Since Martin had been banged up, Tony had been the face of Martin’s outfit. Behind-the-scenes, though, Babs ran the show. Of course, it wouldn’t do to let Tony believe that. Babs was careful to flatter him and present her ideas and strategies very subtly, so that nine times out of ten, Tony believed he came up with the ideas himself.
It had worked brilliantly up until now. As the years had passed, Babs carefully guided Tony through various conflicts and troubles.
They played the long game, making sure they were earning enough to keep them all afloat but not getting greedy. The last thing they wanted was any trouble. Without Martin Morton’s physical presence, they were vulnerable. Martin’s reputation still counted for a lot in the area, but they couldn’t risk encroaching on the territory belonging to other faces in the East End. Babs had been especially careful not to get on the bad side of Dave Carter.
But now it was time for a change.
They needed to expand, and they needed to be clever about it.
Right now, they were just treading water, and people were starting to realise that. Once word got out that the Morton group were weakening, especially with Martin behind bars, they’d lose respect, and in this game, respect was everything.
But trying to explain that to Tony was like trying to explain it to a brick wall.
Tony was far better looking than Martin. He was suave and appeared sophisticated, and he certainly knew how to charm the ladies. Unfortunately, his good looks were the only thing he had going for him. Babs was convinced he had nothing between the ears except cotton-wool.
“Of course, you know far more about these things than I do, Tony,” Babs began. Flattering Tony, was a necessary evil. “But I’ve been hearing whispers lately, and red-haired Freddie told me the landlord at the Queen Victoria was a little reluctant to hand over the money he owed us.”
Tony gave her an easy smile. Nothing seemed to bother him much to Babs’ irritation.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, love,” he said. “You know you can leave the business to me. Everything is in good hands.”
Babs smiled again, this time through gritted teeth. The stupid man really didn’t realise that she’d been the one keeping the business afloat all these years. Without her, Tony would have run the whole thing into the ground long before now.
“Oh, you’re doing a fine job, Tony. I know that, but on my last visit, Martin mentioned he wasn’t happy that takings were down. I really do think he’d like things to be ticking over nicely when he comes out.”
Tony’s ears pricked up at the mention of his brother’s name. Tony was eager to please Martin. All his adult life, Tony had played second fiddle to his gangster brother, Martin.
Babs expected entering the real world had come as a shock to Tony. As a child, he’d been spoiled rotten. He was his mother’s favourite, and as a boy, he’d never had to work hard for anything, so it wasn’t really surprising he didn’t have the same grit and determination as Martin.
But his brother’s opinion meant a lot to him, so Babs was counting on this as a way to persuade him.
“What did Martin say exactly?” Tony frowned.
Babs shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, you know me, Tony. All that business stuff goes right over my head, but he did say it was important to try and take on new business and go after our competitors aggressively. Otherwise, he reckons people will start to think we are weak.”
Tony’s frown deepened. “Weak?”
A flash of anger played over Tony’s handsome features, and Babs wondered whether she’d gone too far. “That’s only what Martin said. Of course, I don’t think you are weak.”
Tony nodded and was quiet for a moment as he thought over Babs’ words. You could almost hear the wheels turning in his brain, Babs thought. It was becoming harder and harder to manipulate Tony these days. Overseeing Martin’s business interests had filled him with confidence and the silly man had let the success go to his head. He really believed he was responsible.
Martin hadn’t really said anything about changing their strategy the last time she went to visit him. But if that little white lie aided her progress, Babs didn’t see anything wrong with it.
To be honest, she’d been a little bit worried about Martin the last time she’d seen him.
For the first few years, he’d been banged up, Martin was ever so keen to hear all about how the business was running on the outside, and he was obsessed with ensuring no one tried to muscle in on his patch — especially Dave Carter.
But over the last six months, Martin really seemed to be drifting away from the real world. Every time she went to visit him, he only wanted to talk about prison life, and enjoyed telling her how he was throwing his weight around, making sure everybody knew he was the boss.
Babs couldn’t see the point. It wasn’t like he could earn much in prison. So what if a bunch of criminals let him boss them around? Martin had a small black market ring organised, and he was blackmailing a couple of prison guards, but that was small potatoes compared to the money the real business brought in.
They still had the club, of course, and although they’d had to cut back on the protection racket that still brought in a fair few pennies every week. They’d ramped up the sale of the black market booze and cigarettes, and that definitely helped.
But there were so many opportunities out there for the taking, and Babs wanted to exploit them if only she could make Tony see sense.
Just when she thought she might be finally making some headway, the front door opened, and she heard her children making a racket as they made their way inside.
Babs got up from her seat at the kitchen table and went to see her children. Ruby and Derek were now teenagers, and they were both sour, moody individuals.
As soon as Martin had been locked up, Babs had quickly sold their house in Essex and moved back to Poplar. She’d never really liked living out in the country anyway. She was definitely a city girl. London was her heart and soul.
Unfortunately, the children had started to settle and make friends in Essex, so they resented her for making them move back. Babs simply hadn’t been able to cope. A few months after Martin got sent down, their youngest had died. Little Emily hadn’t lived to see her second birthday. The child’s death had devastated Babs, and she hadn’t been able to cope. Frieda Longbottom, an old family friend, had saved Babs in that dark, tragic time. She took care of Ruby and Derek when Babs couldn’t look at them without bursting into tears.
Over the past few years, she’d tried to make it up to Ruby and Derek but ended up just spoiling the kids with material possessions, giving them anything they asked for. Sadly, that didn’t make the children any happier. Instead, they both developed surly attitudes and miserable scowling demeanours. They could be rude little sods at times, too, especially when they spoke to Babs. She was at the end of her tether.
“Hello, sweethearts. Shall I put the kettle on and we can all have a cup of tea together? Frieda brought round a fruit cake earlier.”
“No. I’m going out with my mates,” Derek grunted as he dumped his school bag on the floor and nipped back out the front door before Babs could say anything.
Babs smothered her frustration and turned to her daughter. “What about you, Ruby? Uncle Tony is in the kitchen. Why don’t you come and say hello?”
Ruby lost her scowl as soon as Babs mentioned Uncle Tony. For some reason, both of her children thought the sun shone out of their uncle’s backside. Babs couldn’t figure it out.
Babs set about making the tea as Ruby told Tony all about her day at school. To his credit, Tony at least appeared to look interested.
But Babs wasn’t really listening to her daughter’s inane chatter as she put the tea leaves in the teapot. She was still thinking about the best way to persuade Tony to expand their business interests. So she was surprised when Ruby said, “Mum, are you even listening to us?”
Babs turned around. “Sorry, what was that, love?”
“Uncle Tony w
as saying Grandma Violet wants us to go around hers tonight for our tea.”
Babs suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t bloody stand Violet Morton, and the feeling was mutual. Martin’s mother had disliked Babs since the first day she’d met her. She was constantly criticising Martin and that included his choice of wife. She’d remained disappointed with Babs ever since.
She quickly tried to think of a way to get out of it. They’d sprung this on her on purpose. Over the last few months, she’d managed to avoid visiting Violet by making up some excuse or another every time she was invited.
“It will save you cooking, Babs,” Tony said, trying to be encouraging.
Babs felt her shoulders slump. It was pointless trying to resist. She couldn’t get out of it this time.
“All right,” she said and then turned to Ruby. “You’d better go and find your brother. He needs to have a wash before he goes to his grandmother’s.”
Ruby got to her feet and trudged out of the kitchen towards the front door.
How both of her kids had turned into such sulky little bleeders was beyond Babs. She sighed and patted her platinum blonde hair. She needed to look good for her face off with Violet. The woman had eyes like an eagle, and God forbid she saw Babs or her children with so much as a hair out of place. The last family dinner a few months back had been derailed after Violet had spotted a smudge of dirt on Derek’s cheek.
She gritted her teeth. The last thing Babs needed was a blooming family dinner at Violet’s, but it didn’t look like she was going to get out of it.
CHAPTER 3
“I ’d like a word, Malcolm,” Martin Morton said with a broad smile as he looked at the prison screw.
The man flushed and shiftily looked from side to side to make sure they were unobserved before following Martin along the corridor.
Martin had been in prison a long time, certainly long enough to know the ropes. Most of the screws were on the take here and there, and Martin knew how to play the game to his advantage.
If he had to be locked up, then Martin was going to make the best of it. That meant enjoying little luxuries that weren’t usually afforded to prisoners. It also meant exercising his sadistic streak when he fancied it.
He wasn’t wearing plimsolls. Instead, he had some very comfortable handmade leather shoes someone had smuggled in for him and the prison guards were smart enough to turn a blind eye. Last week someone had given him a pair of Chinese-style slippers and a pure silk dressing gown. It looked fancy, and Martin got a kick out of wearing it as he knew it irritated the screws.
Martin led the way into his cell and gestured for Malcolm to follow him as if he was welcoming him into his home. Well, Martin supposed it was his home, at least for now, and an Englishman’s home was his castle.
He’d been allowed many comforts that were usually banned, which made his time in prison a little more tolerable than it might have been otherwise. He had an elegantly carved antique bookshelf with framed photographs of his children set on top. Babs had brought him in some special shaving soap, although the screws had drawn the line at allowing Martin his own razor.
Stopping at the end of the cell, Martin turned to Malcolm and fixed him with a hard stare. Malcolm had turned up at Wandsworth two years ago, and much to Martin’s disgust, he refused to be bought. Right from the start, he was out to cause Martin trouble.
Martin never had a problem with other prisoners — they could always be dealt with using violence, and he was good at that. But the screws required gentle handling. It hadn’t taken long for most of them to come around to Martin’s way of thinking.
It was amazing how a few quid bunged in the right direction had eased Martin’s life in prison. But Malcolm had remained stubbornly indifferent to Martin’s bribes.
The last straw had been two months ago when Malcolm had taken it upon himself to confiscate Martin’s bag of toiletries.
It had started off as a normal inspection. The screws carried them out half-heartedly every week or so. Usually Martin, along with all the other inmates, stood outside the cells and one of the guards would come in and take a token look around, pretend he couldn’t see anything contraband and leave again.
But six weeks ago, Malcolm had been part of the inspection team.
He’d grabbed Martin’s wash bag and smirked as he made a tut-tutting sound.
Martin had let his temper get the better of him.
Unable to restrain himself, he’d swung for Malcolm, bruising his cheekbone, and knocking him to the floor before the other guards had rushed into the cell to hold him back.
That had earned him some time in solitary. Apparently, there was a limit to what even Martin Morton could get away with.
The entire time he’d been in solitary, Martin had plotted his revenge. Sure he could slit Malcolm’s throat before one of the guards got to him, but that wasn’t what Martin wanted.
He wanted Malcolm to submit to him and become one of his lackeys. That would be the ultimate win in Martin’s opinion.
Luckily, after a week in solitary confinement, Martin had been pleased to see all his belongings had been returned to his cell in his absence.
He’d had a good long talk with the governor over cigars in his office. Although the governor, had apologised for the incident, he’d explained tactfully Martin couldn’t go around hitting prison guards and expect to get away with it.
Martin nodded and agreed with the stupid bastard, all the while seething and planning Malcolm’s downfall.
Today, the big day had finally arrived. Malcolm would soon understand who held the power in this prison.
“Would you like to take a seat?” Martin asked grandly, even though there was only one chair in the room.
It was a hardback, wooden chair, but his mother had brought him in a nice, plump cushion which made it far more comfortable.
Resentment burned in Malcolm’s eyes, and Martin knew he didn’t want to be here. That just made it even more gratifying.
Malcolm perched his arse on the edge of the chair. “Let’s get on with this, Morton. I’ve got things to do.”
Martin gave him a tight smile, but other than that, he didn’t show how Malcolm’s disrespect bothered him. Instead, he turned around and lifted the bottom of the mattress, extracting a large brown envelope.
With a grin, he held it under Malcolm’s nose. “Have a gander at that, mate.”
Malcolm’s eyes widened a little as he looked at it. Then he looked back up at Martin, but he didn’t take the envelope straight away.
Martin shoved it in his hands. “Go on. Take a look inside.”
“Not so tough now, are you?” Martin murmured as he watched the man’s hands tremble as he opened it.
Malcolm’s cheeks paled as he pulled the contents from the envelope. Inside, were four, large, glossy black-and-white prints.
By the time he completely extracted the photographs from the envelope, Malcolm was sweating profusely.
He clutched them to his chest in horror as if he could stop anybody else seeing the contents.
It didn’t matter. Martin had already seen the photographs, and he’d paid the man who took them.
“Of course, it’s none of my business what you screws get up to in your personal life. But I think the governor might be a bit put out if he saw those, not to mention your wife.”
At the mention of his wife, Malcolm’s cheeks flamed red. “How dare you! You bastard!” Spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth as he shouted at Martin.
The plonker had overstepped the mark. Martin took two steps across the small cell and wrapped his hands around Malcolm’s throat. As he squeezed, Malcolm’s eyes bulged, and his cheeks turned purple. Martin felt a rush of pure joy. There really was nothing like holding someone’s life in your hands…literally.
The photographs Malcolm had been clutching to his chest fell to the floor, but Martin didn’t bother to look.
He knew there were various shots of Malcolm dressed up in women’s clothing. Appar
ently, Malcolm liked to go to a club in Soho called Claudette’s, which catered largely to transvestites.
Martin also knew Malcolm was having a relationship with a man called Brian, despite the fact he had a wife and two kids at home.
Everyone has secrets, and therein lies their weakness, Martin thought as he tightened his grip. It was just a matter of finding a secret and exploiting it to your advantage. That was the real path to power.
As Malcolm’s struggles grew weaker and weaker, Martin forced himself to let go. He didn’t want to. He wanted to strangle the life out of the little sod, but that would only add more years to his sentence. If they sent him to solitary for punching a guard, what would they do if he killed one?
No blasted solicitor would take him on for an appeal, and the last thing Martin wanted was more years inside.
When he let go, Malcolm collapsed onto the floor in a heap, wheezing.
He clawed at the collar of his shirt. “You crazy bastard. You nearly killed me.”
Martin looked down at the man in disgust. “Get up off the floor, you flaming streak of piss. Pick up those photographs and take them out of my sight. You can burn them if you like. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got copies. From now on, I’m the boss of you, and you will do everything I say. Do you understand me?”
Malcolm nodded, but he was still breathing too heavily to reply.
It didn’t matter.
Martin’s victory was sweet. He could see the despair in Malcolm’s eyes. The man knew he had been beaten, and he’d accepted his fate.
* * *
Jimmy had finished the first bag of chips in no time, but he carried the other newspaper-wrapped parcel of chips under the crook of his arm.
He’d returned home just to check whether his nan was awake and hungry, but she was still asleep in her armchair, snoring loudly. So Jimmy decided to eat the second portion later.
He now wished he hadn’t gobbled down the first lot of chips so fast because his stomach had been empty for so long it had given him a bellyache.
East End 02-East End Diamond Page 2