by Martina Cole
The shirt Lenny wore was drenched in his blood and she looked at it and felt a measure of relief. He had tortured her and worse than that, he had ignored her children; his own flesh and blood. For that alone she wanted him to hurt. The years of his abuse and his hate was spurting out of her now.
‘Fuck you, Lenny. Fuck you, you rotten bastard. You took my Pat from me and you fucking knew you had when you came creeping round my house. You used me and you fucking enjoyed it.’
He watched her and then he laughed. ‘Course I didn’t. Who the fuck would want you lot? Tell me that? A fucking washed-up has-been and her gaggle of kids. Your cunt’s bigger than Dartford Tunnel, darling. You’re a fucking joke to me, you always were.’
Patrick walked over to Lenny then. Lenny saw the look in the boy’s eyes as he goaded him once more. ‘Your mother’s son, you are, eh? A brass, she was a fucking brass, boy. She flogged her fanny in this very club. It’s a wonder she never fucked your Lance. Let’s face it, he’d be up for it, wouldn’t he? Weird ponce that he is. And what about the twins, eh, the loon and the lesbian? I wouldn’t want to be part of the Brodie family for all the coke in fucking Colombia.’
Lenny couldn’t understand why no one was doing anything about what he was saying. They were just standing there as if he was invisible. Then he saw that Lil had put her hand up, that she was stopping them from retaliating. The fact they were willing to do as she asked, amazed him. Women had no place in his world; they were less than nothing. In fact, he had never once been bothered about one in his life.
Now, he saw the power women could wield over their sons or their lovers and he was glad he had never been reduced to anything so fucking humiliating.
‘What about Colleen and Christy? What about them, Lenny?’
He laughed. His face was really hurting now and he could feel the blood dripping on to the floor. It was surreal, the whole thing was surreal.
‘What about them, Lil? They mean nothing to me, no more than you ever did.’
It was said so nastily and with such malice and hatred that Lil couldn’t listen to him any more.
‘You took everything from me, Lenny, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters any more because if I got nothing else from you, I got those kids and they are worth the world.’
She looked at him then and she saw the blood and the sweat and she also saw the fear. He was frightened out of his life and she knew he had always been frightened of something or someone. Even Patrick had been taken out by the Williams brothers; this man would never have had the guts to do it himself. He had been the catalyst for all her family’s ills and yet he had also given her two children she adored.
Her fear of him was gone; she had marked him as he had bragged about marking her. He had seen his children as nothing more than chains to keep her bound to him and they had been doing exactly that for far too long. Her son was going to rectify everything that had happened to them and, at last, she was going to be free of this man and his hate.
‘I’ll see you two later.’
Lil walked from the room then and she felt lighter than she had in years. People thought that violence solved nothing and they were right. But she also knew that sometimes rough justice was all that people like her had left.
Lenny watched her go. He had the demonic look of a maniac and he watched in fear as Jimmy Brick and Pat Brodie took heavy chains from their pockets and then wrapped them delicately around their knuckles. He knew he would die in agony and then only after a long beating.
‘I am going to enjoy this, Lenny, you fucking piece of shit.’
He laughed at them, he was on autopilot now. ’And what will you tell your little brother and sister, Pat? That you murdered their dad? I bet that will go down a fucking bundle, won’t it?’
‘They won’t give a shit. They think you’re a twat anyway, Lenny; they don’t even like you.’
Patrick pulled the chain tight and gave him a hard belt; he made sure it landed on the wound his mother had already inflicted. He had learned that one in nick; if the person you were fighting had any kind of wound, worry it and keep at it and the pain would be much more intense. It was the psychological angle and all. Once a cut was there it was human nature to try to protect it from more harm.
‘You are going to die, Lenny, and do you know, not one of your fucking blokes tried to stick up for you. Not one of them questioned what we were going to do to you.’
Jimmy grinned then and Lenny knew he would be over the moon at his part tonight.
‘You are one fucking wanker and you spent your life taking what you wanted. Well, now it’s my turn.’
Jimmy had the chain and he also had a Stanley knife and he opened up Lenny’s belly with it.
Lenny felt the sting as it sliced into his skin and he saw Patrick Brodie watching the proceedings with a casual air. He knew that this was indeed his father’s son. It was no more than he expected, and he hoped he would take all he had to come, like a man. Patrick Senior had, he knew. He had not once begged for his life and he had put up a fucking good fight and all.
When Patrick started to lay in to Lenny, Jimmy stepped back and watched it all with a quiet interest. He observed the younger man and knew he was going to be all right. Like his father, he had the right temperament for skulduggery and prison life.
Within minutes, Lenny Brewster was begging for mercy, but he didn’t get any.
Lil could hear him screaming with pain, as could everyone in the club. No one mentioned anything though. The hostesses who were not occupied with customers sat on the meat seats smoking and drinking and acted like they couldn’t hear anything.
Lily Brodie felt, for the first time in years, on top form once more. She felt the weight of Lenny’s anger and his hatred dropping away from her. Even though the father of two of her children was being murdered, somehow it just didn’t seem wrong to her. She turned up the music until the sound of the Stylistics drowned out Lenny Brewster’s screams.
Lenny was begging for his life as they sang, ‘Betcha By Golly Wow’. It seemed a fitting tribute as far as Lil was concerned. The girls were watching her carefully and she knew that they were not going to give her any trouble. They knew the score better than anyone.
As Lil stood behind the bar and surveyed her domain, she felt the rush of excitement course through her veins. Then, picturing her Patrick in her mind’s eye, she knew he would have been proud of his son, his firstborn.
Colin the doorman winked at her and she smiled then. Life could only get easier from now on and she had waited a long time for that to finally happen.
Lenny Brewster’s body was never found. He had been put in the crusher of a scrapyard in south London, his coffin being the boot of a Hillman Imp.
He had still been lucid as he was thrown into the boot by Patrick and Jimmy. Patrick had been determined on that much and Jimmy had been happy enough to go along with it. The last thing Lenny had seen was the two men smiling down at him as they slammed the boot shut. He had heard the sound of the crusher as it had been cranked up and he had felt the car being raised from the ground. As it swung in the air the car had felt like a metal prison and Lenny knew that no one would care that he had disappeared, that no one would even bother trying to find out what had happened to him.
The noise of the metal as it was crushed into a small cube masked the screams of the man inside as he felt the heavy crush-bars coming towards him. The car buckled and bent as he tried frantically to scratch his way out. The lifeforce was so strong that he was still attempting to escape as his head was gripped as in a vice, and his body dismantled with bloodcurdling ease. When the small cube finally passed through the machine and landed with a quiet thud on to the dirt floor, Jimmy saw Patrick hawk deeply in his throat and spit on it.
An hour later, Spider was surprised to see the two men come into his drinking club and he knew then, that it was all over.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kathleen was in bed and no one could get her up. She couldn’t s
eem to get herself together. Lance, as always, was spending as much time as he could with her. He talked to her for hours in his low voice, calming her down and making it easier for everyone else in the house. Lil couldn’t keep her patience with her daughter; considering everything she had to contend with on a daily basis, a teenage drama queen was not something she had much sympathy for. The doctor said she was depressed, but how could a girl that age be depressed? And about what, for fuck’s sake? The price of make-up, the new fashions; it was hard to understand. But Lil still felt guilt over Kathleen and her inability to make everything all right for her. The doctor had pilled her up and left them to it.
Now, she had all this shit to contend with and, Annie being Annie, was also in the frame. She was with the pair of them as often as they would allow her and, as good as Annie might be now, Lil still remembered how she had treated her all those years ago. She knew that her mother had caused a lot of the problems in her life. Probably in her kids’ lives as well.
Lil was still getting over the night’s events. Even though her heart was telling her it was wrong, she was relieved that Lenny Brewster was out of all their lives at last. He had been an enormous presence; even when he wasn’t around, his personality and his hatefulness had hung over the house like a shroud. His absolute disregard for the children had hurt, not just her, but them too. Then, he would arrive out of the blue, and the anger in him would make everyone feel uneasy. Lenny had enjoyed the fear his presence created and she had hated herself for what she had put her family through. The kids had felt his indifference from an early age. Now they would not have to go through the trauma of knowing he was nearby and that his absence was a deliberate ploy to hurt them, even at their young age. Her Patrick, her boy, had saved them from him; he had done what should have been done many years before; he had wasted him. He had removed him from their lives like a cancer that had flourished, strangling the life out of everyone in its orbit.
Lil had been at her lowest ebb when Lenny had come to her and, although she had known he was not the best of men, she had believed he would at least care for them all. Taking on Brodie’s family had made him look like he was a good man, a decent man. That he had seen them all right. But, like Patrick before him, he had seen himself all right without a thought for her or her kids. Even Patrick, the love of her life, had left her destitute. He could have made sure they were looked after, should have made sure they were looked after, and she had to admit to herself that he just had not bothered. She had not only lost her husband, the father of her children, she had also lost everything they had. She had ended up on the bash to make ends meet. They had five children, five, and he had not even had a will of any description. He had not allowed for his death, for his children’s futures. It still rankled, still hurt her when she thought about it. She had loved him like she had loved no other. He had been her world and while he was there, he had looked after her, she didn’t dispute that. But what had gradually occurred to her over the years was that he hadn’t seen her as a soulmate, as an equal. He had seen her as his wife.
But now that Lenny had been disposed of, she felt as if she had been given another chance at life. She refused to mourn Patrick or the life she had once enjoyed any more. Her boy was home and he was taking over, like his father before him, and she hoped against hope that he wouldn’t tuck her up as well.
Lil walked up the stairs and popped her head into Kathleen’s room. She was lying there, her face turned to the wall and her shoulders hunched under the covers. It was a nice room, the girls had always kept their room nice. Lil looked around her then, as if seeing it for the first time. It was clean but it was in desperate need of redecoration. Patrick had weighed her out with enough money to get the place sorted and she was going to do just that. As she sat on her daughter’s bed she felt her usual irritation at the girl’s complete lack of anything even resembling a life. She hid it as best she could, for the most part, but seeing this beautiful girl with her whole life ahead of her just lying in bed for weeks on end made her so angry; she hated the waste of a life. Or of a youth that Kathleen was too young and stupid to realise would be over before she knew it.
As Kathleen opened her eyes and looked up at her mother, Lil saw the same loneliness there that she had seen in her own eyes all those years ago, and she couldn’t understand it.
Kathleen had a whole network of people who cared for her, and yet she chose to waste her life away in a bedroom, and with a sadness that made her mother sick with guilt every day of her life.
Lily forced down the annoyance and said, with as much interest as she could muster, ‘You feeling better, love?’
Kathleen nodded, slowly as always, as if the movement of her head was a really complicated manoeuvre and the question she had been asked was verging on life or death.
Lil had to clench her fists to stop herself from physically dragging this child of hers from the bed and slinging her out on to the street to force her to join in with real life; whether she wanted to or not.
Lil took deep breaths. She periodically felt like this about her daughter and, when she did lose it, she was always stopped by the others and made to feel so bad about what she had done. But Kathleen seemed to enjoy her depression too much for her liking.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I can’t, Mum, I feel so bad.’ Her voice had a whine in it that once more spelled danger to Lil, and she nodded gently before turning to leave the room.
‘Mum?’ The voice was stronger now and Lil turned to face it.
‘What, love?’ She was trying her hardest to hide her irritation; her short temper was already on a low fuse.
Kathleen looked deep into her eyes and Lil saw the black circles and the grey skin that told her she really was unwell.
‘I don’t mean it, you know. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to be like this, so unhappy and so tired all the time. I can’t help it, Mum, I just can’t help it.’
Lil’s anger dissolved then, and she felt the usual rush of guilt. She didn’t know what to do for her baby girl who was hurting, and she didn’t know what would make it better. She didn’t know how to make the pain stop.
She sat on the bed and took Kathleen in her arms, feeling the softness of her as she hugged her tightly. ‘I know you don’t mean it, Kath, I just wish you wasn’t feeling bad in the first place.’
As she tried to stroke her daughter and comfort her, Kathleen pulled away from her. ‘Don’t you ever hate life, Mum?’
Lil smiled then, a tiny, tired smile, and she answered her honestly, but with an edge of sarcasm to her voice: ‘Every day of my life, darling, every day of my fucking life.’
Sergeant Smith was tall; tall and thin and he had a bad case of psoriasis. He spent the best part of his days scratching himself and, as he sat with Pat and Lance, they both watched him in morbid fascination. He was like a monkey in a zoo, except he had brown hair and watery grey eyes. Patrick knew he had been on the roll for a while; he was close with them all, at least he thought he was, and he was happy enough to change allegiance when he deemed it necessary. Like now, with Brewster’s timely disappearance.
Like all bent filth, he was not to be trusted. If he was capable of tucking up his workmates, his so-called colleagues, he was not to be trusted any more than you would a rabid dog or a pregnant whore. That was why the people they dealt with had to make sure they had some insurance. Something that could be dangled over their heads when a point needed to be made or someone needed to be reminded of exactly who they were and, more to the point, who they were dealing with. His name was Roland and few people were aware of that. Those who knew were not brave enough to use it. He was always called Smith.
As he sat with the Brodie boys he was happy to take his bunce and assure them that he was happy enough with the change of management that had recently occurred. Smith was a shrewdie; he had a bastard of a boss who, he made sure, was never, ever, in any kind of compromising situation.
Smith had been Pat’s go-between s
ince day one and he was quite content with that. They were paid well and were rarely asked to do anything of merit. That the day would eventually come, they were both sure but, until then, they were content to go with the flow.
‘Tell Scanlon I want a meet with him and I want it soon.’
Smith was suddenly unsure how to answer the young man before him; he had the look of the convict about him and that wasn’t unusual seeing as how he was one. But he also had a hard edge to his voice that told the listener he was not about to take any nonsense.
‘Scanlon never meets anyone.’ This was said with a hint of amazement; Smith looked as if he had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life.
Pat stood up and took the money off the desk and he saw Smith’s eyes widen slightly at his actions. ‘You tell fucking Scanlon that if he don’t meet with me, I am going to fucking go over his head, all right? You ain’t the only bent filth in the game.’
He opened a drawer and dropped the package inside it. ‘No meet, no dosh. Sorry, mate.’
Smith sat there for a few seconds, unsure how to react. Then Lance dragged him up bodily from his seat and bellowed, ‘Well, fuck off then! Tell the skank to get his arse in gear.’
He pushed him towards the door then and Smith left as quickly as was possible without looking like he was running away.
Lance and Pat laughed at his exit.
‘What a cunt, Pat.’
‘He will come in handy, don’t worry.’
Pat stretched with tiredness, rubbing his rough hands across his face and eyes.
He had achieved most of what he had set out to do. In fact, he had found it much easier than he would have believed. He had taken back what had been theirs in the first place and now he had to convince certain people that they were working directly for him. Lenny had made the mistake of never giving anyone their due, not respecting their part in any skulduggery that came his way or bothering to acknowledge their existence. Not a mistake Pat intended to make. He knew it was going to be hard, but he had a good back-up.