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by Martina Cole

  ‘You a hard man now, Lance?’

  The words were said with such disdain that Lance felt them as if they were a physical slap.

  ‘You don’t fucking scare me, Lenny. I am more than capable of taking you out, mate. Unlike you, I don’t rely on other people to do my dirty work. I’d do it meself and you know that. I’ve done enough of it for you over the last few months.’

  Lenny knew the boy was flexing his muscles and he also knew it was because his older brother was home from clink with a decent rep and the hunger for money and recognition that could be the death knell of people like him if they weren’t careful.

  Once you got too settled, you made mistakes, and one of Lenny’s biggest mistakes was underestimating the boy in front of him. Lance was a handful on his own but only if he thought he had someone bigger in his corner and, until Pat Junior’s release, that person had been him. Now though, blood would out, as it always did in these cases. And Pat and Lance were close, closer than most brothers were; probably because of the circumstances surrounding their father’s death. The trauma had affected all the kids in one way or another.

  Lil’s love for her firstborn had been the bane of Lenny’s life with her; it wasn’t just that she loved the boy, it was because he knew Pat Junior was his father all over again. As long as Pat was breathing she would never be without the man she had adored.

  Two children later and he was still no closer to her than he had been in the beginning. She had used him as he had used her and he could even have accepted that if only she had not made him feel second-best.

  Lenny had everything that Patrick Brodie had worked for, owned, except the one thing that really mattered. Lil Brodie had been the icing on the cake as far as he was concerned. Only, he had got her by default and he knew that and, eventually, she had known that. Once he had laid his mark on her he had not wanted Lil any more and had punished her with his complete indifference. He had used her as he used everyone, even though a part of him, a small part of him, knew that what he had done to her was wrong. That the people in his circle who he depended on had lost respect for him over his treatment of Patrick Brodie’s widow.

  Lil’s boys had grown up and now they were a team and it was up to him how that problem would be dealt with in the future. As he looked at the boy in front of him he knew instinctively that every sneaky deal he had done and every lie he had ever told, especially those that had pertained to Brodie’s death, were finally coming back to haunt him. He had let people think that he was the man who had taken it upon himself to avenge that terrible death, to see that justice had been done when in fact he had actually been instrumental in its execution. He had allowed it to happen so he could take what he saw as his by rights. The affair with Lil had been seen as her falling for him because he had been so good to her. Because she needed his protection. Not that his wife had seen it so romantically, of course. She now lived in Surrey with a banker called Wright who had a comb-over and enough money to assuage her feelings of inadequacy and provide her with everything she had ever wanted.

  That Lenny had abandoned Lil with two extra kids was a nine-day wonder and was something he would never live down. Until now, that had not bothered him too much; seeing Lil brought low had given him a measure of satisfaction. It had been the ultimate slap in the face for Brodie and for her, because her children were more important to her than he would ever be. Lenny would never accept that from anyone.

  ‘Look, Lance, I appreciate all you’ve done for me lately and I understand you not wanting your brother to find out about any of it and he won’t. He wouldn’t be as open-minded as us, now would he?’

  He let his words sink in before continuing; his voice, as always, neutral. ‘I wouldn’t grass you up, would I? Think about it, you’re like family to me.’

  This was from a man who had let his wife take his children away with her and who had no real affection for them or for any of his other children come to that, Lil’s included. He gave women kids for no other reason than to put his mark on them. He did it to make sure that they never forgot him, even though he was liable to forget about them at some point.

  ‘What about me mum; you won’t get away with short-changing her now he’s back on the scene.’

  It was the way Lance had expressed his brother’s presence that alerted Lenny once more to Lance’s feelings about his older brother. He loved him, that had never been in any doubt at all, but he also resented him because his mother had worshipped her eldest son since she had given birth to him. Whereas Lenny knew that this boy was not high on her list of favourites. In fact, she avoided him when possible.

  Lance himself knew that she found him difficult to care for and that she had no real affection for him. He had been forced to rely on his grandmother’s love.

  ‘Pat will make sure you sort yourself out, Lenny. He has a habit of making people do what he wants.’

  Lenny forced down his anger at Lance’s attitude and his anger, when he let it go, was legendary. ‘Why don’t you let me worry about that, eh?’

  Lance stared at him and once more Lenny Brewster was unnerved by the boy’s complete lack of emotion. He was only there now because Pat was finally home and he would be making a song and dance about everything as usual. Pat thought he was the dog’s knob, always had done. Now Lance was nervous because he had been working for Lenny on a regular basis and he was worried that his big bruv wouldn’t approve. Lance would also know that Pat Junior would have expected him to watch out for his mother’s interests, at least. Patrick, he knew, would be after something for his younger siblings and that meant he would be around to see him at some point.

  ‘Why don’t you get home, Lance, and let me worry about the big man, eh?’

  The sarcasm was evident, as was his complete disregard for anyone or anything he saw as interfering with his equilibrium.

  Lance knew that Lenny had something over him with Pat’s release from prison and that he would use his recent disloyalty against him without a second’s thought.

  As he walked out of the warehouse, Lance pushed over a pile of boxes, knocking them to the floor with such force that the bottles of wine they housed shattered on impact. The wine bled out from the cardboard boxes, snaking across the concrete floor and picking up dirt and grime in its wake before finally disappearing down the drains.

  Lenny stood there for a few moments watching the liquid as it slowly ran its course and then he turned back to the job in hand and finished his inventory. Lance had pulled a few stunts that were not exactly kosher and he had been well paid for them, so Lenny was secure in the knowledge that Lance, for all his bravado, would not want these little indiscretions coming to light. But then neither would he, come to that. Which is why he had brought Lance in on them in the first place.

  But Lenny Brewster knew that he might have to welcome home the prodigal son with open arms because, by the sound of it, that was what everyone else was going to do.

  Lil was in the club and she wasn’t happy at all. For the last few weeks she had gradually been getting more and more irritated with the way the girls she worked with were carrying on.

  This was a straight hostess club, no more and no less; she had opened the club with her old man, for fuck’s sake, and now she was having to deal with people who acted like she was an incompetent. Lenny’s treatment of her meant that they thought she wasn’t worth their respect any more. It was hard for her to keep any kind of order and to make the girls work the way they were supposed to without her resorting to threats and intimidation. She was aware that the girls had heard the whispers about her. Within days of her offering them a job, the insolence would be on their painted faces. Lenny’s attitude would be common knowledge, making her job all the harder. But the hostess had not been born who would get the better of her and they eventually found that out the hard way.

  Since Patrick had come home from prison she couldn’t help being reminded that she had once owned the bloody club and that now she was reduced to running it. To add ins
ult to injury, the new crop of hostesses were under the mistaken impression that they knew it all. A few months on the game and they were convinced they had some kind of fucking second sight. They thought they knew everything that they needed to know about the life and were now experienced enough to lecture her on the correct way to get them earning.

  The main culprit was a new girl called Ivana. She was probably thirty though she swore she was twenty-two and she seemed to have a negative opinion about almost everything around her. She had ambitions for herself and Lenny, that much was evident in the way she spoke to Lil and the way she smiled as if she had some kind of authority over her and the club itself.

  Lil was not in the mood for her tonight and whereas she usually listened politely to the girls’ petty grumbles and let them get them off their chests, tonight she couldn’t be bothered. In fact, she was feeling positively aggressive. As Ivana walked purposefully towards her she knew it was going to be another twenty minutes of pointless griping; insinuations that Lil didn’t know what she was doing and if she would just listen to what she was being told she would learn something of merit. The girl was a brass and, when all was said and done, that was the sum of her life experience. She had the hard eyes and the blank look of a woman who had slept with too many men in too short a time. Lil wasn’t in the least bit interested in entering into any kind of dialogue with her.

  ‘What is wrong with you now, Ivana? Is the floor too near your fat arse? The punters not tall enough? What?’ Lil was blunt to the point of rudeness, as she had intended to be.

  Ivana opened her arms in a gesture of futility; her slim body was encased in a cream boob tube and a black leather miniskirt. Her long, blond hair was styled to perfection and her make-up was flawless.

  Lil was generous enough to admit that the girl was absolutely lovely; far too good for this club. She should really have been on someone’s books earning a fortune and flying all over the world meeting rich Arabs, secure in the knowledge that they would pay her exorbitant amounts for her body and her discretion. That way she would have at least had the opportunity to marry someone with a few quid. A lot of older men were willing to buy the girls with marriage and make them respectable in the eyes of the world, if not in the eyes of their Soho counterparts. Instead, the silly bitch was here and arguing the toss every night like some kind of fucking shop steward. Lil knew there was a hidden agenda, there always was. Girls like Ivana saw everyone as a mark eventually; they used everyone in their orbit through sheer force of habit.

  ‘Look, Lil, I am only trying to make this a better place to work in; we could earn a lot more money, you included.’

  Loud music then filled the club as a stripper walked on to the small dance floor. She was a Soho veteran, in her thirties, and she had her act off pat. Three minutes of pure semi-naked pleasure and for the last ten seconds, total nudity. Of course it seemed much longer to the audience. Like everything in Soho, it was an elaborate charade. It promised the earth while actually delivering next to nothing. The stripper would go from club to club throughout the night, with her music tape and her costumes. She would earn a set amount for each strip and still be able to have an Equity card and class herself as an exotic dancer.

  Lil knew Soho like the back of her hand and to have someone like this girl standing in front of her, hands on hips and a face like thunder, trying to educate her, was beyond belief. She grinned at the utter stupidity of the Ivanas of the world and, pushing her face close, she said loudly and with menace, ‘Look, sweetheart, you are a brass, right, pure and simple. I know you have a high opinion of yourself and what you think you can do but this is a hostess club. Therefore, I can’t earn off you girls unless I have favourites, and they would then be obliged to give me money and this would be to make sure I seat them with the best punters, wouldn’t it? But what about the other girls, the ones who are not as fresh as they once were; how will they react, do you think? Well, I’ll tell you, shall I? They will murder you without a second’s thought, darling. Now, I know you feel you are being exploited and that is probably because you are. So shut the fuck up, go back to the meat seats and let me get on with my job, eh?’

  Lil was loud enough for anyone who was interested to hear what had been said. She was angry enough to make the girl think twice about arguing any more. Ivana looked as if she was about to cry. Instead, she walked back to her seat and Lil rolled her eyes at the ceiling, making the older girls laugh. They knew Lil could have a row if necessary and that Ivana could find herself on the receiving end of a well-aimed punch. Like Lil, they had seen better days and understood the value of youth in their chosen occupation.

  Going up to her office, Lil poured herself another drink, and as she felt the vodka taking hold she closed her eyes tightly. She had seven children ranging in age from twenty to eight and she was no better off now than she had been ten years ago. She had no money, no real job and her son was just out of prison and already hiding guns in her house. One of her twin daughters was unable to talk to her about what was bothering her and something was definitely bothering her, she knew. Her youngest children had basically been abandoned by their father, who would not even take any of her calls. The worst thing of all was that she had a terrible feeling she was pregnant again. She had drunk more than was good for her and slept with an old friend, more for the companionship and to ease her loneliness than anything else. Now she was like a young girl; terrified she had been caught out.

  Life seemed to make sure she had one kick in the teeth after another. Every time Lil thought life was going to get better for her and her family, she was proved wrong. Her eldest son was home again and she could rejoice about that much at least. But Lance was once more like his shadow and even though she hid her feelings well these days, she still wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

  Lil swallowed her drink down quickly and poured herself another; she had fifteen minutes before she did her weekly check on the girls for track marks. She had never ever allowed junkies to work her tables, they were aggressive, always in need of money and they aged before their time. They always tried to hustle the punter for money too quickly and that caused problems for everyone, not just the hostesses. It was a hard job in its own way, making sure the club ran smoothly, and she had been doing it for years. She had a feeling that was what was bugging her. As she poured herself another drink, Lil heard Lenny’s loud voice approaching her office and she knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was truly cursed.

  Patrick was trying to forget that his mother was working in a hostess club and to remember that he was on the out and needed to take care of his family. Kathy and Eileen were his biggest worry. Especially Kathleen; she was not right at all and the time away had emphasised to him just how strange she had become.

  ‘Come on, Kathleen. What’s wrong, mate? You seem so sad, darling.’

  She shook her head gently and Patrick knew he was not going to get anything from her. She had always been quiet but he didn’t remember her as quiet as she was now. In fact, she hardly spoke unless spoken to and even then she seemed almost startled, as if she couldn’t believe someone had actually spoken to her personally.

  ‘I’m fine, Pat, really.’

  She sounded sincere enough but he was still worried about her. He changed tack so she wouldn’t feel intimidated by his questions. ‘How’s school? You doing all right?’

  Kathleen nodded and he was struck again by just how much she looked like her twin, and yet when they stood side by side, she looked washed-out in comparison. Kathleen was like a cheaper version of her energetic and vivacious sister and it was because of her permanent sadness. She had a deep and abiding hurt that sat in the back of her deep-blue eyes and nothing seemed able to shift it. When Eileen was near her she seemed much more relaxed in herself and happier but when Eileen was out and about, Kathleen retreated back into herself and only Lance seemed able to get through to her.

  She looked haunted and it bothered him and he couldn’t understand why sh
e was like it. Kathleen had been such a happy girl, such a chatty child. Could it really be because of what had happened all those years ago? He supposed it was possible Kathleen had understood more than they had realised.

  Lance came into the room with three mugs of tea balanced precariously on a small tin tray. The tray made Patrick smile, it was one they had nicked from the local pub years before because he’d liked the two little Scottie dogs on it, one black, one white, advertising a blend of Scottish whisky. He had eaten his dinner off it while watching TV so many times and seeing it now brought back buried memories of his father.

  He forced them away. The past was over now and it was pointless revisiting it; he had learned that much in prison. In prison you realised that things were happening on the outside and no matter how much you cared there was nothing you could do about them. You were in the world but you were not part of it any more. Problems were suddenly huge, even the smallest, and eventually you had to come to terms with your inability to deal with them, to deal with anything that was happening in the outside world. Because you couldn’t be a part of it all any more, you had no way of making it all better. He still felt that way; he felt as if he was on the outside looking in. The twins had grown up since he had been gone and little Colleen, who had been a chatty four-year-old was now a chatty eight-year-old and he knew he had missed out on a large part of her life. Christopher was a diamond but again, he didn’t really know him now. And Shamus had grown from a small boy to a bruiser expelled already from school. Four years was a long time in their little lives; it was a long time in his life too. Visits were not enough to keep anyone informed of what was really happening in the family and any problems were glossed over anyway so the person banged up wouldn’t worry too much. Again, the attitude was why worry them when there was nothing they could do.