Faces (56 page)

Arnold was a big lad, and he had his creds; he also had Danny Cadogan’s sister in his bed, and given her his children. As far as he was concerned, he had done his bit for humanity. He also had a network of people that he trusted and, when he had jumped on the Cadogan band wagon, they had all come along with him for the ride. Now they had given him some very interesting information and he wanted, in fact needed, to know the truth of it. He trusted Michael more than he had ever trusted any white man before. They were soulmates in many respects. They had built a good relationship up over the years and they had often ganged up on Danny Boy, without him knowing about it, to talk him out of some of his more foolish acts of violence. So he was not frightened to pass this bit of information on. He knew Michael would need to know the truth of it as much as he did, if not more. After all, he had far more to lose if it all came on top.

The fact that Michael had not said anything for a few moments told Arnold that Michael just might think there was a grain of truth in the accusation. He hoped he was wrong, but he had a bad feeling about it all. This was too outrageous to be a lie. The fact it was so unbelievable was what made it so believable to him.

‘Not Danny Boy. Come on, Arnold, who told you all this?’

Arnold sighed heavily. His dreadlocks were longer and thicker than ever and his deep brown eyes were full of intelligence and concern. His whole demeanour was screaming for some kind of affirmation or rejection. Either way, he needed to know the truth.

‘David Grey is still his contact, by all accounts and, even after his run in with Danny Boy before, he is still on his payroll, still his go-between, and now he wants shot. He can’t do it any more. According to him, Danny has wiped out all his competition by grassing them up, and he has done it so fucking cleverly no one is any the wiser. He makes sure they are well out of his jurisdiction before they even get a hint of capture. He sells them down the river in advance. So he is well out of the frame when it finally goes down. His information guarantees him a fucking blank sheet; he could fucking kill the lot of us, and the Filth would not even dream of accusing him of anything. I mean, think about it, Grey has nothing to
gain
by telling me, has he?’

Michael was listening intently, and the words were penetrating his skull like six-inch nails, but he couldn’t let himself believe them. Could not let himself even wonder about them. It was an outrageous accusation. An accusation that could get them killed, especially if the wrong people were to hear about it.

He shook his head with a finality that brooked no argument to the contrary. ‘No way, mate, that’s fucking bollocks. Grey is a fucking liar, and I don’t want to hear any more about this, OK. You know, as well as I do, the Filth are probably trying to get to you. The lying, filthy, slippery bastards that they are. If Danny Boy even suspected you had talked to that cunt, he would out you without a fucking second’s thought and he’d be within his rights. You are married to his fucking sister, you have a fucking good earn on his name, and you have the nerve to come in here and say things like that to me?’ Arnold felt the cold hand of fear at Michael’s words. He had not expected a knock back, that was for sure; he had assumed Michael would have been of the same frame of mind as he was. Now Michael sounded so angry that Arnold wondered at his belief in their so-called friendship. He remembered that Danny Boy and Michael had been friends since they were little kids, and understood then that he would always be an outsider. He had been had over by a Filth, and he couldn’t believe he had fallen for it. He had believed it all as verbatim,
still
believed it, if the truth be told. But that was neither here nor there now, he had to try and make amends. He had to convince Michael he was sorry for what he had said, that he saw the error of his ways. That was all he could do to try to limit the damage this outspoken gossiping had caused him. And he had to pray that Michael didn’t repeat his accusations to Danny Boy himself. If he did, Annie would find herself a widow and his kids would be fatherless. He had misjudged Michael Miles; he had really believed they were mates, had thought they were close enough for him to talk frankly about his concerns. How fucking wrong could he be? He could be a dead man within hours over this.

‘Look, Michael, forget it . . . I was just paranoid, talking fuck-talk.’

Michael waved a hand in front of his face in anger. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll not tell anyone anything about this, and if I was you, I wouldn’t either. But you ever accuse Danny Boy of anything like that again, and I will have to take you out meself. Do you get my fucking drift?’

Arnold nodded his huge head, and wished once more that he had kept his big trap shut. When Michael motioned for him to leave the room, to get out of his sight, he left as quickly as he could. He was terrified at what he might have inadvertently caused.

Michael sat in the chair quietly, digesting slowly and carefully what Arnold had just told him. He knew in his heart that it was probably true; he had half-wondered at something like this many times over the years, but he could never allow himself to express the thoughts out loud.

Michael had first suspected Danny Boy of skulduggery concerning Old Bill many years before, when he had accused old Louie Stein of grassing. He had hated himself for the thought, even though the rumour was that Danny Boy’s father had served people up on occasion. Nothing had ever been proved about anything though, so he had let it go. But it had returned with a vengeance when Danny had insisted on taking out Frankie Cotton. Frankie was someone who would be missed. Who should have been off-limits. Danny Boy’s hatred of him had been without any kind of foundation; it was completely devoid of any logic. Danny Boy saw him as a threat. In more ways than one. He had then removed him with his usual violence, amid rumours of his alleged grassing. Rumours that seemed to be true, seemed to have some foundations.

But Danny Boy had not been worried at all about the consequences of his actions where Cotton was concerned. Michael had felt a niggling doubt at the time, had even tried to talk Danny out of it. But it was already a done deal. He had forced the treacherous thoughts from his mind, telling himself that he was out of order to think those thoughts about his friend. But the real suspicion had been when Danny Boy had managed to get his hands on his own father’s signed statements to the police. Not copies, the originals. And, for all his talk of their having an in with the Filth, he knew deep inside that Big Danny Cadogan would have gone to the top with his information. That it had to have been intercepted in some way. The statement had been given, it had been witnessed and signed. No one could retrieve something like that, not once it had gone that far. It would have been taped, it would have been photocopied, no one could have retrieved it without offering something in return.

Either that or Danny Boy Cadogan had been set up somehow. Not a chance in hell. Big Danny Cadogan had gone to the Filth all right, only he had not realised at the time that his son was already a supergrass in the making.

Grey had been given a hammering, but that had only guaranteed his place as Danny Boy’s gofer. Now it seemed to him that Grey could have inadvertently become part of the set-up, and that, like himself, he had not realised it until it was too late. Danny Boy would have offered Grey up on a plate. A bent Filth was not something the Met would really concern themselves with; if they nicked every copper who was on the rob there would be hardly any police presence on the streets at all.

Michael felt sick with apprehension. If what he was thinking was actually true, then where the fuck did that leave him? If this was feasible then Danny Boy had to have served him up as well. He was his fucking partner, the so-called brains of the outfit. Was he next on the list? When Danny Boy felt he had served his purpose, would he be the victim of a capture? Was he living on borrowed time?

He knew Arnold thought it was true, but he was not about to commit himself to anyone, no matter how much he liked them. He had to box clever with this information. He had to get to the bottom of it, then extricate himself as best he could. But he still could not believe that Danny Boy was capable of grassing. He couldn’t get his head round it, couldn’t admit that it was a possibility. Michael closed his eyes tightly and felt the familiar pounding in the back of his head heralding the beginning of one of the migraines that had plagued him over the years.

 

‘Thanks, Carole, I appreciate this.’ Carole hugged the old woman affectionately. Unlike most of the others, she didn’t have a problem with Ange, she really liked her.

‘Come on, mate, I’ll walk you to your door.’ She held onto Ange’s arm lightly and walked her up the pathway to her front door. The house was lit up, and she breathed a sigh of relief, normally she had trouble getting the key in the lock because of the darkness.

As they got to the front step the door was opened by Danny Boy. ‘Hello, Mum. I was getting worried about you, thought you might be out on the pull.’

Ange smiled happily at her son’s friendly words.

He helped her inside and said gaily, ‘Stick the kettle on, Muvver.’

 

Then, smiling at Carole, he said, ‘Staying for a cup?’

She shook her head quickly, waving her hands in a gesture of annoyance. ‘I better get back, Michael has another migraine. Poor sod, they really knock him for six.’

Danny Boy nodded with mock sympathy. ‘The poor little soldier.’

Carole laughed as she walked down the drive towards her car. He waved theatrically at her before shutting the door loudly. Then, going to the kitchen, he sat at the table and lit himself a cigarette. Ange knew he was agitated and, as she made the tea, she watched him surreptitiously. He was smoking in short, sharp puffs, his angry face screwed up in concentration. His obvious annoyance was threatening to spill over and he barked at her, ‘What’s all this about you looking after the girls while my wife went out? And don’t fucking deny it, Mother, Lainey told me. I was in Spain, knocking me fucking pound out to earn a few quid, and my old woman was on the out. And, to add insult to injury, me own mother was babysitting for her.’

He stood up then and Ange shrank back from him, her fear of him overriding her naturally argumentative nature. He had not only bowed his poor wife down, but he had bowed her down as well. She was terrified of him and that knowledge saddened her. She loved him, but she also resented the hold he had on their lives. He moved away from her, and she guessed her fear had made him ashamed. So, pouring the tea, she said, without looking at him, ‘She only went to Carole’s, they had a chinwag. I was happy enough to watch the girls. What is wrong with that, may I ask?’ She sounded like her old self, had the question in her voice, coupled with her complete disregard for whatever answer she might be given. As she stirred his tea, she felt the force of his silence. So, taking her courage in both hands, she looked in his direction and, smiling at her eldest child she said jovially, ‘Carole was lonely without your man, and I encouraged Mary to go round there for a few hours. Get out of that house for a while.’

Danny Boy was wrong-footed now and he knew it. That his mother would take Mary’s side over his was a revelation to him.

‘Ask young Carole if you don’t believe me.’

Danny still didn’t say a word to her, just stared at her as if wondering what to do to her.

Ange was fed up with all this and, swallowing her fear, she said quietly, ‘You are your father’s son, all right. He had the jealousy in him as well.’

Danny Boy sat back in the chair then and said sarcastically, ‘Oh, did he? Was that before or after he spunked up all his money on drink and gambling? After, I bet. When he was
drunk
. Let’s face it, sober, he fucking hated you, didn’t he? I mean, this was the man who threw all our lives away on a game of cards. Who caused me to go out grafting before I had even left school. But, if I am like him, how come my kids ain’t fucking starving like we always were? How come you live in this nice house with the bills paid and a fridge full of grub? How come I ain’t pissed up all the time, so as I can conveniently forget I have a family? Answer me that, Mother.’

She didn’t say a word, and he knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t: the truth hurt, as he knew it would. As he had wanted it to.

‘And, while we’re on the subject, Mum, if he was so jealous, why did you have him back all those times? Even after he had fucking dumped us again and left me with the Murrays and the threat of his fucking gambling debt hanging over my head? My head, not his.
Mine
. He was shacked up with some old sort, it was
me
who had to fucking grow up overnight and scrump you a fucking wage. So, come on, I really want to know the answer to that one, Mum. It’s a real melon scratcher as far as I am concerned. So, enlighten me, and then you can answer my original question. Who said you could look after my girls while my wife went out on the piss? Because that is what she would have been doing, and we both know that, don’t we?’ He was on his dignity now, and his mother wondered at how she had ever thought this man, standing so arrogantly before her, could have been the apple of her eye.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Annie knew that something was wrong, she just wasn’t sure what it was. Arnold was like a cat on hot bricks and Michael seemed too quiet somehow. Danny Boy was full of his usual conceitedness, and just seemed to her even more strange than he usually did. For example, he kept asking her if she had ever babysat his girls while poor Mary went out, and if she knew whether their mother had stayed out, had left them overnight. It was like a mission with him, as if the only thing that would stop him asking was when he was told that his questions or, more to the point, his accusations, were true.

She had even sworn on the kids’ lives, and he had raised one eyebrow slowly and said quietly, ‘Never swear your kids lives away, Annie. Only a fucking whore would do something like that.’ He had no interest in the truth, and they both knew that.