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Alan's body was dragged to the doorway by a couple of Lenny's blokes. Unlike the Williams brothers, he was just being outed. In fairness he was a name in his own right and so he just needed to stop existing. The story was already being relayed everywhere that he had financed the Williams brothers to do the dirty on Brodie for his own ends. Lenny would come out of all this as the person who had avenged Pat's death and honoured the man by taking out his murderers. He would be the hero of the hour and he would also get the fucking lot for himself. A win-win situation for him.

'Tie their hands and feet, but strip them first, please.' Johnjo spoke to no one in particular, but his henchmen rushed to do as he asked. It didn't take long; the brothers put up a good fight but there were too many opponents. On the floor, with the dirty carpet scratching their bare skin and the stench of cigarettes and lager in their nostrils, the fight finally left them. Ricky looked up at Lenny and his cronies; he had already got Alan Palmer's firm safely on board and with the Williams brothers' departure he would be hailed as the fucking Messiah.

'You cunt, you fucking treacherous slag. Do your fucking worst; you can't even do the honours yourself, you fucking coward.'

Ricky was screaming out at Brewster; he was determined to go out with at least some kind of dignity and he wouldn't beg for his life off this scum. He had taken a chance and it had not worked out, simple as that. He wasn't about to fucking cry over it. They were already dead men, all four brothers; it was just a matter of seeing how long it took for them to die.

Lenny Brewster kicked him in the face and shouted down to him, 'Shut the fuck up, you ponce. You slaughtered Brodie in front of his family. How the fuck could you believe that such a fucking outrageous act, such a fucking shameful display, would be tolerated by anyone, would be seen by anybody as fucking acceptable behaviour? You stepped over the line, mate, and you are going to pay the price for your obscene act. Anyone with a family wants you lot dead; anyone with a scrap of decency wouldn't fucking countenance you in their company, you fucking scum.'

Johnjo had taken his shirt off and his muscular body was a reminder to the brothers of his strength, and his calmness was a reminder of his reputation as a cold and ruthless torturer.

Johnjo signalled for Lenny to move away from the men on the floor.

'Get back now. You don't want to be too close to these fecking eejits when I start me shenanigans.'

Everyone in the room laughed but there was an undercurrent of excitement as well. None of the men present had seen the Milligans at work before, but they had heard the stories about them. They had wondered at the truth of them sometimes as they were so extreme; even making allowances for natural exaggerations and the need to make a story interesting, the rumours had been outrageous.

Johnjo looked at Ricky with disgust and he swallowed down a large brandy before saying softly and sadly, 'You never touch children, boy, never do anything in front of them; it's the eleventh commandment. The slaughter of Pat Brodie, a good friend of mine, by the way, in front of his kids will ensure I take a greater pleasure than usual in my work tonight.'

Then he doused them in brandy, soaking their hair and skin. The others all sat down to watch the performance and Ricky and his brothers cursed them all to hell.

Then Ricky saw Johnjo's cousin, Toby, lighting a blowtorch and he felt the tears roll from his eyes. Within minutes he was doing the one thing he had not wanted to do; he was begging not for his life but for his brothers' deaths. He begged for them to be put out of their pain. But he was forced to watch them die slowly, screaming in agony, before the Milligans turned their attentions to him.

A month after Patrick's funeral, Lenny Brewster sent a message to Lil saying that he wanted to see her. She knew she had no choice but to do as he asked of her.

'How are you coping, Lil?' His voice was calm and had the right inflection of sorrow and the expression on his face was one of genuine sympathy.

Lil shrugged elegantly and Lenny noticed the hollows in her neck and the way her breasts were straining against the material of the dress she wore. Her hair was freshly washed and styled and her make-up was flawless. As Lil crossed her legs he felt the heat rise up inside him.

'I need money, Lenny, simple as that.'

He knew then that she was on to him, that she knew how he was feeling and was willing to go along with it if necessary.

He had made a point of making sure certain rumours had reached her ears, and had seen to it that no one offered her any help; he had assured the general populace that he was taking care of everything. Lil was at her wits' end and he knew it and he would use it against her to get what he wanted.

'I need a job and I need it soon. I used to run the clubs for Patrick and I was good at it. He
relied
on me as I am sure you know.'

Lil watched the changing expressions on Lenny's face and hated him with every ounce of her being but he had made sure she had no one and nowhere to turn to. He was the only game on the street and she knew she had to do whatever he wanted.

'Why would I want
you
working for me?'

He was belittling her and she swallowed down the urge to walk out on him, to tell him what she thought of him. But the boys needed shoes, the girls needed clothes and the new baby needed everything. She needed to put food on the table and pay her bills. No one, it seemed, was willing to help her and she knew that was because this man had made sure she was left hanging. Even Spider had abandoned her. Lenny was a hero for what he had done to the Williams brothers, but she knew he had an agenda and she now knew that she was a big part of that.

So Lil smiled her best smile and shrugged gently once more. 'Because I am good at what I do and I would be an asset.'

Lenny stood up from behind his desk and walked towards her casually; he was well-dressed as always but he was running to fat now and he had a paunch that was clearly evident, even in his bespoke suit.

Leaning on the edge of the desk, Lenny stood in front of her chair and grinned. 'How far are you willing to go though? How much energy would you be willing to put in, I mean, if I
were
to give you a job?'

Lil gritted her teeth and took a deep breath before answering him. 'As much as was needed, of course.'

Lenny grinned then. He had her and he knew it.

Unzipping his trousers, he pulled out his cock and massaged it until it was erect; he looked at her stricken face and knew he had to have her no matter what, by force if necessary.

Lenny stared into her eyes and Lil saw the want there, and the need, and she knew this was an act of violence inasmuch as it was designed to bring her down, and to break her spirit. Through her, Lenny wanted to shame Patrick. He needed to dominate her because he had never had the guts to take on her husband himself.

She smiled then and he saw the whiteness of her teeth against the red slash of her lipstick. Then she was guiding him into her mouth and he couldn't believe the heat of her tongue as it snaked around him. He felt her pull on his skin as she sucked him into her mouth and then she was moving her head quickly back and forth. Immediately, he felt the release and the satisfaction of ejaculating into her mouth and the shock as she swallowed his semen. She slowed down the movement of her head, sucking him lightly now, and making his orgasm last longer, bringing him back to earth with a gentleness that only made it all the more exhilarating.

Lil had blown more than his cock and he was left breathless, leaning against his desk for support. His trousers were still unbuttoned and his flaccid member wet and cold in the cool of the February evening. Lenny opened his eyes and looked down at himself. His clothes were in disarray and his cock was hanging out like a wrinkled gherkin. Shame washed over him. He had bucked his hips like a teenager, ramming himself into her mouth with an urgency he had forgotten existed. As she smiled up at him he saw that her lipstick was smudged and her eyes were colder than a witch's tits.

'You just got yourself a job, Lil.'

'Have I?'

'You can start in the Baron's Room on Monday.'

Lenny was busy putting himself away and tidying up.

'Will I use the same office as I always did? Has anything changed?'

He turned to face her once more. His legs still felt weak and he could feel the contempt for him in her voice and he hated her for the effect she had on him.

'You won't need an office, Lil, not for what you'll be doing anyway.'

She knew then that she had lowered herself for nothing. She swallowed back the anger and the hot tears of humiliation. Instead, she stood up and said, with as much dignity as she could muster, 'Then you can stick your job up your arse.'

She took a gulp of her brandy and, swilling it around her mouth noisily, she spat the lot back into the glass.

As she picked up her coat and started to put it on he felt the pull of her once more.

'Come on, Lil, can't you take a joke?'

She stared into his face once more and he saw the deep grey of her eyes and the fine bone structure that made her look like a sculpture and gave her the edge when men looked her way.

'I haven't had a lot to joke about lately, have I, if you remember rightly.'

He was on her then and as he kissed her he could taste his own semen mixed with the brandy and the urgency inside was once more overtaking everything else. This time he took her properly. He took his time with her; laid her on the leather sofa in his office, undressed her and aroused her in every way he knew until eventually she opened her legs for him with the same urgency and excitement as he was feeling himself. As she moaned with enjoyment he knew that he would never feel like this again about any woman. She was wet and hot; she wanted him all right. As Lenny gazed down at her, Lil knew she had him. She didn't know for how long but she knew that she had crossed the line and used the only thing she had going for her. How long it would last, she didn't know, and what would happen when he finished with her was anyone's guess, but she had the job she wanted. She had also found out that she could perform the sex act with him and even fake enjoyment in it as long she pretended he was her Patrick. As long as she closed her eyes and pretended to herself that it was Patrick touching and kissing her. Lil had fooled Lenny as she would fool many men in the years to come.

That night, as Lil lay in her cold bed, she prayed that the kids would be all right and that their life wouldn't be too hard from now on. Then she finally let go of the tears she had been holding back for so long.

Lenny Brewster was settled in as the new and improved overseer of the Smoke. He had taken out all the wild cards, and brought Spider in as his ally; south London was somewhere he knew he would have trouble controlling.

Lil started working in the club she had once owned and sleeping with a man who now owned her. The irony was not lost on any of them.

The seventies was the decade that saw the explosion of recreational drug use, the second generation of West Indians were now making their mark and the country was recovering from another recession and yet another ineffectual government. It was the era of punk rock and dole queues. It was the time for the new generation to make their mark and show their disdain for the shambles they had inherited from their parents.

Lenny Brewster and his ilk milked this for all it was worth. They made fortunes on the generation growing up and on the relaxing of most people's moral codes. It was boom-time in the criminal fraternities and everyone was happy with their lot.

For Lil Brodie and for her children, it heralded the end of her life as she knew it. The death of Patrick Brodie would shape his children's lives and not in the way he would have wanted.

Book Two

The fathers have eaten sour grapes, And the children's teeth are set on edge

- (Ezekiel 18:2)

'I don't want him,' said Rabbit. 'But it's always useful to know where a friend-and-relation is, whether you want him or whether you don't.'

- A. A. Milne, 1882-1956
(The House at Pooh Corner)

Chapter Nineteen

'Well, I am sorry you feel like that, Mrs Brodie, but your son is being expelled for fighting. If you can't see anything wrong with that kind of behaviour then this is a pointless conversation.'

Lily Brodie gritted her teeth in suppressed anger. 'My Shamus is not a hooligan, Mr Benton, and you know it. He's only ten and the boy he was fighting with is nearly fifteen.'

Mr Benton felt sorry for this woman. She was a handsome-looking piece, no man could fail to notice that much, and her life had been hard and so had her children's. She had produced two children in the last ten years and he was not relishing their arrival at his school in the future. The Brodie's were a byword for trouble in these parts and he was sick of them all.

'The boy Shamus was fighting with was trying to stop your son from bullying his little brother; the fact that Shamus hammered him speaks volumes. Shamus is a
big
lad, a
strong
lad and he is a lot of things, Mrs Brodie, but a victim is not one of them.'

'His eldest brother is home now and he'll watch out for him. After all, that's what older brothers do, isn't it, according to you?'

The man laughed then and the laugh was genuine.

'Oh well, that's all right then. His brother is home from prison at last and is going to put young Shamus on the straight and narrow. What a wonderful role model he'll make. This is Patrick you are talking about, the same Patrick who was the bane of my life.'