Faces

by Martina Cole

  Eli, Michael felt, had been the last straw, that Danny Boy could have wanted to waste him was so outrageous, that he had expected him to believe that Eli and all the Williamses were snides was so off the wall that he had been forced to do something about it. Eli was sound, and no one would have swallowed his demise without demanding some kind of explanation, especially his own brothers and his large and loyal workforce. No one would believe that he was after Danny Boy’s place in the world, not with any real conviction anyway. Eli was far too clever for that. But Michael knew, as a matter of fact, that Eli was now living on borrowed time. That, unfortunately, was the way of their world. Michael knew that he could not afford to let him get a foothold in any of their businesses; Arnold was of the same opinion. Eli, as much as he liked and admired him, was a dead man walking. Michael was far more like Danny Boy than he had realised, and the knowledge, in a funny way, pleased him. Michael had to protect his assets and, because of Eli’s natural feeling of superiority, he would have to go. It was sound economics. Danny Boy’s death had been far too public; after Eli and his brothers were dispatched, Louie would have to go as well. He was far too shrewd to make the same mistakes as Danny Boy. He was happy enough to partner up with Arnold, they spoke the same language and understood their predicament. It was a shame, but that was the way their world worked. Looking at Eli now, seeing his smile and his arrogant stance, Michael knew that it would have to be done sooner rather than later, within the next twenty-four hours. Arnold was right; there was no room for sentiment and, after Danny Boy’s untimely demise, it proved that if you left things too long, they could backfire on you. Eli was too strong a personality to let him get any closer than he already was. Michael smiled down at this new son of his. He knew that, for him and his other kids, he would wipe out a hundred Elis or a thousand Danny Boys. Like Danny Boy, they underestimated him, even Arnold who was desperate for him to take him on as partner, and that would also be the main reason why Eli did not believe he would even consider taking him out. Everyone had underestimated him, all his life. Well, more fool them. This was about saving his own life now, and he would save his life at the expense of anyone foolish enough to get in his way. As Michael listened to the priest he wondered once more at a man who had made such an impression in his life, and yet had been removed without any real effort whatsoever. Danny Boy Cadogan had been a learning curve all right. For all of them. London was too small to share, especially with people who knew far too much for their own good.

  Ange was holding her granddaughter’s little hand in hers. She was happier than she had ever been, and that amazed her. She had lost her husband and her son, and now she realised that, without them hanging around her neck like a pair of fucking albatrosses, she could finally be happy. Really happy. As Ange looked around the church her eyes rested on Jonjo, a useless fuck if ever there was one. He was so weak he made Lily Savage look like George Foreman. She knew she would be looking out for him all his life, he had no loyalty to anyone and, like his father, he also had no real intention of ever going to work. Not real work anyway. She knew he was already back on the brown; it was only a matter of time before he scored a decent batch that would kill the stupid little fucker once and for all. The worst of it was that she felt no real need to try and prevent that happening. It was like pissing in the ocean, it would have no real effect. He was determined to ruin his life, and she was powerless to stop him. She had come to the conclusion, why prolong the agony? She had buried one son, another one wouldn’t really make that much difference and, in reality, it would be a relief. She was already dreading the knock on the door that would herald his death, so the sooner it came, the sooner she could get back to her real life. The sooner her younger son might find a modicum of peace.

  Annie was also a write-off, like Jonjo, and she took full responsibility for that. Annie was obsessed with Arnold, and God love him he looked after her when most men would have put her out on the pavement. She was a nightmare of jealousy and suspicion. As indeed she had been once, many moons before when sex was still important and the man she had married had taken precedence over everything and everyone in her sad and lonely life. If only these girls realised how fickle life was, how eventually the men that they loved so much, who they had cared for over all others, their kids included, would, without a doubt, eventually wander, both mentally and physically. How humiliating it was when you finally accepted that as a fact. When they saw younger women, saw their contempt for the mother of their children as if it was tattooed on their foreheads. How any man, no matter what they might say to the contrary, would take a twenty year old over a forty year old any day of the week. That was nature, and that was something her Annie was one day going to have to accept. Because men like Arnold would always have a fan club waiting in the wings; it was the way of their world. It was something the more sensible women in their circle accepted and ignored. But Annie wouldn’t, she had too high an opinion of herself and her worth. She had never done a day’s collar in her life, and she never would. Arnold would always see her all right but, unfortunately, that would never be enough. Like Danny Boy, her other two children saw themselves as a cut above everyone else. She had never really connected with either of her younger children and, as someone had once pointed out, hindsight was a wonderful thing. She could write the script for them now, but they wouldn’t listen to her, so it was pointless trying to help them out. She had written them off, as hard as that was to admit.

  It was Mary and the girls who were now the reason she got up each day. Mary had been good to her and she didn’t deserve it. She had never given her the time of day really. Had never been as kind and as generous as she could have been. Yet, it was only when she was in Mary’s home, watching those little girls playing, that she felt any real emotions. Danny Boy was gone, and that was the reason for much rejoicing, even more money coming in for everyone concerned. She knew a lot more than any of them gave her credit for.

  Ange looked over at Eli Williams and he winked at her saucily; he was a nice young fella. She had always liked him, but she had never trusted him, and she had told her Danny Boy that; not that he had ever listened to a word she had said. But there was something about him, something she could not explain. It was no more than a feeling. But, since Danny Boy’s death, his so-called unexplained death, she had felt it even stronger. At her son’s funeral she had felt a great sense of relief and an even greater sense of impending doom. But she knew that anything she felt was of no real interest to the parties concerned.

  So she accepted her new place in life, was happy to live the remainder of her time out with the people she loved, and who she knew, loved her.

  She had birthed and raised three children, and accepted that she had been the catalyst for each of their downfalls. But she had done the best she could and, whether they liked that or not, it was the truth. You did the best you could, played the hand you were dealt. As she knew to her detriment, hindsight was a wonderful thing. Ange held her rosary gently between her fingers and whispered the Hail Marys with a quiet determination that spoke of her despair, but also of her belief in God. She felt, like most of the family, that Danny Boy’s death had somehow given them all a new perspective on life.

  For herself, she finally felt at peace. Felt that her son’s quest for greatness, his need to be seen as a Face, as someone of note in their world, was what had eventually destroyed him. And, with his death, she had at long last felt able to sleep at night, had finally been able to live her life without fear or favour. As had poor Mary, who she had seen blossom in the last few months from someone who flinched at her own shadow and who had been terrified of even being suspected of holding an opinion of any sort, but who now had a degree of confidence and a real lust for life; neither of which she could have ever enjoyed had her son not met such a violent end. All of this, she now felt, had been a long time coming.

  Eli watched the people gathered around with his expensive smile and his natural calm and collected demeanour. He was well liked, and he appr
eciated that. He knew the value of goodwill and the cost of people’s ill temper. He knew that Danny Boy had made the fatal mistake of believing he was too powerful to be thwarted. Well, he had found out the hard way that no one was beyond retribution. Especially people who didn’t share their good fortune, who didn’t appreciate the people who had placed them in their elevated position in the first place. He understood the value of goodwill, and he also understood that people who worked in their world, who put their liberty on the line every day of their lives, needed to feel appreciated. Needed to earn a good wedge, and be assured that, if they did get a capture, their families would be taken care of. It was one of the only things Danny Boy had got right. He had, in fairness, always looked after his own. Unfortunately, he had often been the reason they had got their collars felt in the first place. He had served up anyone he felt was a threat, or who he felt was not quite his cup of Rosie Lee. In short, he had held everyone in his orbit to ransom. Not that they had realised that, of course. Danny had been far too shrewd for that. Still, eventually his sins had found him out. And Louie had been the one who had introduced him to the grasses’ paradise in the first place. He would pay for that in the future. Faces, the Faces they wanted to be, thought they were, had all had their day. They were fucking dinosaurs. It was a new world, and Eli had no intention of waiting around until some little fucker with a Jamaican passport and a Nigerian-funded armoury decided to take him out. Take what he had worked for. There was no real underworld anymore, it was a thing of the past. A few well-known families were no match for the new breed of immigrants who saw London, Europe, as a blank canvas, who were hungry and determined to snatch whatever they could, by any means possible.

  Faces like Michael, Danny Boy and even him, were just relics that harked back to the olden days when men were men, and their women were glad of it. Those days were gone, and they would never return.

  Michael was too entrenched in the old values to ever understand that and, when the time was right, Eli was confident that he would step down, hand over the Smoke, and the Spanish end of their businesses. It was the only way they could keep hold of anything even remotely worth having. He knew from his conversationalists exactly how the street was changing, and changing by the day. He knew from his chatterboxes that a new breed of young black men were making their mark. They were African, they were Asian, they were Caribbean boys; they had one thing in common other than their colour; they were hungry. At the moment they were too busy killing each other, but soon he knew that they would realise that together they were much stronger than anyone around them. And, when they did, he would be waiting, and he would utilise them.

  FACES

  MARTINA COLE

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