by Martina Cole
Donald had no intention of letting him get away with this. Like Danny Boy Cadogan before him, Donald would rather die than be seen to be a coward, or treated like a cunt in public without any kind of retaliation. He actually wanted this showdown now. He had a point to prove and he would prove it with as much bloodshed as he was capable of. After all, he had nothing to lose now, did he? He might as well be hung for a sheep as a fucking lamb.
‘Are you going to fucking get stuck in, Jonjo, only I ain’t got all fucking night.’
Jonjo Cadogan had finally met his nemesis. He looked at the men gathered around him, saw the feral looks on their faces, and the pleasure the good hiding he was about to receive would give them and, for the first time ever, he knew he was on his own. He was finally aware of how well Arnold looked after him, at how easy Arnold made his life. And how hard he made Arnold’s, by causing an international incident before EastEnders had come on the box. He caused ag without a second’s thought to what the consequences might be. The consequences never occurred to him, why would they? He was Danny Boy Cadogan’s brother and only a lunatic would take him on. Like all cowards, he was wondering how he could talk his way out of this predicament when the first blow landed squarely on his jaw. He went down like a sack of shit, as everyone who had witnessed his humiliation described the scene to anyone who would listen to them. This had been a long time coming, and they had known that far better than he did.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘So this Donald kicked the shit out of you, is that what you’re telling me?’
Jonjo nodded. His head was swollen like a football, at least that was how it felt, anyway.
‘You fucking liar, Jonjo. Why lie to me, of all people?’
‘I ain’t. He fucking jumped me when I weren’t expecting it.’
Danny Boy held up his hand as if exhausted, as if he was bored by it. ‘I heard he floored you with one punch, after you had offered him out and insulted him first, of course.’
Danny Boy’s voice was neutral once more and Jonjo knew that was dangerous. When Danny Boy had an inflection of some sort in his words you were safe. If what he said was without any kind of resonance you were basically fucked. He knew he was fucked. Knew the story had been already relayed over and over to this brother of his. He now knew he was in the wrong, and was expected to put his hand up like a good little boy.
Danny sat on the edge of his bed, the bed their mother had made so carefully, and he smiled into his brother’s eyes before grabbing him savagely by the throat. Then he forced Jonjo’s head back on to the pillows, pillows that had been so carefully arranged earlier by the woman who had borne them both and, squeezing his throat until he struggled to breathe, he finally released his hold and said quietly, ‘You must think I am a cunt. Do you think I am a cunt, Jonjo? Is that it, is that why you fucking shame me in front of my friends and, worse still, my enemies? Even Arnold has had enough of you, and I paid him to watch over you. Everyone has had enough of you, Jonjo. Me included.’
Jonjo was now shrinking back as far away as he could from his brother and his anger. That the anger was justified just made it worse, because he knew he had no real argument any more. He couldn’t even lie his way out of this one as he would normally.
Arnold, he knew, would have ensured that last night’s little debacle didn’t get that far, he would have nipped it in the bud. Suddenly he wished he had appreciated the man more when he had the fucking chance. Instead, he had treated him like the hired help, like a no one, like a fucking ice cream.
‘As of now, you are out, Jonjo. I’m giving you a club to run to save face, mine not yours, and you had better fucking make a good job of it. If you don’t, you’ll be out in the cold like a fucking polar bear on a big date. I ain’t carrying you no more, mate. You had a chance and you blew it. Now, I am giving you another one, so be fucking warned.’
And with that Danny left the room without another word. His anger was still there though, like an electric current that crackled between them. Jonjo knew that he was on his last chance this time, knew he had to try and make some sort of peace with his brother sooner rather than later. He knew that Danny Boy didn’t give a shit about him either way, never had. It was a sobering thought, all right. Jonjo heard Danny Boy storm down the stairs and slam the front door with such force that it seemed to rock the very foundations of the building.
‘Can we go and see Mummy, now?’ Leona’s voice brooked no argument and her adamant little attitude made Danny Boy want to laugh. It also made him proud of her, proud that she had that kind of loyalty inside her. She got it from him, he knew he had instilled it in her. He also knew that she was the kind of kid who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Danny Boy kissed her gently on the cheek and, when she moved her head away from him, he felt a pain that was so intense it was like a knife twisting in his heart.
‘What’s wrong, eh? Why are you turning away from me?’
Leona looked at the huge man who was her father, and who she already knew was the terror of everyone around them and, hearing the pain and the angst in his voice, she said with exasperation and a childish honesty, ‘You smell of beer and cigars, it’s gross. You smell worse than Mummy.’ She was breathing heavily, her little chest rising and falling noisily. Her eyes were full of tears, and her voice was caught up in her loneliness.
Leona loved her mother, they both did, and Danny knew that was right, he knew that was how it should be. But it still hurt him.
He had brought them to his latest amour’s house, had hoped they might like it here, hoped they might have felt better away from the drunk they had to contend with on a daily basis. He should have known better. It would take more than a few promises and some expensive new toys to get these two to change their allegiance.
‘Just stay one night and me and Michelle will make sure you have the best time ever, won’t we, Mish?’ The girl nodded as she was expected to, her pretty face and her natural kindness to the fore. But the two girls still shook their heads in denial.
‘No,’ said Leona stubbornly. ‘I don’t like it here, Daddy. I want to go and see my Mummy. We both do.’
Lainey nodded at her sister’s words, too frightened to say anything for herself. This house, with its loud colours and even louder mistress, frightened her. As did the thought of having to stay here all the time. ‘Please, Daddy. We want to go home now.’
Danny looked into Lainey’s eyes and saw the way she had reacted to her surroundings. He saw how both of his daughters didn’t feel relaxed with him or with this new scenario. He was angry at their rejection of him, and they knew this, but he was aware that his anger didn’t make them pretend that they felt this was all all right. They loved him enough to be honest with him. He appreciated that; he also knew they were not impressed with this latest set-up of his.
‘Don’t you like it here, then? You’d rather be with a drunk, is that what you’re saying?’
Leona nodded furiously and, raising her eyebrows in deep annoyance, she said unhappily, ‘Well, yeah. At least that drunk’s our mother. We don’t want to live with anyone else, not even you. You can live here if you want. But don’t make us live here, Dad. We want our own home and our own mum. Just because you don’t want her, doesn’t mean that we don’t.’
Lainey nodded sadly. As always, she waited for her sister to test the waters of their father’s anger. ‘Please, Daddy. We want to go home. To our real home.’ Then she started to cry, the fat tears falling fast and furiously. Her lovely face was screwed-up in pain and her fat cheeks red with her distress. ‘I want my mummy, my mummy. Not that lady. Please, Daddy . . . take us home.’
Danny nodded then, and took them both out to his car without another word. Settling them into the back seats, he placed the seat belts around them gently. Both girls were quiet now, their beautiful faces strained and their eyes full of fear and worry. Getting into the driving seat Danny didn’t start the car up. Instead, he asked them with as much kindness as he could muster, ‘You would rather
be with your mother than with me, is that it?’
Leona had been sidestepping questions like this since she could remember. She knew how to play the game and she was already adept at being a diplomat. ‘No. It’s not that and you know it. We just want to go home, we want our mum and our dad. But not that lady, or any other lady. We have a mum, and we love her like we love you. We need her, Daddy.’
Danny started the car then and drove them straight back to their mother. He watched them in the rear-view mirror, saw the way they looked at each other in relief, and sighed. The way they held each other’s hands impressed him all over again; their loyalty and closeness, not only to each other, but to the woman who had birthed them. And, as much as he wanted to smash their relationship with their mother apart, he just couldn’t do it. Not while they needed her, cared so deeply for her, anyway.
They drove back to the house in silence, and as they had both run into their mother’s arms and as he saw her hug them both to her tightly, he wondered at the invisible cord that kept a child loving a parent, no matter how bad that parent might be.
Michelle had given him a child, a son, a child he had no real care for. Not in the same way he did these two anyway. Unlike these two girls, the boy engendered no real feelings inside him. None of his outside children did. He had no real love for any of them, or their mothers. Not even the lovely Michelle. It was nothing personal, she was a lovely girl, as lovely girls went. But lovely girls were ten a penny to him in his world. They were the norm; after all, when you hit the big time, ugly birds were not an option. But he knew deep inside that his drunken wife would always get far more of a reaction from him than any of his paramours. And it made him confront a truth he had not ever admitted to until now, though it had always been there in the background of his life. Now, as he saw his two little girls, his hearts, both so desperate for her company, for her embrace, he wondered at how she had made them love her almost as much as he loved her. And he did love her, when it suited him to, anyway. Danny drove away with a squealing of tyres and a crunching of gravel that satisfied the anger that was building up inside him once more.
Michael and Arnold were both in the North Pole pub on the North Pole Road, Shepherd’s Bush. They were celebrating Arnold’s new-found standing, and Michael was ostensibly there to give him some advice about the status he now held in their community. In reality, however, they both knew they were just reiterating the bond that had grown between them, and were making sure that they would not leave each other out of any equation that might benefit either of them in some way in any future activities.
‘Donald Hart did you a real favour. Even Danny Boy’s had enough of Jonjo now.’
Arnold nodded. His huge head, with its thick dreads, looked far too big for his body. Yet it gave him a look that, even now, was causing more than a few side glances from the females in their vicinity. Michael sat back in his seat and observed this phenomenon; Danny Boy had the same effect on women; they noticed him as soon as he walked in a room. He guessed it was because of Danny’s size, but then he wasn’t a small man. But Danny Boy carried his size with calculated ease. He also had the added advantage of always looking as if he was on the hunt; he looked at every woman with a twinkle in his eye that told them they were now well in his radar, and that his notice could change their lives. Which it would, only not in the way they anticipated.
Arnold sipped his pint of Guinness and smiled slightly. ‘I can’t believe this has happened at last. I really thought Danny Boy would let blood out. Would fuck me off.’
Michael shook his head. ‘Danny Boy has one thing that keeps him on top, and that is that he never knowingly backs a loser. He put you in place to keep an eye on his little brother and he probably was impressed that you waited so long before you complained about him. Danny Boy is a lot of things, but a fool ain’t one of them. What does worry me though is that he is displaying all the signs of a mad half hour. He gets them periodically and, when he does, there is nothing or no one who can talk him round. So, this is a word to the wise. You think you’ve seen his dark side, well you ain’t seen nothing yet.’
Arnold sighed heavily; he was looking around him and wondering at a life that had given him so much and yet asked for so little. He coughed, putting the back of his hand over his mouth in a gentlemanly way. He had half-expected something like this, had known that Michael would want him as an ally, it stood to reason. After his faux pas before, when he had more or less accused Danny Boy of being a grass, he welcomed this new development with not only apprehension, but also happiness. It meant he was finally inside the inner sanctum of the Cadogan organisation. If Michael wanted him on-side, then he had an opportunity to really make his mark in the world. It was an unholy alliance in many ways, they both knew they would be in league together against the one man.
Arnold nodded gently once more. Looking into Michael’s eyes he raised his glass in a gesture of acceptance, his whole demeanour telling Michael that he understood him perfectly. That he knew exactly what he was asking of him, wanted from him. And that he was willing to do whatever was necessary to keep their lives sweet.
Everyone knew that Danny Boy sailed close to the wind, that his violence had the desired effect on most people. It was also common knowledge that this same violence, when left unchecked, when it was for no other reason than someone had pissed him off, could also prove to be all of their downfalls.
Up until now, Michael had managed the damage limitation, but it was getting harder and harder to make good with the wronged parties each time something happened. Danny Boy had taken out a Filth, and that would not be forgotten lightly, even by the bent coppers they dealt with on an almost daily basis. It was impossible to have an organisation of their stature without the hidden approval of the government agencies. Everyone needed money these days, and money was something they had in abundance. Since Spain, they were worth more than most multinationals and they lived well, but not too well of course. No need to advertise their success, it was enough that they knew the extent of it without the taxman and such like wanting a large slice as well. They would one day live like kings and enjoy the benefits of their wealth. That was something for the future though, when they were well away from here and well away from harm.
Unfortunately for them, a lot of the Old Bill they bankrolled had the annoying habit of wearing their new-found wealth like a badge of office. It was this that could be the cause of them being investigated by their poorer, less flamboyant, contemporaries. Their ostentatious way of living could cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people and this needed, on occasion, to be pointed out. A Rolex or brand-new Merc didn’t go down too well in a police station or its car park. And, unless someone in their family had died and left them a fucking huge legacy, there was no way of explaining their good fortune away. It brought the spotlight down on everyone, and that was not good for business. Why they couldn’t just ferret the poke away for a rainy day, he didn’t know. It was as if some of the younger men concerned couldn’t wait to fucking show off their new acquisitions to their workmates. Workmates who could, and would, put them away for a long time. Not exactly the most intelligent of beings he knew, but they had their uses, otherwise they wouldn’t be on the payroll in the first place. He also understood the allure of a few quid, how it could affect somebody who had never before had so much spare cash hanging around. That was human nature, and that was what they relied on to recruit these people. Money, huge amounts of it, was what they reeled them in with, and what so often caused their demise. It burned a hole in their pockets, and that in turn could burn a hole right through their heads if they didn’t take the advice to keep a low profile and stop the spending sprees, when offered. It was the downside of sudden wealth, it made people greedy, and he had also noticed how fast they spent their initial payment, and how quickly they came back for more of the same. How they were willing to do more and more for the chance to grab a couple of grand once again. Personally, he liked the gamblers, they never had the money long enough to
flash it around and, if they won, they could put their good fortunes down to a horse, a dog or a card game. It was becoming a real problem though, keeping it all in hand.
This was another reason that Michael had asked young Arnold to meet him here; he was about to have a showdown with someone who could be very useful to them in the future but who needed a seriously threatening word of advice in his shell-like, before he fucked it up for everyone. Himself included.
As if on cue, Detective Inspector Jeremy Marsh walked into the pub. He was a tall, thin man with a long face, big yellowing teeth and a fashion sense that defied belief. He looked, for all the world, like a pimp on his day off. From his blow-dried hair to his hire-purchase signet ring, he looked what he was. A complete and utter fucking idiot. He had on a suit that was as expensive as it was noticeable, the more so because it was at least two sizes too large for him. That, Michael assumed, was due to the cocaine habit Jerry boy had acquired in the last six months. He had the glassy-eyed look of the snorter, the man who didn’t use it to enhance his daily life, or even keep him awake over and above his designated bedtime. This was a man who used it to get out of his box.
Sighing, Michael saw the signs of the paranoid person, all the signs that said this man was beyond any kind of help or friendly advice. He saw someone who was well on the way to saying goodbye to life as he knew it. Plonking himself down on the chair opposite them, Jeremy Marsh smiled widely, his huge mouth stretched to its widest capacity. Not a pretty sight at the best of times, his crazed eyes and coke-sweat made him look even more uninviting to the less drug-inclined of their community. He was wired for sound, of that there was no doubt. He was almost dancing in his chair, the jagged movements overemphasised as he attempted to light a cigarette and order a drink at the same time. The hand holding the lighter was waving towards the crowded pub as he tried, unsuccessfully, to place a cigarette into his mouth.