Dangerous Lady (7 page)

‘To the Ryans!’

‘The Ryans!’

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Geoffrey and Anthony were sitting at the end of Penzance Gardens, where it met Princedale Road. It was nearly two-fifteen in the morning. They sat in a black Humber Snipe. Both were freezing and both were nervous, especially Geoffrey. At twenty-one he was two years older than Anthony. They were identical to look at. Both had the Ryan dark hair and firm chin. Anthony had more of Michael’s ruggedness whereas Geoffrey had softer features, almost effeminate.

Anthony spoke. His voice in the darkness caused Geoffrey to jump. ‘How much longer have we got to wait?’

‘How the hell do I know? What do you think I am? The Oracle or something?’

‘Very funny. You get on my wick, do you know that?’ Anthony’s usual animosity was coming to the fore. Anthony Ryan was known in his family as able to pick a fight with his own fingernails. The only person he was even remotely respectful to was Mickey. ‘You think because you’ve read a few crappy books you know it all.’ Geoffrey rolled his eyes up towards the roof of the car. ‘Do me a favour, Ant… Save all your hag for what we’ve got to do tonight. I ain’t in the mood.’

They were silent again. Anthony was frustrated because he wasn’t as quick-brained as Geoffrey so always came off worse in an argument. It didn’t deter him though. He tried a different tack.

‘I saw that sort you’ve been knocking about with last night. I’d give her one meself.’ Knowing that it would annoy Geoffrey, Anthony braced himself for the ensuing argument. Instead, Geoffrey put his hand over his brother’s mouth. They listened. Footsteps were approaching the car. They sat tense and nervous. Anthony’s hard features looked as if they had been carved from stone. His fists were clenched tight on the steering wheel.

The man who was walking towards them stepped into the light of a streetlamp. It was Joe the Fish. He was walking unsteadily along the road, obviously the worse for drink. Geoffrey nodded and Anthony started the car. He did not put on the headlights. Reversing back a little, they waited until Joe began crossing the intersection between Penzance Gardens and Princedale Road. Pushing his foot down on the accelerator, Anthony thrust the car forward. if

Hearing a loud noise through his drunken haze, Joe turned in time to see the car coming at him. He raised his arm as if to protect himself as the car hit him full on. His body flew into the air and landed on the bonnet. His head crashed against the windscreen. Anthony slammed his foot on the brake. As the car screeched to a halt, Joe’s body slid from the bonnet on to the road. Anthony ran the car over him one more time before speeding off. The whole operation had taken less than three minutes. A woman who had been up getting herself a glass of water heard the commotion and ran out into the street. She took one look at Joe’s face and began to scream. Lights began to go on all over Princedale Road.

Anthony and Geoffrey drove the car from Holland Park to Moscow Road in Bayswater. The streets were deserted. Parking the car they left it there and walked around to Porchester Terrace, throwing the keys to the Humber Snipe down a drainhole. In Porchester Terrace they picked up a blue Mark 1 Zephyr and drove sedately home to Lancaster Road. It was just three o’clock. Inside a private house in Beauchamp Place, Knightsbridge, Michael picked up his cards and studied them carefully. He was on a winning streak tonight. He had three aces and two kings. Joe had left an hour earlier. He had been given

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a lift to the Bayswater Road by a mutual friend, Derek O’Connor. If everything had gone according to plan then Joe was well and truly out of the picture, and he, Michael, had the perfect alibi. He smiled smugly to himself as he raised the bet by fifty pounds. If Geoffrey and Anthony had bungled the job tonight, he would personally batter their brains out. Sarah heard a loud banging on her front door. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was five o’clock in the morning. Sleepily she dragged herself out of bed. Benjamin was snoring his head off as usual, so it wasn’t the police after him - that would make a change. She yawned, went down the stairs and opened the front door. Two men stood there and she recognised at once that they were CID.

‘Is Michael at home, love?’

Blinking her eyes rapidly to try and clear her head, Sarah said, ‘Come inside and I’ll go and look.’

The two men walked into the hallway. She went upstairs and looked into Michael’s room. The bed hadn’t been slept in. As she walked back on to the landing, Geoffrey came out of his room.

‘Who’s that downstairs, Mum?’

‘The old Bill. They’re looking for Michael. What’s going on?’ She knew her sons and would bet her last pound that Geoffrey had been awake waiting for something like this.

‘You go back to bed, Mum. I’ll sort out the filth.’ Both turned as they heard a door opening. Maura Ryan came out of her room, clutching a raggy doll. Sarah went to her, picking her up in her arms. Geoffrey went down the stairs.

‘Mickey ain’t in.’ ‘Well, where is he then?’ This from the older of the policemen.

‘He’s up West. At a house in Knightsbridge. What do you want him for?’ Geoffrey yawned in their faces, scratching his belly lazily. The younger policeman noticed that his pyjamas were hardly creased. Geoffrey Ryan hadn’t been in bed. The trouble would be proving it. .

‘Somebody tried to murder Joe the Fish earlier.’

Geoffrey felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. ‘What do you mean, tried to murder him?’

‘Exactly what I say. And knowing how close Mickey is to him, I thought we had better let him know.’ The older officer was trying to goad him.

Unlike Anthony, Geoffrey could keep a lid on his temper. Deliberately misconstruing the policeman’s words, he shook his head sadly and said, ‘Mickey’s like a son to that man. This will come as a great shock to him. What exactly happened?’ He had to know what was going on. Half of his mind was saying silent prayers. He’d been sure Joe was dead when they left him. ‘Someone tried to run him over a few hours ago. He’s fighting for his life in St Charles’s Hospital. The hospital said to try and get his next-of-kin. We assumed that was Michael Ryan. Two men couldn’t get any closer than those two have been over the last couple of years, could they?’ The policeman raised his eyebrows and his colleague laughed.

Geoffrey was saved from answering by his mother’s voice. She had been carrying Maura down the stairs and had heard the policeman’s remark.

‘What are you trying to say? I know you lot with your dirty insinuendos.’ She hitched her daughter up on to her shoulder, holding her steady with her free hand. The other was gripping the banister rail, her knuckles white and

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bony. ‘My Michael is a decent clean-living individual. Now I’ll thank you two to get out of my house.’

Hiding a grin, Geoffrey took the heavy child from her as she came to the bottom of the stairs. Maura sat in his arms, an alert expression on her face. At seven she was already wise to the likes of the police. Sarah pushed angrily at the two policemen. She looked so tiny beside the two men, yet so ferocious, that Geoffrey laughed out loud.

‘That’s it, Muvver. Tell the bastards to sling their hooks.’

Opening the front door, Sarah let the men out. She was fuming. How dare they say that of her Michael! Her temper was caused by the fact that she had a terrible suspicion that what they said was true. Slamming the door on them, she turned her anger on her son.

‘Well, don’t stand there like a gormless eejit! Go and get dressed and find Mickey!’

Placing Maura carefully on the floor, Geoffrey ran up the stairs. Maura followed her mother into the kitchen, curling up on one of the easy chairs by the fire.

‘Can I have a standing up egg, Mum?’

Sarah nodded. ‘Of course you can have a boiled egg if. that’s what you want.’

She filled the kettle, her mind racing. If Joe the Fish died then it would be a murder charge for somebody. But who? Michael? She pushed the thought from her head. Whatever she thought about her boys, there was one thing she knew: they were not murderers. They were just tearaways. High-spirited tearaways. Or, at least, she hoped that’s all they were. Putting the kettle on the gas, she went to her daughter and hugged her tightly. Joe was lying in the hospital bed. Nurse Walton looked’ down at his battered face. She shook her head and turned

to see the policeman by the bed grimacing at her. She blinked and sighed.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ Her voice sounded very young.

PC Blenkinsop pushed out his narrow chest and tried to look like an all-knowing, sophisticated officer.

‘You’d be surprised. It’s a wicked life out on the street these days. He might look like an old man who’s been run over a few times to you, but to me …’ he puffed his chest out even further ‘… he’s a vicious criminal.’

Nurse Walton looked suitably impressed. ‘Just wait until I tell my mum!’

PC Blenkinsop looked as if he was readjusting his shoulders inside his tunic top. He thrust out his chin and smiled. joe groaned and immediately had the attention of both of them. ‘Mickey … Mickey.’

PC Blenkinsop was writing down Joe’s words with a flourish of his pencil. Licking it, he waited expectantly.

Michael stood in the entrance to the ward. He had known that a policeman would be in attendance. Squaring his shoulders, he walked down the ward towards Joe’s bed. He could see the young PC and the nurse through the inadequate screens. Putting a sober expression on his face he went to the bed. PC Blenkinsop noted Nurse Walton’s reaction to Michael Ryan and it annoyed him. He thrust out his lip like a petulant schoolboy.

‘And who might you be?’ He stood up and seemed to roll on the balls of his feet. Michael gave him a scathing glance. He picked up Joe’s hand which was heavily bandaged. He turned to the nurse and smiled sadly at her.

‘How bad is he?’ His voice sounded wretched. Nurse

Walton stared into his dark blue eyes and was immediately filled with pity for him.

‘He’s very bad. The doctor says he’ll be surprised if he lasts out the day.’ If she had known Michael, she would have noticed the glimmer of relief that came into his eyes.

‘Has he said anything at all?’

The PC interrupted. ‘He has been calling for a …’ he glanced importantly at his notebook ‘… Mickey.’

Michael nodded. ‘That’s me.’

The young nurse brought Michael a chair and he sat beside Joe, holding the old man’s hand and stroking it every now and again. The PC watched him. So this was Michael Ryan. He couldn’t wait to get back to the station and brag about how he’d seen him.

The nurse brought Michael a cup of tea and he thanked her, giving her one of his radiant smiles. PC Blenkinsop could have cried. She didn’t even know he was there now.

Shortly before seven in the evening Joe opened his eyes and immediately recognised Michael. He passed his tongue over his cracked lips and tried to speak. Michael could see by the look in his eyes that he knew who had ordered his accident. Agitated, Joe tried to lift his head off the pillow.

‘Mickey … Mickey … you …’ Then his head fell back and he died.

Michael closed his eyes, a feeling of euphoria surging through him. He had got away with it! Then, as could happen with him, he felt a deep despondency, replace his feeling of elation. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over on to his cheeks. In his own funny way he would miss Joe who had been his passport into the real world. For that he would always be grateful to him. He would give Joe the Fish the best send-off anyone had ever seen.

PC Blenkinsop looked embarrassed. Later on in the

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station canteen he had everyone hanging on his words.

‘Yeah, I’m telling you. It was quite touching. Michael Ryan cried like a baby. Well, it was to be expected really. After all, the old boy died calling out his name.’

At Joe’s funeral a week later, the police noted that all the gang bosses stopped to pay their respects to Michael Ryan. He was well and truly established now. That, together with the fact that Joe had willed him everything he possessed, made Michael Ryan a very happy man.

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Chapter Five

1960

Sister Rosario looked at the pinched face of Maura Ryan and her heart went out to the child. She had noticed her being teased mercilessly all through the dinner hour, no doubt due to the fact that her brother Benjamin had been expelled the day before. The nun realised that now the child had no one to protect her, some of the other children were making up for lost time. She watched Margaret Lacey lean forward across her desk and pull hard on one of Maura Ryan’s long blonde plaits. Sister Rosario didn’t like Margaret Lacey. She didn’t like any of the Laceys, with their carroty red hair and green malicious eyes. And this Margaret Lacey was the most brazen strap of a child she had ever come across. The nun leapt from her seat, causing her chair to fly backwards. The noise brought thirty pairs of eyes to rest on her.

‘Margaret Lacey, come out here at once!’ Her voice reverberated around the classroom. Margaret, her face pale with fright, slowly edged her way from behind her desk and began to walk to the front of the class. Sister Rosario was without doubt the hardest nun in the school. No amount of tears could shake her. Margaret stood before her, trembling. Tapping a ruler across the palm of her hand, Sister Rosario stared at the child for a few seconds.

She knew from thirty years’ experience that bullies were a breed apart. Most were inherent cowards who picked only on people who they knew were frightened of them.

The nun’s countenance and dark brown close-set eyes challenged the child before her. ‘Did I see you pull Maura Ryan’s plait?’ Margaret’s big green eyes seemed to have taken possession of the whole of her face. Her tiny pink mouth was trembling. Already, tears were beginning to glisten in her eyes.

‘N … N … No, Miss … I mean, Sister.’

In her fright she had begun to stutter. This caused some of the other children to titter, quickly putting their hands over their mouths to stifle the sound.