Get Even (8 page)

Lenny Scott Junior was born at eleven fifteen at night; he weighed nine pounds and had the look of a mini sumo wrestler. Lenny Scott was overwhelmed with the feeling of love as he held his son in his arms for the first time.

His Sharon had just got on with it, like she did everything else in her life, with hardly a word out of her. As he had watched her push his son into the world, he had been genuinely amazed at the power of women. Seeing his son’s head emerge, he had finally understood the strength of the female sex. There was no fucking way on earth a man could have lived through something like that. It was brutal, it was violent and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed in his whole life. His Sharon was stronger than most men he knew. She had shat his son into the world and acted like it was nothing. He was so proud of her. Seeing her like than, so brave, with her legs in stirrups and his son appearing amidst the blood and the gore – his heart had burst with love and pride.

‘He is fucking beautiful, Shaz. You did a real good job, girl.’

Sharon Scott laughed at her husband’s words. It had been painful but she was amazed at just how easy it had been. According to her mother it was the most traumatic thing a woman could ever experience. She had enjoyed it in a funny sort of way. Childbirth was a means to an end, and what an end! She had a fine, handsome son. It had been worth every second of her labour, especially seeing her husband’s absolute amazement at the child they had created. This was one of the best days of her life. They were here, they were together and, most importantly, they were finally a real family.

Sharon Scott had never felt so valued, so needed in her whole life. It was as if she had lived every moment for this, for this child and for the chance to make a family for herself. This is what she had dreamed of since she was thirteen years old. Since she had fallen in love with Lenny, all she had wanted was their baby, their own child. Now they had him. Leonard Derek Scott. She had had trouble talking her husband out of calling him Leonard Scott the Third. Imagine the shit that would have brought him at school! But she laughed at her husband’s obvious pride in his son and heir, as he kept referring to him.

The grandparents were also doting, as they should be, of course. After all, he was the first grandchild on both sides.

Ivy was overwhelmed with the love she felt for the tiny scrap of humanity her daughter placed into her arms. Never having had a son, she was shocked at the rush of love he engendered inside her.

But it was watching Lenny with his son that really warmed everyone’s hearts. He was absolutely besotted with the child, even getting up with Sharon while she breastfed the boy, making her cocoa and tea and watching in amazement as she nourished their son.

‘I never imagined, Sharon, how fucking fantastic nature is really. I can’t get over seeing him attached to you like that, and I don’t even feel jealous!’

She laughed with him, pleased that he was so interested in the baby and still so in love with her. She felt blessed. If anything, this child had brought them even closer together.

Jack Johnson was giving Lenny more and more responsibility, and Lenny was rising to the challenge. It was as if becoming a parent had made him grow up even faster. He had the look of a man now, a grown-up, fully fledged male. He was getting bigger as well, filling out even more, if that was possible. Jack saw the way the women looked at him, but he had never seen the lad once take the bait. Sharon was a lovely little thing, but if he were Lenny’s age he would be off with anything remotely pretty with a pulse. That was Jack though – Lenny was obviously a much better man than him. Or a complete cunt; it depended how you looked on it really. Jack was a man who thought that youth and opportunity went hand in hand. As his old mum used to say, one day you would be old for the rest of your life – many a true word and all that.

As he looked at young Lenny, he felt a moment’s envy for the boy’s youth and happiness. Everything was possible when you were his age – the world was your oyster and the years were still passing slowly.

‘You know that you’re going to be given a piss-up for your birthday, don’t you?’

Lenny nodded and smiled. He had large, white, strong teeth, and when he grinned he looked like a model in a toothpaste advert.

‘I know. I hope it ain’t a late one. I like to help with the baby. You want to see him, Jack. Bigger every day. He’s smiling as well now – and it ain’t just wind!’

Jack laughed. ‘You’re getting a right fucking Mary Ann!’

Lenny grinned. ‘I can’t help it. He fascinates me.’

Jack raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘So it would seem!’

Lenny got the message that it was time to talk about other things than his boy.

‘Anyway, I’ll be there and I’m going to put a few quid behind the bar. Do the fellas good to have a night out with no women to tie them down and, as it’s Sunday the next day, they can all sleep in.’

Lenny nodded. He wasn’t really looking forward to it if he was honest. He wasn’t happy about leaving Sharon and his newborn son. But then she had her mum who was never off the doorstep and if Jack wanted to give him a birthday night out with the men, he couldn’t refuse it. Plus, Jack was right – the lads deserved a night out occasionally, and this would cement his place as head of the firm, after Jack. His quick mind combined with his sheer size was something only a few of the men possessed. His accuracy with mathematics and fractions was something most of the workforce now depended on him for. He knew how lucky he was, and he was not going to nause it up.

He would have a great night; after all, it was his birthday.

They busied themselves sorting out the money paid, and the problem payers who might need a bit of an incentive. They sent round different men for different problems. But there was one family that was starting to get on Jack’s tits, and he wanted young Lenny to pay them a call personally. He had had enough shilly-shallying; they were taking the fucking piss now. Lenny assured him he would sort it on his way home. Jack smiled happily. That was exactly what he wanted to hear.

The Dornans were one of those families that seemed never-ending. There were Dornans all over the show; they were numerous, and they were troublesome – especially the ones who still lived with their mother.

Jane Dornan was a big, blowsy blonde, with a constant cigarette hanging from her mouth and the manners of an Irish navvy. No one really liked her on the estate, but everyone was wary of her and her extended brood of children. Janey, as she was known, kept a filthy home that was jam-packed with all the latest gadgets, and her children were dressed in designer clothes, all obtained thanks to thievery and loans. Janey’s children were what the police called a ‘one family crime wave’. If the older ones weren’t drug dealing or on the rob, it was the younger ones terrorising people and generally wrecking anything they came into contact with.

Lenny and Sharon lived on the same estate as them, although they were on the other side, so the Dornans were not too much of a nuisance. Plus everyone knew who Lenny was and who he worked for, so he and his were automatically given a swerve. Even so, Lenny Scott was no fool, and he had asked one of the younger lads, Cyril Brock, to accompany him on the visit. The eldest son, Reggie Dornan, was twenty-five, and had a rep to be wary of. He had just come out after doing a three for malicious wounding. Lenny parked the car outside the council house and sighed in annoyance. These were actually nice houses. Built after the war, they were spacious and had good-sized gardens. Most of the homes were well kept, but the Dornans’ place looked like an abortion. The windows were wide open, with loud music blaring out into the early-evening twilight. There was rubbish piled up out the front, and two ferocious-looking dogs barked over the dilapidated fence. Lenny remembered what his nan used to say: people make slums not houses. She knew what she was talking about all right.

‘What a dump, eh, Len? It’s like something from a documentary.’

Lenny laughed at the truth of Cyril’s statement. ‘Let’s hope Old Mother Dornan is dressed today. Usually she’s got half her business hanging out, and that is not a pretty sight!’

They got out of the car and stood on the pavement, surveying the dogs warily. Lenny hated people who used animals for intimidation. These were German Shepherd crossbreeds and were fine-looking animals. Going to the boot of the car, he took out a small stun gun which looked like a torch. All you did was pull off the top where the light was supposed to be and you were left with a perfectly reasonable-looking but dangerous weapon. He set it to high, and took both the dogs down in seconds. Their screeches of dismay were loud enough to bring the music to a stop and the Dornan family out of the front door mob-handed. Lenny was pleased to see a young girl rush to comfort the dogs. At least one of the family seemed to have their priorities right.

‘What the fuck you doing?’ This was from a dark-haired boy of about eight years old with a pierced ear and a New Romantics haircut.

Janey was watching warily; she recognised Lenny Scott and she wasn’t about to queer her own pitch until she had to.

Her eldest son pushed her out of the way and, cuffing his little brother hard around the head, he yelled, ‘What have I told you about keeping your big fucking trap shut?’ He looked at Lenny and his worker and nodded respectfully. ‘Can I help you, Lenny?’

Lenny smiled that charming wide smile that made him look so amenable and handsome.

‘I hope so, mate. Reggie, ain’t it?’

The man nodded. He was big, this Reggie, and he had obviously been working out in the nick. He was dark-haired and brown-eyed, good-looking in a gypsy-type of way. Lenny imagined the women loved him; he had the look of a rogue, and a lovable one at that.

‘It’s you I need to talk to really, Janey. You are into us for over seven grand, and Mr Johnson likes regular payments, see? Now he has asked me to politely request said payments.’

Janey felt sick to the pit of her stomach. She knew her Reggie would hit the roof over this little lot; he was a funny fucker like that. He couldn’t stand what he called ‘unnecessary aggravation’.

‘I will have it next week with a bit off the back, I give you my word.’

Lenny laughed. ‘Oh, well, that’s all right then. You hear that, Cyril? She is giving me her word.’

Cyril Brock laughed on cue. ‘You’re off the books now, Janey. No more loans of any description. You pay double every week until this debt is cleared. If you miss one week I will be back and this time I will be mob-handed and I will take the debt in kind. Do you understand me?’

Janey had to nod in agreement; she knew the neighbours were listening and enjoying seeing her brought low like this. Seeing Lenny Scott himself told her that she had taken the piss about as far as she could. It was Reggie who was worrying her now. He’d obviously read too many books inside. Since he had got out of the nick, he was like a born-again choirboy, talking about serious earns and convinced that it was better to maintain a low profile and keep the Filth at bay. He didn’t want her to bring unnecessary attention to the house; it was a show-up, if only she could see that. And now Lenny Scott and his trained monkey were putting the hard word on her in front of the whole fucking street. She could quite happily cry with the frustration of it all.

Reggie was fuming; he stepped forward and, looking into Lenny’s eyes, he said quietly, ‘Seven grand?’

Lenny nodded. ‘Three grand is fucking late-payment fees. She is her own worst enemy. It ain’t like she ain’t got the dough. She just never wants to pay.’

Reggie sighed a deep, angry sigh and Lenny felt a moment’s sorrow for him. He couldn’t imagine being dragged up by someone like Janey.

‘I will sort it, mate. I know what she’s fucking like. Give me a week and I will try and get a good lump paid off, bring the debt down.’

Lenny smiled and held out his hand. Reggie shook it firmly and, strange as it seemed given the circumstances, they both realised they liked each other.

‘Listen, Reggie, pop round my drum tonight. I might have a bit of work to put your way, if you’re interested.’