by Martina Cole
‘Dessie. Good to see you, mate.’ Daniel Bailey shook his hand firmly, and Dessie felt himself begin to relax. ‘I hear you want to talk to me?’
Dessie nodded.
Danny made a face at his father, gesturing towards his sister. It was clear to everyone, including the young girl, that he did not want her in the room.
His father snorted. ‘Take her out to the night-watchman’s office. Put on the heater and the telly for her.’
‘I’m all right! I’m not a kid!’ Tania protested.
Her brothers laughed; Davey took her gently by the arm and removed her from the Portakabin. Walking her quickly across the yard, he could sense her annoyance, but he was not too bothered; she would get over it.
As he led her into the office, he said gently, ‘You must realise, sis, you can’t be a part of this, OK?’
‘I am a part of it, though! I’m as much a Bailey as any of you.’ She could see the sorrow in her brother’s eyes at the truth of her words.
‘Look, Tania, this could get a bit out of order. The less you know, darling, the better.’
She sighed in frustration. ‘I ain’t a fucking kid, Davey!’
He turned to her, and she could see his shock at her choice of words. ‘That’s enough of that language, OK? Do you think Mum would have let you talk like that, eh? Have a bit of respect.’
He left the small room, and she sat down on the smelly armchair. Gritting her teeth, she wondered how they could still treat her like a child after the last few days. Her mother had been blown apart by a bomb – a bomb meant for her uncle – but she had been coming to fetch her, so she had endured that guilt every second of every day since. She wanted to take her revenge on the culprit as much as they did – why couldn’t they see that? She finally wanted to cry, but she was not going to.
She stood up and watched her brother as he hurried across the yard once more; the rain was pelting down, and she felt lonelier than she had ever felt in her life.
Back at the Portakabin, Danny poured them large brandies and, as Dessie threw his back in one nervous gulp, Danny said gently, ‘Tell him what you told me.’
Dessie nodded. He could feel the men’s eyes boring into him, and he hoped he was doing the right thing. If he was wrong, he would be leaving himself open to all sorts of fucking aggravation – and not just from the Baileys either. He was sweating with fear; the tension in the room was almost overpowering his ability to speak.
‘I heard a whisper, Daniel, and I didn’t know if I should repeat it, you know? I don’t want to drop anyone in it. But I felt that you needed to hear it.’
Daniel Bailey just stared at him. Dessie could see the toll his wife’s death had taken on him, and he was genuinely sorry for the man. Everyone knew that Lena Bailey was his big love; it was already an urban legend because of the way she had died.
Danny nodded at him, urging him to carry on. ‘Just tell him, Dessie.’
Dessie took a deep breath before saying quietly, ‘At the time, I didn’t think anything of it, it was just something I’d overheard, it meant fuck-all, you know? But after everything that’s happened—’
All the boys jumped, as their father suddenly bellowed, ‘For fuck’s sake, Dessie, just spit it out, will you!’
The man’s face turned ever paler; he looked like a statue, he was suddenly so still. Abject terror in his eyes, he struggled to speak. They felt desperately sorry for him, but their father needed to hear what this man had to say and, by all accounts, it was important enough for him to have requested this meet. They were willing Dessie to get it over with.
‘I heard something in the pub, it was the night that . . . When . . . you know . . . Lena.’ He stumbled once more as he tried to explain himself.
Daniel rolled his eyes up at the ceiling with impatience. ‘I assume you mean the night my wife was blown all over the West End, the night my brother was supposed to die instead of her. Is that the fucking night you are referring to, Dessie, or was there another fucking night I don’t fucking know about?’
Danny said evenly, aware that his father was at breaking point, ‘All right, Dad, let’s hear what he has to say, eh?’ He smiled gently at Dessie, saying, ‘You all right now, Des? Need another drink?’
Dessie nodded, then he cleared his throat noisily. Jamsie started to pour more brandy, as they waited to hear what he had to say.
Daniel Bailey was like a scalded cat, but he knew his son was right – he had to keep calm, let the man say what he had to say, but it was hard.
‘Billy Allen was in the toilet, having a line. I was on the john, I needed a dump, I’d had a gyppy belly all day, so he wasn’t aware of me being in there, like. Well, Terrence came in and they were talking the usual coke shite, you know, having a sniff, the usual. But then Billy said to Terry, “I wish we could be there, don’t you?” and Terry just laughed with him. Then Stevie Taylor came in and they started chatting about more old shit. I stayed in the stall until they had gone. I knew then that I was best keeping a low profile in case it was about their private business – you know what the Allens are like, especially that cunt Billy. I didn’t want them to know I had heard anything that was of a private nature, from what was obviously a private conversation. It was only afterwards that I even remembered it. When I got the call later on saying what had happened at the club, about poor Lena, I went through to the bar and relayed the news to everyone there. We were having a lock-in, and they were all our people, like. But when I thought about it the next day, I remembered that Terrence Allen had looked like he was about to collapse when I said what had actually happened – that Lena had been killed. I was a bit pissed by then, had a few lines myself, but I don’t forget things, Daniel, as you know. The more I thought about it, the more I felt I should tell you. I knew that you and Peter had given the Allen brothers a sharp tug recently, and I also knew they were not too thrilled about it. Look, if I’m talking shite, then I apologise, but I just knew I had to tell someone about it.’
Daniel Bailey was staring at Dessie Graham as if he had never seen him before in his life. His face was hard, closed, he looked capable of literally anything. He forced a smile on to his face and, holding out his huge hand, he gripped Dessie’s and pumped it up and down quickly, saying, ‘You did the right thing, Des. Now, keep this conversation to yourself. Not just because I’m asking you, but also because the Allens would not take kindly to you relaying it to us lot. I thank you for coming here, and I know you are as sound as a pound, mate. If it helps, you will be in line for a fucking treat, OK?’
Danny knew the score and, within a few minutes, he had escorted a much more relaxed Dessie Graham from the Portakabin out to his car. After thanking him once more, and promising him a bonus for his loyalty, he was back with his father.
‘I’ve already got our boys out looking for the Allens, Dad – they are hunting them down as we speak. But I haven’t said a word to Uncle Peter or his lads about any of this yet. I felt it best to tell you first, and then let you decide where to go from here.’
Daniel looked at his son and he saw, for the first time in ages, just how like him this boy was. It was like looking at himself when he was a young man.
‘I didn’t think that pair of cunts would have had the guts, son. I thought this would be about the Russians – they are notorious for their fucking treachery, as well as bombings. I felt this had to be the work of someone of note, you know? Not a fucking tin pot pair of cunts like the Allens. That ponce Billy couldn’t tie his own shoelaces on his own. They are both nothing more than bully boys – they couldn’t have kept their game up without us behind them. Surely Terry had to have known that.’
Noel watched his father as he digested the information. The worst thing of all was the insult – that his wife could actually have been murdered by men so far below him and his that they were unworthy even of his notice. He sat quietly, with Davey and Jamsie, knowing that they were a unit now. They didn’t need their cousins really. They were all of a like mind on this one
– just interested in seeing that whoever was responsible paid dearly for their actions. Until this moment, he had never thought of them as a family without bringing his uncles and cousins into the equation; now he saw that his father was the head of his family – of him and his brothers. His dad was a force of nature; he walked his own road, for good and bad, and he would never change. They were the Baileys all right, but they were actually separate entities – the same family, but different sides of the same coin. It had taken his mother’s untimely death for that to be brought home to them.
‘What do you think, son? Do you think the Allens have the guts to pull off a stunt like this?’
Danny shrugged. He thought about it for a few seconds before lighting a cigarette. Drawing on it deeply, he said honestly, ‘Once we get them in here we can ask them what they were talking about, but I think they are stupid enough to pull a stunt like this. They have a few creds, Dad, but they forget that their creds are only because of their association with us. That Terry is definitely cunt enough to think he can fucking walk over us. It’s the nature of the beast, ain’t it? He is a fucking scoundrel; he would con his own mother if he thought it would further his career.’
Davey laughed nastily. ‘I don’t trust him either, Dad, he is always a bit too slippery for my liking. Always got a fucking snide remark, you know? Acts like he is a fucking hard man, but it’s Billy who’s the hard nut. Without him, they wouldn’t be fuck-all.’
Daniel was impressed by his son’s acumen, pleased that Davey had sussed that out.
Danny’s mobile rang. He sighed. ‘Seems Billy Allen is on his way here. It took four of the lads with a fucking Taser to even get him in the van. He is well pissed apparently.’
Daniel Bailey looked at his sons’ faces, as he said angrily, ‘Fuck him! He ain’t as hard as he thinks.’
Danny nodded in agreement, but said seriously, ‘I’d rather his brother, though. Terrence is like all bullies – deep down he is a fucking coward of the first water.’
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two
Peter Bailey watched Ria preparing dinner. He was concerned about her. Since Lena’s death, Ria had been quieter; she was feeling her friend’s absence acutely. They had always been very close, and her friend’s death had brought the reality of their lives once more to the fore. She knew, as they all did, that the bomb had been meant for him. Clearly the person responsible had a different agenda to what the outside world seemed to think.
Lena dying in his place had really affected Peter too; the guilt was overwhelming. If he had not given her his keys that night, she would still be here, her daughter would still have a mother, his brother would still have a wife he adored, and his own wife would still have her best friend.
Ria had taken it very badly. Lena’s death had brought back memories she had struggled to forget. They had never discussed Jack and his antics in great detail; she had accepted his death, as she had always accepted everything Peter had chosen to do. Like Lena, she was a woman who looked to her husband for guidance and, like Lena, she trusted her husband to keep them safe. Now he was sure that belief had been shaken.
Peter was still reeling from the shock, but like each of them he focussed on his suspicions. He did not share his brother’s opinion that this was the work of someone with a higher intelligence – he felt this was more on the level of wannabes. It was a botched attempt to take him out; according to the police forensics they had spoken to, it was basically amateur hour. Not a professional job as such, but perfectly adequate in the end. Like they couldn’t work that one out by themselves! Lena was dead. All the fucking money they had invested in the Filth over the years, and that was the only thing they could come up with – the bleeding obvious. Unbelievable. Fucking outrageous. Typical fucking Old Bill – clueless. As Daniel had remarked to them, they couldn’t find their own homes without a detailed map and fucking Sherpa Tenzing. Well, they were certainly aware now that they had to pull something out of the hat soon if they wanted to keep their earn. They had taken the money quick enough; but now they were expected to earn it they were acting like nervous schoolgirls on their first date. Frightened of their skulduggery being revealed, and finally having to do something for their keep, the Filth were acting far too uneasy for his liking.
Everyone in their orbit knew what had happened; it was only a matter of time before someone somewhere put two and two together, he was convinced of that. But, as he had remarked to Daniel, they were at the mercy of everyone who looked to them for their crust, and that meant there would always be someone who wanted that bit more; who wanted, ultimately, what they had. If he had died as planned, it would have left Daniel without his partner, his closest blood. And the next one to have been outed would obviously have been him.
So now they had their workforce looking for traitors, as well as sniffing round the different organisations they dealt with. Yet Peter still felt in his gut that this was the work of wannabes; those already at the top would have done a much cleaner job.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three
Billy was the only Allen brother they could locate, and he was even harder than Daniel would have given him credit for. He was acting as if he was there because he chose to be, not because he had been Tasered and forced physically into the blacked-out van. His arrogance was so overt, so blatant, as to be an insult in itself.
The boys were standing around, waiting to take their lead from Daniel, as he knew they would. They were good kids.
He could feel the old rage welling up inside him, and he welcomed it. Since Lena had died, he had once again felt it gradually building, hour by hour, until he was only hanging on by a thread. This man, unbeknownst to him, was exactly what he needed – an excuse to let off some steam.
‘Get the secateurs out of the drawer there, and tie him to the chair.’
Noel and Jamsie rushed to do what he asked. Danny poured them each a drink, listening with a half smile to the grunts and protestations of Billy Allen, as he was forced on to the metal typist chair, and bound tightly so he couldn’t move.
‘For fuck’s sake, Daniel! Surely you don’t think you can scare me.’ Billy was almost laughing in derision, as if they were fools and he was the only person there with even a speck of intelligence.
Billy Allen was a known hard man, and he prided himself on that fact. His enormous strength was everything to him – it defined him. He had the old-school loyalty as well – something else he felt was important to who he was, and how he was perceived by the people he dealt with. But he couldn’t prevent a note of trepidation creeping into his voice. It was strange how the threat of violence was always so much more intimidating than people imagined. Now that he was trussed up like a turkey, the younger Allen brother was finally becoming aware of how precarious his position was. He had assumed he could talk his way out of anything, and now it was sinking in that that was not the case.
Danny stood holding Billy’s hand flat against the metal arm of the chair as his father began to remove the first of the man’s fingers. Billy Allen steeled himself for the pain, his body tensed, the veins standing out on his forehead. But he was determined to stay silent, not beg as a lesser man would have done.
Outside Tania had seen the man being dragged from the van which had arrived earlier, and she had waited until the van had left the yard and her brothers had shut the gates, before she slipped out of the small night-watchman’s shed. Shivering with cold, she had crept over to the Portakabin, and positioned herself so she could watch what was going on. She saw Jamsie standing in the open doorway, and her other brothers spread around the small office; like them, she watched her father as he went to work. After long moments the man began to groan. Listening to his agony, she was shocked that she had no adverse reaction to what she was seeing.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four
Peter Bailey told his son Petey about the capture of Billy Allen as they were sitting together in his BMW 6 Series, driving quickly towards the scrapyard. Peter was glad
his brother had refused to unload the yard now; he’d been absolutely right – he had always said they would need its privacy one day.
‘From what Danny’s said, the man is a fucking phenomenon. You have to give credit where it’s due – my brother has taken off every finger on his right hand, but he still won’t fucking say a dicky bird. He is threatening them with all sorts.’
Petey could hear the genuine admiration in his father’s voice, and he knew he had to say something. ‘Why have they dragged him in, though? Who grassed him up?’
He saw his father shrug as he answered carefully, ‘I don’t know yet. All I do know is my brother heard a whisper, and now he wants me there. My guess is Daniel would really much rather sort this himself – it is his wife who’s dead, after all. But, by the same token, he also knows that I was the intended target. As if any of us are ever going to forget that.’
Petey nodded absently. The fear was growing inside him; he had been less than honest about his dealings, with his greed as usual taking precedence over his common sense. The Allens could easily cause him untold trouble, and the enormity of that fact was finally hitting him. He was thieving off his own – in more ways than one. He was only too aware of his father’s opinion about what he saw as weakness of any kind; his father, who in reality should not even still be here, who should be dead, would see his actions as tantamount to mutiny.
‘Like a fucking bull, that Billy Allen! I remember years ago he was jumped by about six geezers, and they each said afterwards that they had never had a fight like it in their lives. They battered him in the end, but he made sure they fucking worked for it.’
They were approaching the scrapyard, and Petey felt sick with apprehension. As they waited for the gates to be opened, he saw his father glance at him; he sensed his dad was picking up on his nerves.