by Martina Cole
He had lost nine grand in under an hour.
The manager of the betting office was late in that day and was surprised and not a little pleased to see Jamie when he eventually arrived. He said a friendly hello, offered him tea or coffee, and then nonchalantly strolled into his office and phoned Benny Ryan with the good news. Afterwards he stood with Jamie and engaged him in conversation until such time as Benny arrived to take him away.
As Les Grimes watched Jamie showing off his money and making a spectacle of himself while he played the big man, he wondered if this twat needed psychiatric help or what. What would possess a man wanted by the Ryans actually to go into one of their designated betting shops?
But Les knew what had possessed Jamie Hicks. He was a gambler, a hopelessly addicted one. He would walk over hot coals to put his last twenty pence on a three-legged greyhound if it was phoned through to him as a hot tip. All the shop managers knew Jamie, he was a legend in his own lunchtime. A thieving liar, he bragged about his big wins and laughed off his even bigger losses. Even now, he was making a show of getting out his wallet so everyone could see the stash of cash he had. A stash that was getting smaller by the minute. What made a man want to impress a shower of shite like the clientele in here? There was a BT engineer who never seemed to do any work, a pensioner who spent his whole day planning a fifty-horse accumulator, and a couple of DSS blokes who spunked up their Giros and their children’s Family Allowance on a weekly basis. He certainly saw life in this place.
Les Grimes was the best manager a betting shop could have. He not only had a head for numbers, he hated gambling with a vengeance. He also hated bullshitters, which was why the phone call to Benny Ryan had been made so quickly. Everyone on the street was now aware that Jamie and Vic were wanted men. Les would give up Jamie without a second’s thought for free such was his disgust at the man, but the hefty drink the Ryans would bung him for his call would not go amiss either.
All in all, it had been quite a profitable morning.
Jamie’s mobile rang and it was obvious he knew who it was as he rejected the call. Les laughed to himself. That wouldn’t go down too well with Vic Joliff. Vic was not a man with much experience of rejected calls. Now that was a bet even he would lay some money on.
He carried on chatting and watching Jamie so he didn’t try and leave before the designated time. Ten minutes later Benny Ryan and his Indian sidekick burst through the doors like something from a cowboy film.
Poor old Jamie. His former audience had no interest as he was dragged out bodily, protesting loudly, from the shop. The quiet when he left was lovely. Nothing except the sound of the TV commentators and the low drone of the scum of the earth talking horses and dogs among themselves.
As far as Les was concerned, this was bliss.
Vic was fuming. As he pulled up outside Kenny Smith’s house he made a mental note to break Jamie Hicks’s back at the first available opportunity. Going missing like that. He was a fucking ice cream and the sooner he yelped in pain, the sooner Vic would feel better.
Kenny saw Vic walking up his drive and his heart sank. This was all he needed. His mother was out with the baby, thank God. He quickly took out a small handgun and placed it in the top drawer of a kitchen cabinet. He would have no qualms about shooting Vic, though he knew the Ryans wouldn’t appreciate it before they got to him. Well, fuck them, he was not about to get himself clumped by Joliff. Though Garry or Benny Ryan, he admitted, would not be a very good alternative, not in the clumping stakes anyway.
Still, fuck them. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.
As he let Vic in, a big smile on his face, he felt the sense of helplessness that Vic instilled in most people, even tough ones like Kenny. If Vic wanted to see you, he would see you. It was as simple as that. Even a locked and barred prison cell couldn’t keep Vic Joliff out if he wanted to come in badly enough. Vic would come in with a Sherman tank if that’s what it took, but come in the fucker would. With or without an invitation.
‘All right, me old mucker?’
Today Vic’s voice was full of forced jollity. He had been a decent enough bloke once, before Sandra’s death and his recent descent into paranoia. For a few seconds Kenny felt sorry for him.
‘What can I do you for?’
It was an old saying they used to have, years ago when they were young and stupid. Two little gangsters out to make their mark. Well, they had both done that, for all the good it had done them.
‘Fell out with Jack already then?’ Kenny asked.
In the kitchen of the quiet house Vic looked around him and nodded.
‘Jack’s always been the tricky sort. Nice drum this, Kenny, must have set you back a few quid?’
‘Enough to make me eyes water. Lana wanted it more than I did.’
Vic nodded, understanding. His wife had been the same.
‘I miss my Sandra, you know. She was a cunt at times. Her mouth could go like the fucking clappers and I often felt the urge to wring her bastard neck. But there was something about her that got to me like. In here.’
He punched his chest.
‘Never thought I would lose me strawberry to a bird, did you?’
‘Nah. Now you mention it I can’t say I did. Not after me own wife anyway. Now she made everyone want to wring her fucking neck. Straight up, even the priest avoided her like the plague.’
Vic laughed, and it was his old laugh. He was relaxed and Kenny was glad. He was perfectly ready to shoot him if he had to, but he would rather not. Vic was old time and they went back many years.
Vic seemed to be reading his mind.
‘Don’t worry, mate, no aggro today, I promise.’
‘Glad to hear it, Vic. Want a cuppa, some coffee, a shot?’
‘A cup of tea will suffice, thanks.’
While Kenny made the tea Vic got out a bulging white package and started to cut himself lines of coke on the granite worktop. He snorted two through a small straw, bringing back his head and sniffing loudly until it hit the right spot.
‘That’s better.’
‘You should knock that on the head for a while; it fucks up your thinking.’
Vic shook his bald head.
‘Not me. It makes me think better than ever.’
Kenny placed the mug of tea in front of him.
‘You just think it does, Vic. It’s an illusion. Look at that prick from Baring’s Bank. He thought he was invincible but he wasn’t. It was just the coke doing its usual dirty work.’
Vic was not listening, he was staring out of the window at the rose garden.
‘I like roses. I remember in Parkhurst one time, I joined the art class. Some sort with a face like a tiger but great big Bristols was running it so I thought I’d go and have a shufti, and I drew a rose. She said I was good and all.’
He went quiet again and Kenny wondered when he was going to get to the reason for his visit. He didn’t have long to wait.
‘I want all the Ryans dead.’
Kenny closed his eyes in distress. He’d had a terrible feeling Vic was going to say something like that.
Jamie was in a state of fear so acute he could almost taste it. Benny Ryan was standing over him, with his trademark Airfix glue and cattle prod, laughing like a fucking drain.
‘So, Jamie, how are the kids these days? Remember what they look like, do you? Only we have been keeping them in the manner they’re accustomed to. Or at least me aunt has. Remember me Aunt Maura and me Uncle Garry? You used to work for them once many moons ago, before you decided on a death wish.’
He laughed nastily.
‘In fact, if I remember rightly my uncle was very good to you, wasn’t he? Got you a nice single cell in prison, got you a drink and a few quid for your bets. Took care of Danielle and the kids you can’t remember . . . I think you had a touch actually. Don’t you, Abul?’
He looked at his friend who nodded vigorously. Abul hoped Garry or Maura turned up soon; Benny was going on one of his mad half-hours a
nd if that was the case he was capable of killing Jamie before anyone had the chance to speak to him.
‘Fancy a beer and a sandwich, Benny?’
It was the only way he knew to keep Benny occupied while they waited for the others. Benny treated this kind of work like a picnic and Abul supposed it was to him. It was an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon or evening as far as he was concerned. At times like this Abul wondered at their continuing friendship. Benny had never once turned his aggression on him. They had been mates since day one and Abul had once loved him like a brother and knew Benny still reciprocated those feelings.
‘What have you got then?’
Benny eyed the Marks and Spencer bags hungrily.
‘All your favourites!’
Jamie watched warily as they started to unpack the goodies from the bags. He wouldn’t put it past them to have vials of acid or brake fluid in them. But it was food and he relaxed when he saw that was all it was.
‘Chicken and avocado, me favourite!’
Benny tore the packaging away and took a large bite of the sandwich.
‘Fucking handsome. Pour a couple of beers, Abul, and we can have a party.’ He looked at Jamie and said in a friendly fashion, ‘Hungry?’
Jamie shook his head.
‘Your loss, cunt. Could have been your Last Supper and all.’
He laughed at his own wit. Abul joined in but Jamie didn’t. Personally, he couldn’t find anything even remotely humorous in the words.
As Benny and Abul ate and chatted, Jamie looked around him at the cellar in which he was incarcerated. He was in a house in North London, he knew that much, and as he saw the dilapidated state of it he knew that his screams, and there would be screams, he was sure of that, would go unnoticed. He knew he had no chance of escape and decided to do a deal if he could. Not with Benny but with one of the others. He had always got on well with Garry and thought he might be the best one to talk to. Jamie would tell them anything as long as it meant he didn’t die.
His heart was pumping and the adrenaline was making him high. He knew the excitement was not good for him; he had a slight heart murmur though he had never advertised that fact. His heart was crashing in his ears now as he waited for them to finish what they were doing and start the fun and games.
The cellar door opened and he saw with relief Lee walking down the steps.
‘What’s this, the fucking teddy bears’ picnic?’
He was smiling as he said it and Benny, high on his own adrenaline, laughed heartily.
‘You could say that. Want a sandwich?’
‘Go on then, I missed me lunch as usual. Sheila has been a right pain of late and the baby is getting to her. Moan, moan, fucking moan. She always liked being pregnant before. This time, though, all she goes on about is how fat she feels. I can’t say, ‘‘Well, you would feel fucking fat because you’re in the club.’’ Obviously, as you can imagine, she ain’t in the mood to hear nothing like that, is she?’
Abul and Benny grinned at his words. They knew how much he loved his wife and his constant bitching about her was just a joke.
‘How is she, Lee? All right?’
Jamie’s friendly voice could have been a gunshot so quiet did the other three men become. Lee walked over to where Jamie was sitting on the floor and kicked him full force in the face. His head exploded with pain.
‘You having a fucking tin bath? Do you think this is some kind of bastard game, you treacherous little ponce?’
Jamie was lying quite still; his brain was on autopilot and telling him not to antagonise them further. This was serious, really serious, and he knew then without a doubt that he was a dead man.
There would be no deals done here today unless it was to make them promise to kill him quickly, so that was what he would do. He would ask them to shoot him or something. Get it over with as fast as possible. In return he’d tell them anything he could. Realising the amount of shit he was in, he began to cry. The other three ignored him and carried on eating and chatting.
Jamie listened with all his might to what they said, trying to gauge what was to be his fate. He hoped Maura decided to come – in fact he prayed that she would; she was the voice of reason among this load of Loony Tunes and he needed her. Christ, how he needed her.
Suddenly Benny stood up. Throwing the crust of his sandwich away, he picked up the cattle prod and walked towards Jamie.
‘Strip off.’
‘What?’
Jamie was trying to delay the inevitable. Benny, hitting him with the cattle prod in the legs, laughed as his body jumped off the floor.
‘Strip him, Abul.’
He did as he was bidden, dragging and ripping the clothes from Jamie’s person. Then he hosed him down with freezing cold water. This brought Jamie around enough to realise what was happening to him.
His face was roaring with pain, as was his leg. He could see the two burn marks where the prod had touched and burned through his jeans on to his skin. Lee was standing over him as well. Jamie was trying to hide his crown jewels with his hands.
‘Hold him down.’
Benny had the Airfix glue out now.
‘Please, not that, Benny! Not that . . .’
He said nonchalantly, ‘Oh, shut up, you fucking tart.’
Jamie was pleading now.
‘Please, Ben, I am begging you, mate . . .’
Benny bellowed, ‘Shut the fuck up! You should have thought of this when you decided that Vic fat cunt Joliff was to be your new best friend. Did you honestly think we wouldn’t be a little bit miffed? That we would go, ‘‘Oh, all right, Jamie. Fuck all we’ve done for you . . .’’ Use your fucking head! You brought this on yourself so take what’s coming and take it like a fucking man. Now, will you two hold his fucking head still?’
They did.
The screams as his eyes were glued shut were deafening but Abul and Lee just ignored them. They knew from experience that the noise would be much louder before the day was out. Sightless eyes were always guaranteed to put the fear of Christ up people. It was not knowing what was going to happen and when it was going to happen that was worst. Then Benny stripped off himself and snuck up on them, and the prod touched their skin and they got a double shock.
Jamie felt as if he was already dead. He had no feelings in his arms but a crushing sensation like a slab of ice was lying heavy on his chest.
Suddenly he thought of Danielle and the kids and was sorry for everything he had ever done to them. He saw his old mum, always trying to get him out of trouble when he was a kid. Saw his father, drunk as usual with his wide leather belt clutched in his hand. Saw his sister and her army of boyfriends who all seemed to give her a baby and then fuck off. Saw her bright face and pretty hair before she left school and discovered that if you fucked the boys they stayed around for a while. Then everything went mercifully dark.
‘He’s passed out, look!’
Benny was laughing once more but he was annoyed. His games had not even started properly yet. They wanted to know all about Joliff and where he was, what he intended. They had another beer and then hosed Jamie down once more. He didn’t move. Lee and Abul were getting worried now.
‘Is he breathing?’
Lee’s voice was low and fear was evident in it. Abul took his pulse then shook his head. He was biting on his lip, unable to say the words out loud.
‘Is he dead?’
Benny sounded so affronted, as if Jamie could only have died of fright deliberately to annoy him.
‘The fucking little tosser! He died? He had the nerve to die on me, did he?’
‘Maura will go fucking apeshit.’
Lee was voicing all their fears.
Benny was hanging his head like an errant schoolboy.
‘He must have died of fright.’ Abul said the words loudly.
Suddenly the three of them started to laugh.
‘Maura will go mad, won’t she?’
They all laughed again, and that was how she found the
m ten minutes later, making up silly jokes about the corpse in front of them. As if it meant nothing to them. Which of course it didn’t.
Vic was still snorting coke and trying to explain to Kenny why Maura Ryan and the rest of them should die.
‘But she had nothing to do with Sandra’s death. How many times have I got to tell you that, Vic? You were the one who had her fucking car blown up. You or your associates, only you won’t say who they were. What did you expect her to do, swallow that? I know for a fact it had nothing to do with her about Sandra and my Lana. That was whoever was behind you, stirring things. Why the hell won’t you come clean about them?’
Vic stared at him.
‘Haven’t you guessed yet? Hasn’t no one on the street guessed who it was? I have been waiting and wondering how long it was going to take that shower of cunts to find out who pulled that stroke.’
‘Who was it, Vic?’
Vic could hear the desperation in Kenny’s voice and wondered if he should tell him. The man was entitled, after all. But once he spilled those beans he’d have to make all his moves at once. And to do that, to tie up all the loose ends, he needed reinforcements. Now he had the money to pay for them but for some reason he was having trouble recruiting and wanted Kenny’s backing.
‘Smithy, I ain’t as green as I’m cabbage-looking, but for the moment it suits me if people think I’m on a mission to revenge my Sandra. Not that I’m not, don’t get me wrong, but once I start opening my trap I’m in twice the danger. I need to get to these people, and I need a mob with me. Help me out here, Ken. You know everybody.’
Kenny slowly shook his head.
‘You got a cheek, Vic, you know that? I’m a go-between, not a fucking recruitment agency. Find your own bodies – I’m strictly impartial.’
Vic winked at him.
‘Not when it comes to one lovely lady client, eh? Well, will you do just one little thing for me then? Take a message to Maura Ryan. I want a meeting with her, on her jacksy. Just me and Maura, setting the world to rights.’