Matilda Wren (16 page)

The best way to create fear is to become the bogeyman.

When a sales assistant says, “Those shoes look fantastic on you, but that’s the last pair we have, you have just met the bogeyman or when a supplier says, “I’d love to buy your £500 product. But I only have £250 in the budget”, that’s also the bogeyman.

Any child can tell you, the bogeyman is the thing you fear. And fear, of course, cuts to the core of negotiation.

Whether you’re an underworld king-pin or a second-hand car salesman, it always pays to have the bogeyman on your side. Because fear, like ambition, comes in all shapes and sizes. Davie hadn’t always been a negotiator. He had made his name by targeting security vans. He had spent a total of twenty-two of his forty-eight years in twenty seven prisons for various different offences. He had been one of the main architects of the Strangeways Riots in 1992, which left two prisoners dead and over two hundred wounded, helping to form the Prisoners Liberation Army. But he also never wanted to go back inside.

He had become a regular visitor to church, finding salvation from his sins. He received huge satisfaction from becoming a reborn again Catholic, believing he could just walk into confession, be forgiven for what he had done and walk back out again. You can’t expect to walk into a court, say sorry and expect to walk out again free.

Sometimes he thought about his victims, the people he had hurt. He would look back and wonder whether he should have done that, or question whether he could have handled situations differently, but mostly he came to the conclusion that it was what they deserved and they got back what they had done themselves. Davie had ambition and drive, it was what had made him into the man he was today.

It was exactly this; ambition, that was the reason why Ray had Sean sitting in the small portacabin. He had heard about this boy. The boy without a soul. How he would do anything, if the price was right. He was highly spoken of by some of his more villainess associates and Ray’s own curiosity about him had been building for some time.

He knew that Sean was Kenny Maltrowitz’ boy, which spoke volumes in itself. Kenny was an old school villain like himself and if Kenny trusted this boy then he knew he could too. Sean’s love of violence was well known but just how far would he go? Ray was about to find out.

“I seem to find myself in a bit of a predicament Sean and I wondered if we could have a chat?” Ray said Sean leant forward in his chair. He slowly rubbed his chin with his hand and took a good long stare of Ray. After what seemed like forever, he finally spoke.

“Firstly, I would really like a line and a Jack Daniels and secondly can we please get rid of the two fucking ugly gorillas standing here.” He pointed to the two henchmen with his thumbs. “They really do make the place look worse than it is. If that’s possible that is. Then we’ll talk.”

Ray immediately liked him. His arrogance was stifling yet stimulating. He nodded at the shorter henchman of the two, who on command walked over to his boss’ desk and begun to rack up a few lines on a mirror that had once been one half of a ladies compact. He handed it over to Sean, who took it and snorted the potent white powder in a long drawn breath. Ray pulled open the desk drawer and pulled out two whisky glasses and a bottle of Jameson’s.

“This do you?” He asked, whilst pouring the brown liquor into the glasses, not waiting for an answer. The glass was shoved into Sean’s hand and the two men walked out of the portacabin.

“I think you may have just hurt their feelings, they didn’t seem too pleased with being made to go.” Ray said sardonically, quite amused at his henchmen’s tantrums.

“I’m sure they will get over it. Brains like goldfish…

three second attention span.” Sean replied.

Ray laughed heartedly. “Goldfish! I like it.” The laugh lasted a full minute before he managed to resume his composure and get down to business. He cleared his throat and sat himself up in his chair. “He stays.” He said, gesturing to Davie, who stood behind him.

Sean nodded.

“I am sure you are aware, that the Anderson family and myself are not what you would call best pals and that over the years we have had our various turf wars, most of which I have won.” Ray continued.

“Are you aware I have worked for George Anderson, on more than a few occasions and at this precise moment Mr Jarvis, I don’t know why I am here, so forgive me if my loyalties, at present, lie with him?” Sean interrupted.

Ray took note of the young man’s antagonism; secretly impressed. He didn’t believe any of what Sean had said about loyalty. He knew as soon as Sean had walked into the portacabin that the boy could be bought; he had hunger written all over him. Hunger for the power and control Ray could give him.

But he liked the front the boy had. It reminded him of a younger version of himself, when he didn’t know just how evil the world really was. Sean would learn it, over time, just like he did. The Mr Jarvis reference was also noted.

Ray liked that. It showed respect for your elders. He was old school and manners were everything, as strange as that was.“That I am yes. I am also aware that Anderson pretty much has most of the south-east sewn up. Even you pay a tax for operating on his patch; albeit at a discount I’m sure, but all the same, it must nark you.”

“Interesting. I’m listening.” Sean leant back in his chair, crossing one of his legs over the other, so his foot was resting on his thigh.

“So it would benefit both of us, if George Anderson was taken out of the picture. His family is nothing without him and quite frankly, these days neither is he. He is an old man like myself, only there is a difference between him and me.

I haven’t lost it.”

Sean gave a half laugh and slightly nodded his head.

“And you want me to take him out.” It wasn’t a question.

Sean knew what Ray was getting at. “Why aren’t you doing it? Ray stared at Sean intently for a few moments. He pulled out a cigar from the top pocket of his suit jacket and picked up a strip of matches from a bowl on the desk. He puffed away on the thick Cuban baton, until it was unreservedly smoking away. Then he gave Sean a huge grin that exhibited a full set of crooked yellowing teeth.

Shrugging he said “I don’t need the attention or the glory. I have enough. You, my son, are just beginning. Your name is good but you need to build on that, or do you want to be a pimp all your life?”

Sean took the bait, as Ray knew he would. He saw it in the boys seducing blue eyes. The change in colour to a pale grey was remarkable. It was almost inhuman.

Ray continued to taunt Sean. “It’s an achievement, what you’ve got at your age. You run your girls tight and I like that. Tried a few out myself too, their nice, clean, amenable, but at the end of the day they are whores. Don’t you want more than that?”

“Like what? George’s role? No thanks Mr Jarvis. I like it just the way I have it. But I must admit I don’t like giving him a cut of my hard earned.”

“There is a huge difference between being respected and being feared. Respect is easy Sean. You give a little, you get it back, it’s simple, it’s life. But fear is better. So we have a deal?”

“I didn’t say that. What’s in this for you? Why you just handing me over a turf you and him have been fighting over, for how long you say? Twenty years was it?”

Ray grinned. The boy sure was shrewd, he thought.

Kenny had been doing a good job. He saw what attracted him to Sean, because it was attracting Ray more by the second.

It took either a very stupid person to be that arrogant, or a complete nutter. Ray doubted that Sean was stupid, which meant he was more likely the latter.

That could become extremely useful. If Sean felt beholden to Ray, like he was to Kenny, then Ray could pretty much have him at his disposal, anytime he wanted.

Sean however was on the ball. Whether it was the instant rush he felt from the cocaine, or whether he really had been paying attention to Kenny’s elongated speeches, no one knew, but he could read what was running through Ray’s mind.

“I don’t have the patience or the inclination to take over more Sean. I’m past the craving for being king of the manor.

I just want my old enemy gone. He is nothing more than an irritating itch now. It would be more beneficial for you to take over. Young blood is what the green yards need.”

The stories of Ray Jarvis and George Anderson were almost as old as they were. Sean had heard them many times. Details changed and names were added or omitted but it was generally the same each time he heard it.

In 1982 Eddie Fraiser, one of the Anderson’s associates, was shot unintentionally, during a brawl at a nightclub in Norwich. The owners of the club, Bristol based businessmen, had asked Ray to protect the club, in exchange for gaming machines being placed there. At this time, club machine gambling was in its prime.

The Anderson’s, not impressed that a club in their jurisdiction was being racketed by an east end face, muscled in on the contract and took over with the protection including the ejection of undesirables; which, presumably, meant Ray and his associates. It is not clear why the club owners changed sides at this time, but it was apparent that their preference was for George to handle all protection matters relating to the club.

It was never proven that Ray pulled the trigger himself and it was never determined which gun and which bullet killed Eddie, but he was more than happy to hold the responsibility for it. He wore it like a badge of pride and escalated the rumour further himself; that he shot Fraiser with a .38 pistol at close range.

The men spent the next two decades fighting and disputing the blame, but they were getting on in years now.

For Ray, it was time it ended; he no longer had the drive to carry on the feud.

Sean stood up from the chair and walked towards the desk.“You’re making the mistake that I want to be a don.

I don’t. I want people to know who I am Mr Jarvis but I don’t want the hassle of running half the bloody country.

I’m not Tony fucking Blair. I don’t aim to be you or Kenny or Anderson for that matter. I’m me. That’s it. I am not a gangster, I’m a business man, whose commodity happens to be cocaine and whores. I simply supply a market.”

“So you gonna keep paying Anderson his cut. Answering to him. Allowing him to dictate when and where you make your living? It’s them and us. Always will be.” Ray was goading Sean and he knew it.

But there was truth and reason to what the older man was saying. Sean saw the sense and logic and recognized when an opportunity was being offered, even if he disliked the way it was presented.

“No Ray I’m not.” Sean dropped the formalities. He had been backed into a corner but was determined to salvage something from it. “I’ll do your dirty work, but not for what you’re offering. I’ll do it for my freedom. There is one thing I’ll take though, as payment like.”

“What’s that then?” Ray asked even more satisfied than he could have imagined being.

“I’ll have Anderson’s house. The Sudbury one.”

“That it? Just the house?” Surprise showed all over Ray’s face. Sean Fergus was definitely a strange character. George Anderson may be an ineffectual waste of time but he certainly knew how to make money. He thought Sean was stark raving mad for not being tempted by it all. He would have jumped at the chance of being offered that kind of inheritance at twenty-two.

He nodded at Sean and raised his glass up in a toast.

“It’s yours.” He said.

Sean smiled then for the first time throughout the whole meeting. His whole stance changing and those seducing blue eyes returned. He looked almost regular then. Not the demonic fiend his status depicted.

“Just one thing, how you gonna get hold of Anderson’s properties and businesses?” Sean asked.

Ray really did smile then; a disturbing smirk that accentuated every sinister crease in his face.

“That, my boy, is what I have been slowly cultivating for the past three years. George Anderson is not going to know what fucking hit him, don’t you worry about that. You do your job and do it well and those deeds will be in your hand by the end of that day. You have my word.”

The last four words were all Sean needed to hear. Ray Jarvis was a common thug but his word was better than any legally binding document.

* * *

“You wanna do what? You in his fucking pocket orsummit?” Kenny asked Sean Though he was astounded by the boy’s eagerness to carry out the job he had just told him about, it was more anger that he felt; at the fact that Sean had a meeting with Ray Jarvis without Ray approaching Kenny first. That was just courtesy.

Kenny wasn’t happy at all. He felt stabbed in the back and slighted. Ray was supposed to be an old friend. They went back years. He should have been informed if he had an interest in Sean.

“I am in no-one’s fucking pocket Ken, not even yours and don’t you ever fucking forget it. I’m doing this for me.

Nice little drum that is. Not bad for my first pad. Invest legally. That’s what you have been banging into me since I met you. That’s what I’m doing. That house will be my first legal asset and the beginning of my retirement.” He looked at Kenny then, with a cheeky grin. “Not yet though of course. I aint ready to give all this up just yet.”

Kenny rubbed his face with his hands. Knowing, out of sheer stubbornness, Sean would not listen to any reason on his part. Turning away from him and walking over to a small mini bar that stood in the lounge of his four bedroom semi detached house, he pulled out a bottle of Jack and two glasses, pouring a generous measure into each glass.

He picked one up and took a great gulp. Glaring at Sean, he then moved towards the three piece suit that situated in the middle of the room and plonked himself down on a dark green leather armchair, leaving the other glass still on the bar.

Sean mentally smiled to himself and walked over to collect his drink, knowing Kenny was in the midst of throwing a hissy fit. For a hard villain, he really was a big girl sometimes, Sean thought.

He looked around the considerably spacious room. It wasn’t to his taste. The room was adorned in dark greens and mushroom creams. He liked the flooring though. It was a solid oak wood floor that screamed out class and sophistication to Sean. He made a mental note to put the same thing in his new house.