She pushed the thought away, wondering if she was just miffed at Carla’s behaviour towards Tommy. She should be ashamed of herself if so. Carla had always been the mainstay of her life. Was she becoming a bitch in the manger in her old age? Tommy was all hers and if Carla had a crush on him then that was funny and sad, hardly a threat to Maura.
But an inner voice was telling her that the calls she used to get so frequently from her niece had stopped and that even Joey hardly spoke to her any more. He was a mummy’s boy and always had been. He rarely saw his father, preferring to hang out with his mother instead of friends his own age. But then, Joey was like Carla; they didn’t have friends as such, just acquaintances. Maura wondered why she had not sussed all this out years ago. That same inner voice said to her, “You didn’t want to delve, Maura. With your family you could never be sure what you would find.”
Instinctively, she picked up the phone and punched in Carla’s mobile number. Her cheery voice answered and Maura immediately felt ashamed of her thoughts.
“Hello, Maws, I was just on me way over.”
“Oh, lovely. Is Joey with you?”
“Nah.” The line crackled.
“He’s gone down East Ham Market. You know what he’s like for shopping!”
Maura smiled, forgetting that Carla couldn’t see her over the phone.
“Tommy still there?” her niece asked.
Something in the way she put the question bothered Maura and this time she couldn’t shrug it off. Carla had questioned her in a peremptory, even disrespectful way. Was she imagining this? She didn’t think so.
“No. Why?”
She was shorter with her niece than she’d meant to be and Carla gave it a few beats before she answered.
“I just wondered, that’s all. Keep your bleeding hair on!”
There it was again, that arrogance in her tone. It was as if she was trying to goad Maura into some kind of reaction. But why? Maura decided she had best ring off before she said something she would regret.
“See you soon then.”
Maura put the phone down, her heart heavy. She wasn’t imagining anything, and all along she had known that deep inside herself. She waited but Carla didn’t turn up as Maura had guessed she wouldn’t. There was no reason to come, was there? Tommy was long gone. Maura wondered what she was going to do about the situation.
Maura, in her heart of hearts, couldn’t be bothered with any of it today. It was as if she was gradually shutting down, and when the time was right and all of this business was finally over she was definitely handing the reins to Garry.
The decision finally made, she felt better in herself almost immediately. She would give it all over to the boys and if they made another pig’s ear of it, then that was tough. She had had enough of the lot of it.
She only hoped this business with Vic wouldn’t escalate any more than it already had. He was all over the smoke, yet no one seemed able to pin him down. He was on the run from the filth, but they didn’t seem to be looking for him very hard. In fact, it was as if Vic Joliff led a charmed life these days. A lot of influence was being brought to bear and it wasn’t hers, so whose was it? Officially there was no one bigger than the Ryans in the whole of the country, so who was the latest contender for their crown? Christ knows there had been enough of them in the past and she had seen them all off. One last battle and she was retiring from the war.
Jamie Hicks was in a betting shop in Bethnal Green. He had already lost a packet and knew that Vic would have his guts for garters if he found out where he was. But one of his favourite horses was running and Jamie couldn’t miss this bet. The trouble was though, that while waiting for the main race he got bored. So he couldn’t help betting on a few others.
He had lost nine grand in under an hour.
The manager of the betting office was late in that day and was surprised and not a little pleased to see Jamie when he eventually arrived. He said a friendly hello, offered him tea or coffee, and then nonchalantly strolled into his office and phoned Benny Ryan with the good news. Afterwards he stood with Jamie and engaged him in conversation until such time as Benny arrived to take him away.
As Les Grimes watched Jamie showing off his money and making a spectacle of himself while he played the big man, he wondered if this twat needed psychiatric help or what. What would possess a man wanted by the Ryans actually to go into one of their designated betting shops?
But Les knew what had possessed Jamie Hicks. He was a gambler, a hopelessly addicted one. He would walk over hot coals to put his last twenty pence on a three-legged greyhound if it was phoned through to him as a hot tip. All the shop managers knew Jamie, he was a legend in his own lunchtime. A thieving liar, he bragged about his big wins and laughed off his even bigger losses. Even now, he was making a show of getting out his wallet so everyone could see the stash of cash he had. A stash that was getting smaller by the minute. What made a man want to impress a shower of shite like the clientele in here? There was a BT engineer who never seemed to do any work, a pensioner who spent his whole day planning a fifty-horse accumulator, and a couple of DSS blokes who spunked up their Giros and their children’s Family Allowance on a weekly basis. He certainly saw life in this place.
Les Grimes was the best manager a betting shop could have. He not only had a head for numbers, he hated gambling with a vengeance. He also hated bull shitters which was why the phone call to Benny Ryan had been made so quickly. Everyone on the street was now aware that Jamie and Vic were wanted men. Les would give up Jamie without a second’s thought for free such was his disgust at the man, but the hefty drink the Ryans would bung him for his call would not go amiss either.
All in all, it had been quite a profitable morning.
Jamie’s mobile rang and it was obvious he knew who it was as he rejected the call. Les laughed to himself. That wouldn’t go down too well with Vic Joliff. Vic was not a man with much experience of rejected calls. Now that was a bet even he would lay some money on.
He carried on chatting and watching Jamie so he didn’t try and leave before the designated time. Ten minutes later Benny Ryan and his Indian sidekick burst through the doors like something from a cowboy film.
Poor old Jamie. His former audience had no interest as he was dragged out bodily, protesting loudly, from the shop. The quiet when he left was lovely. Nothing except the sound of the TV commentators and the low drone of the scum of the earth talking horses and dogs among themselves.
As far as Les was concerned, this was bliss.
Vic was fuming. As he pulled up outside Kenny Smith’s house he made a mental note to break Jamie Hicks’s back at the first available opportunity. Going missing like that. He was a fucking ice cream and the sooner he yelped in pain, the sooner Vic would feel better.
Kenny saw Vic walking up his drive and his heart sank. This was all he needed. His mother was out with the baby, thank God. He quickly took out a small handgun and placed it in the top drawer of a kitchen cabinet. He would have no qualms about shooting Vic, though he knew the Ryans wouldn’t appreciate it before they got to him. Well, fuck them, he was not about to get himself clumped by Joliff. Though Garry or Benny Ryan, he admitted, would not be a very good alternative, not in the clumping stakes anyway.
Still, fuck them. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.
As he let Vic in, a big smile on his face, he felt the sense of helplessness that Vic instilled in most people, even tough ones like Kenny. If Vic wanted to see you, he would see you. It was as simple as that. Even a locked and barred prison cell couldn’t keep Vic Joliff out if he wanted to come in badly enough. Vic would come in with a Sherman tank if that’s what it took, but come in the fucker would. With or without an invitation.
“All right, me old mucker?”
Today Vic’s voice was full of forced jollity. He had been a decent enough bloke once, before Sandra’s death and his recent descent into paranoia. For a few seconds Kenny felt sorry for him.
“What can I do you for?”
It was an old saying they used to have, years ago when they were young and stupid. Two little gangsters out to make their mark. Well, they had both done that, for all the good it had done them.
“Fell out with Jack already then?” Kenny asked.
In the kitchen of the quiet house Vic looked around him and nodded.
“Jack’s always been the tricky sort. Nice drum this, Kenny, must have set you back a few quid?”
“Enough to make me eyes water. Lana wanted it more than I did.”
Vic nodded, understanding. His wife had been the same.
“I miss my Sandra, you know. She was a cunt at times. Her mouth could go like the fucking clappers and I often felt the urge to wring her bastard neck. But there was something about her that got to me like. In here.”
He punched his chest.
“Never thought I would lose me strawberry to a bird, did you?”
“Nah. Now you mention it I can’t say I did. Not after me own wife anyway. Now she made everyone want to wring her fucking neck. Straight up, even the priest avoided her like the plague.”
Vic laughed, and it was his old laugh. He was relaxed and Kenny was glad. He was perfectly ready to shoot him if he had to, but he would rather not. Vic was old time and they went back many years.
Vic seemed to be reading his mind.
“Don’t worry, mate, no aggro today, I promise.”
“Glad to hear it, Vic. Want a cup pa some coffee, a shot?”
“A cup of tea will suffice, thanks.”
While Kenny made the tea Vic got out a bulging white package and started to cut himself lines of coke on the granite work top He snorted two through a small straw, bringing back his head and sniffing loudly until it hit the right spot.
“That’s better.”
“You should knock that on the head for a while; it fucks up your thinking.”
Vic shook his bald head.
“Not me. It makes me think better than ever.”
Kenny placed the mug of tea in front of him.
“You just think it does, Vic. It’s an illusion. Look at that prick from Baring’s Bank. He thought he was invincible but he wasn’t. It was just the coke doing its usual dirty work.”
Vic was not listening, he was staring out of the window at the rose garden.
“I like roses. I remember in Parkhurst one time, I joined the art class. Some sort with a face like a tiger but great big Bristols was running it so I thought I’d go and have a shufti, and I drew a rose. She said I was good and all.”
He went quiet again and Kenny wondered when he was going to get to the reason for his visit. He didn’t have long to wait.
“I want all the Ryans dead.”
Kenny closed his eyes in distress. He’d had a terrible feeling Vic was going to say something like that.
Jamie was in a state of fear so acute he could almost taste it. Benny Ryan was standing over him, with his trademark Airfix glue and cattle prod, laughing like a fucking drain.
“So, Jamie, how are the kids these days? Remember what they look like, do you? Only we have been keeping them in the manner they’re accustomed to. Or at least me aunt has. Remember me Aunt Maura and me Uncle Garry? You used to work for them once many moons ago, before you decided on a death wish.”
He laughed nastily.
“In fact, if I remember rightly my uncle was very good to you, wasn’t he? Got you a nice single cell in prison, got you a drink and a few quid for your bets. Took care of Danielle and the kids you can’t remember … I think you had a touch actually. Don’t you, Abul?”
He looked at his friend who nodded vigorously. Abul hoped Garry or Maura turned up soon; Benny was going on one of his mad half-hours and if that was the case he was capable of killing Jamie before anyone had the chance to speak to him.
“Fancy a beer and a sandwich, Benny?”
It was the only way he knew to keep Benny occupied while they waited for the others. Benny treated this kind of work like a picnic and Abul supposed it was to him. It was an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon or evening as far as he was concerned. At times like this Abul wondered at their continuing friendship. Benny had never once turned his aggression on him. They had been mates since day one and Abul had once loved him like a brother and knew Benny still reciprocated those feelings.
“What have you got then?”
Benny eyed the Marks and Spencer bags hungrily.
“All your favourites!”
Jamie watched warily as they started to unpack the goodies from the bags. He wouldn’t put it past them to have vials of acid or brake fluid in them. But it was food and he relaxed when he saw that was all it was.
“Chicken and avocado, me favourite!”
Benny tore the packaging away and took a large bite of the sandwich.
“Fucking handsome. Pour a couple of beers, Abul, and we can have a party.” He looked at Jamie and said in a friendly fashion, “Hungry?”
Jamie shook his head.
“Your loss, cunt. Could have been your Last Supper and all.”
He laughed at his own wit. Abul joined in but Jamie didn’t. Personally, he couldn’t find anything even remotely humorous in the words.
As Benny and Abul ate and chatted, Jamie looked around him at the cellar in which he was incarcerated. He was in a house in North London, he knew that much, and as he saw the dilapidated state of it he knew that his screams, and there would be screams, he was sure of that, would go unnoticed. He knew he had no chance of escape and decided to do a deal if he could. Not with Benny but with one of the others. He had always got on well with Garry and thought he might be the best one to talk to. Jamie would tell them anything as long as it meant he didn’t die.
His heart was pumping and the adrenaline was making him high. He knew the excitement was not good for him; he had a slight heart murmur though he had never advertised that fact. His heart was crashing in his ears now as he waited for them to finish what they were doing and start the fun and games.
The cellar door opened and he saw with relief Lee walking down the steps.
“What’s this, the fucking teddy bears’ picnic?”