by Martina Cole
It was a bright night, and the moon was full, and their voices were loud as they ambled slowly towards what was misleadingly called the 'big barn' but was, in reality, a huge chimney stack with ornamental brickwork, and solid hardwood doors. It looked more like a chapel than a furnace room. Phillip had given the local planning officer a serious drink to get the fucker built in the first place, but it had been worth every penny. After all, Phillip never skimped on quality, that was part of his charm.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
Colin Banks and Jerome O'Grady were in the barn, ready. They were calm, and waiting patiently for the night's events to unfold. Both were used to this. Colin had committed his first murder when he was seventeen - he had glassed another lad in a pub in Liverpool's Knowsley district. He had done eight years of a life sentence, and came out far more knowledgeable about murder than when he had gone in. Jerome O'Grady, on the other hand, had learned his trade as a drug dealer's apprentice and he had learned early that if you tucked up a drug dealer, you were dead. It was a real cut-throat business, and that was no pun. He had got fed up with it because it was too obvious, and the likelihood of getting banged up too risky. He now worked for people like Jonnie, clearing up their shit for them, and he and Colin made a good earn. Far more than if they were in a normal legal line of work.
Funny thing was though, people still looked down on them - he assumed it was because they were like the grim reaper. Jerome's wife thought he was a courier; she was far happier thinking he was bringing in diamonds and gold, or even cocaine, than knowing what he really did. Now that would freak her out. Colin's wife thought he was a debt collector, and the way she spent she must think he was collecting for Asil Nadir. But it worked for them and, once tonight was over, they would have a drink, get their pay and fuck off home. One good thing about it, as Colin was always saying, the hours were great, and you could piss off from the wife in peace because you could say you had to go to work and she wouldn't question it.
They both heard muted laughter and, even though the only light was from the moon coming through the skylights, they had a pretty good view of the door. They settled themselves in position. They had chosen American handguns for the job; both were untraceable and had been supplied by Jonnie. The Colt 45 was a big gun, powerful and intimidating. Not something most people would pick in this day and age, but it was the gun of choice for the old die-hards.
As the door opened, they were both ready, holding out the guns as if they were playing a part in a film. The two boys were amazed to see them there, and Jerome saw the fear cross their faces as they took in what was happening.
He felt almost sorry for them.
* * *
Chapter One Hundredand Twenty-One
'Let it go, Veronica, will you? I'm sick of hearing about it.'
Phil Senior was annoyed; he wanted to watch the telly, not have another post-mortem on his son's life. As far as he was concerned his Phillip was a fucking lunatic, but a well-heeled, functioning lunatic. The boys had to learn a craft at some point, so why not now?
Veronica was not pleased at her husband's reaction to her worries. She expected him to agree with her, that was how it had always been. Plus she was genuinely worried. In contrast to her Phillip she wasn't sure that her grandsons were capable of making a living on the rob. They were too well brought up after all the money her son had weighed out for their educations. 'Don't you ever think about anything else except drink, sport and telly?'
She watched as her husband shrugged in the chair. 'What else is there to think about in this house? Unlike you, Veronica, I ain't obsessed with my eldest son, am I?'
She stood up, and he saw the anger burning out of her bones. He knew he had gone too far. But he wished she would for once stop talking about Phillip; she was like a fucking stuck record, saying the same things over and over again. Who gave a flying fuck? Not him that was for sure.
'You bastard! You ain't interested in any of your children, that's the trouble - you never were. You ain't interested in fuck- all unless it's the pub.'
He got up and, going out to the hallway, he pulled on his coat.
'Where are you going at this time of night?' Veronica said, following him out.
'I'm going to the pub, there will be afters there, as per usual, and I can sit in peace and have a drink without you giving me GBH of the earhole.'
When he had slammed the front door she walked back into the front room and started to tidy up furiously, removing her husband's glass, the plate he had used for his sandwich, and fluffing up the cushions on the chairs. She hated him at this moment in time, really hated him. She was half tempted to phone Phillip and tell him what his father had said. But she wouldn't. Phillip would kill him, and she knew that as well as she knew her own name. But she was so worried about those boys; they were far too young for the firm, far too young and far too naive. She had a bad feeling on her about it, and she couldn't shake it off. She just didn't want anything bad to happen to them. It was a filthy, dangerous game Phillip was in and, even though her whole family were involved somehow, she didn't want it for Christine's sons. Because Christine would never be able to cope with them being a part of their father's world and, if she was really honest about it, neither would she.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two
Phillip saw his sons' faces, and stifled the urge to laugh. They were both white-faced with shock and horror at what they had walked into. They were diamonds the pair of them, twenty-four carat gold. He looked at Jonnie Piper, who was smiling triumphantly. Jonnie was standing there like he owned the fucking gaff, short-arsed and full of bravado. Phillip acted shocked, worried, but he wasn't - the man hadn't been born yet who could scare him.
'What's going on, Jonnie? What the fuck are you doing?'
Jonnie Piper laughed, the relief now it was actually happening was almost overwhelming; once he had outed this ponce he was home and dry.
'What's it look like?' He was all loose limbed and, thanks to the expensive whisky his host had kindly provided for them, he was almost in a party mood.
Suddenly Timmy took a run at Jonnie and, using his sheer size, knocked him off his feet. Then Philly was on him as well. Phillip watched, proud of his sons' bravery and, pulling them off the man, he said loudly, 'All right, you lads, relax. These two are with us.'
Jonnie Piper lay on the floor, felt the cold of the concrete even through his good suit. He glanced at the two men he believed he could trust and felt the sick sweat of dread as it drenched his body.
Jerome laughed before saying, 'You know your trouble, don't you, Jonnie? You're a fucking cheapskate.'
Jonnie knew when he was beaten. He had cut his face on his whisky glass when Timmy had taken him down. He was bleeding heavily, but he knew that was the least of his problems. Philly and Timmy now realised that it had all been set up by their father, and they were relieved as well as vexed.
Phillip hugged his boys to him. 'You were fucking great, but lesson number one, my sons, never believe what you're told, no matter who is doing the telling, right?' They nodded in unison like little boys in front of a teacher. 'You never walk into any situation like this without a weapon, or back-up, such as these two nice gentlemen here. But for all that, you've got heart, and that's ninety per cent of our game. I'm fucking proud of you, at least you would have gone down fighting.' He looked at Jonnie Piper and said, 'They did good, Jonnie, don't you think?'
Jonnie nodded his agreement, but he didn't really give a fuck - all he could think about was what Phillip had in store for him. He wouldn't put anything past Phillip Murphy. After all, he wouldn't be too happy about anyone trying to take out his lads, no one would.
'Can we get this over with, Phillip?' Jonnie's voice was low, and Phillip had to admire the fact he wasn't begging like many other men would be.
'Do it.'
Colin and Jerome each shot Jonnie Piper three times, and the two young lads watched, fascinated, a
s he bled out on the concrete floor. Afterwards, Colin lit a cigarette while Phillip poured them drinks from the bar he'd had put in for events such as this. All the time he kept a close eye on his sons' reactions.
Philly had already shrugged it off, it was over and done with, but Timmy, he could see, wasn't in the least bit calm yet. He was breathing heavily as Phillip saw him walk over to Jonnie's body. Lifting his foot, he crashed it into the man's face with every bit of his considerable strength. Even Jerome and Colin winced at the sound of crunching bone and sinew.
'Fucking piece of shit! Thought he was gonna fucking take us out.'
Philly pulled his little brother away and, putting his arm protectively around his shoulder, he said quietly, 'Calm down, will you? Dad wouldn't let anything happen to us.'
Phillip Murphy knew then, that out of the two, Timmy would eventually be the brains of the outfit. Unlike Philly, who was a good kid, Timmy would never trust anyone again. Not after this. He would use it as his yardstick for the future. It had been a good learning curve for them both. It was really only Breda's outrage at him wanting them to be blooded that had made him change his plans to have the boys kill Jonnie. Now he was glad he had because it had given him a valuable insight into his sons, and the differences between them. Philly was weaker - not physically, but mentally. Timmy took onboard everything, and he would use the knowledge to his advantage. Philly would be a good leader, but Timmy had the potential to be a great one.
'Come on, boys, drink up and let's get this ponce into the furnace. Then you two can scrub and bleach the floor. Remember, industrial bleach removes everything a forensic will be looking for. So pour a whole drum down the drains, all right?'
They both nodded.
'Right then, young Colin and young Jerome, your poke is waiting for you in that cupboard over there. Separate bags, and used notes as requested.'
Phillip waited until they had removed their money, checked it, and put their weapons inside the bags he had provided, before he opened another cupboard and brought out a large pump- action shotgun. He shot the two men one after the other, the sound deafening, even over the roar of the furnace. Then, looking at his sons' stunned faces, he said jovially, 'Lesson number two, never leave a fucking witness, it only causes you worry. People talk and, with the best will in the world, you never know when, where or to whom they'll do that talking. Now the only people who know what really happened in here are us. And we're family, so that don't count.' He waited till they had digested that bit of information before clapping his hands and saying loudly, 'Come on then, chop chop, this lot won't get up and jump into the incinerator themselves!'
He left them clearing up and walked back towards his house slowly, well satisfied with the night's events. He heard cars pulling up, and knew that the rest of the family had arrived. He was in the mood for a party now. He had everything he wanted and, more importantly, he had everything Jonnie Piper had wanted. His boys were both going places, and he would work hard at winning back his wife's affection; he would be successful, he was sure of it. He would get his family back proper, because at the end of the day, family was all you really had, all you could really rely on. And he had a family to be proud of, a family that most men could only dream of having.
Phillip Murphy was a very happy man.
* * *
Book Four
My strength is made perfect in weakness
II Corinthians, 12:9
Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it
Proverbs, 22:6
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three
2009
'Are you sure, Timmy?'
Timmy nodded sagely. 'Fucking telling you, Dad, he's on a real love job.'
Phillip grinned. As always, he was amazed at how his younger son had developed. In the last five years both the boys had come on leaps and bounds, but this fellow here was already becoming a legend. His temper was extraordinary, even Phillip was shocked at his son's actions at times, and that took some doing. He could well imagine how outsiders must feel. Timmy was fair and honest just so long as you didn't upset him.
Philly was doing well too; he had a good rep, but he wasn't a hard taskmaster like his younger sibling. He was no mug though he was still worth ten men on the ground.
'What's she like?'
Timmy laughed. 'What do you think? All tits, teeth and designer handbags. Looks like a WAG.'
Phillip knew exactly what he meant. Philly's taste in women was appalling - they were all brainless nowts. But then, as Philly always said, he wasn't exactly after riveting conversation.
'You'll meet her tonight anyway, Dad, she's coming to the club.'
'I think I had better be there then, don't you?'
At that moment Christine walked into the kitchen and, smiling at her, Phillip said, 'Fancy coming to the club with us tonight? Philly's bringing his bird. According to Timmy, he's on a love job.'
Christine laughed in delight, and both her husband and son noticed how young and pretty she looked. 'Oh yeah, count me in!'
Phillip was thrilled, he loved it when she was upbeat like this. She didn't drink too much these days, except for the occasional bender, and they were fucking outrageous. She still depended on her prescription meds though. But she was happier, and that was the main thing. She reminded Phillip at times of himself, she pretended she was happy, she played a role and, like him, she had found it made life easier not just for her, but for everyone around her. He pulled her on to his lap and kissed her thick, luscious hair. She smelled good these days - the stale breath was gone, though the vacant stare still lingered at times. But it was all a matter of how you perceived things, and he always looked for the best where this woman was concerned. He loved her, and it seemed that these days, she actually loved him back.
'Fancy our Philly on a love job!' He was laughing with his wife, and that in itself was still a minor miracle. 'What's her name?'
'Finoula McCormack.'
Phillip was astounded. 'No relation to Mad Jack McCormack, I hope?'
Timmy laughed excitedly. 'Yep, his youngest daughter, and she is a stunner. I can't take that away from her.'
'Fucking hell, he can pick them can our Philly. I remember seeing Jack fight - always worth a bet, him, he was the nuts in his day. Him and Roy Shaw were the best. Fucking unbelievable strength those old boys had. You throw Jack or Roy in their heydays into a cage now and this new breed of fighters would run a fucking mile.'
Timmy nodded his agreement; he had met a lot of the bareknuckle fighters with his dad. It was an exciting sport, but if he was honest he was a cage-fighting boy at heart. It was all to do with age, he supposed. Not that he would point that out to his father - he was far too polite.
'Finoula's a good Irish name, that'll please your mother anyway. She'll be a good Catholic girl!' Christine joined in.
'Fucking hell, never thought of that! They don't come more Irish than Mad Jack. Like the old man's family, Cork men. Hard bastards and all.'
Timmy was laughing again, a deep, friendly chuckle that belied the dangerous man he was becoming. 'I don't know about good. She's been around the track more times than a fucking lurcher.'
Christine sat up straight and said primly, 'That's enough of that kind of talk, thank you very much. After all, if a man has a few girls he's just called a lad. There's such a thing as equal rights, you know.'
Phillip was irritated by that. 'Not where women are concerned there ain't. A bird who puts it about is still classed as a rogue, and should be treated with the utmost suspicion, especially if she wants to get into my family.'
Christine didn't even bother answering, sometimes his double standards were so outrageous she could scream. So, as always when faced with this kind of conversation, she tactfully changed the subject. It made life easier for everyone. 'How about you, Timmy, you bringing anyone tonight'
He shrugged. 'I might, Mum, but don't marry me off just yet, I'm only t
wenty-two.'
She smiled at this handsome son of hers. 'Well, if we're all going out on the town, I'd better get me hair done.'
She jumped up and bustled from the room. When she was out of his sight, Phillip felt a familiar moment's panic. He couldn't imagine a world without her in it, she made his life what it was. Perfect.
* * *
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four
Finoula McCormack was beautiful and, boy, did she know it.
She had long, naturally blond hair and deeply blue eyes, her bone structure was like a young Marilyn Monroe's, and she had the high-breasted slim figure that was peculiar to the women of Cork. Cork women were either amazons, or tiny little birds of women - there was never a happy medium. She had her mother's looks, and her mother's height. She also had her father's feisty disposition. It was a wonderful combination. She was funny, enigmatic, and not as thick as she looked; in fact, she had a quick, agile mind and she was after a decent bloke with a decent earn who could give her a bit more than the average Joe. She was determined not to end up in a bought council house fighting to raise her kids; she was going to make something of her life, and her future kids' lives. She knew her worth; her looks wouldn't last for ever, so she was determined to get what she wanted sooner rather than later. She also wanted someone she loved, not just for what they could give her.
Philly Murphy was all these things rolled into one man, and she cared about him deeply; she wanted his wedding ring and his kids, in that order. She wanted the big church wedding, and the house with the electric gates and a swimming pool. They shared the same dreams, and that was one of the reasons they got on so well. He was even letting her finally meet his family. She already knew of them of course, everyone did, and her mum and his nan were great mates, she saw her sometimes at church. But she came from pretty good stock in that way herself. Mad Jack wasn't exactly a mug, and she knew he was very well thought of by Philly's dad; he had come enough times to see her father fight over the years. They were mates, so she had the appropriate in should she need it.