by Martina Cole
Being a Face was all Dave wanted from life, all he had ever wanted. A Face was a Face was a Face, as old man Williams would say to them as kids. He had loved Faces, he basked in their reflected glory and lived for the glamour he tried to share in. Now they were Faces in their own right and they were well-known enough to be able to deal their drugs here and share their glamour with a few of the local bully-boys who, like their father before them, would talk about them with hushed tones and respect.
It was a long way from when he was Brodie’s main boy and Dave had eventually come to terms with that; at least he let his brothers think so. He knew that Dennis was living on borrowed time. He had hoped that he could keep him away from Patrick and Spider long enough for them to calm down a bit. Maybe even give Dennis another chance. Dave sighed. He was on the powder again and he knew that it was only the speed making him believe that Dennis could walk away from all the shit he had created. He was going to have to answer for his stupidity at some point and the burning question was, when? They couldn’t hide away here for ever. He was in such a high state that he was actually getting the rushes again and everything was suddenly so real and bright he felt the urge to start dancing.
Dave went into the toilet and cut himself another line. If only they sold this stuff to the punters they would be rocking with him. They didn’t though. It was cut to fuck by the time they sold it off. But it was a good buzz whatever and, as he snorted the amphetamine, he felt the burn inside his nose that told him it had been cut with strychnine at some point. Dave grinned and said to his reflection, ‘Bring back glucose, all is forgiven.’
Dave was laughing like a hyena at his own joke and he folded his wrap up carefully before going back out to the club. As he shuffled out of the toilet and went back into the club, the noise hit him like a wall and he winced in pain. He saw a couple of his dealers at the bar and sighed.
They were now responsible for any dope that shot out of the Anglers, the old man’s pub opposite the Mill House, and a few other little pubs around and about that Patrick and Spider wouldn’t be interested in. The Volunteer pub on the Barking and Dagenham roundabout was where they should be dealing, it was always kicking. The club there was called Flanagan’s Speakeasy and it was packed to capacity almost every night. But Spider had that one sewn up so they let it go.
Dave started chatting up a young girl with badly permed black hair, glitter on her cheekbones and a bright yellow satin jacket that didn’t cover her huge breasts. He knew, without asking her, that she was into Marc Bolan. Well, she could be into the fucking Beam River if she wanted to. All he cared about was a fuck. Although whether he was capable of any kind of hard-on, he wasn’t sure. It was worth a try though.
Dave was rocking, speeding out of his nut. He knew she was a little schoolgirl dressed up for her night out and that her father was probably watching them with fear in his heart and no way to protect his child. Dave was past caring these days. He was a nervous wreck; he just seemed to be waiting for the balloon to go up. He was burdened with the guilt of nearly killing his brother; the realisation that he was capable of nearly murdering his own flesh and blood had been a revelation. The fact that he had enjoyed it, was sorry he had not finished the job, was what was making him so uneasy. Dennis was his brother and he loved him. Unfortunately, he was also a vain, temperamental and violent lunatic who would always bring trouble to their door. Dennis couldn’t even help it, he just attracted trouble. In all honesty, a lot of the time he caused it, mainly because he loved the adrenaline rush it brought him. And the attention, he loved to be the centre of attention, always for the wrong reasons. Dave loved his brother but hated him with a vengeance for all the trouble he had brought to his doorstep. Because it was always left to him to clear up the mess, he was always the fall guy. And now they had no real income any more, no security, because Patrick Brodie had aimed them out of it and so he should. Patrick had given him the opportunity to come back, but how could he? Dennis wouldn’t last five minutes on his own, and as for his other brothers, he had seen more brains on a butcher’s floor. Dennis was a fucking liability and that was something that would never change.
As Patrick and his boys crashed through the doors and into the club, Dave almost felt relieved that this was finally happening and would soon be over.
Dennis was so surprised that he just stood there open-mouthed and looking, as more than one person noted, gormless.
Patrick looked at Dennis with a frown and then he said with deep disgust and an underlying menace that was evident to everyone around them, ‘You had to be expecting me, Dennis, so what’s with the fucking shocked face? Surely you didn’t think I had forgotten about you?’
Patrick Brodie was talking to him and worse, was treating him, like he was a nothing, a no-neck, the shit on his shoes and Dennis knew that only a madman would be fool enough to try to salvage what was left of their reputation by answering him back. He was expected to swallow his knob and he knew that anyone with half a brain would shut the fuck up, but was not sure how much brain he actually had left.
The people around the bar were thrilled to see Patrick Brodie in their little club; they were also secretly hoping that he might knock Dennis Williams on to his arse. The general consensus was that he was a big-mouthed toss-pot, though no one would say that to his face, of course. Dennis was under the mistaken impression that he was popular. Faces were, for the most part, Diamond Geezers; nice blokes who were approachable and friendly and who didn’t feel the need to be a hard man twenty-four-seven. Whereas the Dennis Williamses of the world, although they might be afforded the same courtesy as other Faces, were not liked enough to command either loyalty or respect from anyone around them. At least not when there was a real, bona fide Face making them look like they were a fool. A plastic gangster was a term that had recently come into common usage and it now seemed a fitting description for Dennis Williams.
Dave went to Patrick and tried to salvage at least a shred of the friendship they had shared for so long. ‘Not in here, Pat, eh?’
Patrick almost sneered at his one-time friend. His thick dark hair was almost blue in the disco lights and his eyes were like slits as he looked Dave up and down with obvious distaste.
‘I want my fucking money and I want it now.’
Dave screwed his handsome face up into a frown of confused wonderment. It was a face that Patrick had seen him pull once too often in the past when they were questioning someone and not getting the answers they required.
‘What is he on about, Den?’
Patrick was not surprised that Dave took his word over his brother’s; if Dennis Williams was asked what he had for breakfast he would add a sausage. Lying came so easily to him that he couldn’t distinguish between the truth and his fannying any more.
‘Dennis, please.’
The music had stopped and everyone was watching them closely. Patrick flicked his head at Dennis and Jimmy Brick walked over to him and, with a pretence of friendliness, he ushered him out of the club and into a waiting car. Dennis was like a little lamb. He knew when he was beaten and he was not going to cause himself any more pain than necessary.
Patrick walked out then, followed by his other two minders and Dave. He turned at the doorway and said, ‘Go back, Dave. This is going to be fucking seriously painful and before you get all fucking nostalgic for your brother, remember this: he had a hundred grand off my mate earlier today and that was the straw that broke this fucking cunt’s back, all right?’ He was not sure why he was justifying hammering Dennis Williams, but he heard himself doing it anyway. He respected and liked Dave so he didn’t want to give him false hopes or any lies.
‘Don’t kill him, Pat, please. Me mum would go off her head.’
Patrick laughed then. ‘Your mum is so far off her fucking head, even Ozzy Osbourne talks sense in comparison to her. Now fuck off and leave me to sort this out once and for all.’
As Patrick got into the car with Dennis and Jimmy, Dave heard him saying quietly and authori
tatively, ‘Look, Den, my old nan used to say there are two tragedies in life. One is not getting what you want and the other is getting it. You are getting what you have been asking for, Dennis, and you are not getting what you want. Deal with it and fucking stop eyeballing me, you fucking ugly cunt.’
Dennis was shaking with fear. Jimmy Brick was a torturer who was known to have no empathy with his victims and he was capable of inflicting horrific injuries without any kind of remorse at all. He had stripped a man of all the skin on his leg just to find out if he had slept with a known associate’s wife. The guy was banged up and had heard a whisper; he had appealed to Jimmy to find out the truth of it so he could put his mind at rest. Jimmy had taken the man’s skin off in long strips and when he had found out what he wanted, he had dumped the guy in a wheelie bin minus his skin, his ears and his scrotum. The worst thing of all though, was that he had done that for a favour, not even for remuneration or to get a rep. It had been done as a favour, that’s all.
Now, Dennis saw Jimmy staring at his scars and he knew, without a second’s doubt, that he was already working out the best way to go about his night’s work. He would open a few of the scars for maximum pain and add a few more for good measure.
Dennis suddenly felt the cold hand of fear that comes to all violent people. They were always the biggest cowards when it was their turn to play and Dennis Williams was already crying silently before they had even turned out of the car park and on to the A13. Dave stood in the doorway of the Mill House and watched the car until the tail-lights disappeared into the distance.
Spider was in the Beehive in Brixton waiting for Cain to pick him up and eyeing up a tall African girl with dark eyes and four-inch platforms.
She was smiling at him with the invitation he was used to being offered and with the same high-handedness that always attracted him to his women. But he had enough on his hands at the moment with his latest partner and the tantrums she could command at any time of the day or night. He put this one in the back of his mind for future reference, though it was worth giving her a smile anyway. You never knew what the future might bring.
Spider was on his fifth pint of Guinness when Cain came in and motioned for him to go outside. For the first time in years, he saw his brother looking worried and he followed him outside with trepidation. A lot was going on this night and he wondered what part they would have to play in it.
Dennis was lying on a concrete floor and he could feel the coldness and the dampness seeping into his bones. He had been lying there for what seemed a long time, though in reality it had only been about forty-five minutes. He was trussed up like a chicken, his hands were tied behind his back and his legs were tied at the knees, making it hard to get himself comfortable. He could smell oil and petrol and the smells were not making him feel any better. He was not sure exactly where he was. It was too dark and he had been too frightened to really take any notice of where he was going; he had been told to look at the floor of the car and he had complied because he knew he was now relying on the friendship he had once had with Brodie to see him through till the morning.
His eyes were getting accustomed to the dimness and he looked around him with interest; he could see tyres piled up, smell the rubber and the dirt. There were also a lot of packing crates that he guessed held either knocked-off gear or drugs and as he was now sobering up by the second he wondered whose garage he was now incarcerated in. He hoped it wasn’t anyone he knew well; the shame would be unbearable. As would this whole episode if it became common knowledge.
This was going to be the humiliation of a lifetime and he knew, without a doubt, that he would have to suffer it if he was going to come out with his life. Dennis finally understood that he had crossed all the lines and that he was not hard enough to ever take on the big boys. It was too early in his career and he was not liked enough to expect any kind of back-up. Dave had warned him over and over again and had even tried to knock some sense into him but he had not believed that this night would ever really come.
The door opened and as the lights were switched on, he felt the burn behind his eyes and the sting of the tears that he knew were more about terror than anything else. He watched warily as Jimmy walked purposefully towards a large workbench with a vice on one end and an array of spray cans on the other. Dennis saw then that this was a working garage so that meant they only had a few hours until the place would be a hive of activity.
He wondered how long he would be on this floor and how much of his blood would be spilled on the sawdust that Jimmy was now sprinkling liberally all around him. He could hear the faint sounds of cars in the distance and knew he was most likely still in the Smoke.
As he watched Jimmy prepare himself for his night’s work, he understood just how he had made other people feel over the years, and he understood that with Jimmy Brick this wasn’t about being a hard man, it was just something he did when requested and something that he knew he did well.
Dennis could hear a kettle boiling in the background; he hoped that it wasn’t going to be part of his punishment and he prayed that whatever happened he would be man enough to take it without begging or pleading. Even now, how he was perceived was still his main priority and he still believed that he had enough credibility left to be given an easy ride.
Then, when he saw Jimmy Brick taking out his chisels and his hammers, he lost it completely and it took Patrick and Jimmy ten minutes to finally gag him and stop the screaming.
They were laughing as they did this, which did nothing to allay the fears of Dennis Williams.
Chapter Twelve
Patrick was happy enough with the turn recent events had taken. Spider and Cain had been involved, as had a few of his other trusted personnel. It was a week since Dennis Williams had been given a serious talking-to and the general consensus was that he had asked for it and he had finally got it.
No one actually knew what that talking-to was supposed to be about, but speculation was rife, and that was exactly what Pat Brodie had counted on. People had a much better time when they were speculating and, eventually, a load of old cods would turn into public opinion; someone would get pissed and pretend they had been in on it all, knew the real SP, and that would be that.
If anyone had actually been told the extent of Dennis Williams’s talking-to, it would have made more than a few so-called hard men wonder if they would be seeing their last meal in a sink or on the floor within minutes of the details being revealed.
So, speculation was rife and that was exactly what Brodie wanted.
As he sat in his office and waited for Dave Williams to come by, as requested, he hoped they could finally put this whole sorry business to bed. Patrick had learned one thing out of it all, that he had given Dave too much leeway over the years and that was a mistake he was not going to make twice in a lifetime.
Jimmy Brick was becoming one of the main players in his world and this was also being noted by the powers that be, and Jimmy was feeling the warmth of his new-found status. Birds in particular were lining up for his favours and he was still deciding which one he was going to honour with his cock.
Patrick made a point of knowing what his workforce were up to and now he knew all about Jimmy Brick and his lifestyle.
There were two contenders for the title of Jimmy Brick’s bird. One was a small blonde with big tits and a bubbly personality; she loved the life, loved being in the spotlight and loved the attention Jimmy was showering on her. The other girl was quiet, mousy-haired but with a body that most women would pay a fortune to be in possession of. She was also a kind, generous individual who had a nice personality, a good vocabulary and was unfortunately in awe of villains. She was basically an also-ran even though she actually liked Jimmy. The former was going to win the competition; she was brash and she had made sure he would want her and all her body had to offer. She would regret it until the day she died.
The girl in question was unaware that once Jimmy had made his mind up, the relationship was going to be
a lifetime membership, whether she wanted it or not. Like a Reader’s Digest subscription, Jimmy was for life, but as yet, she was blissfully ignorant of that fact.
Jimmy was not a man to take himself or anyone else lightly and the few months that his chosen beau would enjoy, playing the devoted lover of the new main man, would soon seem like a high price to pay. The excitement of becoming Jimmy Brick’s bird would eventually turn into years of misery, jealousy and heartache.
The fact that the girl suddenly wanted him, coinciding with his new-found status, would be offensive to Jimmy, even though he would happily use that power to get what he wanted. It was a recipe for disaster: not for Jimmy Brick, but for the girl in question. Trust would always be an issue, as would any kind of honesty, because she would learn to tell him only what he wanted to hear. His natural antagonism would ensure that no matter what happened, she would always be suspect because he would always know that it was only his reputation and his poke that kept her beside him. She would eventually fantasise about him being nicked so she could finally walk away from him.
Jimmy was a one-woman man though, like all his predecessors, and that was as rare in their world as a straight judge or an honest bank robber. Once he chose her, there would be no going back for either of them. He would own her, it was as simple as that, no matter what she felt about it. Jimmy Brick would keep her on side to show her fidelity, prove she wanted to be with him whatever. If she walked away at any time, he would be seen as an ice-cream, a loser. He would never let that happen to him. All he had was his dignity, and he would hang on to that with every ounce of his considerable strength. If a child arrived, it would only cement their relationship because no one in their right mind would ever dare to take her on board after that. Even a thirty-sentence passed eventually. But it would be a while before the life-sentence the girlfriend had inadvertently taken on would be seen as absolute.