The Life

by Martina Cole

  The only bugbear was the Allens; they were not so happy about the reversals in fortunes. He was aware that there might be a retaliation of sorts, if not now then in the future. They were not men to swallow a blatant piss-take, and that was exactly what this was.

  The Baileys were untouchable; the Allens might feel the urge to punish them, but they would not have the guts. He was a different story – an easier target. Because of that he was keeping an eye on them; if his incarcerations had taught him nothing else they had taught him the value of knowing your enemy. You couldn’t survive for any length of time in top-security jails without learning a little bit about guerrilla warfare, and how to keep yourself safe in the most extreme of violent environments.

  He only felt secure in his new position because he was watching them all, and none of them gave him credit for having the brains to do that. Another lesson that prison taught you was to never trust anybody. Such was the downside of the Life; too many people vying for the top and no one willing to step away without a fight. It was the way of the world – their world anyway.

  As he lit himself an expensive cigar, Michael was feeling very satisfied; he had all the angles covered. But he would not let himself relax too much; after all, his daughter still had to walk that fucker up the aisle and, until she had pulled that off, his position was precarious to say the least.

  Chapter One Hundred and Nine

  ‘I want to make sure we know what the fuck is going on around us, and I also want to make sure that we are not paying you for a fucking laugh.’

  Daniel Bailey was furious, and Detective Inspector Harry Smith was more than aware of that fact. As usual, Peter Bailey was quiet; he was always willing to let his brother do the dirty work, so no change there. In over twenty years of dealing with the Baileys, Harry Smith had never once felt that he was anything other than the paid help. It rankled, there was no doubt about that, but he knew there was nothing he could do about any of it now. Even the sons of these men were the same – ignorant fucks the lot of them. But they were criminals, so what else could he expect?

  Inspector Smith sighed heavily, aware that he was expected to make some kind of protest, and more than willing to do just that. He knew exactly how to play the game.

  ‘Listen, Daniel, if I heard anything on the street, you know that you would be the first to know. From what I can see, no one is saying anything detrimental about any of you. Even the paid narks – who I make sure you know about – haven’t said a fucking dicky bird. The Allens are not showing their hand. I can assure you that, if and when they do, you will be the first to hear about it.’

  Daniel Bailey was still not satisfied. ‘You get a decent collar from us and, lately, you have given us fuck-all of any real interest.’

  Smith smiled. ‘If there’s nothing to tell . . .’

  Peter Bailey hated this man with a vengeance, as did his brother. Smith was first and foremost a Filth – never a good thing in their world – but, even worse than that, he had never understood that his willingness to sell out his own was the reason they would not, and could not, ever trust him. They paid him, they tolerated him, but that was as far as it went. To them, he was worse than scum.

  He had his uses, and that was why they had cultivated him for so long; he was a part of their world now whether they liked it or not. He was a celebrated Filth, he had his so-called creds, and a penchant for women and money. Both weaknesses had been the reasons they’d recruited him in the first place. He sold out anyone within his orbit for a price, a heavy price admittedly, and he still believed he was one step above them. The man was a cunt, as Daniel Bailey said on a daily basis, and a treacherous cunt at that.

  ‘The Allen brothers are keeping a low profile; they have done nothing that would warrant a mention from me. All I can tell you is that I made sure your Northern counterparts were left alone. I have a colleague who is now up in Manchester, and he is more than willing to come onboard.’

  Peter and Daniel exchanged a look, and Smith knew that he was skating on very thin ice.

  Peter Bailey was sitting behind his desk, and Smith could see the deep-seated resentment in his eyes as he said loudly, ‘Would this be a certain DI Brown by any chance?’

  Smith was not surprised about the Baileys’ intimate knowledge of the police departments around the country; he knew better than anyone that they had ears everywhere. He wasn’t the only person they had bought off over the years – they had all sorts on their payroll, from High Court judges, to court-appointed psychiatrists. They recruited from every walk of life – it was why they were still on the outside and also such formidable opponents.

  ‘Well, it seems you are ahead of me. Why am I not surprised?’

  Daniel Bailey fought the urge to smack Harry Smith around the room, and instead he grinned nastily. ‘Well, to be honest, Harry, he had the sense to tell us about your approach within hours of it occurring. Seems he doesn’t fucking trust you either.’

  It was a warning, a veiled threat, and Smith was well aware of that. He was also annoyed; despite all the cash he liberally weighed out to his brethren, no one had ever seen fit to tell him that Brown was already on the take. It was a real eye-opener; it just showed him, once again, that the Baileys were one step ahead. He was due to retire in the next eighteen months, which was bothering him. He was too used to the extra cash the Baileys provided – he had seen himself recruiting a few key personnel so he could still be of use to them, still collect his extra bunce, and enjoy his little perks.

  Now, though, he wasn’t so sure about that. At the moment he had the protection of the Metropolitan Police; the Baileys had believed that to take him out would do them no good; he was, after all, a senior officer. But it seemed that he might actually be wrong about that – they were already making plans that didn’t include him. He needed to bring them something solid, something important, to prove his worth to them before he finally bowed out. He needed that last big pay-off; he was depending on it. His pension was not enough for a fucking fortnight’s holiday in Benidorm, let alone enough to keep him and his wife in the manner that, thanks to the Baileys, they had become very accustomed to.

  Smith had worked out very early in his career that crime, for a small percentage of the population, really did pay. There were certain people who understood the importance of having the enemy close by, even if you couldn’t control them. With people like the Baileys, who appreciated the significance of having people like him close, and who made sure that their enterprises didn’t impinge on the general public too much, you could at least ensure a degree of safety, know that there would be no civilians caught up in unnecessary violence. That would not be the case, however, if the streets were left to the mercy of anyone who had a shotgun and big ideas. Like the Krays and the Richardsons before them, the Baileys actually policed their own manors; they made sure that nothing untoward went on without their express permission and that everything was within their boundaries and guidelines. In a way, they were as necessary for public safety as the Home Guard in wartime. Families like the Baileys actually made the streets safer for the average person – not that anyone would ever admit that, of course. Without the big crime families taking that control, the pavements would be overrun with wannabes and loose cannons, would be at the mercy of every little crew who felt the urge to go out on the rob; it would be anarchy. The Old Bill all knew that, from very early on in their careers. They hated it but the bottom line was, better the devil you know.

  Smith looked at the two men he had been dealing with for over twenty years, and he smiled genially. ‘I have my ear to the ground and, be fair, have I ever let you down?’

  Daniel Bailey snorted in derision. ‘There’s always a fucking first time, Harry.’

  Chapter One Hundred and Ten

  Petey Bailey was sitting at a secluded table in the garden of one of his favourite pubs in Hainault. It had a nice outlook, the garden was very well landscaped and, best of all, there was a little clique of young birds in his eyeline. On
e of them was already giving him the glad eye, and he was more than happy to return the favour. He knew that his dark good looks, coupled with his expensive apparel, were a real pull for a lot of women. He had the brooding appearance of a young Bob Marley, or so he had been told anyway – not that he really gave a fuck. His old nana said he resembled his granddad more than the others. The way she told it, his granddad was a mixture of Kunta Kinte from Roots, and Sammy Davis Jr. A mixed bag admittedly, but as long as it attracted the birds, he was happy.

  As his cousin Danny walked towards him with a tray of drinks, he smiled widely. He had good teeth; apparently he had inherited those from his granddad as well. If his nana was to be believed, his granddad had been a paragon of every virtue except, of course, loyalty to the woman he had knocked up. He had scarpered as soon as she had told him she was in the club. He had been Jamaican according to her, and Petey believed the man had been a fucking scoundrel. A user devoid of any kind of decency; he had fucked her and left her, end of, no matter how good a spin she might put on it.

  Danny sat down opposite his cousin; they both smiled in greeting but there was a coolness between them of which they were both aware.

  ‘Well, well, well, what’s all this cloak-and-dagger about then?’ Petey’s voice was low, bordering on the sarcastic.

  Danny didn’t answer him at first, sipping on his pint of beer instead. He was a real-ale fanatic, and he savoured the mouthful of Spitfire for a few seconds, before saying earnestly, ‘You know why I’m here, Pete, let’s not play games.’

  Petey shrugged nonchalantly and, sipping his pint of lager, he said with mock innocence, ‘I’m all ears, cuz.’

  Danny watched his cousin; he had loved him like a brother, but he didn’t trust him any more. He couldn’t bring his personal worries to the family without there being a major fucking incident, so he just intended to let Petey know he was aware of what was going on.

  ‘I wasn’t at the meet with the Allen brothers, as you well know . . .’ He let his words hang in the air for a few seconds, making his point, before adding nonchalantly, ‘Seems I was a bit worse for wear that night. How are the Allens adapting to their new situation?’

  Petey felt relief wash over him. He guessed that he had been sussed but clearly his cousin was not going to make a big drama out of it – if that had been his intention, he would have done it well before now. He was impressed; he had not anticipated Danny working it out at all, let alone so quickly; it just proved that he could never underestimate his cousin. He had really thought that Danny was none the wiser, assuming that when his cousin finally surfaced from his drug-induced haze, he would just kick himself for being so foolhardy.

  Petey had obviously misread the situation; a mistake he would not make again. He was suddenly contrite, his handsome face a picture of worry and wide-eyed honesty – he was good at that.

  ‘They were all right, actually – not exactly thrilled with how it had panned out. But they ain’t idiots, they know that they stepped over the line. The thing is, though, Danny, I’ve had my own little earn going with them.’

  He watched as Danny took in the enormity of what he was saying. He had learned many years ago that the best way to disguise any real fuckery was to openly admit to a lesser charge. You could disguise the true problem you were trying to hide with an element of truth. It was simple psychology.

  ‘I’m trusting you with this because I realise now I was a cunt to try and keep it on the down low. If you repeat this, Danny, you know I will be in fucking deep shit. I have been creaming off the Allens’ take since day one. You know what I’m like – I always have to take things to the extreme. I ain’t skanking off the family, though, just taking a percentage of the Allens’ earn. They acted so fucking flash, like they were doing us the favour, you know? So I strong-armed them. I should have told you, but I couldn’t.’

  Danny Bailey was in a quandary; this was more complicated than he had anticipated. ‘If the old men were to find out about this . . .’

  Petey nodded eagerly. ‘Precisely. But I have guaranteed the Allens’ silence. You see, I knew they needed to be replaced. They were getting too fucking lairy for their own good. I am the one who dealt with them on a daily basis, Danny, don’t forget that.’

  Danny could see the fear in his cousin’s eyes, and he had every reason to feel scared. Petey was a natural-born con man – it was part of his charm. But Danny had never thought he would be fool enough to instigate a rob against his own family; that was as outrageous as it was perilous. Petey’s own brother had been eliminated for less. What the fuck was he thinking?

  Danny lost all his self-control in an instant, absolutely sickened by what his cousin was telling him. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Petey, are you on a death wish or what? I know that you slipped me a roofie to keep me away from the meeting with the Allens. You fucking caned me. Can you imagine how that makes me feel? Knowing you were willing to fucking disable me? And for what? Because you are a fucking thief? Because you wanted an outside fucking earn? This is fucking unbelievable! I guessed that you had some kind of fiddle going with the Allens. I ain’t a complete fucking moron, whatever you might think. And now you have dragged me into it. I know about it now – that makes me a part of it.’

  Petey was genuinely nervous now; Danny had suddenly become his Achilles’ heel, and he didn’t like it. If he wasn’t careful, he was well and truly fucked. This had suddenly got completely out of control. He had underestimated this cousin of his, believing strongly that he was shrewd enough to pull the proverbial wool over Danny’s eyes, but Danny was much more astute than he had ever given him credit for. He could hear the terror in his own voice, could feel the genuine panic as it washed over him.

  ‘Listen to me, Danny. I have sorted it, OK? I’m only telling you all this because you’re my cousin, because I trust you. I need you to stand by me on this. I swear I will never step outside of the family again.’

  Danny felt sick; knowing what his cousin was capable of was not something he felt comfortable with. He finished his pint slowly, unsure how to play this. It was far too personal for him; he was not capable of such skulduggery – it just wasn’t in his nature. His own cousin had spiked his drink, and left him incapacitated, without even the wits to take himself to the toilet. He had been completely disoriented for nearly two days, simply because this man had not wanted anyone to know he was skimming off the family. It was the sheer treachery he couldn’t get to grips with. Knowing that Petey had been capable of something so heinous was bad enough, but what was worse was that Petey now expected him to overlook it. Now that Petey had admitted his sin, admitted what he was capable of, Danny would never be able to trust the bastard again. ‘You are fucking out of order, Petey, and if you weren’t my cousin, I would cheerfully see you demolished over this.’

  Petey sighed with obvious relief. ‘I swear, Danny, I still can’t believe I did it. But it must prove to you how fucking desperate I was! I couldn’t hurt you, you must know that. I just saw my chance – I wasn’t really thinking, you know?’

  Danny didn’t answer him for long moments, and when he did he said sadly, ‘All I know, Petey, is that I will never trust you again. I won’t broadcast this; you’re my cousin, and you have painted yourself into the proverbial corner. But it hurts that you didn’t think that I had the sense to work out what you’d done to me – you actually thought I was that thick. Well, for your information, Einstein, you’re not as fucking clever as you think you are.’

  He left him then; Danny knew if he stayed any longer he would physically harm his cousin, so he walked away.

  As he watched him go, Petey Bailey knew he had just lost the best friend he would ever have. He felt almost tearful, because he had made himself a serious enemy – one who was far too close for comfort, and far more intelligent than he had ever given him credit for.

  Danny had always accepted that Petey liked to be in charge, and had been more than willing to listen to his opinions and, more to the point, respect them. N
ow all those years of familial friendship and camaraderie were gone. Like their fathers before them, years of love and affection had been wiped out in minutes.

  Petey Bailey also knew, though, that he didn’t have the loyalty which came naturally to Danny and the others. He was quite capable of removing his cousin should the need arise. He knew too much and that, unfortunately for Danny, meant that Petey would be looking for any excuse now.

  Chapter One Hundred and Eleven

  ‘Do you really believe that Michael O’Toole can keep this up for the duration?’

  Peter Bailey sighed. ‘He knows the score, Daniel, he knows he’s just a fucking front. Everyone knows he’s just a front. But it keeps everything on an even keel. He’s so grateful it’s pitiful to see really, and we can trust him.’

  Daniel looked out of the window at the scrapyard. Unlike his brother Peter, he felt much more secure here than in their new offices. He liked the scrapyard and the whole feel of the place. It was surrounded by a big metal fence, and the night watchman kept his Dobermans here day and night; no one was coming in here without his knowledge. Peter believed they were past all of that now, but Daniel would never feel that way. He still had the gutter in his bones, and he was proud of that.

  ‘I think the Allens could benefit from a personal appearance.’

  Peter laughed. ‘They don’t need that, Dan.’

  Daniel could see their reflections in the windows of the Portakabin. Even though they were different races, there was a distinct resemblance. It was their build more than anything, and the shape of their heads. He had missed his brother when they had been at odds, and he was glad they had patched up their differences.

  Daniel was of the opinion that the Allens needed to be watched, especially Terry. Billy Allen was basically a fucking moron – a thought in his head would die of loneliness. But Terry Allen was a man whose disposition guaranteed his need for revenge.