That Jimmy could have fathered a child so devoid of love, so devoid of care bothered him. In his heart of hearts he feared that while the boy may resemble him physically, the personality of his mother had come to the fore. The fact that Cynthia didn’t think that the event was in any way catastrophic, really brought home to Jimmy just what he had tied himself to. Like Cynthia, James Junior looked as if butter wouldn’t melt, whereas inside him was a seething cauldron of hate and viciousness. The school had regaled him with his son’s other sins which had all come out after the affair with the cat had become public knowledge; from bullying to stealing, it seemed his James was capable of anything. No wonder he didn’t have any real friends.
As he sat in the psychiatrist’s waiting room, Jimmy looked at his son properly. He was reading a comic – always a comic never
a book – and he looked unfussed about his surroundings and the reason why he was even here.
Most people here at the clinic looked like throwbacks from the sixties, all long hair and abundant moustaches. The rest were the opposite, well-tailored clothes and iron-grey hair, their countenances unreadable and their eyes cold and appraising. Not the most auspicious beginnings for the saving of this son of his.
A young girl sat opposite them. She looked to be about fourteen, with dyed hair and make-up. She smiled at him as he caught her eye and said, as if in answer to a question, ‘I’m old enough to come on me own. Anyway, me mum’s never up in time.’ She shrugged as if this was a normal, everyday conversation.
Jimmy looked at her, wondering how the hell he had ended up in a place like this. He had been brought up in a nice home by nice people, and he had been happy in his job – the job which had displeased Cynthia because it had not provided enough for her and what she wanted from life. When she had chosen him – and he made no bones about it,
she
had set her cap at
him
and she had got him – he had envisaged a lovely life like his own parents had, a nice, secure kind of life. Holidays every year, and a couple of nice, normal kids.
Instead, he had become a criminal. He had been sucked into a world he would never understand although, in fairness, he sometimes quite liked. It was glamorous at times and it was lucrative. Once Cynthia had realised he would never run the company he worked for the rot had set in, and she was not a woman to compromise from what she wanted.
He wiped a hand over his face. He needed a line but he guessed this was not the place to have one. He knew he had a problem with the coke but it made him feel invincible, made him believe that he was living a good life. At least these days he got acceptance, if not respect, from his wife. She didn’t go on at
him like she used to and, now she had her own ‘career’ as she referred to it, they were financially better off than they could have ever hoped to be. In a way he wished she had never been invited back into the fold; after her attempts to bring the family down, his life had been much easier. She had needed him then, she had needed what he could offer her.
Now she was like a phoenix risen from the ashes; she had all but become the main person in the businesses. He knew that Jonny liked her and her acumen. He said she was perfect for their world – she looked like an angel and thought like the devil, a simile that had made Jimmy shudder inwardly. It summed his wife up perfectly, and it also summed up his son.
When they were finally taken into the office and introduced to Dr Wendell, Jimmy started to relax. She looked like someone’s nan, not at all as intimidating as he had expected.
After a few preliminary questions she looked into young James’s face and said seriously, ‘Why did you cut the kitten’s throat, James?’
To which he answered truthfully, ‘I don’t fucking know, do I? That’s why I was sent here.’
It was obvious to everyone in the room that the boy thought there was a moron among them and it certainly wasn’t him.
Gabby was watching Vincent from inside the Golden Egg Cafe as he walked in to meet her. He looked very handsome and a little bit vulnerable. It was their third date and, thanks to her brother, she was now well and truly dispatched back to her nana and granddad’s house – her mum didn’t seem to want anything to do with either of them now. Though she hated what little James had done, she couldn’t help but take advantage of the situation it had left them in.
Gabby liked Vincent even more when he wasn’t trying to impress her, when he wasn’t trying to act older than he was and more knowing. Inside, she knew he was as bewildered as she was about the feelings they had for each other. She had never felt like this before in her life. Never had she felt a pull from the gut like she did when she saw him walking towards her. It was almost primitive, and she instinctively knew that this was real love, not kids playing about at grown-up feelings and emotions. As young as they were, they were both completely sure that they were destined to be together. It wasn’t something they had ever really discussed – it just was.
Vincent was dressed well – he always dressed like a man. At weekends he was suited and booted; like all his contemporaries he knew the value of a decent bit of clobber. She tried to dress for him now with longer skirts, tailored jackets, decent high heels. One good thing about it all was her mother had stopped frowning at her these days, believing it was
her
good taste that
had made her daughter opt for more conservative clothing. Good job she didn’t know it was because she wanted to look older, more sophisticated, more adult and that meant not looking like Madonna or Cyndi Lauper. It meant looking like a grown woman should look. Clean, fresh and well appointed. She had read that in a magazine and it had become her mantra.
As Vincent O’Casey spotted Gabby sitting in the Golden Egg waiting for him, his heart soared with love and, he admitted, a great deal of lust. But this was Jonny P’s niece and he was ever aware of that. This was also the daughter of Cynthia Tailor, a legend in her own lunchtime, and he was acutely aware of that too.
That aside, he loved this girl with all his being. At seventeen, and Gabby not yet fourteen, he knew he was playing with fire. But she was like a woman, a woman beyond her years, for all her schoolgirl chatter and smoking. She knew instinctively what he needed and she provided it for him. He knew that was rare in a couple and that what they had was special.
Vincent understood the loneliness Gabby felt inside, knew that her mother was the bane of her life, and everyone else’s for that matter – his included. Because if Cynthia Tailor ever found out about him he knew he would be warned off, and not in a polite way either. He would get the kicking of a lifetime, which was why they were meeting so out of the way of their usual haunts. It was also why he was cultivating the friendship of certain young men who could give him an in to the kind of life he wanted to be a part of. If he could get some respect – and not just as a little local hard nut, but as an earner – Vincent knew it would sweeten the pot where her family was concerned. He had plans and he had dreams, and he was determined to see that they were fulfilled at some point in his life. Because this girl was going to be the mother of his children and that, he knew, was a fact.
As he walked over to the table, he saw the love shining out
of her eyes and, like many a man before him, he believed that would be enough for them. He was still too young to know that determination was only the half of it. It was the hard graft that was the really difficult part. Life was like that, he would find out much too late. It let you think you had the upper hand when all along it knew you were heading for disaster.
For the moment, anything seemed possible. They were happy just to be together, and that was more than enough for them.
Jonny Parker had spent a not entirely disagreeable afternoon with Cynthia, and was now on his way to visit one of his clubs. It was a very worthwhile enterprise which housed sixty different lap dancers over a two-week period. The girls were young, ultra fit and up for literally anything. Just the kind of girls needed for the West End of London. Even better, they were all well within the legal age, and had a vested interest in staying at that particular club. Jonny paid them
very
well, and they were in a position to meet men of all classes and colours who had one thing in common – serious amounts of dosh. Wonga was the girls’ god, and they got it by the thankful. The men were vetted and they were, for one reason or another, interested in privacy more than the girls themselves.
A private club was a boon in many respects, because it afforded a level of safety that many of the men concerned needed in their daily lives – their work lives – and particularly in their night lives. Jonny had them all – from top businessmen to politicians and Old Bill to serious Faces, and he made sure any sojourn at the club was as secret as it was enjoyable. There was a lot of money in keeping people clean; he had tapped into a market that was not just lucrative money-wise but also gave him contacts who owed him.
This club was the first of many, and he was in negotiations to do the same thing in Liverpool, Manchester and Glasgow. The girls earned too much to open their traps, and they were also
aware that one wrong word and they would never work anywhere again. This wasn’t just a threat that they would be blackballed as such, but that their lives would be tragically cut short. No kiss-and-tell from
his
lap
dancers. If they did, it would be the last thing they ever said and they were well aware of that.
Tonight he had a meeting with a local up-and-coming Face by the name of Derek Greene. Derek was also known as ‘Derek the Red’ because he had no trouble spilling blood. He was thirty-one years old, built like the proverbial brick shithouse and had been educated at a private school thanks to his father, a notorious bank robber who thought his son should grow up in the straight world. Derek Senior was now doing a twenty-five, and his son, then seventeen, had been left penniless and with no real qualifications except his extreme strength, his short temper and the nous that living around a villain had ingrained into him. He had risen in the ranks and become a man to be reckoned with.
Now he wanted a meet, and Jonny was very interested in what he had to say. The boy had a good rep, and he liked him. Always open for a bit of naughty, he was happy enough as he walked into the dim foyer of the Madison Avenue Private Members Club. It was a great space and it looked fantastic – understated and with an abundance of glass and chrome. No one looking inside would believe what its respectable façade hid. It could be the offices of a banking corporation, but once through the heavy wooden doors it was the epitome of sexual gratification. All reds, purples and creams, the girls’ outfits, albeit very small, were colour-coordinated to match the surroundings that were reminiscent of a brothel the Pre-Raphaelites would have frequented. It was upmarket trash, and it was making Jonny untold money.
It was quiet now, though. Early evening just had the serious drinkers in, the ones who needed the Dutch courage to actually approach the girls, and a few of the local Faces ready to have a
meet in more luxurious surroundings than their local boozers, where everything they said was overheard and repeated. The club was for people who had an agenda, and that agenda was wholly their own.
Jonny spied young Derek sitting alone and smiled to himself; the boy was learning the art of confidence. Never discuss business in front of anyone who might have an interest in it, either for themselves or other people. It was a good rule to live by and he liked that the younger man had appreciated his need for privacy in all in his dealings.
He motioned for a bottle of Scotch and two glasses and, when the drinks were poured and the ice was clinking amiably, they began their meeting.
‘So, young Derek, what can I do you for?’
Derek smiled, his huge face handsome in a dangerous kind of way. Jonny knew certain women would be attracted to it because looking at Derek you could tell this was a man capable of great cruelty and there were women who admired that.
‘Nice set up, Mr Parker, really fucking impressive.’
It was said with genuine approval and Jonny felt himself relax. He liked this kid, though, in reality, he wasn’t a kid, he was a large and very dangerous man. ‘Glad you approve, Derek. And how goes your businesses? I hear tell you’re knocking over more banks than the Luftwaffe.’
Derek grinned. ‘Not too bad a business as it goes, Mr Parker. With my old man it stands to reason I would know the general economics of such an industry.’
They both laughed at his choice of words.
‘True. I hear your little ones are well too.’
Derek almost blushed then; it was true what Jonny had heard – this was a family man beyond excellence. He had a lovely wife and three little ones, all daughters, who he doted on with a passion. The youngest had been born brain-damaged and it was rumoured that he had moved heaven and earth and serious
amounts of poke to make sure she got the best treatment on offer. This was not seen as a weakness by the men in their world, but as a strength. You looked after your own before and above anyone else. It was another reason that Jonny felt he could work with the lad. He was decent and kind when appropriate, and a ruthless fucker when required. A lethal but necessary combination in a business partner.
Jonny hoped that the lad had a good proposition for him, one that would make it worth his while to take an interest in this fellow, because he would rather have him where he could keep an eye on him. There wasn’t that much difference in their ages but, whereas Jonny had his creds, this boy was still paving the way for his own. If it was a bollocks proposition he would make a point of giving him a bit of collar – nothing too important but enough to give him a good earn. That way he could keep him close.