by Martina Cole
As Michael looked into his eyes, Danny saw the deep sadness mirrored that was in his own. He saw the love that Michael had for him, and was gratified that at least he would have that much to take with him. He finally understood the expression beggars and kings because, no matter how much money you might have, or how much prestige you acquired over the years, you would die at some point, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. His death was imminent, he knew that because he would have wasted himself long ago if he was in their shoes. He smiled at Michael then, a magnanimous smile, and he opened his arms out wide, as if he understood the situation perfectly which, of course, he did. He felt a chill in the air, could smell the dust and the underlying aroma of cheap leather handbags and even cheaper cotton T-shirts. He looked around him then, saw Eli and Arnold watching him, knew that they were both desperate for his demise. He knew that his death would finally allow them both to rise in the world of criminals, would guarantee them a place beside Michael, running the businesses and sorting the monies. It seemed crazy now, to think that, even after his death, the businesses would still go on regardless, that the world would not stop on its axis because he was gone from it. He wasn’t even contemplating a way out of it all; Eli had a machete which he was brandishing happily, Arnold had a long-bladed knife, a fine piece of weaponry from its carved bone handle, its ultra-sharp blade. Everyone was well tooled up, except him.
Michael and Danny looked at each other once more, and Danny Boy said gently, ‘We had a good touch, Michael, we made it to the top of the tree. We are Faces, real Faces.’
Michael nodded, understanding his friend’s words. ‘Yeah, you got what you had always dreamed of, Danny Boy. You’re a Face, a well-known and respected Face. The Face, in fact.’
Danny said quietly, ‘Are you going to do it? You going to take me out?’ He was glancing around, instinctively looking for a way out. He saw that Eli’s brothers had slipped in behind them and were tooled up and ready to go. He felt strangely gratified that they were mob-handed, that they deemed him so dangerous. It catered to his inflated opinion of himself and what he felt he was capable of. But no one wanted to talk, and he felt the sudden and desperate quiet weighing down on him like a stone. The atmosphere was almost electric; they all felt it, felt the heaviness in the air, saw Danny Boy tense up as if waiting for his chance to let rip. Louie shouted at them then. His nerves were shot and he was sweating profusely, terrified that Danny Boy would either talk his way out of this dilemma or worse, fight his way out of it. He knew he was more than capable of either.
‘Kill him, for fuck’s sake, just get it over with, will ya! What you waiting for, a fucking film crew?’
Then Louie started coughing, the coughing of old age; it was heavy and wet and the phlegm he spat out was like a piece of rubber. It broke the moment, and Danny Boy went for him like a Rottweiler on Hurlimans. ‘You treacherous old bastard.’
As Danny ran across the warehouse floor, he saw Louie trying to dodge him, and he grabbed at him tightly, pulling the man towards him with all the strength he could muster and then throwing him on to the floor. Louie fell down heavily, his bones screaming with the pain of his advanced years. Michael saw Arnold and Eli descend on his old friend. As Eli sliced him across his face with the machete, opening it up like a watermelon, Arnold forced the blade of his knife between Danny Boy’s ribs, stabbing at him repeatedly, forcing it up into his heart. Michael watched in morbid fascination as Arnold brought a machete down over and over again onto Danny Boy’s head and shoulders. Opening him up, slicing him up as if he was a piece of meat. The blood was everywhere, seeping out of all his wounds and, even in death, with his life’s blood pumping out on to the filthy concrete floor, Danny Boy still looked the part. He still looked like a Face, even though, ironically, he was now without one. It was the sheer size of him, the sheer presence he possessed that caused this illusion. Even in death he had an arrogance that was almost tangible.
Michael was amazed at how Danny had accepted his fate, had not even really tried to fight for his life. Not how he could have anyway. Danny was capable of a real tear-up when the fancy took him. But, looking at him now, a bloody heap on the filthy floor of the warehouse, he knew that Danny would never have been able to live down the shame of being exposed as a grass. Eli ripped open a box of T-shirts and started to wipe his bloody hands on them; the irony was that they had a cannabis leaf on the front with the words, ‘Keep Off the Grass’ written underneath.
Arnold was staring at Danny Boy’s corpse in fascination; it seemed unreal that it had taken so little to destroy him. To finish him off once and for all. Such a huge personality, such a dangerous man, had been wiped off the face of the earth with an ease that reminded them of how effortless death could actually be in the right hands. How quickly death could render even the most fearsome of antagonists harmless.
Michael helped Louie up from the floor. He was obviously in a great deal of pain, but the old man was also elated at the outcome of this day’s work. For the first time in years he felt he could really relax. Could finally unwind. He had finally extricated himself from what had been his worst nightmare. The two younger Williams boys had both lit joints, kingers packed full of skunk, the smell already permeating everything around them. The absolute quiet that had descended on them earlier was back once more. Only this time it was tinged with a feeling of relief for everyone concerned.
Louie hawked in the back of his throat again and spat into what was left of Danny Boy’s broken and bloodied face. ‘I told you, Danny Boy, what goes round comes round.’ Then he started to cry, his shoulders shaking with his guilt and his sorrow at what had taken place. He had loved this man like his own once, and that could never be forgotten. Michael hugged him, and Louie pushed him away roughly. ‘He was a cunt! But he was a fucking Face. I told him he had no need to take shortcuts, but he wanted it all at once. Like you all do. None of you can wait for anything these days, you want everything immediately. It’s why it goes bad, why you end up like this.’
He pointed at Danny Boy then. ‘You all want too much too fucking soon. You don’t want to earn anything upfront. Wait in line, get your creds. It all has to be now. This fucking minute.’ He was trying to compose himself, but the waste of a life was just hitting him. His fear was death, and he was an old man. To see so much strength and so much energy snuffed out seemed outrageous.
Eli shook his head sadly. The adrenaline was abating now, and he was feeling relaxed again, hungry.
‘Relax, Louie, this had to happen at some point. He was a fucking grass, a fucking two-faced dirty scoundrel. Now, go home, old man, go home and forget all about this.’
Michael was still in shock; Danny had always seemed so indestructible and to see his carcass, bloodied and destroyed, was an enormous event. Yet, at the same time it felt like nothing.
Eli sighed. ‘You got the petrol?’
Arnold nodded, then laughed as he said, ‘Yeah, ’course I have.’ Michael motioned then for Louie to leave and, as he walked out behind him, he said sadly, ‘This is the end of an era. Danny Boy Cadogan found dead inside a warehouse full of hookey gear with a bent Filth lying beside him. It’ll be a nine-day wonder.’ Then, turning back to face them all, he said, ‘I’ll leave you boys to get the bonfire going. I need a drink and a few hours’ kip before the cabaret starts.’ No one said a word, just waved nonchalantly, and started what was classed as the clean-up operation.
‘Are you OK, Ange?’ Mary’s worried face was hovering over hers, and she wondered how they had got her onto the sofa.
‘I feel fine now. I just came over a bit queer, that was all.’
‘I’ve phoned an ambulance, just lie there and take it easy.’
Ange pulled herself up; she could hear the genuine worry in her daughter-in-law’s voice and was grateful for that, but she said in panic, ‘No! I don’t need an ambulance, I feel fine now. I swear to you, I feel OK.’
She was already in a sitting position, and Mary saw that she was actu
ally looking much better.
‘I had a terrible pain in me chest, like a knife, but it was probably just wind. I feel fine now. Please stop the ambulance from coming . . . I feel such a fool.’ She was pleading with her daughter-in-law to not make a fuss. But she did feel fine now, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.
‘Are you sure you’re OK? Why not let them just give you the once-over when they get here, eh? Just to be on the safe side.’
The last thing Mary needed was her husband’s mother dropping down dead and him hearing that she had cancelled the ambulance. That would go down like a lead balloon. But, that aside, she liked the old cow; in many ways they were alike, they both lived around the moods of a man they hated while at the same time, they depended on him. The ambulance arrived then, and Mary went to let them in, happy that the decision had been taken out of her hands.
Epilogue
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death . . .
- John Fletcher, 1579-1625 Valentinian
Mary and the girls were sitting in the front of the church; they looked lovely, everyone remarked on how good-looking the girls were. Both had the same delicate features as their mother, and the quick, sarcastic wit of their father. They were dressed, as always, like little princesses, and they sat with their heads held high and their backs straight. Mary had a thing about deportment and she looked down on them with pride, a small smile playing on her lips.
‘Move up, let Nana sit down.’ Ange slipped in beside them, and they grinned as she passed them each a small bag of sweets; she winked at them as if this was all a great conspiracy. Mary pretended not to notice and the girls were thrilled to be part of something so secretive and so exciting. Mary had even allowed Gordon to sit with her family. Now her husband was dead, it seemed pointless to carry on with the grudge. Her wedding day was so long ago, a lifetime gone. Carole and Michael smiled at the little tableau, Carole holding her new son in her arms by the Baptismal font, as Arnold and Annie took their places beside her. The church was packed out, everyone who was anyone had attended and, as the priest began the service, a hush descended quickly. Mary looked around her then, and felt the full force of her new-found freedom. It was as if her life had started all over again when her husband was murdered. She had played the part of the grieving widow to perfection, and now she was emerging from her chrysalis at last, and people were pleased to see her finally getting over her tragic loss.
The police had their opinion about what had happened, and she had hers; Michael and the local Faces had theirs, but no one really gave a shit any more, it was old news. All she knew was that her girls were happy, and so was she. It was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she felt like a teenager again. A seriously rich teenager, who could now do exactly what she liked, when she liked, and with who she liked. Unfortunately, men were not on her agenda, and never would be. She hated them, not all men obviously, only the ones who she saw as a threat. The ones she knew gave her the eye and daydreamed of fucking Danny Boy’s widow. They had more chance of getting a blow-job off John the Baptist, though they didn’t know that. People said Danny Boy had spoiled her for other men, and she nodded in agreement. He had managed that all right, only not in the way people thought.
She still woke in the night, sweating and trembling as she remembered some of Danny Boy’s more outrageous demands. And she remembered how he had nearly drowned her, had helped his own babies vacate her womb, and laughed at her tragic countenance. He saw her love for those poor children as a weakness but was terrified of her having a son, even his own son would have been seen as a threat eventually, she knew that now. But to be able to spend money as she liked, feed the girls what she wanted, use every room in the house, was better than winning the lottery. She had a mobile now as well, something Danny had never let anyone in his orbit possess. He had been convinced that a mobile could be traced, could be used against you. Although in her case, she knew it was because he didn’t want her in contact with anyone without his say-so. His birds had all turned up at the funeral; a couple had even brought their kids and she had been really nice to them. People remarked on that still. But she had actually felt sorry for them, because he had left no provision for them or their kids in his will. It was all hers, with her brother Michael as the executor. Well, Michael had given her the fucking lot, and she had not offered one of his whores a fucking bean for their kids. Why should she? They had fucked him knowing she was his wife, had bedded him in the hope that he would find them a better option. She had been unable to do anything about it while he was alive, but dead she could smile and be nice, and inside she could get her revenge absolutely by doing nothing for them. They had been left high and dry, skint and used, well, welcome to what had been her world. Danny Boy had even questioned the grocery bills, had made her explain every penny she had spent to him in graphic detail and this after he had presented her with a piece of jewellery that was worth thousands.
She hated him so much, and it wasn’t abating with his demise; if anything, it was growing. She felt the force of her singledom, and she loved it. Loved the fact she could do what the fuck she liked and no one could question it. She was still drunk, but these days it was on happiness; she was drunk on life itself. She still needed a few gulps to take the edge off, but nothing like the amount she had drunk before. The scars were gradually fading, both mental and physical, but the feeling of sheer contentment that enveloped her was gradually settling on to her shoulders and driving the sadness from her mind.
Mary shivered as she looked at the cross of Christ above the altar; she had focused on that at her husband’s funeral. She’d had to stop herself from laughing out loud and flinging open the coffin lid, from shouting her happiness and relief at her husband’s death from the rooftops. God, she felt, was good. He made the back to bear the burden, well, her burden was wormfood now, and that alone was enough to cheer her up in her darkest moments.
Mary smiled at her girls, glad that they would be able to live their little lives without that bastard ruining every happy moment before they even had the chance to enjoy them. She hoped Danny could see her, see her new life, her new demeanour, and she hoped that he was spitting fire at her blasphemy. She had given his suits to the homeless shelter and she had slung him in the same grave as his father, two wankers stuck together for all eternity. And people thought she had done that because she was a good person, well fuck him, and fuck everyone else. God paid back debts without money, and so could she.
Arnold and Annie were standing as godparents. Arnold wondered how their marriage had survived his part in her brother’s murder. He thought, at times, that Annie knew what had happened, but he put it down to his own guilt. Not that he regretted any of it, but she was still his wife, and he had been rather instrumental in Danny Boy’s death. But the truth had never even been hinted at. Danny being found brown bread with a Filth had caused a lot of talk, mainly that he had been taken out by Old Bill. It wouldn’t be the first time the Filth had done a spot of house cleaning, they were known to have dispatched more than one Face when the going got a bit too tough. Danny Boy was still a Face, even in death, his name was still synonymous with villainy and corruption. No one even attempted to deny that. He was seen as an unfortunate man who had been removed from this world by a corrupt and disgraced government agency. The word on the street was that Danny Boy had refused to pay off the relevant agencies. No one in the know disagreed with these stories, and they also made a point of not giving them any credence either. They knew that their silence on the matter would ensure that Danny Boy’s death would never come back to any of them. It would stay a mystery, and that was what he would have wanted, and what they had all decided would be for the best. In death, Danny Boy still had his little bit of kudos, and that meant that they could bask in his reputation, and take over everything with the minimum of aggro and the maximum of goodwill. They knew that a lot of people had breathed a collective sigh of relief whe
n they had learned of Danny Boy’s demise. That was human nature.
That Louie now had his yard back was mentioned only behind closed doors, no one wanted to bring any unwanted attention to themselves these days.
Annie smiled happily at her husband and he smiled back. The priest was asking them to renounce Satan, and Michael looked at Eli with a tiny smile on his face. He knew that Eli was thinking the same as him; Satan, as such, was long gone.
Danny was dead, and Michael missed him, even as he was glad to see the back of him finally. He still missed the closeness they had shared for so long because, as much as Danny Boy could be a bastard, could be a vicious and selfish cunt, he could also be a really good mate. If not to anyone else, then certainly to him. Unlike most people, Danny Boy had really cared for him, and Danny Boy had always looked out for him. Danny had known all along that it was his acumen that had been the main reason they had risen up so far in their world. But he also knew now that it would not have happened so swiftly without his friend’s penchant for grassing. That he had never once given any real thought to how they had prospered so quickly Michael did not like to dwell on. Deep inside, he had always known it was too much, too soon. He had known, somewhere deep inside, that it wasn’t kosher. And had not wanted to know, if he was really honest. But now Danny was gone, and everyone was gradually coming to terms with it, and they were all working together to limit the damage his death had invoked.
Michael looked at his new son, and thanked God that he could be here today, could see him grow up, could see all his kids grow and mature. He loved Carole, and so had Danny Boy, and Carole still talked about him with genuine affection. She had never been on the receiving end of his ire, had never had to feel the heat of his anger. Yet he knew she was more than aware of what he was capable of. She knew, like he did, that his own sister had lived in mortal fear of him. But, like most people in Danny Boy’s orbit, she was grateful for his goodwill. For being allowed to be a part of his life. Danny knew how to do that, how to make people grateful for his attention.