by Martina Cole
Dopolis had a demonic look on his ugly face. In his temper he had spoken so forcefully that long strands of spit hung from his lower lip.
‘Listen, mate.’ Michael went to him. As he walked he clicked his fingers and Geoffrey, Roy, Leslie, Garry and Lee brought out their shotguns from beneath their coats. Maura stepped back from them. Despite herself she was getting frightened. She had never thought it would get this far.
Michael picked Dopolis up by his camel hair overcoat, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all. ‘You are beginning to get on my wick. Comprendez? Or whatever it is you bubbles say.’ He threw Dopolis on to the filthy floor and turned to the minders. He could see they were frightened. ‘Don’t even think about getting your little pop-pops out. You’d never walk out of here. So just button your mutton while I tell your short-arse little mate here the score.’ He went to where Dopolis was sprawling on the cold floor, his face like thunder. Grabbing him by the lapels of his coat, Michael dragged him upright and pushed his face down to his.
‘You tell your Mr Big that if my brother ain’t home by ten o’clock tonight, I am coming after him. If as much as one hair is harmed on Benny’s pretty little head, I will kill you all. Slowly and painfully.’
He punched the Greek to the ground again. Dopolis watched as Michael took a length of lead piping from his pocket. He tried to scramble away. Michael brought the piping down on his legs.
‘You want everything, do you? All that I’ve got? Don’t want much do you, you wanker?’ He brought the lead down on Dopolis’s elbow and a powerful crack echoed around the warehouse. The two minders were staring, fascinated, at Michael Ryan in action. Leslie and Lee giggled as they heard Dopolis try to stifle a scream.
‘Well, you’ll get nothing, mate. Not a brass razoo, as the Aussies say. You’ve got more chance of getting a dose of clap off the fucking Pope than you’ve got of getting a job off me cleaning out toilets. You made a fatal mistake, Mr Dopolis. You were stupid enough to annoy me. I want me little brother and then I’m coming after you and your Mr Fucking Big. So you had better start saying your prayers, OK?’
He smashed the lead piping into the man’s face, felt Dopolis’s nose collapse and smiled. The Greek was a bloody mess.
He looked to where the two minders were standing and said calmly, ‘Pick up him and take him home. He’s annoying me.’
The two men stood paralysed with fear. They had never seen a look the like of which was on Michael Ryan’s face now. He had enjoyed every second.
Mickey shouted at them: ‘PICK HIM UP AND PISS OFF!’
They did as they were told, their movements jerky and awkward in their fright. Carrying Dopolis between them, his legs hanging uselessly, they began to drag him from the warehouse. Michael called to them, and then standing in front of them pushed his finger into Dopolis’s broken nose. The bone and gristle were open to the freezing air.
‘This is just for starters. You wait until I really lose me rag. I want me brother. And I want him tonight.’ He jerked his head at the two men and they dragged Dopolis from the warehouse as fast as they possibly could. Michael pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his finger.
‘Coo, Mickey . . . you scared me.’
‘Listen, Princess, I might rant and rave but I would never hurt me own.’
‘What about if they grassed you up?’ This from Leslie, who always asked the wrong thing at the wrong time.
Michael stared at him nastily. ‘Why? Are you thinking of trying it?’
Leslie blanched. He dropped his gun in fright and Michael laughed.
‘No . . . No, Mickey. Not me. N-never!’
‘I was only joking, you nonce.’
Michael was on a high. He was always the same after a bout of violence. ‘Well, Maws, it seems your ideas about the docks are spot on.’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘This Mr Big, whoever he is, must want all this. It’s got to be something to do with all this chat about redevelopment. Why else would anyone want this heap of shit?’
Michael shrugged.
‘Once our Benny’s home we’ll rip this town apart. No one can hide from us. Not for long anyway. This has taught me one thing, though. If we’re going to keep any sort of order we must rent out the East End in little pieces. Geoffrey, I want you to keep your ear to the ground. See if any old wags are out and about looking for a bit of action. I’m getting sick of the lot of it. What’s it the Yanks call it?’ He laughed out loud. ‘A conglomerate. That’s what we’ll become - a conglomerate! Take a leaf out of the big knobs’ books. Get loads of little firms to do the shitty work. Only there won’t be any golden handshakes floating around!’
Maura was unnerved by how quickly Michael could forget what had just taken place. It was as if Dopolis had never existed. As if he had not been beaten to a pulp. She shuddered, and Lee put his arm around her.
‘You cold, Maws?’
Michael carried on talking. ‘I should have listened to you ages ago, Princess. We’re going legal at last. Should please Mother anyway. Let’s get back to the club. This place gives me the heebie jeebies.’
Ten minutes later they were all on their way to Dean Street. Maura and Michael travelled together and he talked to her all the time, not seeming to notice how quiet she was. They parked the Mercedes in Old Compton Street. For some reason Dean Street was cordoned off. There were people milling around everywhere. Maura and Michael saw that Geoffrey and the others had arrived before them. Maura walked up to Geoffrey. His skin looked grey in the twilight. She noticed police were everywhere. She heard the high screeching of an ambulance as it travelled along Shaftesbury Avenue. A large crowd had gathered, mainly bouncers and hostesses, a few punters and sightseers mixed in with them.
She felt Michael’s breath on her neck as he spoke to Geoffrey. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘It’s the club, Michael. It was firebombed.’ Geoffrey’s voice was dead. As if he could not really comprehend what had happened.
‘What!’ Michael and Maura spoke in unison.
‘I said it’s been firebombed.’
‘Is anyone hurt, Geoff?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Maura.’
She pushed her way through the crowd and stared at what had once been the entrance to Le Buxom. The wind was picking up and little flakes of snow were stinging her face. She could smell the burning.
Then her heart seemed to explode inside her chest. She felt her hands clench into fists and a breathlessness as if she had run for miles. Walking towards her, from the entrance of the club, was Terry Petherick. Even in the freezing cold she felt a wave of heat sweep through her body. He still had the same long-legged stride. The same dirty blond hair. The same lopsided grin. She was aware of her rapid heartbeat crashing through her body. For the first time in eight years she was seeing the man she hated. Only she did not hate him. She realised that she loved him . . . loved him with every ounce of her being.
The sights and sounds around her were blocked from her mind. All she was aware of was a feeling of being alive. Really alive. For the first time since she’d had the abortion she felt an overpowering urge to throw herself into his arms. Beg him to forgive her for what she had done to their child. He was getting closer to her. She could feel the heat creeping along her flesh . . .
‘Hello, Maura. Long time no see.’ His words were a vocal caress and she felt herself tremble. Her throat was dry and she knew that if she tried to speak to him she would begin to cry. The tears were already there, hot and aching behind her eyes. She bit down hard on her lip.
Terry Petherick was looking at her with his penetrating stare. He thought of the Maura he had known, the vulnerable young girl, and felt ashamed of what he had done to her. Through her sophisticated hair style and expensive clothes he could still see the girl she had been. The young woman he had made love to and whom he had nearly died for. She was still there, inside the new shell, looking at him through the blue stillness of her eyes. They would ne
ver change. When he had been beaten up he had lain in the hospital bed thinking about her. He had never held any grudge about what had happened to him. He had felt at the time that he deserved it. He deserved to feel the pain. He still felt that, especially now, looking at the face that had haunted him for eight long years.
Michael’s voice broke into their private thoughts and snapped them both back to reality.
‘Well, well, well. If it ain’t the Casanova of Vine Street.’
Maura felt a flush come over her face and neck.
‘Hello, Mr Ryan. I suppose you know that your club was firebombed?’ Terry’s voice was quiet and controlled. ‘Your doorman, Gerry Jackson, was badly hurt, and a young lass, a young blonde girl called . . .’ he looked at his notebook ‘. . . Sheree. No one seemed to know her surname.’
‘Well, anything you want to ask you talk to my brother Geoffrey. He’s over there.’ Michael pointed to where Geoffrey was standing with Lee and Garry and Leslie. ‘I want to get my sister home. This ain’t no place for her. Especially now.’
‘Quite.’ Terry’s voice was smooth. Maura noticed that he still had his baby soft skin. She wanted to reach up and touch his face. Feel his flesh beneath her fingers again. She closed her eyes and felt Michael’s arm go around her.
‘Come on, Maws. There’s nothing we can do here.’
She wanted to throw Michael from her. She couldn’t walk away from Terry now. Not when she had found him again. She felt Michael pulling her gently away and still she watched Terry, turning her head as Michael steered her through the crowd back to the car. And she knew in her heart that Terry felt the same as she did. It was written in his eyes and face. Suddenly all the noise and bustle around her became real once more. She came back to earth with a jolt that made her want to cry out in anguish.
‘Come on, Princess. In the car, love.’ Michael’s voice was caressing, like a lover’s. Only this time it was not enough for her.
In the space of a few minutes all the old longings had come back to haunt her. Long suppressed sights and sounds were rushing back. The little flat in Islington. Their favourite restaurant. The smell of his body as he slipped his maleness inside her. It was like a strong heady potion that had miraculously brought her back to life.
‘Come on, Maws. Get in the car.’
She opened the door and sat in the car obediently. Leslie and Lee were already in the back, Garry squeezed in with them. For Maura the whole day’s events had been wiped out by that one chance meeting.
Michael got into the driving seat and put the key in the ignition. He started up the car and pulled away. When they were driving along Shaftesbury Avenue, he spoke.
‘I suppose you all realise what’s happened, don’t you?’ Nobody answered him. ‘The bombing of the club had already been arranged, well in advance. From five minutes after me belting Dopolis, the word had been sent out. It was a foregone conclusion. Whoever threw the petrol bomb was ready and waiting for word.’
Gradually, what Michael was saying penetrated Maura’s brain.
‘Benny ain’t coming home, is he, Mickey?’ Garry sounded as if he was going to cry.
‘I doubt that very much, Gal. I doubt that very much indeed.’
‘The dirty bastards! The filthy rotten dirty bastards . . .’
Leslie and Lee were both in shock.
‘Well, I have an idea where some of Dopolis’s information came from. And that’s where we’re all going now.’
They drove on in silence. Everyone was thinking about Benny. Michael gripped the steering wheel. Mr Big had better watch out. He was coming to get him.
The enormity of what had happened hit Maura like a bucket of icy water. Benny was probably dead already . . . She felt the shaking in her hands and legs that was caused by shock. As she looked out of the window of the car she saw that they were in Knightsbridge. Harrods had its Christmas decorations that brought people from miles around. Everywhere she looked were lights and Christmas messages, in the shops and the restaurants. And Benny was dead. Or about to die. She closed her eyes and saw his face. Then Terry’s face.
Garry was sitting hunched up in the back, racking his brains like Michael, trying to come up with a name. Someone who would have the guts to take on Michael Ryan. Someone who held a grudge . . .
Michael parked the car outside his flat. They all followed him inside. Maura realised that Roy was missing and asked Mickey where he was. He put his key into the lock of his front door.
‘I sent him home, Maws. He’s the only family man among us. After what happened at the club, I sent him home.’
She nodded as he opened the door. They all followed him into his lounge.
Jonny was sitting on the couch. He was wearing his straight gear: grey polo-necked sweater and black Staprest trousers. He was very white. His blond curly hair had been freshly washed. It was still damp. He stared up at Michael and smiled. Maura noticed that he was a bundle of nerves.
‘Get us all a stiff drink, Jonny . . . now!’ Michael sounded ferocious. Jonny leapt out of his seat to do his bidding. He was shaking so much he nearly dropped the decanter of whisky. Everyone sat down on Michael’s deep green Habitat settee. Jonny brought them all a drink. Michael stood at the fireplace and, as Jonny handed him his drink, said: ‘How much did they pay you?’
Jonny tried to bluff his way out of it. He knew that his life depended on it.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mickey!’
Michael threw the contents of his glass into Jonny’s face. Then, grabbing his blond curls, cried: ‘Tell me, Jonny. Answer my question.’
‘I swear to you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please!’
Michael brought his knee up into Jonny’s groin, using such force that the boy’s whole body was lifted from the ground. Michael let him drop on to the carpet in front of him. Then, taking out the lead piping he had used on Dopolis, he waved it in Jonny’s face.
‘You can make this hard for yourself or easy, Jonny. Either way you will answer my questions. Now, I ask you again, how much did they pay you?’
Jonny lay on the floor, heaving. His hands were holding his testicles, which felt as if they had been forced from their protective sac. He was in agony. Michael had dropped his glass and Jonny had a fleeting image of him smashing it into his face. Michael kicked the glass at him as if he had read the boy’s mind.
Jonny hunched his shoulders up and held his testicles tighter. ‘Five . . . five gr-grand.’
Michael laughed a bitter laugh.
‘Five lousy grand? You let my brother die for five lousy grand? I’d have given you that if you’d asked me. You fucking scum queen!’
He brought the lead piping down on Jonny, busting his head open with the first blow.
Maura jumped from her seat and grabbed Michael’s arm.
‘Not here, Mickey. Don’t kill him here. Find out who approached him. Then let them have him.’ She poked her head in her brothers’ direction. They were all sitting on Michael’s giant settee watching him.
Maura stared down into Jonny’s face.
‘Who bought you off, Jonny? You may as well tell me. You’re a dead man anyway. If you don’t start talking, I’ll let Michael and Garry torture you. I mean it, Jonny.’
He was crying, his tears mingling with the blood that was dripping down his face from his head.
‘Maura . . . I . . . I swear I didn’t mean any . . . harm. He made me do it! He said . . . you . . . was all finished. That I’d better get away . . .’
‘Who was it, Jonny? Tell me who it was.’
‘It . . . was . . . Sam. Sammy Goldbaum.’
Michael spat in Jonny’s face.
‘Not Sammy. Never! You poxy little shit stabber . . .’
‘I swear to you, Mickey. Please believe me.’ Jonny was crying hard now. ‘I loved you, Mickey. I did. I’m so sorry ...’
Michael kicked him in the legs. ‘Yeah, you loved me all right. You ponce! You loved me so much you done a deal for
money. Five shitty grand you sold me and my brother for. Wanker!’
He nodded his head and Garry and Leslie picked Jonny up from the floor between them. They did not need to be told that Jonny was not to come home. They would enjoy putting him away, for Benny’s sake.
Jonny screamed out in fear. ‘Please, Mickey! Please . . .’ Tears were rolling down his face and mingling with blood and the mucus from his nose. ‘I only told him things because I thought you wouldn’t be there any more to protect me. I’m begging you, Mickey . . . please!’
Michael raised the lead piping above his head and smashed it down with all his might across Jonny’s head. Jonny was suddenly quiet. He would never utter another word.
Garry, Leslie and Lee carried him from the flat.
Michael sat on his giant sofa and put his head in his hands. ‘Benny’s dead, Maws. Because that slag sold him for a lousy five grand. I want Goldbaum next. Sammy, my friend. Well, from now on, it’s family always.’ He wiped his streaming eyes.
‘Come on, Mickey. Me and you will sort out Sammy together.’
They left the flat. As they got into the car, Maura heard the high piping voices of a group of carol singers. They were singing for charity outside the restaurants in Beauchamp Place. Maura could have wept herself. This had been one of the worst days of her life. Instead she lit them both a cigarette and braced herself for the night ahead. She knew that tonight she was going to commit a murder, and instead of being frightened felt a deadness in all her limbs. Thoughts of Terry Petherick were a luxury she could not afford. She had come too far with Mickey ever to be able to live a normal life again. Together they would pay back everyone responsible for Benny’s death. The familiar hardness crept back into her deep blue eyes and she put away her childish dreams forever.
Terry was like the expensive present that all poor children wanted but could never hope to attain. She had felt for a few moments the agonising pleasure that he had always created in her, and she would have to make do with that for the rest of her life. She would think about it in her lonely bed when all this was over, but tonight they had a job to do.