by Martina Cole
Lenny opened his arms in a gesture of disinterest. ‘So what. Jackie Mills couldn’t fucking pull in a family allowance book without my help. It’s about time he realised he wasn’t up to the job any more.’
He motioned to the barman for more drinks. ‘Who’s he sold them to? Fucking Jimmy Brick?’
Lenny looked at his old mate, Trevor Highgate, and saw he was nervous about answering. That meant he had to deliver some bad news. It had to be bad news, otherwise they would all be putting in their ten-pence worth. Lenny stared around him at his little posse of mates and, burping loudly, he held a hand to his heavy stomach while exhaling noisily. ‘My guts are fucking killing me.’
He took a few deep breaths then and, grimacing in pain, he snapped, ‘Well, come on then. Spit it out for fuck’s sake. Who’s the lucky man who is going to be the hero of the hour collecting fucking pension books and giros?’
Lenny was annoyed. Like Jackie Mills and his fucking debts were of any interest to him.
‘It seems young Pat Brodie and his brother, Lance, have bought him out, like. I expect they want to raise their game, eh?’ Trevor relaxed then. He had delivered the news and Lenny had not lost that phenomenal temper of his.
‘The Brodie boys? You mean he has sold out to a pair of fucking kids? Better keep an eye on your pocket money; next thing you know they’ll be round your house half-inching your racing bikes.’
He was laughing then and that was all the more worrying because the men around him knew he was making a mistake if he thought the Brodie brothers were beneath his radar and of no consequence. They were big lads now and they were their father’s sons.
And the fact Lenny had given their mother two more children to worry about should have told him they were not kids any more.
‘Good fucking luck to them, they deserve a bit of good luck. Young Patrick is home from clink then, I take it?’
Everyone nodded, pleased he had taken the news so well. But they were all wondering why he didn’t know the boy had been released. If anyone should have known, it was him, considering the circumstances.
‘Bad business that. The boy was fucking well within his rights but you know what the courts are like . . .’
Lenny shrugged. ‘I couldn’t help him, he had already fucked up by hammering an Old Bill. Once that happens . . .’
They all grinned at the memory; it had been a nine-day wonder at the time and Pat had made a rep for himself overnight. He had taken out a filth with three punches and it had taken a paddy wagon full of them to take him in. He was a handful all right and so was that Lance, but young Patrick was the one they watched out for. He had the same presence and the same demeanour as his father before him.
‘Bad business all round. I wish I could have helped him more . . .’
But the fact of the matter was Lenny could have helped him but he had not even tried. He was half-brother to the children Lenny had with Lil and that was what had caused the initial spate of whispering. Lenny had lost a lot of his kudos over the boy’s sentence; he had not even had a decent brief on his side. People thought he should have made himself busy and stopped the whole thing before it had even gone to trial. He could have done that but he had chosen not to. People were not impressed and Lenny knew that as well as they did. He had taken a few hard knocks over it.
He’d lost a lot of his street credibility into the bargain. This was a man who could orchestrate a deal for fucking murderers and drug dealers, who bought prison sentences for hard cash, brokered with judges and barristers and weighed out the police and the Flying Squad. Sixty grand guaranteed a five-year sentence instead of a fifteen and these deals were only done through him. And yet he had tried to bullshit everyone that he couldn’t help out young Patrick Brodie on a fucking GBH. His liaison with Lil had stopped overnight and that alone had caused suspicion. There was something fishy about it and, as a wise man had said many moons before, even dogs had the sense not to shit in their own beds.
Spider was in his local drinking Guinness and watching the cricket. It was a lovely day and he was relaxing with his eldest son. Spider’s real name was Eustace and he had passed this name on to his oldest boy.
He was called Spider because he had been a Spiderman fanatic as a boy; he still had all the Marvel comics he had collected and had even added to them over the years. They were worth a small fortune now, to the right person of course. He would rather be called Spider than Eustace any day of the week. But it was the name of his father and his father’s father before him so it had been Eustace for his firstborn as well.
His son was a big lad with a handsome profile and the smooth, burnished skin of a real Jamaican. He’d had the look of a fighter from birth; Pat Brodie had remarked that he looked like he would be capable of a row. As his maternal grandfather had been a boxer called Micky McMurray, known to all as Mac, Spider had given the nickname to his son. It had stuck and over the years it had been bastardised to Mackie as well as Mac, and it was now the name he answered to.
The lad was a good kid; he was big enough to make people think twice about fighting with him and he was intelligent enough to think twice before starting a fight himself. Spider was proud of him, as he was proud of all his children.
The door of the pub banged open and Spider saw two young men looking around. They both had dark hair and deep-blue eyes and, jumping up from his seat, he shouted across the crowded bar, ‘Hey, Brodies, over here.’
Pat Junior rushed to him and they embraced for long moments. As Spider felt the strength of the boy and his happiness at his welcome, he forced down the urge to weep. These children had played on his mind over the years. Everything that their father had been, and everything he had worked for, had been taken from them in a single night. Pat Junior was like his father’s clone; it was like looking at his old friend once more. He even had the same mannerisms.
Spider pushed the boy away from him and held him at arm’s length as he drank in his presence. He didn’t seem the worse for wear, he could look after himself he knew.
‘You good?’
Pat nodded. ‘Yeah, you?’
Pat was suddenly a man and Spider watched as his son embraced him. He saw that Lance, as always, was on the sidelines watching everything but never joining in until he was asked to. Patrick Junior had to drag him over to them all and Spider hugged him, as was expected, but the feeling was different. Lance was stiff and unyielding and he knew that, unlike his brother, Lance wasn’t bothered about seeing any of them. Spider sensed that Patrick knew that but ignored it.
Still, each to their own.
‘The Windies thrashing us as usual?’
Spider and Mac grinned. ‘What do you think? You white boys might have invented the game but you can’t fucking play it!’
Everyone laughed happily.
‘It’s good to see you, boys.’
’And you Spider, and you.’
Even Pat’s voice was different; deeper, and he seemed to speak slower with more emphasis on his words. He was also heavier in his body; he looked like he had been working out but that was usual for someone straight out of nick, there was fuck all else to concentrate on. But it suited Pat; he was a big lad and his huge shoulders and forearms made for an intimidating picture. He had the Irish colouring: the dark shadow that needed shaving twice a day and the thick black hair and glittering eyes that were a deep blue and made women want him.
As they all sat down, Mac slipped a small package into Pat’s hand. ‘Grade A grass, just what the doctor ordered.’
‘Ta. You look good mate, you fucking handsome bastard.’
As the two young men hugged again, Spider was reminded of the years that had passed and was glad that his son and Pat’s son had forged such a strong bond of friendship.
‘You look like twins, do you know that?’ Mac observed.
Lance and Patrick shrugged with indifference.
‘We’ve been told that all our lives,’ said Pat. ‘Now, what do you want to drink?’
Spider
was already out of his chair.
‘No way. I’ll get them in. You all right for money, Pat?’
Pat nodded and, pointing at Mac, he said quietly, ‘He’s already weighed me out, Spider, don’t worry.’
Pat saw the look of shock on Spider’s face at his words and laughed once more.
‘I see. So you are sound for the moment then?’
‘Yeah, rocking, mate. Thirsty though.’
As Spider walked to the bar, Mac smiled. ‘You got the gig then I take it?’
Pat nodded. ‘Bought it first thing. Now we’re going to go round and introduce ourselves to the regular punters and make sure they know that it’s in their interest to pay promptly. I should have your dosh for you in a few weeks. I have some other things lined up, as well you know.’
Mac grinned and shook his shaggy head. ‘You ain’t got a fucking Scooby Doo, have you?’
Lance was watching him closely. ’Ain’t got a clue about what?’
Mac looked at Lance. He was like a watered-down version of his brother; he had the same features but they looked different on him, he looked half mad most of the time. His eyes had no sparkle, nothing to say what he was feeling.
Pat took his pint from the tray that Spider had just brought over to the table and, taking a deep drink, he sighed in satisfaction. He turned to his brother and said quietly, ‘What he means, Lance, is that the money was a gift but it was a lot of dough and I would feel better if I paid it back, you know.’
Pat looked at Spider then and the big man shook his head. ‘You don’t owe us anything.’
Lance watched his brother’s easy smile and wished he had his relaxed way with people. If it had been left to him, he would have taken the money. Snatched their hands off, in fact. They did owe him, they owed them all, but he didn’t say that, of course.
‘How was it in there?’
Patrick smiled, showing even white teeth. He was like a young Georgie Best and he even had the same innocent look about him, a look that belied the real nature underneath.’All right, met a few decent blokes and even more fucking tossers. But it was OK.’
‘Did you get what I sent in?’
‘Yeah. Thanks, Spider, much appreciated and all. I was banged up with young Terry Mason, nice fella. Hard fucker for all his scrawniness; he’s like a fucking terrier. He took a geezer’s nose off in the dinner queue. Great big fucking scouser he was and Terry had a tear-up with him. Believe it or not it was over the last plate of tapioca.’
They were all laughing now at his matter-of-fact voice and his understatement of the facts.
‘There was fucking skin and blood flying everywhere. I jumped in when the scouser’s mates decided he was getting mullered. It was the first night after sentencing and me and Terry had arrived there together, just in time for dinner. We won the day and shared the fucking tapioca between us. We were battered to fuck but we didn’t give a toss. We were starving after sitting in that fucking van all day. Anyway, after that we sort of teamed up; you know how it is.’
Pat stopped smiling suddenly and, looking into Spider’s eyes, he said seriously, ‘I need some guns, sawn-offs, can you sort that for me?’
Spider nodded slowly. This was a different boy all right and he was sorry for that; even as he understood how and why the change had come about.
‘Where’s Kathy?’
Eileen sighed. She took her coat off and hung it on the banister and said with her usual, exaggerated sarcasm, ‘It’s Friday, Mum. She’s still in the library. You know she changes her books today and you know how long she takes so I left her there.’
‘You’re a lairy little mare, do you know that?’
Lil was laughing; Eileen was a case and no mistake. She was as different to her twin sister as a bird was to a fish. Outgoing and friendly, she was the life and soul of any gathering. Her whole life was one big drama and she loved it; gravitating from laughter to tears in minutes or from anger to heartfelt apologies within seconds. There was never a dull moment when she was about.
‘Lance will pick her up anyway, he normally does.’
She walked into the front room and, throwing herself down on to the sofa, she yawned loudly. ‘I hate that school. It’s like being banged up all day in a sauna.’
She was speaking to no one in particular and no one bothered to answer her. She went to the local convent but at weekends she worked in a bookies nearby. She had worked there since her fourteenth birthday and could easily run the place. Lenny had at least done that much for the girls. Kathy worked there with her but she wasn’t really any good at it. She had never been good with strangers. Eileen watched out for her and that was how it should be.
Kathy spent most of her work-day in the back of the shop watching TV and counting out the winnings. She then placed the money in an envelope, wrote the lucky punter’s name on it and placed it in the safe till it was collected.
At school she worked well and was a model pupil. Her twin looked out for her there as well, but even the teachers had remarked on her nervousness and her quietness. If it had not been for Eileen, Kathy would have been a complete loner. Eileen attracted people and had a network of friends and as Kathy was like an extension of her twin sister, it looked like she was the same. But she wasn’t.
‘How does she seem to you, Eileen?’
‘Who, Kathy? The same as always. You’ll never guess what she did today, she went out on her own and got some lunch!’
Lil didn’t laugh with her daughter, she found it sad more than anything. That a beautiful young girl like her Kathy could be so nervous of the world worried her.
‘Is it me, Eileen, or does she seem even quieter than usual?’
Eileen didn’t know what to say so she sighed; one of the loud, heavy, what can I say, kind of sighs she was so good at.
‘Give it a rest, Mum, you know what she’s like. She ain’t going to wake up one morning and be a disco-dancing party girl just because you want her to. Not everyone has to go clubbing and drinking to have a good time. She’s just a quiet person, she prefers her books and her music, and that is all right, Mum.’
Lil shook her head sadly. ‘It’s not about that, and you know it. She isn’t right. You and her should be out having a good time together and she seems to get quieter and quieter as each year passes. I just think she’s wasting her life sitting in that bedroom on her own.’
’And that’s what I am trying to say to you, Mum. That is her prerogative. Kathy’s always been quiet and into herself. She ain’t silly, Mum, she is just really shy, that’s all.’
Lil looked at this gorgeous daughter of hers, with her thick hair and her carefully made-up face. It was like seeing herself at that age and she knew that she had not aged too badly, she still looked good. Though how that could be, considering the life she led, she didn’t know. But she couldn’t understand how Eileen couldn’t see the emptiness in her sister’s eyes, the nervousness that couldn’t just be a byproduct of seeing her father killed. Kathleen was fey, according to her mother. She was a fairy child and those words had comforted Lil once, when she had been little, but not any more.
‘How was school anyway?’
Eileen screwed up her face in disgust. ‘Leave it out, Mum, what kind of question is that?’
The front door banged open and her two youngest children burst into the hallway and as they rushed into the front room, Lil wondered at how different they were to the other five. Colleen had big brown eyes and thick, curly hair and was all long legs and missing teeth and her brother, Christopher, had dark blond hair and the same brown eyes as Colleen. But Christy, as he was called, at nine years old, was already big for his age. Like his brothers he was going to be strong and tall.
Colleen sat on her mother’s lap and began to regale them all with her day’s activities. She was a dear child who was always sunny-natured and always at odds with Christy, though they were as close as two people could be.
Lenny Brewster had given her these children, had wanted her to have these child
ren for him and all to try to wipe Patrick Brodie from her mind. He had made her his and that had suited her at the time; with five kids and no real income, he had been a necessity. He had forced her to take him into her life. After Christy, he had more or less abandoned her; he had made his point and was ready to move on.
She had expected that but she had also expected him to take care of them, and he had not been as generous as he should have been towards her. But as much as she loathed him for his neglect and his indifference he had given her these two babies and, for that much alone, she would always be grateful.
Chapter Twenty
’All right, Lenny?’
Lance’s voice was, as always, neutral. He was a strange lad and Lenny wondered about this lad’s calm demeanour, as he had many times in the past. He didn’t bother to turn around and face him even though that was an insult in their world. He was too busy counting up the boxes of wine he had acquired that morning from a young up-and-coming Face who, it seemed, had a natural talent for hijacking lorries. He also, it had turned out, had an aptitude far beyond his tender years for sniffing out quality gear to thieve. Definitely someone to keep an eye on for the future; if he didn’t get a capture and a large lump within eighteen months, he would consider bringing him on to the firm full time. Until then, he would buy anything of value for a fraction of its true worth and keep the boy onside with his protection.
’All right, son. What brings you here?’
He was expecting an answer and when none came he turned around slowly, one eyebrow raised, and an inquisitive look on his face.
‘What’s the matter, Lance? You lost the power of speech?’
Not for the first time, he felt a prickle of fear. Lance was staring at him with those dead eyes and he knew that the boy was definitely a few ampoules short of an overdose.
‘You owe my mother money, Lenny, and you know it. I am here to remind you that we ain’t kids no more and you are taking the fucking piss.’
Lenny bit on his bottom lip; his fat face was red and bloated and he looked like he wasn’t capable of anything that could be construed as even remotely out of order. Lance, like most people who got to know Lenny well, knew that was his strength. As the years had gone on though and no one had stepped in to challenge his authority, Lenny had stopped pretending he was a nice guy. In fact, he was making the mistake a lot of men made when they finally reached the top of their professions; he had stopped caring what people thought about him. He thought he was above everyone around him and that he could disregard the opinions and the goodwill of the people who actually made it possible for him to pursue his ideals. Or, in Lenny’s case, earn his daily crust.