Paddy
Threatening to throw him out on his ear? Who the fuck did she think she was? Telling him what to do, or what to say, mugging him off? Well, he’d show her. In fact, he’d show them all who was boss. To think she actually took that little fucker’s part against him. Bobby fucking McClelland. And in his own home? Well, he was the boss and it was about time a few people remembered that. Paddy fumed as he raced towards town.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t believe it when he saw the blue light flashing in his mirror; the boys in fucking blue. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this, but he pulled over anyway.
“Can you get out of the vehicle, sir?” asked the rookie copper. They say you’re getting older when the police start looking younger. Well, this one didn’t look like he was long out of short trousers. As for his partner, if ever there was a dyke, there was one standing before him.
“Do you know what speed you were doing sir?” Supercop asked.
PC Wright was just out of Tulliallan Training College. In fact, this was his first day on the job. He couldn’t believe his luck. Some rich sod driving a brand new Range Rover at the speed of light was going to be his first collar.
“No, but I’m sure you are going to enlighten me, officer.” Paddy really wasn’t in the mood for this shit and was barely containing his infamous temper.
“Is this your vehicle, sir?”
“Yes, officer, this is my vehicle.”
“Can you tell me the registration number of the vehicle, sir?”
“Yes officer, it is PAD 1 and it’s registered to me, Mr Patrick Coyle, The Grange, Kilmacolm.”
This meant absolutely nothing to the rookie, but his sergeant, Grace Thomas, almost jumped out of her skin at the mention of the driver’s registration number and even more so at the name and address.
“Okay, Mr Coyle, so sorry for the intrusion, my colleague mistook you for someone else. Please don’t let us detain you and we hope we’ve not inconvenienced you,” she spluttered.
Paddy took off like a bat out of hell.
“Fuck, look at him, Sarge, what was all that about?” The rookie was baffled. Why on earth was the sergeant letting this big ponce off with a caution? This should have been his capture, not hers.
“Have you any idea who you just stopped?” the sergeant quizzed him. “No. Well let me tell you, sunshine, if you had persisted in booking that big bastard, it may well have been the last thing you ever did. That was the infamous Paddy Coyle, and believe me, we wouldn’t have walked away intact.”
PC Wright was known until the day he retired as the mug who tried to arrest Paddy Coyle.
Pulling into the yard, the Big Man was annoyed to see neither Sean nor Michael’s cars were in evidence.
“Lazy bastards,” he muttered to himself as he entered the portacabin. He knew fine well that wasn’t the case, and that both brothers would have been out until the early hours of the morning. The yard was busy and the three guys who worked there waved cheerily, but continued with the day’s tasks. It wasn’t unusual for any of the brothers to appear throughout the day and even, occasionally, at night. These boys all knew the drill. If Paddy wanted something he would call.
Paddy pulled out the bottom drawer of the old, battered filing cabinet, produced an almost full bottle of Black Label whisky and poured a healthy dram. None of the brothers were drinkers, thanks to years of watching their father, but there were times, and this was one, when a bender was the only cure.
He was cut to the quick over Bridget’s outburst. Telling him she was sick of him and wanted rid. He had worked his bollocks off since the day he’d met her. She had wanted for nothing. He had more than provided for her and her daughter. He didn’t smoke, drink, do drugs or gamble, and as far as other women were concerned, well, they were strictly business. Oh, he’d taken a couple of flyers over the years, but they were few and far between and usually when Bridget was off somewhere and he was on his own. Mr Big, Paddy Coyle, hated being on his own, but really, there wasn’t another woman alive that could take his Bridget’s place. Up until now that was.
He finished the bottle in jig-time and, despite not being a frequent drinker, he could hold his liquor along with the best. He wasn’t however, like many Scotsmen, a happy drunk. The more Paddy consumed, the more morose he became, and he was on that slippery path.
His next port of call was into town to the Horseshoe Bar. There were bound to be a few friendly faces in there. Paddy was seldom in town and even more seldom on his own. But he was right, there were several well-known characters in the bar, even at this early hour of the day and surprise, surprise, they all knew the Big Man and were happy to take a drink with him. He went from pub to pub, and by mid-afternoon Paddy Coyle had reverted to type. He was a ‘fighting Mick’. A cheerful ‘hello’ was taken as a grave insult and from St Enoch’s Square to the Fantasy he left a trail of broken heads and bloody noses.
“Where the hell have you been?” demanded Marie. “I’ve been trying to reach you since this morning.”
Here we go again, he thought to himself. Another woman who thought she could tell him what to do, another harpy on his case. Well, she could fuck right off. Let’s face it, she was only here because of him and if she didn’t like it, too fucking bad.
“And since when have I had to report to you? What fucking business is it of yours where I go or what I do?” The Big Man was lurching all over the place. “I’m the boss and I say what’s what.” He turned to the barmaid, “A large scotch. Now.”
“I don’t think so, you’ve had enough for today, boy,” his sister endeavoured to get him away from the bar.
“Fuck off, Marie. And you,” He pointed at the bartender. “Get me that scotch, if you want to keep your job.”
“Jesus, Paddy you’re drunk. Get through the back before the customers see you. Now move!”
“Fuck off, Marie, before I get really pissed off.”
The altercation was attracting attention from both customers and staff and although Marie wanted him out, she knew it was time to back off.
What the hell was wrong with her brothers? This certainly wasn’t the time to tell Paddy about Sean’s activities and she was devastated seeing him like this. The whole family prided themselves on their name, but Christ, it was taking a battering today.
Paddy had wandered off to the end of the bar where the hostesses sat waiting for clients. “Give the girls a drink, and same again for me,” he called.
They were all a bit wary after Sean’s performance earlier in the day, and now, seeing Paddy drunk, a few were dubious, but not enough to refuse a drink.
It was well known that Paddy seldom, if ever, played away from home and if he did, it was well, well away from his own doorstep. That didn’t stop a few of the dancers from trying.
One in particular – Chantelle, a tall leggy blonde, one of the most popular girls and one who had worked for the Coyles for years – had always had a thing for Paddy but had never struck lucky. It looked like he was game tonight and she was going to give it her best shot. First things first. She had to dodge Marie and get out without being noticed. She needed to create some kind of diversion.
Within minutes she had two of the girls scrapping over a customer, a ploy she’d used for years. Now to get her prey, she thought.
Grabbing him by the hand, she led Paddy out of the club and into a cab without being spotted, and he was more than a willing participant.
“Your place or mine?” he grinned at her. “Oh, sorry, can’t be mine, the wife might object.”
By now Paddy was as drunk as he’d ever been, but after a couple of lines he was ready to party. Fuck sitting at home with his pipe and slippers. He was in his forties, not his fucking dotage and if his wife didn’t want him, there were plenty of other tricky little pieces who did, and he had them on tap. He felt not the slightest bit guilty.
In The Morning
Sean was a major problem, but Marie was becoming just as bad, thought Michael. Why the hell
was Paddy keeping her in a job? She obviously couldn’t hack it. She was never off the bloody phone, screaming the odds about their brothers. First it was Sean. Okay, he was a bit out of order, but the guy was having a bad time just now and she should cut him some slack. Then she calls to get him over to the club to sort Paddy out. Paddy, for God’s sake! Their oldest brother, she alleged, was out of his skull, creating all sorts of hag and she couldn’t handle him. What a load of shit.
Michael had only seen Paddy pissed a couple of times, the last time being when McClelland and the canon had been dumped in the Med. As for drugs, on an even rarer occasion he’d maybe dabbled, did an occasional line of coke perhaps. Now, here she was on the blower, screaming blue murder for him to drop everything and come and sort things out. The truth was, it was only she, old rent-a-gob herself, who had the nerve to face Paddy up when he was out of order. To top it off, when he did arrive at the club, Paddy had already buggered off home. No apology from his sister, just a litany of all that was going wrong. Well, he too had had enough.
“What a fucking day,” Michael moaned to himself, “one bloody thing after another,” he muttered as he climbed over the sleeping Margee.
God, he was knackered. He would get to grips with things in the morning, but for now he had to get some sleep. As he was just about to drift off, the shrill noise of the phone startled him awake.
“Bugger,” he said as he lifted the receiver.
“Hello, Michael, you weren’t sleeping, were you?” asked Bridget.
“Naw, I had to get up to answer the phone,” he replied sarcastically. “What is it?”
“Paddy’s not home.”
“Well, he’s not in fucking bed with me,” her brother-in-law barked back. “What time is it?”
“Half past two.”
“Fuck, he’s probably still at the club. He’d tied a few on earlier, according to Marie. What you worrying about?”
“We had a massive fight and he walked out.”
“For God’s sake, Bridget, he’s a big boy, he’ll turn up. Go to bed and stop worrying, and more to the point, let me go back to bed, I’m shattered.”
There was no way he was letting on that Paddy was on a bender. He could make his own excuses in the morning. Michael was sound asleep almost before she’d put the phone down.
For probably the twentieth time that day Bridget rang Paddy’s mobile, but again it went straight to voicemail. She knew she was being ridiculous, but Paddy, for all the villain that he was, and all the nefarious deeds he was involved in, seldom stayed away from home and never without telling her.
If he had, as he put it ‘a bit of business to attend to’, he told her. If he was going to be late, he phoned. This absence was so out of character. Maybe she had been a bit over the top this morning, but between him and the McClelland boy, she’d had enough. Maybe she could have dealt with the situation differently, but there was only so much a body could take and she had definitely come to the end of her patience. She’d sort it in the morning, one way or another. Oh my God, did that child never sleep? She might as well see to him and let Erin sleep on. Let’s face it, there was no way she, Bridget, would get any sleep tonight. Not until her errant husband turned up.
It said much about their marriage that not for one minute did Bridget think Paddy was out on the prowl. She was quite sure he could get himself into trouble, but trouble of a different ilk. He was far more likely to be locked up for fighting than shacked up in some tart’s bed. If only that were so. Unknown to Bridget the tide had turned. Tomorrow would take care of itself, or so she hoped.
Early Bird
Languishing in her warm, comfortable bed, Erin Coyle forgot she was a new mum for a split second, forgot the nightly feeds and forgot the tiredness. Jesus, she’d slept right through, she hadn’t wakened to feed or change the wee soul. Panic set in. But there, nursing her son, rocking to and fro, was her mum.
“Have you been there all night?” Erin asked, relieved.
“Yes, don’t fret. I couldn’t sleep and this little man was grouchy so I left you sleeping. There was no point in the two of us being up all night. You’ll feel better today and more up to coping with him.”
“Thanks, Mum, but you shouldn’t have. I take it the Big Man’s not home?” Her daughter nodded towards the door.
“No, he’s obviously out to make a point, but if the stupid fool thinks this is the way to sort things, he’s dafter than I thought.”
“Och, he’ll be back soon, tail between his legs and hollering for his breakfast.”
“Hmph.” Bridget handed the little bundle over to his mum and left the room.
Around the same time, the man in question was just coming to. Where was he? Wherever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t home. The usual morning scents of breakfast and freshly brewed coffee were absent. The bed wasn’t his and the room had a peculiar, unfamiliar odour. But more to the point, the underwear strewn about the room definitely did not belong to Bridget.
“You’ve joined the land of the living then?” a female voice from behind a screen addressed Paddy. “Do you want some coffee? It’ll have to be black as I’ve no milk, unless you want to nip downstairs to the shop?”
Vague memories of the night before were circulating in his brain.
“Feeling bad, big boy? Do you want a pick-me-up?” questioned the voice as its owner appeared from behind the screen.
“Chantelle, what the fuck am I doing here?”
“Well, you weren’t kidnapped if that’s what you think. You came quite willingly, in fact you came quite a few times,” the hostess laughed.
It all came rushing back, the fight with McClelland, the argument with Bridget, the storming off, and the tour of most of the East End pubs. He vaguely remembered arguing with Marie, but how he had ended up here, God alone knew. Shit, he was in big trouble. If Bridget ever found out she’d skin him alive, if he was lucky, but it would more likely be the finish of them.
Checking his phone confirmed this. There were twenty-three missed calls, nineteen from home. The voicemails from his wife went from pleading to vitriolic throughout the night. Maybe going straight home was not the best idea. Maybe he should let her calm down a little before making an appearance.
Dear God, he was feeling rough. He must have shifted some amount of booze over the course of the day and his head was exploding. He desperately needed a hair of the dog, or something, to straighten him out.
“You got any gear, girlie? I’m decidedly fucked.”
Setting up a modest line of coke, within minutes Paddy was raring to go. Well, he thought, might as well get hung for a sheep as a lamb. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”
Half an hour later they were ensconced in the brasserie at the Hilton, drinking champagne and devouring that establishment’s famous Scottish breakfast.
Paddy Coyle was buzzing from the combination of coke, champagne and the residue of the previous day’s alcohol. This is the life, he congratulated himself, and signalled for another bottle of Cristal. Fuck the licensing laws, they didn’t apply to folks like him. In fact, fuck the lot of them; he was having another day’s holiday. ‘Them’ being Bridget and the twins, he never really counted Marie. She could bloody well get on with things, earn her crust for once. There, it was sorted.
Michael tried Paddy’s phone, but as he expected, no answer. The stupid bastard would be dossed down somewhere, nursing a monumental hangover. He’d likely appear as rough as a badger’s arse around lunchtime, barking out orders in a filthy temper. Well, Michael, for one, wasn’t putting up with it today. As soon as either of his brothers appeared, he was off.
He didn’t hold out much hope for Sean appearing, he’d tried his mobile half a dozen times this morning already, with no luck. One of them would surely appear at some time. He dived to retrieve his own shrilling mobile, convinced it would be one of the prodigals, only to receive an ear bashing from his sister.
Big Score
“Hi, Mum, how are things in
Spain? Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, sweetheart. How does it feel being a new daddy? Have you seen your son yet?”
“I saw him yesterday, just after I arrived, and then spent most of today with him.”
“Is he okay? Who does he look like? What is she calling him?”
“Hey, one question at a time,” Bobby laughed. “He’s good, and honest to God, he’s Dad’s spitting image. It’s incredible, it’s like a mini-Pete staring back at you.”
“Really? Has she decided on a name yet?”
“It’s not official, but Ryan seems to be the favourite.”
“Yeah, that’s okay. How are the Coyles treating you? You’ve not had any stick from Big Paddy, have you?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, but fortunately he seems to have gone AWOL. Nobody has seen him since yesterday and you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. The mother stuck up for me and he took it really bad.”
“Shame!”
“I’m going to try and get Erin to register the baby tomorrow. Once my name is on the birth certificate, we’re home and dry. After that I’m out of here.”
“Look, son, you need to stay just a bit longer. Make sure everybody that needs to know knows you’re the boy’s father. Go to mass, go and see Father Jack. Get in with old Lizzie, she’ll be in your corner. Just get as many people on your side as you can.”
“I never signed up for all this shit. You and the old man made out I just had to come over here, smile, get my picture taken and leave. None of this bonding shit or meeting the family. I don’t feel anything for this kid. I’m only interested in using it to destroy the Coyles.”
“I know you don’t want to do this, but if you want revenge you have no choice. At the end of the day he is your son, and you have to step up to the plate.”
The Betrayal Page 3