by Martina Cole
Arnold said sarcastically, and with as much hatred as he could muster, ‘Yeah? Well, do me a favour, Michael, don’t fucking bother all right? You are fucking out of order, man.’
Arnold was almost beside himself with anger and recrimination; he felt he should have pushed this, pushed the point home when he had first encountered the rumours about Danny Boy while he had the chance. He should have struck while the iron was so hot it was burning a hole through his fucking hand. But he had swallowed, had backed down, and that bothered him now. It bothered him big time. It made him feel like he was a coward, made him feel like he was beneath Danny Boy’s notice. Not good enough to question him or question his behaviour. Even though it affected him and all those around him. He poked a finger into Michael’s face, the anger inside him erupting, ‘Who do you think you are? I mean, Danny Boy is a fucking liability to anyone and everyone he has ever come into contact with. Do you realise that? He is a fucking grass, a fucking twenty-four carat cunt. So I don’t care if he was being shafted up the ring by the chief constable himself, nothing can fucking justify what he’s done. Nothing. He did it with malice aforethought and with the mistaken belief that no one would ever find out about his treachery. Well, we did, and he is a dead man. I will make sure of that, even if you won’t.’
Michael stopped himself from lamping the young man in front of him. Instead he said, through gritted teeth, ‘I know what he did, Arnold, I know it better than anyone. You are preaching to the converted, mate. So don’t fucking get clever with me. All I am trying to say is, he has not had the breaks, not like people think he has. You can’t even imagine what he had to deal with, mate. I am just trying to make sense of this shit, that’s all. I’m trying to find a reason to justify his treachery somehow for my own benefit. You forget that he’s been my best friend, my brother, since we were little kids. This ain’t easy for me, Arnold. I know it should be, but it ain’t.’
Arnold didn’t want to hear any of this, had no intention of letting Danny Boy Cadogan walk away from this in one piece. He was not interested in the reasons for Danny Boy Cadogan’s double life; he didn’t care about that. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing to justify his fucking treacherous behaviour. And Michael Miles should have known that better than anyone.
‘So, are you going to wimp out on me then, Michael? Is that what this is about? Are you going to give him a heads-up, after all we’ve talked about? After all this shit and all this fucking sedition we’ve had to contend with? Are you thinking of protecting him in some way?’
Michael was really annoyed now at his words and, for the first time ever, Arnold felt threatened by his friend. For the first time he saw the Michael that he had heard about but never actually seen for himself. He seemed to grow in stature suddenly, seemed to swell up with ire. He looked, for once, like the big man he really was; he looked menacing and dangerous. He had shed the niceness that he wore like a cloak, and the innate kindness that made people turn to him instead of Danny Boy when they needed to make a point, or ask for mercy. It occurred to Arnold that someone who could have kept Danny Boy’s friendship for all these years had to be stronger than anybody realised. Indeed, had to have a lot more might than he let on to everyone around him.
Stepping angrily towards Arnold, Michael looked almost demonic, his hand was raised in angry denial at what he was being accused of. ‘Don’t you fucking dare to question me, boy. Don’t you even dream that you might have the brains or the sense to question me. I knew this all a long time ago, only I couldn’t bring meself to believe any of it, and neither would a lot of people, which is why we’ve had to box clever. But, if you insinuate anything like this ever again, I’ll fucking rip you in half, you cunt, like a Woolworths’ Christmas card.’
Arnold was already stepping away from him, already understood that Michael was not as easy-going as he made out to be. He knew that he was a dangerous fucker when cornered, and he also realised that Danny Boy had understood that a lot better than he did, than anybody did. Michael was the brains and everyone knew that, but now it seemed that he was also the brawn when necessary. Arnold felt this man’s complete loyalty to his friend, and his inbuilt honesty, and he knew then, that Michael Miles was capable of far more than he or anyone else had ever thought possible.
The last few days had taught him much, but this was the final lesson; never judge a book by its cover. He realised now that Danny Boy had allied himself to Michael Miles, not vice versa, because Danny Boy knew first and foremost that he, Michael, was in actual fact the real deal, especially where their work was concerned. He knew that Michael was the one person who could talk round anybody, could garner the respect and admiration that made Danny Boy’s personality and his natural viciousness seem even more potent. Danny Boy could never have existed without this man and his innate graciousness. It was Michael’s influence that made them such a winning combination, made them so successful. Without Michael Miles, Danny Boy would have been left out on a very precarious limb. It was with stunning clarity that Arnold finally understood that Danny Boy’s natural antagonism would never have made such a dent in their world without being tempered by Michael’s sensitivity. Without his level-headedness, without his decency. Arnold felt the full force of this knowledge in nanoseconds. The real relationship between the two men was suddenly so obvious that he was amazed that he had never seen it before, and he was miffed at his oversight when it should have been blatantly obvious to anyone with an IQ over twenty-five.
Michael was, in many respects, the stronger of the two. Danny Boy had known that from the off, had understood his own failings and, in fairness to him, he had embraced his friend’s strength of character. Hoping it might rub off on him which, of course, had been the case. It was Michael’s nous people depended on, and Danny Boy’s violence if and when everything fell out of bed. And Arnold knew that Michael was far more aware of this than the people they dealt with on a daily basis.
Arnold could only hope now that Michael would keep his sense of fairness and his determination to do the right thing when this finally went down. They had so much to lose, not least their freedom. But, more importantly, their standing in their community, which was the main reason they earned the serious wedge that they did. No one ever questioned their validity, why would they? This was Danny Boy Cadogan and his sidekick Michael Miles. He basked in the same sunshine as they did. They were believed to be both beyond reproach.
‘I am sorry, Michael, I was out of order, mate. But you can’t go round trying to justify Danny Boy’s fucking mentalness, not now, not after all this.’
Michael knew he was talking the truth, but it didn’t make it any easier. Didn’t make him feel any better about himself. They both looked down at the corpse of Jeremy Marsh, and the enormity of what they had done hit them once more. A dead Filth was a real bummer in their community, even a bent Filth like this one. Old Bill had a strange loyalty that had nothing to do with the person in question, but more to do with the police force as a whole. They knew that one plod on the take was one too many for the general public to contend with, and they closed ranks faster than a panda car on a Reliant Robin. It was about saving face, was about the shame and degradation of a bent Filth and a bent life being exposed to the general public. It was about keeping the scum on the inside, and keeping the peace where necessary.
‘I understand that, Arnold, a damn sight more than you ever will. But never again try and front me up, because I ain’t fucking going to swallow next time. And, for all your big fucking trap, and your big fucking talk, if push ever comes to shove I’ll kill you.’
Arnold didn’t answer him, he just nodded. He knew when he was beaten. He knew that this man had beaten him before any of this trouble had even begun. Unlike him, Michael Miles was already more than acquainted with his usefulness in their world and, unlike him, he was more aware of his capacity for violent retribution than he would ever be. It was a learning curve all right.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Danny Boy was gr
inning, and he knew that his smile was worth a fortune in the world he had created for himself. His goodwill was the equivalent to money in the bank for anyone he decided to bestow his good humour upon. He was pleased with Louie’s reaction to his latest problems, trusted the man’s opinion because he had never once put him wrong in all the years they had known each other. He knew he was a bully and, deep down, he knew his bullying was without any kind of reasoning. He bullied because he enjoyed it. He loved the power it gave him, believed that it was the fault of the weakest. Believed it was his destiny, that people like him had been created to prey on those weaker than themselves. It was almost biblical. Even the Bible was full of bullying, in fact, it was all based on bullying. The survival of the fittest. From Cain and Abel, right through the card, from Herod to the fucking Romans. Christ himself was only crucified because the Pharisees paid out good wedge to get Him convicted. A bit like the British judicial system; he who had poke walked free. It was the law of the jungle, the survival of the richest. But, unlike Christ, his father had had about as much clout as a tout at Bow Street Court on a Monday morning. You had to make your own luck in this life, you had to take care of yourself, numero uno, number one, and he had managed to do that, against all the odds. Unlike his hero, Christ, he had no intention of taking up the slack for everyone else. As far as he was concerned and, as much as he admired Him, that was a fatal mistake on His part. It was the one part of religion he had trouble with. He understood the logic, after all he wasn’t stupid, he just couldn’t believe that anyone could be that fucking selfless.
It didn’t make sense. He saw the original church of Jesus as a band of men, a gang after a common goal; to take over everything. Now that, he could associate with. However, he couldn’t see, for the life of him, how anyone with that much power, healing the sick, raising the dead, could just expire, give up the ghost. Leave that kind of power behind without a second’s thought. The fact that He was still being discussed, talked about, even worshipped, two thousand years after the event was a fucking serious heads-up. He never preached sedition, all He ever said was love everyone. And therein lay the reason for Danny Boy’s scepticism. He couldn’t really believe anyone could not use that kind of power for their own good.
Yet he still believed in Him; in His goodness, and His decency. He knew that He just didn’t have that killer instinct, that was, in many ways to His credit he knew; it was also why the Catholic church had to be so fucking snide about a lot of its teachings these days. They knew that good was not enough these days. People wanted more, telly had seen to that. Retribution was the order of the day, and it paid. The belief that Danny was a martyr, however, for the way he took care of Louie, even though he had taken the man’s main livelihood from him, had been remarked on by many people. Like his idol, Jesus Christ; there was a similarity between the two of them. He was under the impression though, that he had the right idea. He kept in close contact with Louie, looked after him, and made sure he was treated with respect by his peers. That was for Louie’s benefit, not his. He knew that would be important to the old man, how he was seen by his peers. Danny Boy understood all that, after all, he wasn’t a fucking Philistine. He had no intention of humiliating the poor old fucker. All he wanted was what he saw as his. No more, and no less. His speciousness against Louie Stein, he felt personally, had gone a long way towards the goodwill he now enjoyed from his main competitors. They felt he had done right by him in the end, even though they knew deep down that he hadn’t. It was easier to believe that, easier to overlook it all. At least, in public anyway.
He knew better than anyone that he had taken Louie’s daily bread, and taken it right out of his mouth, with a smile and cheery wave. Louie had not had the guts to give him a tug, had not even felt confident enough to argue his end. He had allowed Danny Boy to take what he believed was rightfully his and that was expected of him, and they had both acted as if it was all perfectly amicable. Perfectly normal. But, of course, it wasn’t. How could it have been? Danny Boy had taken not only his business, but his pride into the bargain. But fear was a great leveller, and the fear of taking Danny Boy on had ensured Louie’s silence. Ensured that he stayed on board and knew his place, keeping his own counsel. Like everyone else in their so-called circle of friends. His father used to shout at his mother, when she caught him on the cock, that she wasn’t the only fuck in town, and how true that had turned out to be. In every way.
Louie though, knew his place, talked Danny up at every available opportunity, reminding people of Danny Boy’s niche in their world. Danny Boy had insisted on that, had insisted that Louie reminded everyone of his innate kindness, and didn’t let on that he felt that his young friend had basically scalped him. As was the case.
Louie also made a point of telling Danny Boy every bit of gossip he heard, and he heard plenty. He had an ear that heard everything; his years of being in the game had guaranteed him a certain cachet in that respect, people talked to him and he had that rare ability of being a really good listener. Louie could sort the wheat from the chaff, or chav, depending on who was being talked about, and that made him indispensable. He knew there had been talk lately that Danny Boy paid him to find out things for him, and he also knew there were not many people willing to admit that out loud, at least not to his face anyway. But it still rankled. Louie was basically a grass now; when he had been grassing to the Filth he had felt within his rights. He had grassed the scum, the fucking granny beaters, the muggers, the creepers, the burglars. At least that is how he had consoled himself.
Now Louie told tales out of school that really burned, made him feel wrong. Tales that made what he was doing detrimental to his own well being. He felt the disloyalty that he had to use to get the information in the first place, he had even paid for it, so great was his need. He wasn’t that out of order, passing things he had heard on to Danny Boy. Someone would have done the honours anyway, he knew that.
It was a fact, everyone in the know needed a good chatterbox, someone they could trust, someone to keep them involved with what was going on around them so they didn’t have to do the rounds themselves. It kept their feet on the ground as they stepped up the corporate ladder, and kept their fists punching the correct faces. It was no more than good housekeeping, a way to keep one step ahead of your enemies. And Louie, because of his past misdeeds, was the perfect candidate as far as most people were concerned. It kept him on-side. Kept him out of trouble. They knew Danny Boy had taken over from him, and they also wondered whether Louie had really been as agreeable as he had made out at the time. In point of fact, Danny Boy had literally taken all that he had. He had also taken it publicly and with the minimum of fuss. That Danny Boy, as everyone remarked, had this same man to thank for basically everything he had achieved in his life, was unusual to say the least. It was a strange set-up, and though no one would query it outright, a lot of people wondered about Louie’s real feelings about his removal from the scrapyard and this close friendship that seemed able to endure no matter what happened between them.
Ange felt a strange dragging inside her chest and, as she sat in her son’s lovely house, drinking tea and listening to the children play, she wondered if she was feeling the first symptoms of a heart attack. She had a numbness going down her right arm, and she shifted her position slightly to ease it. The house was relatively quiet, and she liked that today. She enjoyed the sound of the kids in the background. They were good girls, kind and gentle. She knew that was Mary’s influence, even with the drink overtaking her. And, in reality, who could blame the girl? Anyone would drink if they had to deal with Danny Boy on a daily basis, had to keep him sweet and pander to his wants and his needs. Her own life, like poor Mary’s, was fraught with problems and, like her daughter-in-law, these were mainly because her son was a vicious tyrant. His latest victim was his own brother. Danny had no time for anyone, let alone poor Jonjo, who he had always seen as a rival for her affections. Everyone was a rival, as far as he was concerned,
Sometimes,
God forgive her, Ange hated Danny Boy for the way he made her feel. She had even wished him dead on more than one occasion. She knew this was a terrible sin and that she should be sorry, but she had a feeling that even He might sympathise with her.
Yet Danny Boy had always been a church-goer, had always been a great believer in the Lord God and, she sometimes wondered uncharitably, if it was because he saw a lot of himself in Him. He had always believed that he was beyond any kind of man-made laws, beyond any kind of retribution. He had always believed that he was better than everyone else. Especially since he had taken out his own father. He thought he was beyond all laws, and now he had fallen out with Michael and that worried her because Michael Miles was the only person Danny Boy had ever really cared about.
From the moment her husband had gambled away money that they didn’t have, Danny Boy had changed, and she felt responsible for that change deep inside herself. If she had not taken her husband back then so much hatred and violence could have been avoided. Her elder son had never forgiven her for what he saw as her betrayal.
And, now that she was old and alone, terrified of her children and what it seemed they were all capable of when backed into a corner, she understood the damage she had done. She felt the useless tears of old age and disappointment rolling down her withered cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away. Her Annie, who should have been her rock, her second heart, had no real time for her, and who could blame her? She had never bothered with her or Jonjo. She had never attempted to get close to them in any real way. Now she was paying the price for her fickleness, for her neglect. The pain in her chest was like a tight band, and she tried to ease it by bending forward in her chair. Her face screwed-up with the pain and the disappointment of her life and love. The pain was like a knife being shoved into her heart and she couldn’t breathe with the ache of it. Even the lovely surroundings that usually cheered her up, that made her forget her son’s real personality, didn’t seem to be working their usual magic. Instead she felt the fear of a woman who had outlived her usefulness and had made the mistake of putting all her bets on the one horse.