by Martina Cole
It was only a couple of hours’ flight from the UK but, unlike Benidorm and Calpe, Marbella was still considered upmarket and had a certain cachet to it. It had everything, from wine bars to nightclubs, and no expense had been spared on these establishments. Angus had been well impressed, but he wondered what his mum would think about scantily clad young girls dancing in cages. She could be a bit funny about things like that. But, as the manager of the club explained, you didn’t have a dog and bark yourself. They brought in the punters – along with the named DJs, who were a breed apart already.
Not that he was complaining, of course. And as he was now going to be one of the main drug suppliers, he knew that it would be like printing money. Clubs, drink, girls and drugs went hand in hand for this generation, and that suited him right down to the ground.
He was meeting with Willy McCormack that evening. Angus knew him from the days when he used to come out here on holiday as a kid with his mum and dad. He had not known till recently that his mum had invested heavily out here and was considered one of the old guard by everyone.
She was a shrewdie all right. If it had been left to his old man, he would have just treated this place as a massive piss-up. Angus knew that he had a lot of his father in him – he could be a flake. But he also knew that he had his mother in him too and he was determined to make sure that, as much as he liked to play, he got the work sorted first.
He heard the bedroom door open and watched as a tall redhead with lightly tanned skin, wearing his soiled shirt, walked towards him. In the clear light of day she wasn’t as nifty as she had seemed the night before, but she was still what he would class a sort. She went into the small kitchen and started to make coffee. He assumed she had been here before, and that didn’t surprise him in the least.
She wasn’t exactly a wilting violet, which was a relief. He didn’t want aggravation of any kind – especially not from a professional virgin, and there were plenty of them out here, looking for a fucking mark, though he was a bit young to be hustled like that. He assumed that she had been designated to him, along with the other girl who he had actually fancied. Such was the life of a young man on the cusp of greatness.
He laughed to himself as he called out to her gaily, ‘Morning!’
She smiled again and yawned. She didn’t have the greatest railings. He knew she was a cokehead, but he wasn’t going to say a word. She was a one-night stand; he wasn’t interested in marrying her. He just wished he could remember her name. He was sure it started with a J, but he couldn’t swear to it. Fucking tequila shots were a bastard.
He had lost the girl he had met earlier in the evening – she had made this one look like a dog in comparison – but it had been a wild night and, as far as he could remember, he had had a blinding time. He didn’t have swollen knuckles or any bruises, so there definitely hadn’t been a tear-up of any kind. He was glad about that. But he was also a bit annoyed with himself, because he knew that this was not the time to get too out of it. This wasn’t a jolly boys’ outing, this was a serious work event – and his mother would be monitoring him, because she wasn’t a mug and she knew him well.
People would be reporting back to her and, even though it irritated him, he understood her reasoning. He was still only a boy in her eyes – in most people’s eyes – which was why he had Roy watching over him like a fucking Norland Nanny. He had to swallow, because whatever he ‘decided’ would have already been decided by his mum first. She would just be waiting to see if he agreed with her, because that was how she rolled. He had accepted that now: she knew her onions, and she had the final word. It did annoy him, he was only human, but without her he wouldn’t even be here.
His old mum had surrounded herself with a big and loyal team. She really didn’t need him, but she had given him a chance. He couldn’t let her down.
He sipped his coffee, and then he said seriously, ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’
She grinned lazily and, walking towards him, she placed her well-manicured hands on his chest. ‘It’s Leona.’
He pushed her hands away roughly, and said genially, ‘Fuck me, I could have sworn it started with a J. Get dressed, darling, and fuck off. I’m a busy boy.’
He admired the way she did as she was asked, without a word. He wondered who was paying for her time.
Because it wasn’t going to be him.
Chapter Twenty-two
Willy McCormack was a big man in all ways. He was well over six feet, overweight, and loud like a foghorn. He shouted as a matter of course, and he loved a good joke – especially at his own expense.
Willy was still in receipt of a thick head of hair, an expensive set of teeth and the gift of the proverbial gab. He could charm the birds out of the trees, and the drawers off almost any woman he set his mind on. His name and reputation helped, of course, and the younger women he romanced were always given a lovely gift and the sob story that he was married and he loved his wife. The point was, he did love his wife, with all his considerable heart, and she loved him back. But she turned a blind eye, because she knew that these girls were just an occupational hazard.
Katherine McCormack was a lot of things but she wasn’t a fool. They were living in Spain, where the ugliest man on the planet could pull – if he had a few quid and a good rep. She knew these girls saw themselves as being able to usurp her, the mother of his children, and, if possible, give him a baby – which was the real prize, of course, as it meant they would be taken care of permanently. But she knew her Willy, fucker that he was, loved her with every ounce of his being. Didn’t stop her wanting to stab him in the heart though. And it didn’t stop her knowing that his misdemeanours were the talk of the Costas. But she prided herself on being a realist. She wouldn’t cause World War Three because he was shagging a young girl who couldn’t ever keep him interested long term.
They not only had children together but they had built their empire together, and she was not about to throw that away in a hissy fit. He had been enamoured of strange since day one – that would never change. She was intelligent enough to realise, early on, that it was part of the lifestyle and nothing personal. They had strip clubs, hostess clubs and now they had the lap-dancing clubs; he was surrounded by good-looking girls constantly.
She had no intention of going the way of her friends, forcing a divorce from a man they still loved and who they knew better than anyone else ever would. Who they knew would destroy them, because he had no choice. The men they were married to didn’t have any intention of divorcing them until they were caught out. Then they turned vindictive, because deep down they didn’t want to divorce their children’s mother – and worse, they didn’t like being shown up for the pieces of shit they really were.
It was laughable really, because if she had even looked at another man – or another man had come after her – Willy would have murdered him without a second’s thought, and he would have been patted on the back for his actions by his peers. But, even knowing all that, Katherine loved her husband. And, come what may, she made sure that his girls were removed from his eyeline within weeks. In fairness, he did usually get rid of them first, and she appreciated that he did that for her. He didn’t allow them to get a foothold or to publicly humiliate her.
That had only ever happened once; a young North London girl with big tits, and even bigger hair, had thought she had pussy-whipped him over two nights. Katherine had actually felt sorry for her. She had arrived at one of their restaurants with her little friends in their skimpy clothes and cheap shoes. Willy had nearly passed out with annoyance, and she had observed from a distance as they were removed from her presence – and removed from Marbella. They couldn’t have got a dose of clap, let alone another job. Willy had made sure of that, and his anger had been astronomical.
He had apologised to her repeatedly, until she had finally told him to let it fucking go. She was over it, and the sooner he was, the better it would be for them. But it had shown everyone that she was not to be ignored. Overnig
ht, she was suddenly flavour of the month, especially when it concerned the girlfriends of those men whose weddings she had attended and whose wives she was still good friends with.
She was also on the lookout for her old friend Diana Davis: Diana was, like her, a survivor. Diana could also out-think and out-manoeuvre the men she dealt with. That was why she had the creds and she had the respect of men who only saw women as wives, mothers or strange.
Katherine also knew that her husband was on the road to destruction. Well, she wasn’t surprised. But she was not going to see her sons done out of what they were entitled to. She was a loyal wife, but she was a much more loyal mother. She might have swallowed her knob where her husband’s little sluts were concerned, but when it came to her kids, she would take out anyone who stood in her way.
If only Willy listened occasionally. Diana was a good friend to her, and she owed her a lot. She also recognised the fact that, if anything happened to her old man, without Diana she would be fucked. She was aware that Willy was considering tucking young Angus up, and she just couldn’t comprehend why her old man would even dream he could get away with such skulduggery. It was another bad decision that was caused by the white stuff.
When anyone selling a certain product started to snort said product, it never ended well. Willy should have known that better than anyone – after all, it was how he had become king of the hill. So she was digging, and she would find out what she needed to know. Like her sons, who saw their father for the lairy cunt he was, she wasn’t going to let him ruin everything because he had got a taste for the snort. After all these years, Willy had become a fucking cliché. She didn’t know what was worse: the way he had carried on in the past, or the way he was carrying on now. Either was embarrassing for her, whatever way she looked at it.
All she could do now was minimise the scale of destruction for her family, and she was determined to do just that.
Because she hadn’t lived with Willy McCormack for years without learning something.
Chapter Twenty-three
Roy Rogers was tired, but he was enjoying this sojourn in Marbella with young Angus. And he was impressed, despite himself, at how well the young man was acquitting himself.
Roy was not there just as an observer – he had to report in to Diana, and Angus was aware of that. He had told her that the boy was handling himself well, but he was also having a bit of a good time into the bargain. That was par for the course, especially where Angus was concerned. That boy could have a night out in a morgue. It was a part of his considerable charm unfortunately. But, all in all, Roy was well pleased with how things were turning out – better than he had ever expected.
His only real worry was he didn’t trust Willy McCormack, and that was because he sensed the animosity coming off him in waves. He clearly resented what he saw as Diana sending a young pup in to take over his business, even though he knew as well as everyone else that it was actually Diana’s business – always had been and always would be. She had made sure of that from the first investment – and she had put a lot of dosh into said investments. There was no one on the Bella who didn’t know the truth of that, especially anyone who dealt with Willy; they would all be waiting with bated breath to see how things panned out. As always, Roy’s money was on Diana. She would be all over this, if he knew her as well as he thought he did.
He willed his phone to ring so he could find out what Diana wanted him to do next. He had been hearing some disquieting things about Willy McCormack, and he had reported back to Diana. The general consensus was that he was snorting his own blow, and that was never a good situation.
Cocaine made people think they were being had over, made them paranoid and, in extreme cases, it could get them killed. Should be a government health warning on those little plastic baggies – ‘Don’t snort whilst being a cunt’ – it was detrimental to the people around you. What Roy had found the most interesting, though, was the amount of people willing to tell him about Willy’s stupidity – on the quiet, of course. That told Roy two things. One, that people had had enough of the Scottish wanker. And two, that the problem really was out of hand if he was making enemies of the people who relied on him for an earn.
He sat patiently nursing a large rum and Diet Coke, while he waited for Diana to tell him what his state of play was to be.
One thing with this job was there was never a dull moment.
Chapter Twenty-four
Abad Said liked to think of himself as an entrepreneur. He had been born in Marrakesh and spent his childhood between Morocco and East London, as his father was a travelling man.
His mother, Amina, had died when he was a baby and he had been cared for by his maternal grandmother, a woman he still couldn’t bring himself to like, let alone love. His father, Abad Senior, said it was because she blamed him for her daughter’s demise – and that even though she knew that was a load of old shite, it kept her happy, so who cared?
When he was old enough to look after himself, he travelled with his father, a drug dealer with long hair, a handsome face and an eye for the ladies. It had been an education all right, and he had loved every second of it. Consequently, he spoke perfect Moroccan and perfect cockney – a lethal combination, because he had inherited his father’s good looks as well as his appetite for chasing women. He also enjoyed the occasional male bed companion, and it fitted perfectly into his lifestyle. He was a hedonist in every way, and even at the Mosque he didn’t feel that he was doing anything wrong.
He and his father had a good relationship. Abad Senior was now a wealthy man, bringing up a new family with a Moroccan girl he had fallen in love with while setting up a drugs run in Tangiers. These days young Abad was the main man, and he loved it. He worked under his father’s jurisdiction, and that suited him too. He had no problem fitting in with whoever he was around at the time and, in the drugs game, that went a long way to securing trust and, more importantly, friendships. A strong friendship was paramount to good negotiations and earning goodwill.
He was looking forward to meeting up with young Angus Davis. They had a great rapport and genuinely liked each other’s company. They had a lot in common, and they were more or less of an age, though Abad was a few years older. They particularly shared having a parent who pulled all the strings, and they both accepted that with outward good grace, no matter what they might feel inwardly.
Abad’s father and Angus’s mother went back years and anyone would think they were in a mutual appreciation society. Nevertheless, their boys were under no illusions that they would also take the other out on a whim, if the situation warranted it. Such were the vagaries of the drugs kingdoms.
Abad Senior was the undisputed king of the hashish and cocaine deals that happened in Marbella. It was just a short trip across the water, and it was a well-planned and well-executed business. All the correct people were bought off generously, and the men involved were discreet and blended in with either environment, wearing the djellaba on the Moroccan side, and changing into smart, bespoke clothes before hitting Spain.
They had it basically all sewn up and, though it wasn’t devoid of problems, so far there had been none that couldn’t be sorted quickly and easily. Usually, the person who had transgressed did a disappearing act – another great use for the regular sea journeys.
All in all, Abad was content with his lot, and as he walked into the offices of the Magico Club he was looking forward to seeing Angus again.
Chapter Twenty-five
The offices were on the sixth floor of a large Spanish-built block. It was innocuous enough, with the club itself spreading across the whole of the ground floor. The offices were spartan and without the glitz and glamour of the rest of the place.
The club was done out in a mix of chrome, glass and elaborate tiling and mirrors, designed to show off the girls who danced in the nightclub and the private rooms where punters could enjoy a quiet evening away from the prying eyes of wives and girlfriends. It was a lucrative business, and Magico was
a club that was sought after by anyone who was anyone on the Banús.
In the office Abad was given a large whisky – Chivas Regal, the real stuff, not the shit they served the customers – and he sat on a low black leather sofa and lit himself a Camel cigarette happily.
Big Willy McCormack was his usual larger-than-life self, and although he looked a bit the worse for wear, with eyes that were red-rimmed and manic, he was exuding his usual charisma. There had always been an underlying danger about Willy that was a part of his charm but would also remind people exactly who they were dealing with. He was unpredictable, and that worked to his advantage, obviously.
Abad remembered a story his father had told him about a wild night in Tangiers when Willy had been mortally offended by a Moroccan guy who had inadvertently knocked his drink all over his white linen shirt. Willy had cut his throat and left him behind the restaurant, gone back to the boat, changed his clothes and come back to the dinner as happy as the proverbial pig in shit. Another night, he would have bought the bloke a drink and not said a dicky bird; he was unpredictable all right. He was also snorting coke like it was about to be rationed, and that didn’t help with his temperament.
Willy poured a large vodka down his throat and immediately got himself another. He had his two usual goons with him, Larry Pike and Petey Webster. They had been friends since they were kids, and they were like the Three Amigos. Imposing men, and dangerous in their chosen fields – they were a winning act.
‘How’s your old man? Still knocking out kids with that young bird?’
Abad laughed. ‘Regularly! He’s trying to get me to settle down now!’
They laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Abad Senior was a model husband and father these days.