by Martina Cole
Jonny was the king of the world; he had outed Bryant, he was now the main man in the Smoke, and all that was left for him to do was find that cunt Bertie Warner. And find him he would, if it was the last thing he did in this life. He would find him, and he would crush him like a fucking beetle under his shoe. He owed Celeste that much, if nothing else. He had put her in danger and, if it hadn’t been for Cynthia, she would be dead. Then he would never have found out what really made him tick.
No woman had affected him like Celeste – she was pure and clean and good. But, thanks to Cynthia, he saw that she was not enough for him. Without her he would never have understood that he had a real lust for blood, and that blood lust would take him places he had never dreamt possible, both mentally and sexually.
London was his, and he was going to own it all. The man who could take it off him hadn’t been born yet. He had a slice of everything – from blags to betting shops to nightclubs, market stalls, shops, even the bingo halls, the list was endless. He had finally made it, was finally the top banana, and now came the hardest part of all.
Staying there.
Book Two
The half is greater than the whole
Hesiod, ca. 700 BC
Chapter Forty
1994
Cynthia was tired after her long day’s work but happy; these days she was working for Jonny along with her husband and she loved it. They were getting a serious earn now, and if her husband wondered at the change in their status he was either too shrewd or too stupid to say so. She had a feeling it was the latter, but she never asked him, she didn’t really want to know the answer. Jonny had gone from strength to strength in the last few years and was now the undisputed and, more importantly, the unchallenged king of London town. He was the main man, and he was loving it. That Cynthia was the main woman thrilled her even as it worried her. It was a miracle they had not been found out and that made her think people knew but weren’t talking about it. Jonny Parker wouldn’t look kindly on any gossiping, and she was not about to let her life be ruined over it either.
She was known as a killer in their circle, and she felt the respect from the men, and the fear from their women. The story had been repeated and built up over the years until it was nothing like the real events. The younger ones even thought it had been planned. It amused her how stories really did get stretched in the telling, and how a story, true or otherwise, could impact on a person’s life. Everyone was wary of her these days and that helped her in her new-found career.
All except Celeste, of course. Celeste was still treating her like she was the second coming or something and, though she was sorry for her little sister, she didn’t feel in any way guilty. She now believed that what had happened was inevitable, believed that she and Jonny Parker were meant to be. Like all great loves, theirs had not been an easy road.
She tolerated poor James, and she knew that he was grateful to her for her affection, scant though it was. His attempt at being the head of the household was long over; now he deferred to her as he always used to, only these days she didn’t provoke him as she once had. In fact, she believed he was happy in his own way. Jonny saw to it that they were well looked after, and well compensated, and who would have thought she had a knack for the betting shops? She ran them all with military precision, and the percentage she took was no small amount.
All in all life was great – except for one thing. As good as she looked, time was beginning to take its toll on her. Lately she had noticed that Jonny, while still as ardent as ever when they were together, wasn’t as eager to meet up as he used to be. Whereas once it had been every day, sometimes twice a day, often a quick coupling in the back of a car because they only had an hour, now he seemed as if he was stepping back from her somehow, and that was not something she was prepared to accept. That he had a lot more on his mind she understood and accepted, but what she wouldn’t accept was another woman in his life – other than Celeste, of course. Celeste was no threat, but the advent of the lap-dancing clubs had made Cynthia aware that, unlike the nightclubs where young girls were in abundance but ultimately looking for a man on a permanent basis, the lap dancers were all out for what they could get. Their brazenness alone was something that would appeal to her Jonny. She should know, she was brazen enough herself, and that was what he wanted from her. She knew that this was a jealousy brought on by insecurity; she was still a good-looking woman, but she was just that – a woman, and these were girls. Very young girls at that.
Jonny had embraced the lap-dancing clubs and made them the jewel in his rather large crown. He also spent a lot of his free time in them, though he said it was work and she had to believe that, didn’t she? But, as good as life was, she felt that he was somehow slipping away from her, and that was something she could never countenance.
No one, not her kids, her family, nobody on this earth meant as much to her as Jonny Parker, and she would see him dead before she saw him with someone else. That wasn’t even a threat, that was a promise. Without him she would wither away and die. He was like a drug to her and, though she knew it was unhealthy, that their attraction was wrong in so many ways, she embraced it because she could not live without it.
Chapter Forty-One
Jonny Parker had changed over the last few years, and he was as aware of it as the people who worked for him. He would not be gainsaid and he would not listen to advice from anyone; he was unable to take any kind of criticism and he severely punished those who he felt were being disrespectful. It was said by a few that he was getting far too big for his boots – but not within his earshot naturally. Nevertheless, there were the beginnings of dissent, and it was something he should have been aware of, and should have done something about.
The old affable Jonny P, always ready to buy a round of drinks, always the first with a good joke, and always the first to arrange a big party, was long gone. He was a serious, rather dour man now, who occasionally reverted to his old ways while in his cups. He had still never touched a drug – alcohol being his only real vice – and he took his job and its responsibilities very seriously indeed. As his father-in-law always said, getting to the top was the easy part, it was staying there that took the real hard graft.
The truth of the statement was not lost on Jonny now as he sat working. He had fought to get the top prize and it was getting harder and harder to hang on to it. London in the nineties was run by him and a few other Faces – they had minor roles, of course. But it was being swamped by Eastern Europeans, Russians, and the like. They were like no other adversary seen on these turfs before; they had unlimited money and they were ruthless, and that meant he had to become more ruthless. That was the law of their game, but it was a hard graft all the same.
The girls in many of his clubs were Eastern European. The men he dealt with had a constant supply, and the girls were brought over, relieved of their passports, and then told they had to work off their debts. Jonny also had fingers in more than a few pies concerning some Eastern-European brothels. These were constant money-spinners and, though he had found the whole thing distasteful at first, he knew if he didn’t become a part of it some other enterprising fucker soon would. That would mean a serious rival for him and he could not allow that.
All the same he didn’t like the business – but then he didn’t bet and he still had plenty of betting shops. Betting was a fucking mug’s game as far as he was concerned; only fools and bigger fools thought they could really beat the odds. If they had a win, it was rarely enough to cover the years of spending in his shops that preceded it. Still, each to their own and if the Good Lord had not invented lust, greed and all the other vices, he would not have been able to live the life of a biblical king. And live like a king he did, though he was clever enough not to live too ostentatiously. He did though have property all over the world, and that was thanks to his Eastern-European connections. They were masters at the long game and he was learning shitloads of stuff from them.
Jonny bought properties for cas
h, and laundered the money by remortgaging them, not just in England but all over the world; it was like a licence to print legal dosh. He was also amazed at the amount of money to be made in whoring, because it was the whoring that had been the most lucrative of all his new ventures. The only real drawback was that he had no real control over the money and, if caught, the sentences were heavy. That was because the girls were there against their will and that often led to charges of white slavery – even though many of the girls were West African – and kidnapping. It was costing a fortune to grease the right palms but, thanks to his connections, they were pretty safe. At least as safe as those kind of deals can be. It was taking its toll though, and he knew that the happiness he should have been feeling from all he had achieved was not there.
The reason for this was his Celeste. Yes, she was better than she had been, but she was still scared of her own shadow. In fact, the only time she was remotely happy was when they were out in Spain. She loved their house in Majorca and she seemed to relax there. It was up in the mountains, and the greenery and the dramatic views seemed to calm her soul. Personally, he liked it for the first week and then felt he was going stir-crazy, but he knew she needed the time there.
They had not yet had children, though Celeste had suffered miscarriages, and they both said there was plenty of time, but he guessed that deep down she was frightened of it all. He wanted children, but he was in no hurry. And perhaps that was just as well because he couldn’t see how Celeste would cope with a baby. He loved her with all his heart, and he still cared for her, but now she was more like a sister. Although, in all honesty, that could be the result of the guilt he felt for what he was doing with her sister . . .
Now there was a woman, though she was getting harder and harder to keep in line. She was like a man in many respects; she thought like one, she worked like one, and she could fight like one when the fancy took her. The only downfall was her mouth. Cynthia never knew when to let something alone, and she would push an issue to the hilt. Lately, that had begun to irritate him; he had enough going on without having a five-point crisis every time he saw her. He understood her loathing of the lap-dancing clubs – most women disliked them. And yet the brothels didn’t bother her one iota. She was a strange, contradictory creature. He cared for her deeply, but she was hard work; ‘high maintenance’ was the expression men used about women like her these days, and it described her totally.
All the same, when he was with her, deep inside her, was the only time he really felt content, the only time he felt fulfilled. He didn’t analyse these thoughts, he just knew them to be true. What it was about her he could never put his finger on. All he knew was she drew him to her like a moth to a flame. And he hated that it was being spoilt by her constant wanting for more and more of his time.
He shrugged the thoughts away and concentrated on what he was doing. He glanced at his watch and realised he was already late for a meeting. Where did the time go, and why was he still working fifteen hours a day? But he knew why; he didn’t trust anyone around him to do the job properly. He was wary of delegating too much of the big stuff; once you took your finger off the pulse you lost the beat of the world you were in, and that was a dangerous situation to be in. You only had to look at the likes of Kevin Bryant to see the truth of that statement.
Chapter Forty-Two
Gabby hated her life. She hated school and she hated the nuns there. She was thirteen, and her whole existence was a big drag, at least it was this week anyway.
But there was one high spot, and his name was Vincent O’Casey. He was seventeen and he was gorgeous. She had met him at Chrisp Street Market last Saturday and she was seeing him again tomorrow. She couldn’t wait.
Like all her friends, Gabby’s Saturdays were for doing the markets – the Roman Road, East Ham, Chrisp Street, Romford of course and, occasionally, Soho Market – not that they bought there, but it was wonderful to look at all the strange things. Sundays were for ‘the Lane’, as Petticoat Lane Market was called. Romford was Gabby’s favourite though; she loved that it was far away from her mother, because her mother was a giant pain in the arse.
She frowned as she thought this, and she wondered at how on earth she had been lumbered with such a woman. These days, she went home for whole weekends, when she would prefer to be there only on Sundays and Mondays as it used to be. But her mother wasn’t stupid. She wanted her there because she wanted to make sure she didn’t go ‘out out’, as she called it. That meant with boys, although it was never actually stipulated. It was fine for her to go with her friends to the markets – it was what her mother had done, after all – but when the evening drew in she had to be indoors like an errant school kid.
Well, she would be fourteen soon – she wasn’t a baby any more. With her already ripened body she knew she could pass for eighteen with the right clothes and make-up. Christ Almighty, she could get in to see any film she wanted, and that was no mean feat. Some of her friends still looked younger than they were, but she was like her mother – all tits and legs, as her grandfather was forever saying. Gabby knew that she was pretty, knew that boys looked at her. Men did as well, though they made her uncomfortable. But they looked all the same – even some of her friends’ dads, and that was absolutely gross.
Her dad was great but, as always, he had to do what her mother wanted, so Gabby got no support from him. She felt sorry for him, because he seemed so sad a lot of the time, and yet her parents lived in a lovely house and, to an outsider, it would seem they had a nice life. But Gabby knew instinctively that her mother didn’t love her dad, not like he loved her, and that was why he was so sad inside. It was in his eyes, and it was tragic to see. Sometimes she looked at him and felt the urge to cry, he looked so forlorn, so lonely. But how could he be lonely when he had her and James Junior?
Her dad knew that they preferred it at their nana’s house – at least there they could be themselves. He knew that their mother was sometimes inordinately hard on them both, and he tried in his own way to make up for that. He ruined them, according to her mother, gave in too quickly, but she saw her father was sensible enough to appreciate that if you let a child be free, they would come back to you of their own accord. All her mother’s draconian measures seemed to do was make her want to break away, get away, as far away from the source of her unhappiness as possible.
But now she had Vincent to think about, and he was absolutely gorgeous, from his dark hair, his blue eyes, and his muscular physique, to his great big feet. She felt her pulse race as she thought of his body and wondered why she felt suddenly so shy and awkward. She knew she wanted to kiss him, but she would not let her mind imagine any more than that. She did think about him all the time though, alone in her bed at night, and the feelings she had then were exciting and frightening. She knew her mother would have a heart attack if she knew about them! Her biggest problem at the moment was how she could swerve her mother so she could meet him one night. Like her mother, she was very resourceful and very determined. And, like her mother, she would not, under any circumstances, be thwarted.
Unlike her mother, Gabby had a truly kind heart, and an even kinder nature. She was happy in her own way, and enjoying the act of defiance that meant her meeting up with her heart-throb Vincent O’Casey behind her mother’s back. She couldn’t wait.
Chapter Forty-Three
‘The sap’s rising in her, she’s just growing up. She wants to be with her friends and not have us standing over her the whole time.’
‘She’s only thirteen, Dad.’
Celeste sounded upset and Jack Callahan retreated on this occasion. Celeste agreed with everything her sister said, and if Cynthia said that her daughter was not to move across the doorstep then that was that.
Personally, he felt sorry for the child. She was liked a caged lion, and eventually caged animals turned on the person who caged them in the first place. He could see the dislike and the irritation in his granddaughter’s eyes for her mother, and he felt deeply sorry
for her. Plus, she was a nice kid and a trustworthy kid at that, which was more than could be said about her mother at the same age.
Cynthia had been round the turf more times than a National winner by the time she was fifteen, although he wasn’t supposed to know about that, of course. That was the problem with daughters, they got into trouble; boys were just the cause of their downfalls. Even in these so-called enlightened times, a girl in trouble was still looked down on where they lived, the doings of a load of braless fucking lesbians and their shouting about equality didn’t cut much ice in the East End of London. Fucking feminism! A load of old cobblers as far as he was concerned. All it meant was that girls were getting like men, and what good would that do in the long run? Bullshit baffles brains all right, but where his granddaughter was concerned he hated to see her locked up like some kind of prisoner. Jack hated Cynthia at times, really loathed her. She was a piece of work. He knew about her and Jonny, but what could he do? If it ever came out it would be like one of those IRA bombs exploding in the heart of his family. And Jonny was not a son-in-law he could give a tug to, pull to one side and put the hard word on. Jonny was the local fucking Face – and how Jack would like to shove his fist into Jonny’s face at times. He knew Jonny loved Celeste, loved her deeply, but he also knew that his Cynthia was in his blood. A woman could take a man like that and get under his skin. Jack had seen it before; when it hit a man he was helpless to fight it. Some women had the power to make a man go against all he believed in, go against his basic instincts, walk away from his family, his job, his life. And the worst thing of all was that these women were never worth it. Hindsight was a wonderful thing, as Jonny would one day find out. For now, as long as Celeste didn’t get hurt, Jack had to go along with it.