Dangerous Lady (17 page)

‘I want some money, Sar … I’m warning you,’ His breath was sour and she tried to turn her face away from him. He grasped her chin with his hand and pulled her face towards him. He grinned at her, showing yellowing teeth. ‘What’s the matter then? Turning your face away from me these days?’ He squeezed her chin in his large hand, causing her to flinch. ‘That’s right, my lovely…

You be scared of me, because if you don’t give me some of the money you’ve got stashed, I’m gonna beat you all around this room. Now where is it?’

Sarah was trying desperately to pull herself away from him. He pulled his right arm back and punched her in the stomach. He used such force she fell to her knees, winded.

He grabbed her hair, forcing her head up to look at him. ‘That’s just a taster, Sarah.’

She nursed her injured stomach with her arm, feeling sick. She stared at her husband, and gathering all her strength she spat at him. She saw his lips draw back over his teeth.

‘You old trout! I’ll bloody murder you for that.’

As his fist was raised to begin his beating she screamed, holding her arms over her head. His first punch hit her on her wrist, causing her to cry out in pain. Somewhere above the din she heard the bedroom door opening, then she felt Benjamin being pulled away from her bodily. It was Garry and Lee.

Lee felt a rush of emotion he had never known before. Seeing his mother kneeling there while his father beat her caused him to lose control. He was aware that he was punching and kicking his father. He could feel the surge of adrenaline as his arms and legs came into contact with Benjamin’s body. He could easily kill this man who had fathered him. Eventually Garry pulled him away, forcing him to sit on the big double bed. His breathing was loud and noisy. The effort he had used on his father had exhausted him. He felt his mother’s arm go around his shoulder. He grasped her rough workworn hand. His knuckles were bleeding.

Benjamin was too drunk to feel anything. He lay on the bedroom floor staring up at a picture of Our Lady’s Ascension into Heaven. Her pale blue and gold gown was

144

swimming before his eyes. He could taste blood in his mouth. Running his tongue around his gums, he found that one of his few remaining teeth was loose. Garry looked at his father with a feeling of disgust coupled with distress. The older man’s woeful face was like an open book. All the setbacks, troubles, humiliations and causes for discontent were there for anyone who wanted to look. Only nobody ever wanted to. Even his own sons regarded him as an object of derision, tempered with a love that came more from duty than any feeling of filial affection. Garry sighed. ‘Help him up, son. We’ll put him to bed to sleep the worst of it off.’ Sarah’s voice was flat, resigned. Before the boys had grown up, she would have endured the beating; years of experience had taught her that it was preferable to giving him the money.

Garry and Lee, calmer now, put their father to bed. Benjamin was pliable. He allowed his sons to strip him and bundle him under the covers. Within minutes he was asleep. The three went down the stairs together. In the kitchen Lee examined his mother’s arms and face. She shrugged him off.

‘I’m all right, Lee. Give it a rest now, for Gawd’s sake.’ She made one of her endless cups of tea.

Garry took his and went back upstairs to his room. He placed the tea on his dressing table and went back to what he had been doing before his mother’s scream. He was making a car bomb. The main work had already been done in one of Michael’s lock-ups. Now he was perfecting the detonator. He took his glasses off the bed where he had left them earlier and slipped them on.

Garry’s years of being the inventor of the family had paid off. Michael had taken his expertise and channelled it to his own advantage. Garry made everything, from

Molotov cocktails to delayed-action devices for robberies or personal revenge attacks. His natural misanthropy and lack of interest in possessions gave him the perfect temperament for an explosives manufacturer. In Garry’s mind there was no black or white, just fuzzy grey areas that he could interpret to his own advantage. Like Michael, he was a psychopath. He could champion causes with a fervour that amazed those around him. He could also see two sides to an argument, could balance the debate in his mind or that of whoever happened to be interested. But there was another side to him that even his own brothers did not realise. He would not stand for anyone or anything getting in his way. He had no real feelings about anyone, except his sister Maura. He was incapable of deep feelings or emotion. If Garry had a girl friend, she was his property. He would be jealous and moody. The girl always seemed to think this was because he felt deeply for her, but Garry felt the same way about his car or his record player. It was his. Until the time came when he tired of it.

The bedroom door opened and Lee came in. ‘Mickey just phoned and said that we’re all to meet him at the club tonight. Nine-thirty, OK?’

‘All right, Lee. Thanks.’ Garry carried on with what he was doing. Lee walked out of the room. The earlier trouble with their father was now forgotten. In the Ryan code, if you didn’t mention it then it had never happened. When Benjamin had slept off his drink and emerged once again into their world he would be treated with the usual haphazard affection. ;’,

Garry had finished his detonator and smiled to himself happily. He began clearing away. His room was so tidy, Garry would know if anyone had been in while he was out. He had everything strategically placed.

146

Like all the rooms in the house, this also had a religious print on the wall and a small crucifix over the bedroom door. Garry’s religious painting was of Jesus’s entrance into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Jesus sat on a donkey, the marks of the stigmata on his outstretched hands, his face as always serene with a hint of sadness. Around him were crowds of people holding their palm leaves, expressions of ecstasy on their faces. The print was in beautiful pastel shades of blue and pink. Picking up the detonator, Garry went to the picture. Holding the device under the Donkey of Christ, he laughed softly.

‘Bang fucking bang!’

Jesus still sat there, the yellows and golds of his halo shadowed by Garry’s body, still serene and still sad. Mickey, Geoffrey and Roy sat in the offices above their club, Le Buxom, in Dean Street. All three were wearing the usual dark suit, brilliant white shirt and thin black tie. It was their uniform. Michael’s tie had a grey stripe going through it horizontally. It was his way of being just that little bit different. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out noisily.

‘So what else have you found out then?’ He stared at Geoffrey.

‘Plenty. He’s a bit of a rogue, is old Hanley. He likes the gee gees for a start, and he’s not averse to a bit of skirt now and again either. Both expensive pastimes for old Bill. He usually goes round to the wives of convicted criminals offering them a bit of consolation.’

Mickey laughed. ‘In return for a bit of the other, I suppose.’

‘Exactly. He now owes us about three hundred quid. He was betting quite heavily in our South London shops. I tipped the lads the wink to give him as much tick as he wanted, which they did. Now we have him right where we

want him. By the short and curlies.’

‘Good work, Geoff. Arrange for him to come and see me next week. Another face would be to our advantage. Especially a prat like Hanley.’ ‘How about we give him a free night here, before you see him? Let him have his leg over with one of the girls for nix. That should soften him up before you give him the bad news.’

‘Yeah, I think that’s what we’ll do, Roy. Bent filth are ten a penny these days. What we want are the ones who can do us the most good. Hanley’s at Vine Street, from what I understand. He’s the one who liaises with all the other nicks. We’ll cultivate him, I think.’ . Geoffrey and Roy nodded in agreement. ‘Now about the loan sharking. I had a visitor today . . do you remember old Moses Mabele?’

Roy nodded. ‘The old West Indian bloke who lived in our street?’

‘That’s him. His wife Verbeena was mates with Muwer. Used to help her out now and again with money. Old Moses used to work in the Docks.’

‘Yeah. What about them?’ Geoffrey’s voice was puzzled.

‘Well, they moved Plaistow way. They got one of the old Dockers’ Mansions - he was working in the East India Docks. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Moses popped off a bit sudden like …’ , ‘

‘What’s this got to do with us?’

‘Well, if you’d listen, you might learn something, Roy. Now where was I?’

‘Moses had popped off.’

‘Thanks, Geoffrey. Moses popped off a bit sharpish and Verbeena couldn’t afford to bury him like. So she went to one of our “borrowers” - no prizes for guessing who that

was.

148

Geoffrey groaned. ‘Not George Denellan!’

Mickey smirked. ‘The one and only. Anyway, the rub is she couldn’t pay it back quick enough and Georgie boy sent round some heavies …’

‘You’re joking!’

‘I wish I was, Roy. I bunged her a couple of ton for her trouble and told her the debt was scrubbed. What I want you two to do is go and see Denellan. Put him straight about a few things. She’s an old lady, for Christ’s sake. I want at least an arm broken. He’s got to learn that he works for me, not the government. You don’t belt old dears. In fact, you don’t lend money to old dears, period, not without querying it with one of us first. He takes too much on himself and he’s beginning to aggravate me.’

‘I’ll go, Mickey. I don’t like Denellan anyway, he’s a ponce.’

‘All right then, Roy, you can sort him out. What an advert for us, eh? Beating up old ladies!’

They all laughed.

Geoffrey got up and poured them all a drink. ‘What’s happening with that Smithson, Mickey?’

Michael took the glass off him and sipped the brandy. ‘Our Garry’s made him a little surprise present. He should be getting it some time over the weekend.’

‘You’re definitely trouncing him them?’

‘Yep. I don’t like doing it, Geoff, but that saucy bugger’s asked for it.’ He poked his finger in the air. ‘Nobody fucks me up and gets away with it. It’ll be a lesson to all the blokes who work for us.’

‘How much exactly did he poach?’

‘Nigh on two grand.’

Roy whistled softly. ‘That much?’

‘It’s not so much the money as the principle of the thing. One bloke owed us a monkey. He paid three oners s

over, and then the last two hundred plus the fifty quid interest. Next thing he knows he’s got three blokes waiting for him as he leaves for work. They’d trashed his motor.’ Mickey laughed softly. ‘The poor bastard is informed that he still owes three hundred smackers. Anyway, he paid it… but he came to see our Lee and he told me about it and that’s how we uncovered the little bastard’s game. Fuck me! It ain’t as if we don’t pay him enough. For a bloke who came out of the South London slums he’s done bloody well. Do you know, his kids go to private school? Straight up.’

‘That don’t surprise me, Mickey, he always fancied himself. He still brags in pubs about how he worked for the Richardsons.’

Michael snorted. ‘Don’t talk to me about him. He’s history now.’

The three men were quiet for a few moments. Geoffrey got up from his chair. ‘Shall I bring the other lot up then? See what’s happening with their teams?’

‘Yeah. Hang on, what’s the time?’ ‘

‘Eleven-thirty-five.’ ‘I bet you a tenner Benny’s sitting in the club watching the stripper. She comes on at half-past.’ They all laughed.

‘He’s sex mad. Most of the girls don’t have to “go case with the punters, they can go home with Benny!’

Still laughing, Geoffrey made his way down the stairs to the club’s foyer.

Gerry Jackson, the doorman, nodded at him. ‘We’re pretty full tonight, mostly Americans. Must be a convention on somewhere.’ ‘Plenty of money then?’ Gerry nodded. ‘The touts reckon that the streets are full of them. I bet a few get rolled, don’t you?’ ‘Bound to, ain’t they? Stupid bastards. They flash their money about like it’s going out of fashion. Someone’s got to stomp them, it stands to reason.’

Geoffrey walked into the club itself. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. At the bar area seats lined each wall to either side. They were plush red velvet, were upholstered and fixed to the wall. On them sprawled women and girls of every shape and colour. On entering the club, punters were able to see the merchandise and if a particular girl took their fancy, she accompanied them to their table. The hostesses were only allowed to drink champagne - which they tipped on to the carpet when the punter wasn’t looking. With a different stripper on every twenty minutes this was not difficult. At the moment a tall blonde of about thirty was dancing semi naked to ‘Pretty Flamingo’. She bent over almost double and her long bleached blonde hair touched the floor. She swayed her buttocks suggestively before hooking her fingers into her sequinned panties and slowly pulling them down her legs.

Geoffrey smiled. Sure enough there was Benny, sitting on the edge of his seat, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he watched the girl in a state of hypnotic fascination. Stepping out of her panties, the stripper stood up and turned to face the audience. Her pubic hair was black, in stark contrast to the whiteness of her hair. She raised her arms above her head and once more set the tassels on her small breasts spinning.

The music ended and she nonchalantly picked up her discarded clothes and walked from the stage. She would strip in six or seven different clubs during the course of the evening. She passed by Benny and Geoffrey saw him squeeze her buttocks. The girl smacked his hand away and glared at him, shouting at the top of her voice, ‘When

150

you’re old enough, Little Boy!’

Benny laughed good-naturedly. Geoffrey called him and he walked over, his moon face wreathed in smiles.

‘You never give up, Ben, do you?’

Benny grinned. ‘Old slag! She’s got a face like a carpenter’s nailbag. Let’s face it, I don’t want to marry her, just fuck her.’

‘Well, she obviously don’t want to fuck you.’