The Life

by Martina Cole

  Lena’s husband Daniel had always looked up to his elder brother, had always been close to him – they were like twins in many respects. It hurt Daniel more when people were racially prejudiced than it ever hurt Peter. Peter felt that it was their problem not his; Daniel felt it was a slur on them all, the whole family. He took it as a personal insult to him and his mother, and Daniel Bailey did not like people insulting him or his. Theresa always said that Daniel would be his own worst enemy. Peter rose above people’s pettiness, whereas Daniel let himself be dragged down to their level.

  Lena could see Theresa’s logic but, as Daniel’s wife, she also knew how much he loved his brother, and how people’s words could wound him. He idolised Peter, and Peter idolised him. True, they were as different as chalk and cheese personality-wise. But together they were a formidable team.

  ‘You feel it too, don’t you, Lena? It’s like one of those humid and stormy summer days when you could cut the air with a knife. Something’s going on with the boys and, as always, we will be the last to know what it is.’

  Lena nodded. She wondered sometimes if her mother-in-law was fey; she often knew exactly what you were thinking. Unlike her mother-in-law, though, Lena preferred not to know too much about her husband’s business dealings – as far as she was concerned, ignorance was bliss.

  Chapter Three

  Jed Lanson looked at his nephew, a boy he had never really found it in his heart to like. He was too much like his mother. Jed’s sister Adelaide was a miserable fucking bitch and, like her son, she took the piss at every opportunity. All animosity aside, though, this was a fucking liberty, and it was something not to be taken lightly. Jed was an acknowledged Face; this was clearly the work of someone who wanted to challenge him. And he had a good idea who that might be.

  The fucking Baileys. The trouble was, deep down, he liked them, respected them inasmuch as they were decent men. Peter, certainly, was a man of his word, and he was also a good earner. Daniel, on the other hand, was a hothead; it was Daniel who would have done this, he was the drama merchant. Jed had used that very quality many times himself, and paid Daniel Bailey handsomely because of it. He was like the BBC. All drama, but no real substance. But he knew that Daniel and Peter wanted a bit more, and why wouldn’t they?

  If his idiot of a nephew had not felt the urge to berate them, humiliate them and, in short, fucking aggravate them, Jed would have offered them an in sooner rather than later. Now it would have to be a fucking lesson – he would have to make sure that everyone knew he would not countenance any kind of insubordination. He would have to go after two of his best earners over this useless boy, who couldn’t find a golden fiver without a detailed map and a candle shoved up his arse! It was so unfair. But Micky was family, and if Jed swallowed this he would lose all face.

  ‘Sling him in a motor and get him to hospital. He’s had a battering, but he’ll get over it. If the Baileys wanted him dead, I think we can safely assume that would be the case.’

  He had said it now, said the name Bailey out loud. Everyone had guessed who the perpetrators were anyway, so it was pointless trying to pretend otherwise.

  Jed Lanson looked around him, saw the faces of his workforce – good men, loyal to him – but they were getting on, were paunchy having lived the good life for far too long. Always a mistake, getting too complacent; after all, this was how he had got to where he was now. Taking out the old guard. He should have retired ten years before, quit while he was ahead. But it was hard, so hard to admit you were past it. That it was time to step back and enjoy the fruits of your labour. But, then again, unlike the Baileys, he had three daughters, no sons to bring up in the Life; that’s why his sister’s son had thought he was the dog’s knob. For all the good it had done him – done any of them come to that.

  He looked around him once more, at the men he had grown up with, worked with all these years, and he smiled wryly to himself. He had a feeling that they didn’t stand a fucking chance. The Baileys would have thought this out down to the last second. This was going to be a well-planned and well-executed coup.

  He sighed heavily. Twenty years ago they were the cream of the crop. Now they were more like Dad’s Army, and he, it seemed, was Captain fucking Mainwaring. He knew instinctively that this night was not going to end well for any of them. And all over that useless ponce Micky. He would lose everything he had worked for, over a man he had never really liked, or indeed never even respected. It was life taking the piss all right.

  Two hours later the last thing he ever saw was Daniel Bailey’s face as he shot him through his right eye.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Where have you been, Dan? I’ve been worried out of my mind.’

  Daniel Bailey grinned that roguish smile that had attracted Lena so many years ago. It was strange really, even after all this time and giving him four strapping sons, she still felt the same pull that she had felt the first time she saw him. He had looked like an even more handsome Rhett Butler to her – taller than most men, with thick dark hair, and deep blue eyes. She had been bowled over by him then, and she still was.

  He slipped into the bed beside her and, pulling her into his arms, he said quietly, ‘I was working. You know me, Lena, there’ll never be no one else for me.’

  She did know that. If he had strayed she would have heard a whisper, their world was like that. Anyway, her husband was a stickler for fidelity. He saw it as his yardstick for decency and morality.

  ‘I know that! But I do worry about you sometimes, Dan. If anything happened to you . . .’ she trailed off.

  Daniel Bailey smiled in the darkness, he had chosen well with his Lena. She was a good woman, and still gorgeous too; with her rich chestnut hair and soft green eyes. She never asked for too much information about his lifestyle and his decisions either. He respected her enough to say in honesty, ‘I swear, Lena, on my mother’s life, you have nothing to worry about, darling. Everything is fine. In fact, it’s hunky fucking dory.’

  He felt her relax in his arms, knew he had allayed her fears, and he hugged her to him tightly. As she drifted back to sleep he sighed in contentment. Jed Lanson had died well, he had accepted the inevitable, realising that he should have given the Bailey boys their due before they took it.

  He lay in the darkness, listening to the church clock as it chimed the hours away, planning the next few weeks. It was the aftermath of their coup that would be the hardest, and both he and his brother knew that. Taking out the Lansons was the easy bit; it was waiting to see who would crawl out of the woodwork for revenge that was going to cause them headaches. And Lanson had a boss. He was a shrewd man; who had let Lanson take the accolades and earn the poke. This would be the hardest part of their coup, and they would have to plan their next move carefully.

  Chapter Five

  Peter Bailey knocked on the door of Kevin O’Neill’s house at four thirty in the morning. As he waited for the man to answer, he looked around him with genuine respect. O’Neill had left the East End, bought a large farm in Essex and had reinvented himself as a gentleman farmer.

  Jed Lanson had just been a mouthpiece – O’Neill’s. And now that Lanson was well out of the way, Peter Bailey was determined to make sure that Kevin O’Neill knew where he stood in the grand scheme of things. He felt in his pocket for the Stanley knife he had brought with him. He had come here without telling Daniel because he wanted this over as quickly as possible, and because he had a personal grudge against O’Neill.

  Kevin opened the door with a genuine smile, and a cavalier attitude. O’Neill was a man who knew the importance of change and, as far as he was concerned, he didn’t give a fuck who worked the Smoke for him, as long as he got his poke. He was glad it was Peter Bailey who had come to give him the hard word. At least Peter had a reputation for doing things quietly, unlike his brother Daniel. He was a drama queen of Olympian standards, which was why Kevin had more often used Daniel for jobs rather than this one. He began to realise now he’d overlooked the more dange
rous Bailey brother.

  ‘Well, I was expecting you at some point. Come on in.’

  Peter went into the house, impressed despite himself at the sheer size and opulence around him. This was the good life all right and he wanted a bit of it for himself. In what was obviously an office, he waited for O’Neill to pour them both a drink before he said quietly, ‘We’ve taken them all out, Kevin, but you already know that, I’m sure.’

  Kevin O’Neill looked at the huge black man before him. He had to admit he was a formidable opponent – both he and his brother were hard fuckers, the hardest he had ever come up against if he was honest about it.

  ‘I heard.’

  Peter smiled. ‘I don’t think you really get this, do you?’

  Kevin O’Neill laughed, half impressed with the man’s front, but aware that he also needed to be taken down a peg, sooner rather than later. ‘What’s to get, Peter? I couldn’t give a fuck who works my pavements, whether it’s you, fucking Jed Lanson or King Street fucking Charlie. As long as my name is kept out of it, I couldn’t give a toss. You had a swerve tonight because Lanson was getting too old. I’ve been wanting a younger, keener, hungrier crew, and if you and that moron of a brother had waited a few weeks I would have offered it to you on a plate.’

  Peter raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘I have never heard anything remotely like that and, believe me, I hear fucking everything.’ He downed his brandy and placed the glass carefully on the mantelpiece, watching O’Neill intently. He had admired him once, many moons ago, when they were much younger, but now he saw him for what he had become. ‘Do you know what you are, Kevin? You’re a fucking leech. You have lived off everyone around you since day one – you live off a rep that you got in the fucking dark ages. It’s the seventies, mate, people don’t doff their fucking caps no more because you shot someone once. All that’s long gone. You’re a mug, no more and no less. It’s a new order now. You could have had another five years if you had used your fucking loaf. But you have no real intelligence. You’re a fucking fool.’

  Kevin O’Neill looked at the man who had the audacity to walk into his home and insult him and, shaking his head in disbelief, he said quietly, his anger now bubbling to the surface, ‘You stupid black cunt. I was willing to swallow your outrageous fucking behaviour, because I believed you and your brother were worth me taking an interest. But you walk in here like you are fucking important, and have the nerve to talk to me like I’m a cunt, and you think I’m going to swallow my knob like that fucker Lanson? Well, I fucking well won’t.’

  Peter said seriously, ‘I should hope not.’

  Then, taking out the Stanley knife, he sliced O’Neill across the face, opening the man’s mouth from ear to ear. He disabled him in the worst way possible, making it impossible for him to say a word. It was an insult worse than anything he could have experienced and they both knew it.

  ‘No one’s coming to your aid, mate – we’ve already nobbled your little boys, I’m afraid. They deserted this sinking ship hours ago. And one last thing before I slice you up good and proper. Don’t you ever call my brother a fucking moron. He’s worth a hundred of you.’

  Peter Bailey took his time, and he made sure Kevin O’Neill was still alive when he finally left him. He wanted him to die slowly, knowing exactly who had killed him, and why. He looked around the room, noting everything. He would call his men to clean up later.

  As he drove home he looked at the sun rising and smiled to himself. Today was the dawn of a new age and the Bailey boys were exactly where they deserved to be.

  Chapter Six

  ‘All right, Mum?’

  Theresa nodded, smiling at Peter. Her eldest son was so like his father. In fact, she marvelled at how both her sons had so little of her in them. ‘I’m fine, son. I hear you two have been busy?’

  ‘Oh, leave it out, Mum, you know our Peter is a man of few words!’ Daniel followed his brother into their mother’s kitchen.

  He was still stunned at how Peter had gone after O’Neill alone. He admired him for it but, if he was brutally honest, it still rankled. He hated that he hadn’t been there for the moment of triumph. He feared that Peter would always have the edge over him because he was known to even his scores on the QT. It might be good for them as a crew, but Daniel resented that it gave his brother a better rep than him, an advantage, if you like. They were brothers and they were partners.

  Pushing Peter outside into the back garden of their mother’s ground-floor flat, Daniel was determined to say his piece but Peter held up his hand.

  ‘I had to iron him out, Dan, it was a personal score that needed settling.’

  Daniel looked into his brother’s deep brown eyes and said honestly, ‘But we were going to do it together, Pete, and, in future, that’s how I expect it to be.’

  Peter nodded, contrite. ‘I know, bruv, but there were many times when he overlooked me for you. We both know that, and we both know why. Well, I ain’t putting up with it anymore. I ain’t playing second fiddle to fucking anyone.’

  Daniel nodded, understanding his brother as he always had. ‘Fair enough but, in future, we either do it together, or give the other a head’s up before we make a move. We have fought long and hard for this, and the only way we can keep on top is by working together.’

  ‘I know that, mate, and I apologise. I know you don’t see my skin, but they all do.’

  Daniel sighed heavily. ‘Who cares what they see or think? It’s us against them. As it has always been, bruv.’

  Peter nodded.

  ‘I hate that you went there alone, Pete, that you didn’t bring a crew. Kevin O’Neill was a slippery bastard. Anything might have happened. We’re a team, always were, since we were kids.’

  Peter had tears in his eyes as he looked at his brother, his blood. ‘We’re there now, we’re where we wanted to be. It’s all ours, Dan. We can take whatever we want.’

  Everyone who had ever worked for Kevin had already pledged allegiance to the Baileys and were glad to do so. Who needed the aggravation? And, more to the point, all the old Faces were long gone, either banged up or living in Spain. It wasn’t a difficult decision; the Baileys were formidable and no one was willing to iron them out. Why would they? They weren’t people you made an enemy of.

  The Bailey brothers hugged and, as their mother watched them through the French doors, she smiled to herself. She had always told them that the only thing that mattered was each other; she had brought them up to be closer than most brothers could ever hope to be, and she was glad to see that, all these years on, they were as close now as they had been as children. She was proud of her sons, and she knew they would look out for each other. She also knew they were dangerous fuckers, and that was all right too as far as she was concerned. She was well aware that these two sons of hers were never going to be nine-to-fivers.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘You’re really pregnant?’ Ria Bailey was thrilled for her friend and sister-in-law. ‘That’s wonderful news, Lena. I hope it’s a girl!’

  Lena was grinning from ear to ear. She was shocked at the news of her pregnancy, but now that it was confirmed she hoped against hope that it would be a girl. She already had four sons – Danny, the eldest, was sixteen, and his brother Davey, at fifteen, was like his elder brother’s shadow – the two were always together. Noel and Jamsie, at twelve and eleven, had been her babies until now. ‘So do I, it would be nice to have another female in the house. Well, you’d know that better than me, you’ve got a daughter.’

  Ria laughed delightedly. ‘Too fucking true, but I warn you now, Lena, girls are lovely as little kids, but once they hit their teens, you could lay them out on a daily basis, believe me. But, all that aside, they’re still worth every hormonal fucking minute!’

  ‘Oh, knowing my luck it will be another boy. I’ll believe it when I see it.’

  Ria poured the tea into two expensive china cups. Ria liked beautiful things and she surrounded herself with the best that money could buy her
. Lena liked nice things but, unlike Ria, she always felt the need to save. Lena had too recent a memory of poverty, and she was terrified of ever going back there again. Sometimes she hated herself for it; at other times she congratulated herself on her thriftiness. The downside of the Life was you could have seven lean years or seven fat years. She would never say it out loud but her fear was always the lean years. She had known what it was to be truly poor, and she never wanted that for her own kids. Ria, on the other hand, lived for the moment, and Lena envied her that.

  They both had lovely homes, but Lena knew that Ria bought real quality, stuff that would always make its money back – antique chairs that looked like jumble sale items, which Ria would have re-covered, often costing more than Lena would pay for a new three-piece suite, and they would look fantastic. Ria had what her mother-in-law called a ‘good eye’, and although Lena balked at how much Ria would spend on a single item, she had picked up quite a bit of knowledge about antiques along the way. Ria was like that, she drew you into her world, and you were grateful to her for making you a part of it. With her shiny blond hair and lively blue eyes, Ria was a real live wire, and she had a knack of making you believe, for a few hours anyway, that you were a live wire too.

  Lena had grown up in a council flat in Hackney. Her mum and dad had been nice people, but they had never had any ambition, not for themselves or for their only child, and Lena had resented them for that. All around her had been large families squeezed into a few rooms, and she had seen those people scrimp and save to see their children better themselves. But not her mum and dad, they had never once asked her what she wanted to do with her life, what dreams she might have had. They had fed her and clothed her, but never once really talked to her.