by Martina Cole
David hoped Moran was up for a few words; it would be fabulous to get his advice on life and how to best present yourself. But either way, he was just glad he’d be able to tell his grandkids that he had spent some time alone with the great man − that in itself was worth a fortune to him. He knew it would raise his profile, make people take notice. He was determined to make sure he did a good job, and prove himself worthy of the trust placed in him.
Joe Biggs was annoyed. Even though he had always known this day would come, he wasn’t happy about it. If ever a man should be dead it was Cain Moran – God knew it wasn’t for want of trying. He was like a fucking cat – lives coming out of his arsehole. Joe had to sit back and see how Cain was going to react to his new-found freedom, and if he was going to try and re-establish himself as a Face to be reckoned with. There were still plenty of people willing to stand behind him – his rep made sure of that. He had sat out a big lump and that alone demanded respect. Even Joe had to give him credit for that.
He had arranged Cain’s pick-up; he had a good young lad called David Hannan on the case – he wasn’t going to send some old lag to pick him up – and he had arranged a drink in a local hostelry. Joe had to do this – it was expected from him as the main Face about town. But having to kowtow to that fucking old has-been rankled. The man had taken everything from his family once; he had never forgotten that, and he never would. Fucking piece of dirt, he was. He had his own personal beef with Cain ‘High and Mighty’ Moran. The man was a fucking piece of shite, but he was also a very charming and enigmatic piece of shite. Men and women loved him – he was both macho and good-looking – but he was still a piece of work when he wanted to be and people had forgotten that. But not Joe. He would never forget just what he was dealing with in Cain Moran.
He was not about to let everything he had strived for be taken away – he had worked too long and too hard to let that happen. He would play it by ear for the time being, see what the man’s intentions were, and then decide the best way to proceed. After all, Moran was a wily, strong old bastard, and not someone to be dismissed in any way, shape or form.
Joe Biggs might be a lot of things, including vicious, vindictive and violent, but he was also capable of great patience when the time called for that. It was now time to sit back and see what occurred, keep his ear to the ground, and wait his opportunity. He could wait – after all, he had already waited long enough. So what was another few months?
Cain Moran had packed − not that he had much to take with him. Most of his stuff had already been distributed around his fellow cons. All he had left were a few books and a small amount of clothing. He couldn’t admit it, of course, but he felt a trickle of fear at being allowed home. After so long he knew this was natural. But fear was an alien concept to him, and he felt it acutely.
He wanted to get out, that was a no-brainer, but it was how the world would be now that bothered him. He had been away a long time and he had not had access to the outside world except through visitors and going to his boy’s funeral.
It was a completely different world he was going back to. He had read the papers, educated himself, absorbed every piece of information that he could lay his hands on, but the bottom line was he had no real idea of how the world had changed. How could he? It was a never-ending sameness in prison, each day merging into the next. TV wasn’t enough to prepare him, and the probation service had not allowed him any weekend leave. A few days ago he was just told to pack because he was on the out − simple as that.
There was such a lot to look forward to, most of all his Jenny, his beautiful Jenny. He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms again; it had been what he missed the most, just holding her close. It wasn’t even the sex − just being near her, the smell of her, the softness of her skin. He closed his eyes in anticipation; that at least he could look forward to − a night together at last. No sounds of men groaning in their sleep, no clattering of POs as they made their rounds, no more lying awake looking at nothing, willing the dawn to break so he could get out of his cell, dreaming of decent food and a drink in a real pub, wondering what the rest of the world was doing, wishing he were still a part of it.
Now it was here − what he had wanted for those long years − and he felt ambivalent. Part of him was raring to get out, while the thought of what he might find was holding him back. Still, he had no choice now; he was on the out. He just had a few debts to pay − both good ones and bad ones. He had to see Joe Biggs and sort out what they were going to do about the situation they found themselves in.
That was the first thing on his agenda − make the bastard pay if he didn’t toe the party line. The thought instantly made him feel better, made him feel powerful.
He was whistling as he went to the day room to make himself a final cup of coffee.
Book One
Oh, the good life, full of fun
Seems to be the ideal
Mm, the good life lets you hide
All the sadness you feel
‘The Good Life’
Music by Sacha Distel and lyrics by Jack Reardon
Chapter One
1979
Cain Moran was fit to be tied. His anger was legendary even in a world where a legendary temper was a requisite. He turned now and faced his antagonist.
‘He fucking blinded him?’
Johnny MacNamara, affectionately known as Johnny Mac, sighed. He saw exactly where all this was going. ‘Only in one eye, Cain . . .’
Cain Moran laughed at that, a deep, sarcastic laugh. ‘Oh, why didn’t you say that before! He’s only half blind, then? What a cunt I am, eh? There was me thinking that my mate’s boy was blinded completely, but it was only in one fucking eye.’
Johnny Mac instinctively stood in front of Sean Bowers, attempting to defuse the situation, but Sean, a nice enough lad prone to talking before he had fully engaged his brain, said plaintively, ‘You told me to teach him a lesson, Cain. That lesson was well and truly administered. End of.’
Cain Moran was shaking his head in utter disbelief. Johnny Mac stepped deftly out of the way of Cain’s fist, and it landed heavily in the centre of Sean’s eyes, sending him careering across the office, landing heavily against the iron filing cabinets. Johnny Mac could only look on helplessly as Cain administered a well-earned beating, culminating in Cain picking up a heavy cut-glass decanter filled with brandy and crashing it on to the unfortunate man’s head.
‘You fucking idiot! Do you know the fucking aggravation you have caused me? Do you? His dad is my fucking mate.’
Johnny Mac went to the door and motioned for two young men, both looking severely uncomfortable, to remove the offending object. Sean was covered in blood now, and was having difficulty breathing. It was a definite hospital job.
When the man had been removed, Johnny Mac poured two large whiskies and gave one to his friend. ‘He meant well, Cain, he was just trying to impress you.’
Cain laughed. His shirt was splattered with blood and his knuckles were grazed, but Johnny could see that his temper was subsiding.
‘Oh, he did that. Fucking moron. He blinded Vic Malone’s lad. I know he took the piss, owed a couple of quid, but that wasn’t any reason to fucking remove the poor little fucker’s eye. Now I have to placate fucking Vic, one of me oldest mates!’
Johnny sighed. ‘Fuck Vic, he shouldn’t have let it get this far.’
Cain laughed. ‘Oh, Johnny, it was fucking Vic who requested the lesson in the first place. He wanted his lad to realise the seriousness of getting in over his head.’
They both started laughing at the irony.
‘Well, look on the bright side, Cain − lesson well learned there, I’d say.’
They both dissolved into loud laughter again.
‘Let me change this fucking shirt, I hate the smell of blood. I’m going to have a quick shower. Get someone to clean this place up, will you?’
Cain left the offices and made his way up a rickety flight of stairs to his makeshift bed
room and bathroom. He had made sure he had these facilities for just these kinds of encounters − encounters that were becoming more and more prevalent, if he was honest.
Chapter Two
‘Ooh, look at you all done up like a dog’s dinner! On a promise, are we?’
Jennifer Riley looked good and she knew it, but the way her mother spoke it was not a compliment she was offering her daughter but an accusation.
‘Don’t be so silly, Mum. I’m going out with Bella.’
Eileen Riley snorted in derision. She had been drinking steadily all day, and the effects were not pretty. Her flushed face still held traces of her former beauty, but her hands were shaking and her eyes were bloodshot. Even her hair looked drunk, in its mass of knots and dark roots.
‘You’re a fool, Jen, giving it away to fucking schoolboys. You could make a fucking fortune I tell you, girl.’
Jenny could hear the disgust in her mother’s voice but she deliberately ignored it − she wasn’t getting into a slanging match this late in the day.
‘Have you eaten anything, Mum?’
‘“Have you eaten anything, Mum?” Can you hear yourself, Jen? Fuck off out if you’re going, and keep your fucking questions to yourself.’
Jenny shrugged. ‘I’ll take that as a no, then, shall I? Well, there’s bread and milk − at least have a slice of toast.’
Eileen Riley pointedly refilled her glass with cheap wine and said emphatically, ‘Fuck off.’
Jennifer Riley didn’t need to be told twice.
Chapter Three
Jenny and Bella Davis were sitting in a pub in Dean Street, both dressed to the nines, and sipping vodka and tonics as if they did it every day of their lives. In truth it was their first real foray into Soho and, at sixteen, they were both completely unaware that they were basically sitting targets. If there was one thing a predator in Soho liked, it was a good-looking girl with no real understanding of the world. Young girls craved excitement, and there were men willing to do everything in their power to see that they got it.
Bella Davis was tiny, with long dark hair and hazel eyes; she had good legs and she knew how to make the best of herself. Jenny Riley, however, was a completely different kettle of fish. Tall for her age, she had the body of an old-time film star, long thick blond hair, and deep blue eyes. She was a real head turner, and men had been looking at her all her life. It was something she accepted now, even though it made her very uncomfortable.
The girls had been smiled at by some good-looking young men, but mainly by not very good-looking older men, who had propositioned them into the bargain. While finding this wildly amusing, both were also becoming a bit scared as the night wore on. They had slipped into this pub in the hope of looking glamorous and sophisticated. The barmaid, a strange-looking woman in her forties with non-existent breasts and a suspicious-looking five o’clock shadow, had been watching them like a hawk since they had come in.
The place was livening up, and a tall man wearing a crumpled suit and a practised smile came and sat beside them. He was balding, had tobacco-stained fingers, and smelled like a week-old ashtray. He also sported a gold tooth and a scar that ran from his right eye down to his lip.
‘Hello, ladies, can I get you a drink?’
They both shook their heads in unison.
‘Don’t be shy, girls −’ he placed his hand on Jenny’s knee now − ‘I won’t bite you. Well, not unless you ask me nicely anyway.’ He laughed at his own humour.
‘Leave them alone, Doug, they’re only kids.’ The barmaid was motioning with her head for the girls to leave as she spoke.
Doug gripped Jenny’s thigh harder as he shouted angrily, ‘Keep out of it, you fucking freak, and bring another round of drinks.’
Jenny tried to remove his hand but it was like a claw. ‘We don’t want another drink, thank you. In fact we were just going.’ She tried to sound in control, but she was frightened now, and Bella was pale with fear.
‘You stay there, madam. If you come in here like a couple of fucking tarts, then you should expect to be treated as such. This is Soho, darling, and it’s a different world. Now, if you were thinking of joining the tart brigade I am the very man you need. It’s what I do, see. I recruit.’
Jenny swallowed noisily, unsure how to answer. The barmaid brought the drinks over and sighed at the two girls as if to say ‘I tried’. ‘Drink up, girls, next stop Club Louise, eh? DJ Rudy’s in tonight.’
Doug pushed the barmaid away roughly. ‘Why don’t you go and find someone to give a blow job to, and leave us alone, you fucking bender.’
‘Doug, for the last time, they are just kids, leave them alone.’
Doug stood up menacingly, and the barmaid made a hasty retreat. ‘Fucking animals! Men dressed as women, against the laws of nature. Fucking freak.’ The last two words were said loudly, and with as much disgust as he could power into his voice.
Jenny and Bella were truly frightened; their little foray into Soho had turned into a nightmare. Why didn’t they just go to a club? Why did they have to go walking around looking for excitement? No one else in the pub seemed bothered by their obvious distress; in fact, most of the men were trying to act as if they didn’t exist. They sat mutely, neither of them knowing how to extricate themselves from the situation they’d found themselves in.
‘Well, drink up then, girls, the night is young!’
Chapter Four
Johnny Mac listened intently as Cain Moran explained the complicated terms he expected for putting up the money needed for a new business venture by Jack Barton.
Jack’s eyes, Johnny noticed, were glazing over with boredom. Not that it would stop Cain − he insisted that people knew beforehand exactly what he expected from them so that way there were no surprised faces anywhere along the line.
‘My percentage of your profits is guaranteed up to three years from the term of the loan. If you’re agreeable, Jack, then the money’s yours.’
Jack Barton was nodding away; he had no idea what the fuck he was agreeing to but, as long as the money was handed over, he didn’t really give a shit.
‘Thirty grand is a lot, Jack. But I know you will pay me back with interest.’
There was an underlying threat there and even the thick-headed Jack Barton couldn’t help but notice it. He was all attention suddenly, as the enormity of what he was asking was finally hitting him.
‘Every penny, Cain, I swear.’
‘Come on then, let’s hit the boozer and have a couple of drinks to seal the deal.’ The telephone on his desk rang and Cain picked it up quickly. ‘Hello, Caroline, how’s the house? Did the new beds arrive?’
He listened intently for a few moments, rolling his eyes at his audience before saying, ‘Look, darling, I’ve got a lot on here. I’ll ring you before I make me way home, OK?’ He ended the call quickly. ‘Her and that fucking house! Five bedrooms for three people. Take my advice, Jack, never agree to anything the wife says while you’re pissed!’
They all laughed.
Chapter Five
Doug was enjoying himself; these two little girls were prime meat as far as he was concerned. The young ones thought they were something special with their cheap bags and heavy make-up. But he had been in the Tom game for many years and he knew that they had maybe eight good years before the Life would begin to take its toll on them. Youth dried up − it was the law of nature. He had forced two drinks down them and now they were on their third. When they were pissed enough he would make a quick call and get them picked up. Once they were out of here they were his.
As Cain Moran and Johnny Mac walked in the pub with Jack Barton in tow, the barmaid, Jasmine, as she liked to be called, breathed a sigh of relief. When Cain got to the bar, she said breathlessly, ‘Just the man! Mr Moran, that Doug Havers has earmarked two lovely little girls, and they ain’t Tom material, only kids. Could you . . .’ She left the sentence open.
Cain sighed. ‘Do I look like a fucking social worker to you, Jas?’
Johnny and Cain looked over to where the girls were sitting and, as he saw the really good-looking one trying to extricate Doug’s hand from near her crotch, Cain sighed heavily and went over with Johnny close behind him.
‘Leave the girl alone, Doug. Take your fucking hands off her.’
Doug looked up in surprise at Cain’s words. ‘Look, Mr Moran, I work for Kenny Barker, and Kenny don’t like his business being interfered with, if you get my drift.’
Cain started to laugh. He could sense the two girls’ fear as if it was tangible. ‘Kenny Barker, that fucking fop. Ooh, I’m fucking shitting it.’ He picked up Doug by the scruff of his neck and marched him out of the pub, throwing him into the gutter. ‘You tell Kenny my offices are just up the road and my fucking door is always open. If I don’t see him by tomorrow with an apology for making threats, I will be coming to visit him. You got that, you fucking imbecile?’
He went back into the pub where Johnny was already sitting beside the little dark-haired girl with the big eyes, holding a steady arm around her shoulder as she cried with relief. The other one, the blonde, was staring at him with a white face that looked so terrified he thought she might faint. Sighing heavily, he sat beside her and, smiling a little, he said lightly, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be hearing from him again, love.’
Jasmine brought over large whiskies for Cain and Johnny. ‘On the house, boys, for saving our little damsels in distress.’ Looking at the girls she said seriously, ‘Stick to the clubs in future. Much safer, OK?’