Serious People

by Shea, James A.

  He’d chosen to ignore Fame’s request for his own name. Mickey’s name, he was aware, meant something in life; and something in life always has to be earned.

  “Yes, please have a seat,” Fame said, trying to hide the irritation at Micky’s rudeness. Mickey had taken a seat well before it was offered. “I understand you’re two of Mr. O’Neil and Mr. Payne’s boys?”

  Oh nice, out the preparation area and into the dragon’s lair.

  “I am one of Mr O’Neil’s and Mr Payne’s associates,” Mickey replied.

  “Associate? That’s a strange word isn’t it? It conjures up thoughts of estate agents, don’t you think? You two don’t look like estate agents,” said Fame.

  “Would you like a definition?” Mickey said, with a deliberate snarl.

  “Oh please,” Fame replied, ignoring the snarl. “I do love definitions. My job is largely taken up by being the one asked for them, after all.”

  “Strange, and there’s you sat there, ill defined.” Mickey smiled.

  “Sometimes the very definition of someone is what others think or what you allow them to be,” Fame replied.

  “I’d say that’s perception more than definition, Mr Fame,” Mickey said.

  “I think to a purposeful individual, both can be manufactured.”

  Mickey was annoyed; he couldn’t think of a clever retort to respond to Max Fame this time; he felt like giving him a slap for pure insolence. What annoyed him even more was that Fame knew he’d won their verbal trade off. He was moving his gaze away from Mickey to Seamus, as if looking for a new toy to play with.

  “What do you think Seamus? You look like a bright young man. Perception and definition—one and the same ploy?” Fame asked, now firmly focussed on Mickey’s imbecilic assistant.

  Seamus looked back for a moment, trying to fathom a clever response. Dear God, Mickey thought.

  “Well, they both have ‘tion at the end, so I reckon you could be right.”

  “I see,” Fame sneered.

  “I heard about Mrs. O’Neil, it's terrible news…” Fame said, trying to feign sympathy.

  “You owe Mr. O’Neil a lot of money, Mr. Fame,” Mickey said in an unthreatening tone.

  It was about time he took charge of this exchange. He knew at the heart of success in the art of influencing was the need to retain a cool mind and not be afraid to change gear.

  “With all due respect, all due respect Mr.… err,” Fame stopped momentarily; seeming to hope that Mickey would now fill in the gap of his name. “It’s a small loan in relation to the size of my business. Look around, money oozes form my walls. I’m sure Mr. O’Neil and Mr. Payne…” he added with confidence.

  “Can I ask you a question, Mr Fame?” Mickey said, still not displaying any emotion or even a threatening tone. But he deliberately cut the showbiz manager short.

  “Sure, but lets hurry this up please...”

  “Do you know who the fuck I am?”

  “No, I did ask…” Fame replied.

  “I’m the guy who collects for Charlie and Robert, collects when it’s important. Most people get just one of the boys sent round. But some people—lets call them the special cases—they get me.”

  Fame moved uncomfortably in his seat. Mickey hid his delight—when turning a screw there was no time for a smile.

  “Special case?” the confidence was gone from Fame’s voice.

  “Calm down, Mr. Fame. Have faith in the size of your business, look at those walls, watch them ooze.” Mickey said, inwardly smiling. He always took pleasure in making people swallow their own egos. “Try to put to the back of your mind the temperature of the Thames. I mean, if we were to put you in there, you wouldn’t need to worry about the cold. You’d be dead by then.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Fame said, almost wailing.

  “Mr O’Neil is a very understanding man; I mean, sure you’ve pissed him off…”

  “Pissed… Pissed him off!”

  “He’s prepared to offer you an exchange for his money, just in case—despite the size of your business—you weren’t able to get your hands on a bit of cash.”

  Fame tried unsuccessfully to muster a confident smile. “What would that be? I’m suddenly very confused, what are we talking about Mister… I mean…”

  “Just Mickey. Mickey Dunne.”

  “Mickey Dunne?” The blood seemed to be draining from Fame’s well-manicured face.

  Mickey followed the showbiz manager’s stare; it seemed to rest on Mickey’s bag. Mickey now allowed himself a small trace of a smile. Max Fame knew who he was; a man with a love for dangerous people would know who Mickey Dunne was.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re Mickey the Bag!”

  “Now, if you really knew me, you’d know I hate someone calling me by that name. And generally I’d happily snap someone’s neck that I heard calling me that.”

  Fame’s hand instantly went to his collar. This was not the subtlest influencing job Mickey had ever carried out; but there was no question who was in control in this room.

  “Mr. O’Neil is throwing a party for his wife and would like one of your acts to perform there,” Mickey said coolly. “Do you think we could have a drink? I'm parched.”

  Fame tried to smile, “Of course, coffee?”

  “That would be lovely,” Mickey said, enjoying his control.

  “Have you got any Redbull?” Seamus asked unashamedly.

  Fame smiled and picked up his phone, asking his assistant to deliver the order. Mickey smiled at Seamus, while Fame passed on the details, hoping the younger man was learning from his actions. He was an influencer and a coach.

  Seamus smiled back oblivious. “He’s a good host isn’t he?”

  Mickey couldn’t hide the pain in his face that Seamus’ display of stupidity gave him. The art of control, that Mickey had been demonstrating to his young apprentice, was lost on him.

  The PA hurried in with a collection of drinks on a tray, passing those ordered to Mickey and Seamus.

  Seamus took his Redbull. “That was quick Mr. Fame, thank you very much. I meant to say, do you really know Kylie?”

  Fame looked at Seamus and smiled as he weighed up the weaker part of the partnership that sat in front of him. “We have been known to have the odd cup of tea together.”

  “Fuckin’ ‘ell Mick, this guy is a proper someone,” Seamus said, eyes wide with undiluted adoration.

  Seeing a rival breed of influencing in operation now, Mickey abruptly stopped drinking his coffee. “Let’s get back to negotiations; we want a band called Wild n’ Weird.”

  “Sorry, who did you say?” Fame said, clearly surprised.

  “Wild n’ Weird,” Mickey repeated, a little concerned by Fame’s reaction.

  “Wild n’ Weird? I’ve got many more major acts than that. I would be more than happy for…" Fame started.

  “Mr. O’Neil was very specific about who he wanted,” Mickey explained.

  “That’s impossible. They don’t exist any more! They split up well over ten years ago,” Fame said now looking concerned.

  “But they are still one of your acts?” Mickey asked, his voice now getting harder.

  “They were, but they’re not an act—full stop—anymore. Honestly, I could get you anyone of my other acts that you wanted,” Fame said, too panicked to use his influencing skills.

  Mickey sat thoughtfully. “They used to be one of your acts, and I’m sure you could persuade them to get together for a couple of songs,” he said.

  Fame looked back at Mickey, now crossing his arms. “It can’t be done. The singer and the guitarist hate each other. It can’t be done.” Fame finished with more steel in his voice.

  “Do you know, Mr. Fame. My friend Seamus here was once a very promising young boxer,” Mickey said, giving Seamus a subtle signal.

  Seamus stood up and started to roll up his shirtsleeves.

  “Did you know, in one fight he knocked a guy out with his first punch!” Mickey said. Seamus now had started to sw
ing his arms around in a warm up style.

  “Look gentlemen, I don’t mean to offend anyone, but...” Fame said, starting to show his nerves.

  Mickey continued, ignoring Fame’s comments. “He had a fantastically promising career—that was until they took away his license—for unreasonable violence.”

  “Why did they do that? What did he do?” Fame said, almost as a reflex.

  “It’s funny isn’t it. Unreasonable violence in a sport that is ultimately all about violence. But I suppose someone’s perception of something will always reign supreme at the end of the day.”

  “Mr Dunne…”

  “It was silly really, you see. Seamus had this annoying habit which he couldn’t get out of. He couldn’t help but always aim several of his punches at a guy’s groin…” Mickey said wickedly. “I mean, with Queensberry rules and all, they go down as low blows. But I suppose refs don’t see everything, and if you could get a few away, they’d probably start to do the trick if you know what I mean?”

  Fame grimaced. Fear is the blunt instrument of influence, but the potential of pain can be a lot more potent.

  “So, this one time he actually dislodged a guy’s testicle sack,” Mickey said, ensuring he kept eye contact with the showbiz manager throughout. He could see Fame’s eyes widening. “The truly amazing thing though, is actually how much damage your testicles can endure before detaching. I mean the aim Seamus had was truly remarkable…”

  Fame jumped to his feet. “I can do it!”

  “Really? But you were saying it was impossible?” Mickey enquired innocently.

  “It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll do anything for you gentlemen. Friends mean everything to me,” Fame tried to say with confidence. “And it’s very important to me that Mr O’Neil sees me as a friend. I mean, the two main guys, they do hate each other. But I’m sure a man of my talents could do something as a favour for Mr. O’Neil.”

  “Good,” Mickey said with a wicked smile.

  “Right, shall I get back to you once I’ve got them all back together. I was thinking about a month or so?” Fame said, opening a diary on his desk. “We’d have to track them all down…”

  “You can track them down tomorrow.” Mickey said standing up.

  “Wait a minute, I have a full diary tomorrow and…” Fame started desperately.

  “Mrs O’Neil’s party is at the end of the week. It could be perceived a little insulting that you want to put off this job until after the party,” Mickey said solemnly.

  There was a momentary silence. Mickey didn’t doubt that Max Fame had other things to do over the next few days, things that were probably going to bring in money. Mickey could empathise with the frustration that this situation might bring. But Fame knew that he had to do what Mickey had asked and also knew it was going to cost him money. When you work for Charlie O’Neil that was not a situation Mickey was used to being in himself; but he was well used to watching another within one.

  “Right, tomorrow it is then,” Fame said, faking a smile back at Mickey.

  Mickey turned to Seamus. “Come on. We should let Mr. Fame get on with clearing his diary.”

  “Hey why don’t you show Mr. Fame some of your vocals, see what he thinks,” Seamus asked Mickey. “He’s always looking for new talents in show business.”

  “Seamus,” Mickey snapped. “You only talk when I tell you to!”

  Chapter Fourteen - DS Early

  “Let me guess,” said Early, addressing his new boss. “The Guv just gave you the speech about keeping balance in the criminal world; how our role is to manage the chaos through sustainable leadership in their world?”

  Khan shrugged.

  “You should listen to the Guv. There’s nothing more important than staying safe in this job,” he continued.

  “DS Early, it’s important you know I am now your Guv,” Khan replied. “You report to me.”

  Early was taken back for a moment, he had already got the vibe that the woman sat in front of him got a buzz from playing a bitch; but he wasn’t expecting her to bite so soon.

  “Tell me all you know about Charlie O’Neil,” Khan asked.

  DS Early understood what he was getting with Khan. Fast tracked super cop, ticking every fair recruitment box there was. She was female, Asian and—who knows—probably even a lesbian. Yeah, this girl would go far. There had been many times down the years that, if he’d had to report into someone like this, he would made it his mission in life to make their life hell. Like most employers whose employees number in the thousands, bullying was systematic throughout the MET. But where it differed from the commercial industry was the bullying would often go upwards.

  Early had watched several of his bosses down the years have to take abuse from his level. Scores of senior officers disappeared on stress leave and nowhere was it more acute an issue than in high-flying teams like SOCA or The Flying Squad. And this was where the real coppers were. They had no time for fools above them; let alone the fast tracked fools. Special things were generally lined up for these ones.

  This was exactly what Hawkins had asked him to do. “Give ‘er some of the old school treatment, she’s not one of us. She’s not earned her place on the team.”

  Now, had this been five years ago, Early would have just followed Hawkins’ instructions to the letter and probably enjoyed it. But as it was he couldn’t be asked. He was out of here soon, he’d been gone. He’d used his sick leave wisely and secured a nice little place on the Algarve. A bit of sun, a choice of golf courses… it was going to be heaven. Frankly, all he had to do between now and then was to play the game and watch his work days seep away.

  He was going to just listen to what this little lady had to say, offer his advice where he could, and make sure he didn’t have to leave his desk too much. Top priority was to clock off on time every day. That was the plan.

  He watched the young Detective Inspector, with wide excited eyes, looking at the monitor that displayed Charlie O’Neil’s record and previous case history. He was pretty sure this was as near to police work as she’d got by this point in her career, which previously would have been more than enough to piss him off. But not now. Now he only needed to think of his brand new apartment in Albufeira and he had instant serenity.

  “So, tell me everything you know about O’Neil,” Khan repeated impatiently.

  “Everything you need to know will be on there, Guv. There’s probably not much more to add to it,” Early replied.

  He grabbed his coffee and took a long slurp. These days he averaged three coffees a day. He tried to space them out, so that they became something to look forward to and break up the boredom of the day. Indeed, he kept thinking he should try and work out, on that basis, how many coffees he had left until he finished and his police career was complete. He could then keep score on a post-it note by his PC and count down the end of his thirty year sentence.

  “I have read these files countless times; it’s useless I need real information,” Khan snapped. “You’re meant to know this stuff; you’ve had years on the serious crime squad. That’s why you’ve been put with me!”

  No luv, why I’ve been put with you is to slow you down, to keep you out of the boss’ hair. At best to appease you and at worst stitch you up.

  Early looked at her for a moment. Despite his new found fondness for doing nothing and just playing the game, he wanted to say it to her, to set her straight. But he couldn’t risk setting the cat among the pigeons, which might rock his comfortable and stable world.

  “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Hawkins like you today Guv,” Early said, giving her an approving nod. “Bloody impressive.”

  Khan started scrolling through the screen. “What are you doing here Detective Sergeant?”

  “Excuse me?” Early answered.

  “Why are you a police officer?” Khan said, turning away from the screen to look at Early.

  “You know, the normal reasons… salary, pension, job security,” Early replied
. “And it can be interesting sometimes.”

  “What about keeping the streets safe? Ensuring people are protected? Making sure there’s retribution for people that break the law?” Khan said, with a note of disgust in her voice.

  Early didn’t react to the senior officer's questions; he had no appetite for an argument and thought that would be the outcome of speaking his mind. Her words only worked to confirm in his mind what Khan was—a very green student of law—one who had no experience of the real world and of the greyness of good and bad.

  “So why are you in the job, Guv? You seem like an intelligent lady. I’m thinking you’ve been to university. You could have your pick of jobs; so why join the force?”

  “Do you know Southall, Early?” Khan said, walking to the coffee machine that was tucked into the corner of the small room they were in. It occurred to Early to ask her for another coffee, but he’d already had three today and he didn’t want to bust his daily quota.

  “Yeah of course. Not that well but I could get around there,” Early shrugged.

  “Do you remember the fire bomb attacks, back in ninety five?” Khan said sharply.

  Early rubbed the stubble under his chin. “Yeah, God that was years ago now. It was in some Pak…” Early stopped himself quickly, remembering his audience and noticing Khan’s eyes narrow momentarily. “…Some corner shop wasn’t it?”

  “Yes DS Early. That Packie shop was my Uncle’s,” Khan said, holding the DS’s stare, clearly feeling his discomfort.

  Early looked at his feet. “Sorry Guv.”

  Khan took a cup from the coffee machine and returned to her seat, not offering him a drink.

  “It was some Nazi skin head group wasn’t it?” Early said, now looking back at Khan.

  “I was ten years old. Do you know how scared something like that can make you? It was then I decided; you couldn’t rely on anyone else looking out for you. You've got to do it yourself,” Khan finished, returning her gaze to the computer.

  Early reached across and switched the monitor off that Khan was looking at.

  “I first heard the names, O’Neil and Payne, when I was working with Flying Squad back in the late eighties,” he began.