Serious People

by Shea, James A.

  “How’s she doing?” Robert asked.

  “She’s asleep. I thought I’d let her rest for a while,” Charlie replied.

  “The doc said that she’s responding to some of the treatments that they’ve been trying,” Robert said and he sat down again.

  This was not the whole truth. What the doctor had actually said was that Jackie had no more than six months left to life; actually the only thing that was left medically to do was make those six months as pain free as they could. Robert could count on one hand the number of times he’d lied to his best friend—it was not something that went hand in hand with living a healthy life, even for Robert—but he knew Charlie needed this reassurance. He didn’t want the truth. He wasn’t even sure that Charlie could ever cope with the reality in this case, and that scared Robert to the bone.

  “Responding? I suppose we should be thankful for something. How did my world get so fucked?” Charlie said, bursting into rage. “Everyone's taking bloody liberties! Even our payments are not coming in!” he shouted.

  “It will all settle down Charlie,” Robert said. “Sit down for a moment.”

  “I don’t want to sit; I just want at least one part of my life to be settled!”

  “Look Charlie, I’ll look after the business side of things for a while. I’ll clear all this shit up. You just focus on Jackie,” Robert said, looking back at his friend.

  “I don’t know...” Charlie replied.

  “Charlie, we’re partners. We cover each other’s back,” Robert said.

  Charlie still stood for a moment, not saying anything. Then, suddenly appearing to feel the weight of the world on his legs, he finally sat down. “Thanks Robert, I appreciate it,” he said. “In fact, I’ve got something I’d like you to look into for me.”

  “Sure, what’s on your mind?” Robert said, trying to hide the concern this request invoked.

  Before Jackie’s illness, if Charlie had asked him for something, it would be as good as done, no questions. But recently, Charlie had not been his usual calculating self. Jackie’s illness had worn him down. He was drinking more than usual and seemed at times on the verge of some kind of breakdown.

  When Robert had arrived at the hospital earlier on, he had eventually found Charlie in the Church Chapel, screaming abuse at the Christ on the cross, to the point where the staff had called for security to have him removed. Luckily—for the security guard in question—Robert got there when he did; it may well have been the last thing the security guard had done if he had challenged Charlie O’Neil.

  Even Robert’s offer to take sole charge of the business was farcical, as that’s exactly what he had been doing for the months since he’d started to question some of Charlie’s decisions. These ranged from taking on inept new people to their firm, to risky projects, where the danger hugely outweighed the reward. Such decisions really pissed Robert off. The secret to everything, to him, lay in how it was planned. His world was all about risk and mitigation, and some of Charlie’s actions were majorly affecting the balance.

  Charlie was right, however, that collections were down, and Robert knew why this was the case. Charlie had taken on the Blake brothers to do some of the work, which was a crazy decision. Anyone local knew the Blakes’ reputation; they were scum. They were the type of people who would think nothing about robbing some old pensioner of their life savings or committing some sexual assault. They were people that shouldn’t be associated with. Indeed, Robert had thought about putting them all in the Thames, just to mitigate this particular risk, but Charlie had been adamant.

  So Robert had started a bit of a recruitment drive himself to try and control this risk; if their crew were over manned then it might deter Charlie from thinking there was more room in their ranks for others. Seamus had been one of these recruits. Whilst he may not ever be the next Tony Montana, Robert knew that he would be loyal and trust worthy, and that any fuck up he committed—chances are—would be fixable. Robert was waiting for the day that one of those Blake gypsies came through his office door covered in blood, saying they had fucked up and were sorry.

  Liabilities. Robert hated liabilities and he was desperately trying to ignore the part of his brain that was screaming at him that the biggest current one he had was the once great man he was standing next to.

  “They’re Irish Robert; they’re like us. They just need a leg up. They’ll be loyal and do whatever we want them to,” Charlie had said.

  “Mate, I’m not sure,” Robert had countered.

  “It’s karma mate, sometimes you have to cut people a break. Look at us! Where would we be now?”

  Robert had wanted to argue this—it was complete shit. Robert and Charlie were where they were ’cause they earned it. No one had ever given them a leg up. They had just built up an organisation that was more vicious and strategic than that of any of their competitors; it was as simple as that. No. Robert knew that the intended beneficiary of the karma that his best friend was referring to was Jackie—as if he could somehow balance all his evil deeds he had done. It was poor mental logic and it scared the shit out of Robert.

  “Is that showbiz manager guy still into us for a few grand?” Charlie asked.

  Robert hoped his face hid the relief that this question brought him. He wasn’t being asked to recruit some convicted rapist from the old counties that was looking for a second chance.

  “Yeah, quite a few grand if I remember right,” Robert said. “He’s got a real nasty gambling problem, as well as a real fetish for gangster worship! He’d probably do anything we ask just to be seen out in a bar with one of us.”

  It had always amazed Robert the amount of people in the honest world that liked to be linked to people like himself and Charlie. Maybe it was a power thing? He wasn’t sure. All he was sure of was that it was idiotic. Robert spent his life trying to keep people’s eyes off him and making a clean buck wherever he could.

  “Good,” Charlie said with a smile. “Oh and I forgot to ask; whose area was it?” he asked, now sounding more focused.

  “Area?” Robert replied.

  “Where we are missing money,” Charlie smirked. “I thought you said you’d been covering the business?”

  “Oh,” Robert smiled, “The Blakes’.”

  “Who?” Charlie said.

  Robert held in a sigh. Did his friend not even remember his own stupid decision?

  “The Blake brothers; you know them. Nasty little bastards. Mum ran a whore house in Hammersmith years ago—they always go on about how their mum was with your parents on the boat coming over, you know?” Robert looked at Charlie for a reaction.

  Charlie shrugged. Robert hoped this was a deliberate ploy to hide his poor decision in recruiting the Blakes, but realised this might be massively optimistic.

  “Well, long story short, they watched their mum get butchered by some Jack the Ripper type.”

  “Nice story,” Charlie retorted.

  “Yeah well, I suppose few real-life ones are. But the reason for the story is it’s made the three sons really nasty pieces of work,” Robert looked again for a reaction. “Some would say perfectly constructed for the line of work they fulfil for us? Or alternatively massive fucking liabilities walking around tooled up and quoting our name,” Robert added, unable to hide the vindictive dig at his friend.

  “Hardly perfect; reliability and predictability are more important qualities,” replied Charlie.

  “Hindsight’s a beautiful thing,” Robert said, picking up another magazine. He desperately hoped that this was his friend’s attempt at humour and not another sign his mind was slipping. Robert couldn’t help but wonder what state this firm would have been in already if he wasn’t around. How he missed the viscous Charlie O’Neil that scared London enough to adopt him as the undisputed boss of the capital.

  Chapter Five - John Blake

  John Blake followed his brothers through the open front door of Zebbie’s After Dark Club; all he could think about was Emma’s disapproving face as he
trailed his brothers through the empty club. Nick was leading the way; he displayed a lust for confrontation in moments like these. It was one of the many things John found more than a little disturbing about his youngest brother.

  Billy stopped and turned back to John, “Where the fuck is Zebbie?”

  John shrugged, hoping that Zebbie would somehow not be here. It would no doubt lead to a show of anger and frustration from Billy and Nick, who would probably tear the place up a bit. But it might also give him more time to talk to his brothers. Even if it wasn’t right now. The brother not doing the collections for weeks was bound to have some consequence with Charlie O’Neil, and no matter what Auntie Mary may think, this was not going to be good. John still held out some hope he could talk his brothers out of this work for Charlie, especially if he could speak to them away from Mary.

  There did need to be a plan B though; for if he couldn’t talk them out of the work, or in case they did find Zebbie and things escalated beyond his control. He would obviously then have to get involved in his brothers’ violence; this would be the least that would be expected. But shortly after this, when tempers calmed, he hoped there'd be an opportunity to escape back to Emma. Sure, he would have to make a weak excuse and suffer Billy’s jibes, but this was all worth it to return to Emma. Then perhaps that would be the sign, the sign that he was gone for good. He’d tried one last time to put his younger brothers on track; but in the end it was too late—they were both fucked. Neither of them had any idea where he and Emma lived, and he trusted Roy, the only one of his family who did know his whereabouts, to never tell them. So how would they find him? They’d have no way; he’d be gone. Free. Free with Emma.

  “What?” Billy snapped at Nick, who had disappeared around a corner and then broken into a cackle of laughter. “What’s so bloody funny?”

  Nick’s head poked around the corner and beckoned John and Billy to join him. John sighed; plan B it was then.

  “Come on! Let’s go,” Billy said, punching John’s arm.

  John nodded back and watched Billy hurry around the corner; his brothers’ eagerness to find the nightclub manager made John shudder. He could see how this could quickly go wrong. If Charlie O’Neil had found Zebbie first, then it was certain the manager would have complained that the Blake brothers hadn’t been to see him for weeks and this would mean they would all be in trouble with O’Neil. Billy, unable to take any kind of verbal from anyone, would then snap—all he’d see would be an opportunity for aggression. The thought of just running out then and there quickly went through John’s mind. But this was broken by the image that so regularly came into his head. His mother, ripped to bloody pieces, crumpled into a corner. A young Billy and Nick looking on horrified. This experience had affected them all for life; his two younger brothers were broken. He bit his lip and followed Billy around the corner.

  John and Billy walked around the corner and into the main nightclub hall to see the owner, Zebbie, lying on the floor, tied to a chair looking battered and bruised. Nick was laughing hysterically at the sight of the broken nightclub manager; there was a gleam of delight in his eyes. John could barely remember him looking happier.

  “Don’t... just... stand there," Zebbie said, struggling to speak through a mouth full of broken teeth.

  “What the hell happened?” Billy sounded concerned; this wasn’t something John was used to hearing.

  “Help... me... up...”

  Billy turned to Nick. “Help him up Nick.”

  Nick nodded and lifted the chair, with Zebbie on it, back to its feet.

  “Now who the hell did this to you?” Billy asked.

  “Who... did... this... to... me...?" Zebbie stopped spitting out some pieces of tooth. "You did! You and your useless brothers did this to me!”

  Billy looked unsure for a moment. “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “What am I talking about? Where have you been? You haven’t been here to collect for weeks. But, I thought, they must have it under control—that it would be disrespectful to call you. So I just waited. But you never came!” Zebbie said, looking around accusingly at each brother.

  “Now Zebbie, don’t cross the line. Remember who you’re talking to here. If you carry on shouting at my brothers and me, you might make me angry,” Billy said, with biting aggression.

  John looked at Billy. He could feel the situation start to develop just as he had feared; he looked at his two younger brothers and he hoped that he didn’t see that kind of anticipation in their eyes.

  “Zebbie just tell us who did this. We represent Charlie O’Neil and whoever did this will pay,” John said, hoping to put more control back into things.

  Zebbie tried to smile.

  “What?” John quickly asked, before Billy could respond with more aggression.

  “Mickey the Bag,” Zebbie said, grimacing through swollen lips.

  “Mickey the Bag? We work for Mickey…” Billy said, almost stammering over the words.

  “Not anymore. He left a message for you; you’re done,” Zebbie said.

  “We’re done…?” John said. His mind starting to fill with thoughts of the opportunities this might bring. Freedom.

  But Nick suddenly screamed, pushing Zebbie’s chair back to the floor. The nightclub manager winced with pain.

  “This can’t be right,” Billy said, as if thinking aloud. He was shaking his head. “This wasn’t how Auntie Mary said it would go.”

  “You’re finished, get out my club!” Zebbie shouted from the floor.

  Nick delivered a heavy kick to Zebbie, who winced with pain. Nick screamed at the ceiling, like a child would do when a favourite toy is taken away.

  John put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Billy, we should go. We need to get the hell out of here. Mickey might be on his way back.”

  “We’re not going anywhere until we kick the shit out of Zebbie,” Billy said focussing on his new prey.

  “No, there’s no need…” Zebbie cried out.

  Nick jumped on top of Zebbie, pulling his knife out. His face now wearing a crazed expression; the pleasure of delivering imminent pain to the nightclub manager was plain to see on his face.

  John stared into the mirror behind the bar in Blake’s Bar. He knew he shouldn’t be here. It was after ten at night. Emma wouldn’t be interested in any explanation. He’d be lucky if the chain wasn’t on the door and he ended the night asleep on the porch.

  He looked across to Billy, who was sitting nursing a glass of whiskey, with Auntie Mary opposite him with her hand on his, shaking her head in concern. John knew that he couldn’t have left straight after the incident at Zebbie's. He had hoped that the violent beating the brothers had delivered on the nightclub manager would have worked out the pain that they were suffering; but he had been wrong. Billy had been sat—not speaking—with his glass of whiskey for over an hour.

  John had tried to get him talking on the way back to the pub, to get him to see the opportunity that this set back gave them. It was a sign, he said. A chance for a new beginning. But Billy didn’t say a word in return.

  John turned to the corner of the bar, where Nick was watching the TV on the wall, laughing at an old episode of Friends. Small mind small pleasures, he thought. But in the reflection on the TV, John saw his Uncle, who as usual was stood behind the bar. Roy was shaking his head; at that point no words were necessary. You shouldn’t be here. You should be at home with Emma.

  “This could be turned into an opportunity boy!” Mary said, looking at her favourite nephew.

  Billy didn’t reply.

  “Charlie O’Neil’s going stale. If he wasn’t, he would have picked up on your missed collection a long time ago. I think it’s time you stood up to him Billy!” Mary said, shaking Billy’s hand. “This could be fate.”

  John shot a look back to Billy. He could see his mind processing, savouring every one of Mary’s words. What she was suggesting was crazy. Anyone who stood up against O’Neil was a dead man.

&nbs
p; “Billy. This could also be a different type of opportunity. We could turn our attention to this old place. We could try to turn it around. I bet if you put your mind to it, you could put this place on the map as a proper commercial venture,” John said awaiting a response.

  “What are you talking about John, I always knew you were weak minded!” Mary said, turning to Roy. “This is your fault; he gets this weak skin from you!”

  “Tell them about the man that came round last week,” Roy said, looking up from the glass he was polishing.

  “They don’t need to know about that silly man!” As usual Mary simply dismissed the words of her husband.

  Billy now looked up. Despite his sickening loyalty to his Aunt, he always wanted to be in control; he needed to know everything that was going on. John could see by his face he had no idea what Uncle Roy was talking about.

  “Tell the boys how they could all share a bloody fortune right here—with no risk attached—tell ‘em!” Roy added. He was undeterred by Auntie Mary’s anger, his tone almost threatening.

  “What? What’s going on?” Billy asked, looking squarely at Mary.

  “Fine, fine!” Mary said, glaring at Roy. “Some man came round the other week, saying he wanted to buy this place.”

  “Buy this place?” Billy repeated.

  “Tell ’em it all, he said it would be a bloody fortune!” Roy snapped.

  “You can’t believe these little men in their pin stripped suits. They’ll tell you anything you want to hear.” Mary said, not making eye contact with Billy.

  “This place, however run down it might be, the man said, is in Hammersmith. And Hammersmith is on the way up. They all wanna live here now. Knock down the old place, put up a block of new fangled apartments—they’d make a killing. You boys could all make a killing!” Roy continued.