Close (42 page)

Ricky was laughing with everyone else but the avoidance of the friendly gesture was noted and filed away for future reference. He was annoyed to see his brothers laughing like drains as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard in their lives. That's how fucking stupid they were, they couldn't see an insult even when it was in front of their fucking faces.

He had his work cut out with this lot all right and with Palmer and all, by the looks of things. He saw his little bird staggering to the toilet and, winking at one of the regulars, he gave him a score and told him to cab her. She was not going to add anything to this meet and he was sick of her.

They all ordered drinks and settled down to talk, but Ricky was not a happy potato. In fact he was about a hair's breadth away from stabbing Alan through the heart just for the fucking fun of it. He had been blanked and he knew it. But he controlled the urge to retaliate and, smiling easily, he chatted as if he had no worries in the world.

Lil was still tired from the birth and the trauma of that day. Shamus had weighed in at nearly ten pounds and, as she had remarked to her mother, it brought tears to your eyes did childbirth. He was a good baby but she was still not sleeping, even when her mother took over for her. She still had times when she believed Patrick was alive, that she had dreamt his horrific murder. Seeing him buried though had put it into perspective for her, he was gone all right and she had to try to keep herself going for the sake of the kids if nothing else. The luxury of grieving was not an option for her, she had to keep her wits about her and try to salvage something to secure their futures. There had been twenty grand in the bank accounts but she knew that was not a lot with five kids and a mother to support.

As she let herself into her husband's scrapyard she hoped that no one came bowling in. She knew the place was used for a lot more than collecting old scrap. The dogs were running free as always; the two Dobermans knew her well and she petted them as she walked to the Portakabins that passed as offices. As she let herself inside, the animals lay down and waited for her.

Lil opened the safe without even turning on the lights; she didn't need anyone seeing the place lit up. She had opened the safe and counted out wages or taken cash out for sundries more than enough times and, as the heavy metal door swung open, she felt a glimmer of excitement at what she was doing.

'I'm stealing back our own money, Pat.'

She laughed as if he had been there to answer, to share the joke with her and appreciate the irony if nothing else. She was nicking back money that had been nicked in the first place; this was his cut from bank robberies, jewellery heists and wage snatches.

The safe was empty and she wasn't really surprised, it had been a long shot. She guessed it was one of the men who worked for him, feathering his own nest while he could. Pat's death must have put the wind up a lot of people, especially those who depended on him for their livelihood.

The tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. She was at her wits' end, she was going to need a lot of money to raise five kids.

She sat on the floor of the office. Cold and damp, it had the feel of the grave. She knew that nothing was ever going to be all right again. The tears were once more threatening, but she forced them back. There was plenty of time for crying in the future, now she needed to make sure her kids were taken care of.

Lenny Brewster was filled with his own self-importance; he had been like a youngster since the death of Patrick Brodie. A born-again wanker was how his enemies would describe him, though not to his face. Now, looking at the Williams brothers and Palmer, all waiting to greet him and ingratiate themselves into his life, he knew he was finally settled; he had taken what was rightfully his.

Ricky was all smiles, nodding to his brothers to make sure they understood the importance of the man before them. Lenny noticed the gesture and knew that the boy had at least a working knowledge of how things worked in their world.

Ricky was already clicking his fingers for the barmaid, making sure a fresh bottle of Courvoisier Brandy was opened and that the ashtrays and bar surface were cleaned. He knew the importance of respect and he respected the man who had just entered the bar like a conquering hero. Lenny Brewster was a legend, more so because he had always kept his head down and had never been a man to eliminate enemies without just cause. He had gathered an army around him and had never once trod on anyone's toes. He was a gentleman, and he was respected because of that.

Ricky saw Alan Palmer hold his arms out in much the same way he had himself; this time, though, the gesture was appreciated and returned with fervour. It galled him but he knew it was still early days for the Williams brothers; they had made a statement but now they had to prove they were consistent. That had always been their bugbear in the past; they never kept anything up. They had been given chances over and over again and they had always fucked up. So he understood the men's reticence, he would have been the same in their shoes, but it still galled him. He was now the family's facilitator and should be respected for that alone, especially after what they had achieved for the men they were now meeting with.

Lenny was all good-humoured laughter and his usual theatrical gestures. Alan Palmer, Ricky noticed, was nervous but then he had just hit the big time at last and that was something Ricky knew about. Palmer was already laughing at Lenny's jokes and as they raised their drinks in a salute, Ricky saw Lenny wink at Alan in a way that told him they had business between them already. He was confident that could only be good news for him and his brothers. As Ricky smiled and chatted he saw Tommy mutter something to Dave and Bernie. Then he pulled a wrap out of his pocket and, walking towards the men's toilets, he opened the paper package up and put his tongue in the contents to check its potency. He saw Lenny watching him and knew he was not making a good impression. Even though this was a safe bar, it was still not proper etiquette to blatantly advertise any kind of drug-taking when bosses were around. Unless they started the night off with it themselves and then it was different. This was a meet though and they should all be on top form; no one trusted the judgement of a speed freak or a cokehead. It was just common sense really and Ricky knew that Lenny was up for a lot of things, but not the Persian rugs. He expected it to be fed to his brasses; prostitutes needed the edge, everyone knew that. But he was not someone who partook of the Colombian marching gear himself. He was a drinker, pure and simple. Tommy had just made them all look like amateurs and he wished he had been more forceful when he had given his brothers their instructions on how they should behave. At times he felt like he was banging his head against a wall; this looked like amateur night on a council estate.

Alan smiled but he saw the entourage that had arrived with Lenny and he was surprised; there were five of them. He knew that Lenny was astute enough to always keep himself safe but all these goons for a friendly meet seemed like overkill and he suddenly felt intimidated. He knew Lenny was a fucking hard bastard and he also knew that
he
was outclassed and that it was probably his insecurity making him feel that way. But for his whole life he had relied on his instincts; any successful villain had to. It told them when they were sailing too close to the wind and when Lily Law was getting too close for comfort. It was a self-defence mechanism and his was going into overdrive for some reason. This didn't feel right; he felt like an outsider, like a spare part. Like he was nothing. Alan swallowed down his drink and tried to concentrate on the Williams brothers and the deal that he had made with Brewster. His earlier bravado was deserting him and he wished he had arrived with a full complement of minders; it would have made him feel a lot better.

The bar was slowly emptying and it was a while before anyone noticed that Ricky had gone to the toilet after Tommy and, after giving him a coating, had returned to the bar and found Lenny leaning in and talking to Palmer. It had suddenly occurred to Ricky that most of the clientele had gone. The only people left was a small crowd of men in the outer bar. They were large and they were all wearing sheepskins and they were talking quietly to each other. He knew they were tooled up but in this place that wasn't so unusual. Most people he knew had a baseball bat in their car, a gun in their house and a cosh of some description about their person. Knives and guns were an everyday item to these people but he knew that their heavy sheepskins were hiding the fact that they
were
tooled up. As Ricky walked back to the bar he knew in his heart what was coming.

Lenny watched Ricky as he approached and he smiled, then ordered another round of drinks. As Alan went to pick his drink up, Lenny shanked him quickly and neatly; he aimed for the liver and when Alan turned to face him, which was a natural reaction and expected, Lenny aimed once more, this time for the heart. Alan's minders watched it all without any kind of emotion.

Ricky saw Tommy, Bernie and Dave finally cop on to what the night was really about. Lenny smiled at him, a friendly and open smile that belied the psychotic personality it had always camouflaged.

'You must have known the score, Ricky? You and Palmer had to have known I couldn't trust any of you? You wiped out Brodie and as much as I appreciate that, you took a fucking diabolical liberty. People like
you,
scruffs and fucking numbskulls, taking it on yourselves to wipe out someone like Brodie? You didn't honestly think that would go unpunished surely?'

Lenny started to laugh then, a sarcastic laugh, a laugh full of derision and triumph. Ricky knew that they were finished and he also knew that this was not going to be a good hiding, no, a serious lesson was going to be taught here. The lesson was actually for the people who would hear about it, who would know that they had been lured to their deaths on a fucking muppets' bus pass. He was sorry then. Sorry for their mother; she had buried enough children. Sorry for himself and for his brothers.

The barmaid had disappeared and Ricky hadn't even noticed. The bar itself was well-decorated for the kind of establishment it was. The wall lights were throwing an eerie glow on Palmer's body and it was a second or two before they realised he was still alive. His breathing was ragged and loud, wet-sounding from the blood that was filling his lungs.

'Fucking hell, he has a strong constitution for a cunt.'

Everyone laughed and Ricky saw that the men from the outer bar were now walking through to join them, taking off their heavy coats and making themselves comfortable. As they rolled up their shirtsleeves he knew this was going to be a long night.

'Here, Johnjo, come and sort these out will you?'

The name was all that was needed to tell Ricky that they were going to be despatched with the maximum of pain and torture. Johnjo Milligan was a name that denoted terror; he was one of a family of Irish pikeys who had a legendary reputation. Few people had met them; they kept a low profile and spent most of their time on the fairgrounds. They were used for a number of jobs, but mainly for torture. Johnjo was a handsome individual with a lilting Dublin accent. He had a way with the ladies and a way with the police. They could never place him anywhere because he had a network of relatives all willing to swear blind that he was with them when it was necessary.

'What are you doing this for, Lenny? We fucking opened the door for you, we made this happen. You can't fucking do this…'

Lenny was smiling again. Ricky saw his brothers' faces; they were looking at him to rectify this situation, to make everything all right.

'I can do what I want, young Ricky. Thanks to you and your brothers I am the only sweet left in the shop. Now I have to make a show of my disgust.
Show
people that I can't let scum like you run riot and take the law into your own hands. I have to
show
my contempt for your actions and for Patrick's death, which, by the way, was a fucking liberty. I can't let people think they can do that to a fucking ganger and get away with it, can I?'

'I think the expression you are looking for is, to make an example.' Johnjo spoke with a quiet dignity that always put people off their guard on first encountering him. He was a huge man with thick black hair and a white-toothed smile that always caught ladies' eyes. But he had a quirk in his nature, he had no feelings for anyone outside his close-knit family circle. He would wound anyone for cash and it had made him a force in his own right. He never worried about any comebacks, there were too many Milligans about for that and they were all like him: loyal and easily insulted.

The Milligans were fighters, bare-knuckle and extreme. Johnjo had been an extreme champion since he was fifteen years old. He had fought all over the world and earned a fortune. Extreme fights meant the opponents could use anything they wanted to win the bout. From biting and scratching to using the stools they were supposed to sit on between rounds. Johnjo was a one-off and his talents had been useful over the years; he was called in when a point needed to be made. It wasn't only his violence, it was his penchant for torturing his victims that was required, and the exorbitant price he charged for these services was what made people widen their eyes with respect. If you used Johnjo Milligan you meant fucking business, and no one in their right mind wanted him towering over them with a pair of pliers or a soldering iron.

'Now, Mr Brewster, Mr Palmer is still on the oxygen; would you like to do the honours or shall I?'

Lenny nodded, as always impressed with Johnjo's understatement of the facts and his quiet way of talking that was totally out of place considering the circumstances around him.

Alan was moaning in pain but his open eyes told the men around him that he was more than aware of what was happening. Lenny walked over to the snooker table and picked up a cue. It took five good blows to Alan's head before everyone was satisfied he was dead.