by Martina Cole
Tania could feel her face burning; she was mortified at her mother’s astuteness. Lena went to her daughter and hugged her tightly. ‘Did you think I didn’t know? Darling, all girls go through it, but he’s your cousin, and that is a big part of how you’re feeling. All young girls set their sights on an older man – someone they can trust not to take advantage of them. It’s like a rite of passage. Then, one day, you will meet a nice lad, and it will disappear.’
Tania felt like she could cheerfully drop through the floor with embarrassment.
Lena knew that it had never occurred to Tania that anyone might suss out her little crush. ‘Don’t worry, love, no one else has worked it out. I only know because I’m your mum, that’s all. It’s my job to know these things.’
Tania buried her face in her mother’s chest, loving the familiar smell of her. She had always had the same scent – Estée Lauder perfume, Benson & Hedges cigarettes, and Palmolive soap. It was a comforting aroma, and she loved that it had never changed. She was also surprised to find that her mother knowing her secret made her feel a bit better somehow; it just proved to her once more how close they really were.
‘Does Auntie Ria know?’
Lena hugged her daughter even tighter. ‘If she does, she ain’t said anything to me about it, and you know Ria, she was never one for keeping things to herself.’
It was exactly what Tania wanted to hear, and Lena knew that.
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Danny was so drunk he could barely stand up, and Davey, Noel and Jamsie were aware that they would have to keep an eye on him. It was unusual for him; he was not known for heavy drinking. They were at the Electric Lady, the lap dancing club they had acquired in King’s Cross and, as it was early in the evening, the place was half empty.
The head bouncer, an Arab lad from North London, was not pleased with Danny’s antics, as they were aware.
‘For fuck’s sake! He’s only had a couple. He came in with Petey about three o’clock. Now he is fucking rat-arsed. You’ll have to take him out – we’re expecting a private party in at eight.’
A record came on and two semi-naked girls walked on to the stage. They began to gyrate around their poles, neither of them bothering to make much effort; there were no real customers to impress – that would come much later.
Davey was annoyed. ‘All right, keep your fucking hair on.’
He checked his mobile for messages from Petey and there was nothing. ‘Where did Petey go? Did he say?’
Karim Hussain shrugged. He was a huge specimen of manhood, with a bald head, and an expertly shaped beard. Women loved him. Rumour was that he was hung like a donkey, and his preference was for tiny blondes. ‘Do I look like his fucking social secretary?’
Davey had to laugh. Karim was one mad bastard. He hated drunks and, in fairness, Davey had never seen the man take a drink; he was strictly a Diet Pepsi man. ‘All right, we will sort him. But you know this ain’t like him.’
Karim nodded. ‘If I didn’t know better, Davey, I would say he was under the influence, know what I mean? And I don’t mean the usual recreational.’
Davey didn’t answer him, but motioned to his brothers to remove Danny and place him in the office. There was a large sofa there where he could sleep it off. Going outside the club he phoned his cousin, and all he got was voicemail. He was annoyed; this was no time for Danny to be dropping Es and fucking around. They needed their wits about them, and Danny should have known that better than anyone. He was supposed to meet with the Allens tonight. He and Petey were expected to sort out the situation the Allen brothers had caused. Danny was more than aware of how important it was, so his getting off his face was not going to look good for any of them.
Davey was suddenly worried, and he wasn’t sure why. But this all felt terribly wrong. Their old man would hit the fucking roof if this was to become common knowledge.
His phone rang and he answered it quickly, relieved to see that the caller was his cousin Petey.
Chapter One Hundred
Delroy was in Brixton. He had a few calls to make there, and they were the kind of calls that were better made face to face. He was a great believer in the personal touch; that way you ensured that you kept a proper handle on your business affairs. Delroy, like all the Baileys, never used a mobile phone for more than a few days, never had a contract of any kind, and always used a phone box if there was one available. Mobiles were too easy to trace, and they made it far too easy to get in touch with people. In their game that was always a no-no; the less evidence you left behind the better.
Delroy was meeting his son on Acre Lane. The boy was learning fast that the best way to keep your eye on your earn was to make a personal appearance when necessary.
He pulled over in his BMW, and Delroy Junior climbed in.
‘All right, son?’
Young Delroy smiled. ‘I’m good.’
‘You ready for this?’ The boy nodded, but Delroy’s heart sank; he could smell the strong aroma of skunk coming off his son’s clothes. ‘You sure about that?’
Young Delroy shrugged indifferently. ‘I’m cool. What’s your problem?’
Delroy stopped the car. They were on a quiet road; most of the terraced houses were now flats, and the people who resided there were generally outsiders.
‘Why we stopped here?’
Delroy could hear the annoyance in his son’s voice. He was already psyched up for the night ahead, of that much he was sure.
‘You’re stoned.’ It was a statement.
Young Delroy grinned foolishly. ‘So what, Dad? I had a little puff. I was with company, a few friends, chillin’, you know.’ It was said with a faux Jamaican accent, something else that always irritated Delroy. He hated the whole Jah Boy image; he thought it was an insult.
His fist hit the boy’s head hard, and he followed the first punch with five more, each one harder than the last. ‘I told you to use your fucking brain tonight, I told you to keep a sensible head on your shoulders. I will not embarrass myself by taking you with me into serious situations while you are too stoned to work out the fucking score. Now get out the car.’
Young Delroy was humiliated; he deserved his father’s wrath – he had known that he should never have taken the first hit, let alone allowed himself to get wrecked. But he had been with friends, and he had not been able to resist smoking with them. He was regretting that now, big time.
‘I said, get out of my fucking car.’
The boy did as he was told, knowing it was pointless arguing. He had fucked up, and he had fucked up in the worst possible way as far as his father was concerned.
As his father sped off, he rubbed a hand across his face; it was already beginning to swell up and he knew he would look like he had been hit by a train by the morning. Sighing, he began to walk to the nearest cab rank. His big night – the night when he was going to finally be a real partner with his dad – was over before it had even really begun. He felt the sting of tears and he swallowed them down; he had brought this on himself, and he knew that better than anyone.
Chapter One Hundred and One
Petey Bailey was at the Electric Lady; it was gone two in the morning and the place was packed out. The smell of sweat, perfume and make-up was heavy in the air. The music was loud, and the atmosphere was genial.
As he made his way through the club to the offices, he waved at Karim. Inside, Davey was waiting for him, as expected.
‘Where are the others?’
Davey grinned. ‘Where do you think? Getting private dances by now. I thought it best to keep them out of this, you know?’
Petey nodded understandingly. He poured himself a drink. Danny was still out cold and, shaking his head with mock severity, he said, ‘What the fuck was that all about today?’
Davey shook his head sadly. ‘Fuck knows, Pete, but it ain’t like him. He is usually a sensible head, my brother. But he is out of his fucking box. Look at him.’
Petey shrugged. ‘He was already we
ll gone when I saw him. I knew it was pointless taking him to the meet with the Allens, he could barely fucking talk. All I can think is that he got something off one of the girls here. You know what he’s like. That redhead he has his eye on – what’s her name? Stephanie, is it? She has been warned about dancing while boxed out on ecstasy. I’m sorry, Davey, but there was no way he was fit to work.’
Davey saw the truth of that. ‘My old man will go fucking ballistic.’
Petey took a large sip of his brandy. ‘Well I think the best thing we can do now, right, is not tell him, or my dad come to that. Keep it between us lot. Even Delroy can’t know – you know what he’s like; he’ll feel honour-bound to let the proverbial cat out. This is a fucking abortion, but if we use our heads we can salvage the situation.’
‘What about the Allens?’
Petey grinned nastily. ‘Think about it, Davey, they are hardly going to broadcast to the nation that I went round there on my lonesome and put the hard word on them, are they?’
Davey could see the logic in that. ‘I don’t know, Pete, the old boys have a knack for sniffing out trouble.’
Petey shrugged again. ‘Well, personally, I think this is best forgotten, but I’ll leave the final word on it up to you.’
‘How did it go?’
Petey laughed. ‘I let them think Danny was outside with the rest of you, and that he was too wound up to come inside for the actual meet. That put the wind up them, I can tell you. But they were suitably contrite. I don’t think they will be showing off any time in the near future, put it that way.’
Davey was quiet; he was in a quandary. His loyalty to his brother eventually won out. ‘I’ll make sure my brothers know the score, Pete. You’re right – this would just cause unnecessary aggro. Fucking Danny, what was he thinking?’
Petey sighed. ‘I’m telling you, it was that ponce Stephanie. She was all over him like a fucking rash earlier – the sooner we out that fucking whore the better. Imagine if this was a paying customer! We could end up in the dock. I’ll take oath that he’s given her all his cash and, let’s face it, Davey, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’
Stephanie had a penchant for E; she said she couldn’t dance without it but, as Petey pointed out, this was a step too far. Danny had a little pash on her; he liked redheads, and she had relieved him of his readies on more than one occasion. She had slipped the customers one too many Mickeys in the past, and they had been lucky that the geezer concerned was a weekend warrior, not a man of any substance. If she carried on, they would eventually get a tug.
He sighed. ‘I’ll make sure she’s out on her fucking ear. Like you say, Pete, she ain’t worth the fucking aggravation.’
Petey Bailey refilled his glass. ‘None of them are – the fact they work here in the first place speaks volumes. Now, what else has been going down? Anything I need to know about?’
The subject was changed and Davey was glad about that, the night had already been far too fucking stressful for his liking.
Chapter One Hundred and Two
Tania was sorry for her cousin; young Delroy’s face had already swollen up like a balloon and she knew it would look even worse once the bruising came out. As he sat in her mother’s kitchen, she bathed his face gently with ice water. When he had texted her she had snuck downstairs and waited for him to arrive, already anxious; if he was coming there on the quiet it had to be serious.
‘Who did this to you, Del?’ Her tone was gentle.
‘My dad.’
His response was so low that at first she thought she had misheard him. ‘Why would your dad do this to you? Your mum will go mad! What on earth brought that on?’ She was scandalised, and her voice was rising because of that.
‘Shush, you’ll have your mum down on top of us.’
Tania could not believe that Delroy’s own father could have hurt him so seriously and, more to the point, that Delroy was so accepting of it.
‘Why did he hit you?’
Delroy shrugged. ‘I fucked up, let’s just leave it at that. Have you got any paracetamol? My head is splitting.’
Tania realised he was not going to tell her any more, but she was shocked; she would never have believed that Delroy’s dad could hurt him like this. She also guessed that if Delroy wasn’t willing to tell her about it, he must have really fucked up badly. She sighed, and instead made them both a mug of Ovaltine.
Some things were best left alone, and she had a feeling this was one of them.
Chapter One Hundred and Three
Imelda was worried about her son. In the few weeks since his accident, as he insisted on calling it, he had become a different boy. Whoever had attacked him must have been someone from their world, and she was nonplussed that her husband didn’t seem to be too bothered about it. He should have been hunting the fucker down, making sure they never went near their boy again. A little voice was telling her that he knew more than he was letting on and she was wary of probing too deeply. She had a feeling that she would not like what she might find out – that whoever was responsible was close to her, and her son.
Delroy Junior was so serious now, spending all his time with his father; her husband was giving his son an education about the Life, teaching him how to be a part of it, how to survive. Because when you stripped away the glamour and the excitement that is what it came down to really: surviving. Not just physically, but ensuring you weren’t put away for the duration. Imelda had known many men who had gone away to prison still in their prime, only to return years later, older, but not really any wiser. It was such a waste; all that time locked away for years on end. But, if you didn’t get caught, the Life could be sweet.
She was worried about her Delroy trying so desperately to emulate his father. It seemed forced lately, as if he was playing a part.
Unlike her brothers and cousins, she wasn’t sure that her son had what it took to be part of the Life. She didn’t like it but she understood it, and that was half the battle. She’d only ever been part of it to keep an eye on Delroy, if she was truthful, but any taste she’d had for it had been destroyed by the circumstances of Jack’s death.
At his young age, her son had only seen the exciting part of the Life. But as he was exposed to the actual economics and what it entailed, Imelda could sense that he was nervous. She surmised that he had fucked up somehow and been reprimanded; in the Life it was usually brutal, the only way for a person to understand the enormity of what they had allegedly done.
She wished he was like Tania, and kept well out of it all. He had always been so sure that he wanted to be a part of the Life. Well, now he was a part of it and, as a Bailey, he would be brought straight into the main business.
Young men like Delroy Junior were attracted to the trappings of the Life: the rewards, the cars, the birds, the excitement. They didn’t appreciate that it was a lifestyle; one you ultimately had to live twenty-four seven. They didn’t understand that with the Life came the constant threat of being harmed, murdered, getting a capture, and being banged up for the best part of your youth.
Knowing and accepting this was what kept you at the top of your game. Her boy was only just beginning to understand the real dangers that the name Bailey brought with it, and she hoped fervently that he could cope. Until Jack, this had never occurred to her; she had bowled through life believing that her name gave her some kind of security. But that was all an illusion.
Her confident boy was gone now. Delroy Junior was nervous, frightened of his old man – that really bothered her because she knew that Delroy had always idolised his father. But what bothered her most was that she wondered, in the dark of the night, if his father had been the person who had marked him, and that thought wouldn’t go away.
Jack was on her mind a lot these days. Her mother’s complete acceptance of his death was something Imelda had never come to terms with. She knew that she would fight hammer and tongs for her child, no matter what the consequences and no matter what he had done. If that meant she
had to take on the whole Bailey clan, then so be it. Jack had been a victim of her family, and a victim of the Life. But her boy would not go the same way as her brother, not if Imelda had anything to do with it.
Chapter One Hundred and Four
Terrence Allen was finding it very hard to accept that the Baileys had taken away their main earn. The Allen brothers had previously been the biggest supplier of drugs to their Northern counterparts. Now, it seemed, that honour had been given to one Michael O’Toole, a man who had no idea what a fucking gram of coke looked like, let alone a key. It was a fucking joke – everyone knew that the Baileys had just given him the title, but they supplied his workforce. Michael O’Toole couldn’t broker a deal with a fucking eight year old selling conkers. He had spent more time in stir than a card-carrying Old Bill, and he still thought the Krays were someone, for fuck’s sake. It was nepotism at its worst.
The Allens had been forced to stand back like a pair of errant schoolboys as everything they had built up over the years was just given away to a fucking no-mark. The Baileys had taken it away without a thought for the time and effort he had put in over the years, setting the deals up, making sure the people they dealt with were kosher, and not liable to turn at the first glimpse of Lily Law and put them all in the frame for a long stretch. And that was becoming more customary as the courts handed out bigger and bigger sentences. It was shocking – fucking murder didn’t warrant the sentences drug dealing did. Get pissed and take out a whole family in your motor – husband, wife, kids, the lot – and you were looking at a four or a five stretch; be found with three keys of coke, and you were doing a twenty. It was a scandal – especially as most of the drugs confiscated were back on the street within weeks. The Old Bill were not averse to a bit of dealing themselves; if it wasn’t for the Filth he wouldn’t have half the product needed to satisfy the demand. And, whether people liked it or not, there was a fucking big demand for it. Cocaine was a middle-class drug – he served up half of Canary Wharf, those city boys couldn’t snort it up their hooters quick enough.