Faces (19 page)

Picking up his drink, he downed it quickly then, pouring another one, he took the glass over to Michael, who was still heaving. ‘Drink this, you fucking tart.’

Jeremy was quieter now, the excruciating pain, and the realisation of what was actually going to happen had finally hit him. He was squirming in his own blood, and aware that he really was in trouble. He knew now that Danny Boy Cadogan was that rare breed of man, a sadist who actually enjoyed this kind of job. A man who enjoyed inflicting pain on people and was willing to do whatever was necessary to make sure that he had answers to any questions he deemed important.

Michael swallowed the whisky in two gulps. The sweat was pouring off him, Danny could smell it, even though the stink of blood was heavy in the air. He could also smell victory, knew that Jeremy was going to tell him whatever he wanted to know.

He walked Michael to an old typist’s chair and made him sit down, fussing over him tenderly. Michael was staring at the remains of a perfectly good eyeball and feeling the nausea once more.

‘You all right, mate?’

Michael nodded eventually, his belly still determined to empty itself of its contents.

‘You’re so chicken-hearted, the bloke’s a fucking grass for fuck’s sake.’ Winking gaily, he went back to where Jeremy was groaning in agony and knelt beside him once more.

Jeremy was babbling incoherently, trying to release himself from his bonds. He was delirious with pain and nearly insane with the knowledge that this boy wasn’t going to talk of his death with respect, he would joke about it, enjoy his final moments by making him beg for an end to the torture. He was beaten, and he knew it.

Listening intently, Danny finally learned what he wanted to know. ‘See, you know it makes sense.’

Then, smiling happily, he proceeded to torture Jeremy anyway, watching the way his body writhed in agony, studying the terror in his face, listening intently to the guttural groans he forced out when actual speech became impossible. Danny Boy was fascinated by this death. He knew he was going to see, up close and personal, someone leave this earth, leave not only all they knew, but also everyone they knew, behind them. He felt the power of his position, of knowing this man’s life was his to give back or to take away. Eventually he became bored with his games, and fed up with Michael’s pleas for him to stop what he was doing, and he finished the man off once and for all.

It was a learning curve all right, but the recipient of the lesson wasn’t the dead man on the filthy floor, it was Michael. He knew this was the first of many such nights, and he also knew that Danny could never let him walk away now. He was as much a part of this event as Danny was, because he had allowed it to happen in the first place. As he emptied his stomach once more, Danny’s laughter at his friend’s obvious weakness rang in his ears.

‘Get a fucking grip, Mike, the cunt was a grass, he had this fucking coming.’

Danny Boy lit a cigarette and poured himself another drink. His hands were thick with dried blood and, toking deeply on his Embassy, he said gaily, ‘Did you see Caroline Benson’s tits tonight? She is definitely on my to-do list.’

Michael didn’t answer him, he didn’t know what to say.

‘No one will ever find him, Mr Mangan.’

Lawrence nodded almost imperceptibly, pleased with the boy’s respectful demeanour and the aura of someone who knew they had done a blinding job.

‘Well done, son. Now I know what the treacherous cunt told the Filth, I can get it sorted.’

Danny didn’t say any more. He knew when to keep his trap shut.

Mangan had seen the body before they had disposed of it, and he appreciated the fact that Danny Boy had washed and scrubbed himself up before making an appearance before him to get his well-earned lump of wedge. He didn’t insult the boy by reiterating how important it was that what he had done was not to be talked about,
ever
. He knew that wouldn’t be an issue. Once he was on the firm, people would put two and two together anyway. But wondering and knowing about something were two completely different things.

Filth would be placated as usual, with money, and the opportunity to pander to whatever vices they might favour, whether that was gambling or women. It was a pointless exercise for them now; without Jeremy and his testimony they were fucked. It was now a damage limitation exercise all round. But Mangan would never be mentioned personally, no matter what.

Lawrence threw a large brown envelope across the desk and Danny Boy Cadogan marvelled at the thickness of it, and knew that one day this would be him. He was determined that Lawrence would be his equal, not his employer.

‘There’s twenty grand in there: ten for your wages, and ten as a retainer. You work for me now, son. But you keep that to yourself for a while. I will pay you every six weeks, and when I need you again I’ll be in touch, all right?’

Danny nodded and picked up the envelope. He placed it inside his overcoat without opening it. ‘Thank you, Mr Mangan. Sir.’ He spoke with the respect he knew the man’s reputation demanded.

Lawrence watched him leave, saw the strength of him, the solidity of his young muscles and the viciousness of his personality. Danny Boy Cadogan would be an asset all right. He had the ability to do what was requested without the urge to discuss it at length. This kid had, after all, taken on the Murrays and crippled his own father. He knew how to play the game all right.

Hearing him leave the premises, Lawrence Mangan walked casually through to his other office. Then he looked at his old friend and said happily, ‘You put me wise there, Lou, the boy’s a card all right. A hard little fucker.’

Louie shrugged nonchalantly. ‘He’s a good kid, but take my advice and keep him in check. You saw the condition of Jeremy when he’d finished with him. If I know Danny Boy he enjoyed every second of it. He’s like a vicious dog; keep him fed and watered and he’ll be all right. Starve him or aggravate him, and you’ll have trouble on your hands.’ Louie was sad as he spoke, remembering the young lad who had first come to work for him at the scrapyard. That lad was gone now, and he would never come back. That was the downside of the world they lived in, and Danny Boy Cadogan, thanks to the man who had sired him, now fitted into that world perfectly.

Chapter Nine

Michael opened his eyes to the bright daylight and, feeling the burn, he closed them again. He felt the afternoon all around him; knew, without looking at the clock ticking loudly beside him, that it was at least four or five. The day was already gone.

The girl stirred, and it alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. Squinting, he opened his eyes once more and sought her out, saw that she was curled up in a ball, her tight body touching his. He was relieved to find that he didn’t know her from Adam. She had long blond hair and a baby face: from what he could see she had slim shoulders and good legs. He racked his brains trying to remember something, anything, about her. He couldn’t.

He slipped from the bed quietly and unobtrusively and consoled himself with the fact that he wasn’t in his own home so he could maybe fuck off before the usual talking started. Birds amazed him at times. They fucked you, a complete stranger, then expected you to treat them like visiting royalty. He loathed them all.

As he pulled on his clothes he glanced at her again. She was a nice-looking little thing, a bit flat-chested for his liking, but definitely not a barker, and he had woken up with more than a few of them. Right sights some of them: dogs in fact. Then, to add insult to injury, they had been under the mistaken apprehension that, because he had fucked them, they had some kind of rights over him. It was embarrassing, sometimes they even approached him in public, all chewing gum and mascara, their over-familiarity making them the enemy before they had even opened their traps. This had to stop, it was becoming a fucking joke. As he slipped his feet into his loafers he noticed, with a sinking heart, that she was now wide awake and watching him.

‘You going, then?’

It was a question, no more, no less. He nodded, determined not to get into any kind of discussion with her unless absolutely necessary.

‘OK, will I see you later on?’

She was cute in a young girl-next-door turned slag kind of way: her whole body now tensed up with regret. He realised that she was as much in the dark as he was about the previous night’s events.

‘I’ll ring you later.’

She laughed. Then, sitting up, she stretched languidly, her taut young body on full display, suddenly making him sorry to be leaving her so soon, before saying innocently, ‘I ain’t got a phone, mate, but leave
your
number and we’ll see, eh?’

He nodded, all the while wondering where he was, and how he had got here in the first place. It smelled like south London, why that was, he didn’t know, but it was the impression he got from the surroundings.

He was halfway down the narrow stairs before he realised that he was in some kind of squat, and nearly at the front door before he noticed Danny Boy leaning against the door jamb that led into the front room of the house, his usual grin on his face.

‘You all right, Mike? I was worried she had fucked you to death.’

He still looked tidy, he still looked fresh. Michael envied him his ability to snort amphetamines all night before drinking himself sober, all the while looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

‘I feel like shit, Dan.’

Danny grinned then, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Mike, but I sort of worked that one out for meself.’

He motioned for him to follow him through to the kitchen, and Michael knew he had no choice but to do as requested. The front room was empty except for a dark-haired girl who was asleep on the floor. She was still wasted, but her long black hair struck a chord in his mind. He stepped over her prostrate form, and walked into the tiny kitchenette. The stench of rubbish and unwashed bodies assailed his nostrils and he placed a hand over his mouth to stop himself throwing up. ‘What a shithole.’

Danny was still grinning as he opened the back door and walked out onto the scrap of concrete that masqueraded as a garden. There was an old sofa out there that had seen far better days, but it was available and looked comfortable enough, so they sat on it together. The sounds and smells of a usual Sunday afternoon were all around them. Radios blared and the aroma of roast meats filled the heavy afternoon air with promise. Suddenly they were both ravenous.

‘You were out of your nut last night, do you remember anything?’

Michael shook his head slowly. ‘Not really, no. Is the car outside?’

‘It better be, there’s thirty grand in the boot.’

Danny was laughing once more and Michael closed his eyes as the memory of the night before’s events filtered into his consciousness. Placing his head in his hands, Michael groaned loudly. ‘We didn’t, did we? Oh fuck, Dan, tell me we didn’t!’

Danny was roaring with laughter now, and his laughter was infectious, making Michael laugh with him. ‘Lawrence is going to kill us, Dan.’

‘No he ain’t, he asked us to do something and we did it. The money is in the car, the debt has been settled and we have bunced ourselves in the process. Everyone’s a winner.’

‘But thirty grand . . .’

Danny was deadly serious now, his laughing demeanour gone. ‘We earned that money, fair and square, and no one will deny us a bit of spare cash. It was there and we took it. End of.’

Michael knew that his friend was talking the truth. They had collected a gambling debt for Lawrence, a usual occurrence these days, and the man they had been sent to shake down had been fortunate enough to have finally experienced a big win that afternoon. In fact, he had more than enough to pay what he owed, and set him up for future losses. They had taken Lawrence’s money first, as was to be expected. Then they had decided to remove the rest of the man’s winnings as an example. At least, that’s what they had told each other anyway. High as kites, they had robbed him really; they had even used a gun. But they had seen his stash and decided that they were entitled to a percentage of it to compensate them for all the trouble they had gone to chasing the slippery fucker all over the Smoke.

The man, Jimmy Powell, who had a rep as someone who did not make friends easily, had made the hiding they were to have delivered for his tardiness somehow turn into a vicious beating, not only because they had decided that they wanted his money, but because he had laughed at them and fucked them off. He had made the fatal mistake of not taking them seriously as now he had the poke to pay them off, he had thought he was home and dry. More fool him.

It had been a robbery all right, but it was also an easy earner. They felt that they had only exploited an opportunity that had presented itself to them, now where was the harm in that? They weren’t the first, and they certainly wouldn’t be the last men to take advantage of a chance to line their pockets and settle a score at the same time. And the man in question wasn’t really in a position to complain, was he? After all, he was the reason they were there in the first place. The fact that he had a few quid extra on his big day was his bad luck. Fifteen grand was not to be sneezed at, and the man was a lying piece of shit who had happily given them the run around for weeks. They felt they had earned the extra bunce for their dedication to their job; and the simple fact he had tried to mug them off. But they both knew that this went much deeper than that, that this was really about Danny Boy letting Lawrence know they were not happy with the situation any more. He was using them as gofers, and making it a point to remind them of that fact at every available opportunity. He made the mistake of thinking that a few quid in their bins would guarantee their loyalty.

They were testing him,
they
knew that and, more to the point, they knew that
he
knew that. In the last few years he had used them for many a dirty job and they had obliged, willingly. But, at twenty, they were real men and they wanted more than he was offering. Money was easily obtained, it was something they both had the knack of gathering. Danny was champing at the bit though, wanted free rein to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Michael had a feeling he would get that and, as usual, he would be dragged along for the ride. This wasn’t the first time they had stepped over the unwritten line, and it would not be the last. It was, though, the first time they had taken a large amount of cash on the side; this was serious money, gangster money.