, her sadness was communicating itself to him, and he was sorry for that. He just wanted her to get on with her life. Wanted her to understand how they felt about what his father had done to them. And what he, Danny Boy, had done for them. ‘I just wanted to provide for us all, you know. Just for once, Mum, I wanted Jonjo and Annie to not be the scruffy kids in the class. The poor kids whose mum was out cleaning every other fucker’s house. I wanted us all to be somebody, just once, to not be Cadogan the drunkard’s kids, the gambler’s kids. I just wanted us to be like everyone else. Just for once.’

  Ange felt a rush of sorrow, that this son of hers, her first-born, had been reduced to thinking like that about his own family. And she knew then that it was her fault he had turned into the man he was. But then she had always suspected that her part in his life had not been exactly what others would regard as helpful. She had used him, used all of them at some point, to get what she had wanted.

  Grabbing her son’s hand she held it tightly to her chest and, shaking her head in denial, she said brokenly, ‘I don’t know what we would have done without you, Danny Boy, you kept us going. I know that, son.’ Her heart was aching with the love she felt for this child of hers.

  He hugged her then, and she enjoyed his embrace for the first time in years. She had glimpsed the young Danny Boy for a few moments; she had seen the child whom she had once adored. The kind lad who had somehow disappeared one day, and who she thought would never again return. She was desperately sorry for this huge, unhappy man because she knew he was broken, and he had been broken so badly that he could never be fixed. Something had snapped inside him all those years ago, and he had
become bitter and vengeful overnight. A spiteful and cruel man had emerged, and she knew that was why he was now a Face. He had that streak of hate running through him that the real Faces were all in possession of because, without it, they wouldn’t be the men they were. But she also knew that in her Danny Boy, unlike most of the Faces around town, that streak of hatred had spilled over into every aspect of his life and ruined any chance of happiness he might have had. He was a ferocious bully who had no qualms about persecuting anyone he felt deserved his attention. Even his poor wife and kids. She was partly responsible for all that, deep inside she knew it, and she swore to herself that she would try and help him and his family as much as she could in the future. It was the least she could do really. Considering.

  Michael was walking around the casino, greeting the more salubrious members and giving the newer ones the once-over. It was packed out, and the luxurious leather banquettes were full of good-looking young girls, all in evening dresses, all hoping for a punter with a winning streak. It was funny how the men who gambled seriously liked a beautiful woman beside them, never their wives of course, egging them on. He had decided long ago it was an ego thing, a showing off of their wealth and power to young girls who, they knew, had nothing in comparison. But, personally, he didn’t give a shit; he provided the companions, as they were called, in the same way he provided the roulette tables or the poker rooms. It was all the same to him, just profit.

  He could smell the peculiar aroma of a casino; expensive aftershave and perfume and, underlying that, the dirty smell of money. Money did stink; he had found that out many years before. It was filthy because it was handled so much, a five-pound note could change hands more often in one day than a junkie’s kit. He smiled at the simile. But it was true, the Queen of England could handle it in the morning and, by the evening, it could be nestled in the dirty hand of a horse trader. So money, as much as he loved it, did have a stench to it. He knew that diseases could be passed on through money as well; scabies for one. That fact alone was enough to get him using a credit card. As he glanced around the room he saw a dark-haired girl with a slim frame and a wide mouth dipping into a punter’s chips every time he turned away. He motioned for one of the waitresses to come over to him, and asked her who the girl was, on the quiet. She had no idea, and that pleased him anyway. Because it meant she didn’t work here, so she was either with the man she was fleecing, or she had coaxed herself in with a regular.

  He settled by the bar area and watched her for a while. She had bony wrists, and for some reason this made him smile. She had long dark hair and oval-shaped grey eyes. In her navy-blue velvet dress she looked every inch the lady. And she was robbing the punter she was with blind. Kissing him, rubbing up against him, clapping her hands delightedly as he placed his bets; she was a professional all right; half-inching his chips and putting them in her shoulder bag with an ease that said she had done it before.

  As Michael watched her work, he saw that she was also working another man, and it was this man who now interested him. He was a good punter, and a high roller. He was also that rarest of gamblers, a good loser. Good losers were few and far between; they were normally people who could more than afford the losses they incurred and just enjoyed the evening’s entertainment. They were seriously rich, with no agenda, and they enjoyed beating the bankers.

  As the girl started to home in on him, Michael walked over nonchalantly. The man she had arrived with was not pleased with her change of allegiance, and he was also scrutinising his piles of chips. She had been palming his fifty-pounders, and he was suddenly wondering if he might have been fleeced by her. A loser would blame anyone except themselves. Not that he could prove anything of course. But, smiling in a friendly fashion, Michael suddenly grabbed her firmly by the arm, saying quietly into her ear, ‘Excuse me, miss, could I have a quick word?’

  She looked him over for long moments before shaking her head slowly. ‘No, you can’t.’

  She had a low, well-modulated voice. And she turned from him as if he had just asked her to flash her tits to all and sundry. He grinned, impressed with her cool demeanour. ‘Listen, this is my casino, darlin’, and if I want to speak to you, I fucking will.’ He was getting annoyed by her attitude now and his voice had risen slightly.

  She turned back towards him and smiling easily, her perfect teeth making her look like an advert for Colgate, she said haughtily, ‘Will this take long?’

  He shook his head and she was sensible enough to follow him to the office without further conversation. Once inside, he shut the door firmly and said coldly, ‘Give me the money.’

  She grinned then, still as cool as a cucumber. ‘And what money would that be?’

  Michael sighed heavily, blowing out his cheeks noisily before saying loudly, ‘Open the fucking bag, lady, before I rip it off your arm and ram it down your throat. You are on a warning as of now. I don’t like my punters getting dipped. Now, open the fucking bag before I really get annoyed.’

  She smiled again, and he noticed in the harsh glare of the office lights that she wasn’t as young as he had first thought. She was at least thirty, but the way she had dipped, she had to have had a lot of experience. It was unusual though for this type of girl to come in here. Their names and their status in the criminal community should have been enough of a deterrent for them. The names Cadogan and Miles could stop the hardest men in their tracks, therefore a fucking pickpocket should have been a doddle. It was a fucking piss-take. But he swallowed his knob, as always trying to keep the peace. Anyway, she wasn’t worth rowing over.

  She opened the soft suede bag and he saw it was almost full of chips. She had about a grand’s worth in there, maybe more. Not a bad little earner. He removed them quickly.

  ‘If I ever see you in here again, I’ll have you forcibly ejected. Do you understand me?’

  She nodded, still with the arrogant stance and the sneer that told him she thought this was all amusing to her. She was lovely, it was a shame she had such a lairy attitude. He guessed she was on the game as well because she had that knowing look that told him, and any man in her orbit, that she was definitely up for purchase.

  ‘I think the trouble with this place is that it hasn’t got any real protection. I slipped through, and I think you should consider getting some proper doormen. I work for Ali Fahri, he can arrange that for you.’

  Michael didn’t know whether to laugh at her front, or slap her for her cheek. He opted for the laugh. ‘Who the fucking hell is Ali Fahri while he’s at home?’

  Michael had never heard the name before so he assumed he couldn’t be anyone he should be interested in.

  ‘He’s your worst nightmare, darling.’ She walked from the office then, her dress, from the back, showing the world that she was quite heavy on the hips.

  Grinning at her front, Michael poured himself a brandy and put the incident out of his mind. But she had a point, how had she got past the door in the first place? He decided to have a fucking almighty tear-up when they closed, and remind everyone that he paid their wages. He was annoyed, she was a skank, and she should never have got as far as the foyer, let alone into the club itself. But she had a point and that was what was really annoying him.

  Danny Boy was still brooding about his brother’s latest escapade and he was determined to get him finally sorted. As he pulled up outside the home of Louie Stein he wondered at how his life had shaped up. He sat in the car for a few moments observing Louie’s drum. It was a nice old gaff, not palatial, or over-opulent, but a nice enough house all the same. He thought of his own home, which was palatial and opulent, to most of the people he knew anyway, and he decided that he hated the fucking place. As he walked up the path, Louie opened the door and, as he stepped into the warmth of his central heating, he sighed happily. ‘You have that heating on too high, but for the first few minutes of coming inside it’s fucking handsome, but only when you first come in out of the cold. After that it’s fucking terrible.’

  Louie laughed as
they walked through to the kitchen. On the kitchen table was a bottle of brandy and a plate of sandwiches, Danny was already eating one before he had even sat down. He stuffed it into his mouth, holding it between his teeth, and shrugged off his heavy overcoat.

  Louie poured them both a large drink before saying happily, ‘You and your stomach! I remember when you were a boy. Always with the food!’

  Danny Boy laughed with him. ‘I remember you bringing in all sorts of Kosher grub, bleeding handsome that was and all. I used to pop into Blooms for their food every now and then because of it, but it wasn’t as good as your wife’s.’

  Louie smiled happily. ‘My father always told me, a good cook is better than a good fuck. And I told you that years ago, remember? A fuck you can get anywhere, but a decent meal lasts longer and, in the long run, is much more satisfying.’

  They laughed together once more. Danny Boy always enjoyed Louie’s company. He could relax with him, this man had known him all his life, at least all his working life anyway. He still kept his ear to the ground and fed him titbits of information he thought Danny Boy might find interesting.

  Once or twice a month Danny popped by, and he pretended it was work, but he actually enjoyed seeing the old sod. Louie, he knew, had been fucking good to him, and he would never forget that. As he had got older he had realised just how much Louie had actually done for him. Danny was ashamed now at his youthful arrogance, at how he had taken this man’s livelihood without a second’s thought, just because he had wanted it. He had given him a fair price, but he knew now that the yard had been what had kept Louie going. All his talk of selling up had been just that. Talk. Since he had retired, he had got older by the day, had shrunk somehow. Got a lot smaller, and a lot nosier. Danny knew he just wanted to be a part of things still, and he wondered if he would be like that one day in the years to come. He doubted it, he had the strength to keep on top of his game; he had the fucking Smoke tied up. Now Spain was also his, so he had nothing to worry about for the foreseeable future. He was more than capable of seeing off any competition.