The Business (15 page)

Louise sat on the edge of the sofa; she was so thin the bones along her spine were visible through her blouse. She had a lovely face, heart shaped and chiselled, with high cheekbones and deep-set blue eyes. She had the look of a twenties flapper about her and, even with her hair scraped back into a ponytail, she still looked much younger than her years. It grieved her that after years of dieting, after all the time she had obsessed about her weight, it had taken her only child’s death to achieve her goal weight. She finally understood her mother’s old saying, ‘Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.’

What a price she had paid for her new-found svelteness, and even she knew that she was now too thin. She knew that she was far too skinny to be healthy; she looked in the mirror and she didn’t recognise herself any more.

She felt the tears welling up inside her once more, felt the tightening across her chest that her son’s memory brought on. She wanted to scream at the fates, at God Himself, for taking her boy away from her so violently, and so unexpectedly. For letting her be left alone in this world, bereft of the only thing that had made her life bearable.

Her husband’s death had not even really registered, the only time she had even thought about it was when she had been informed by his solicitors that she had been his sole beneficiary, and that was only because she had outlived their son. That her husband had left Jason everything had given her some small consolation. At the end of the day, he had not given him much when he was alive.

She would find herself sitting in Jason’s bedroom, burying her face in his clothes, trying to recapture his scent. The smell of him; his sweat, his aftershave, his deodorant. She would feel the terror that the utter emptiness around her would invoke. She would feel the tight band of his loss as it gripped her chest, making her hope that she was at last having a heart attack, or that her heart might actually be breaking in two. But she was still here, she was still alive. It was only her faith and the fear of retribution in the afterlife, fear of being kept away from her son, that kept her from finishing her life. She had to concentrate on the child Jason had given to Imelda Dooley, she had to plan and she had to scheme. Even if all she could do was watch the child from afar, then she would have to make sure that was enough for her.

If she was to be a grandmother, then she had to accept her situation as best she could. She had to keep her head and tell Imelda Dooley whatever she wanted to hear, agree with whatever she said about her son and convince her that she was willing to do whatever she could to make up for her son’s actions. She was willing to do just that, she had a lot of money and a lot of what her solicitor called assets. So she knew that she had at least that much going for her. If push came to shove, she would buy her way into the child’s affections.

Louise had heard the gossip, knew that Imelda Dooley was not a wilting violet, she also knew deep down that her son had seen a lot of the girl. Louise had spoken to Imelda briefly at the funeral, and she had also seen the mother’s reaction to her being there. Imelda had rung this house on many occasions, she had opened the front door to her, and she had also, God forgive her, lied to her for her son on more than one occasion. Jason had not raped the girl, Louise was convinced of that much, and she had searched her heart for even the slightest hint of doubt about her son.

She poured herself another glass of water and, sipping it slowly, she did what she did for most of every day since her son’s death.

She prayed.

 

Michael Hannon sat in the back room of his cab rank on Ilford High Road. He was perturbed and not a little annoyed. That Mary Dooley was well able for the debts was not something he really interested himself in, that Jackie Martin was, to all intents and purposes, the new ganger didn’t interest him. That he had just been told by an old and trusted friend that the said Jackie Martin was bad-mouthing him because he felt that he was being had over on his percentages of the debts, did interest him. Especially as he was now paying more than he had paid out previously, and also because he hated disloyalty of any kind.

Jackie Martin had fallen into the same trap that all treacherous bastards eventually fell into. He had allowed Gerald Dooley’s wife to walk into the top job, and he had thanked God for her doing that. Because Jackie Martin knew that he had no fucking brains at all; he was to brains what Idi Amin was to democracy. Jackie Martin was suffering from an over-inflated ego, coupled with the fact that now Gerry was gone, he had no one to keep him in order. He was an inveterate gambler, everyone knew that, and Gerry had kept a close eye on him and his expenditure. In short, Gerald Dooley had always made sure that Jackie Martin did not end in the same position as the people they were paid to shake down. Gerry had ensured Jackie’s debts were paid sooner rather than later. It was something that anyone with half a brain would have understood the logic of.

Without this personal service, it seemed Jackie Boy was suddenly going off the rails, and Michael Hannon had an awful feeling that Mary Dooley was not aware of any of this. Her sons were not exactly the sharpest knives in the fucking drawer and he had a terrible feeling that they would not see the sense in giving their mother a heads-up about this. They were still quite happy to follow Jackie’s lead, to do what was requested of them.

Michael sighed heavily - no wonder Gerry Dooley had been paid fortunes to train up other people’s fucking idiot kids, after all, he had plenty of experience with his own. Those two fucking morons, plus Jackie Martin, equalled fucking aggravation.

For Michael Hannon though, this was also a bit of a poser, as he was the reason
why
Jackie Martin was even employed and he was the reason Mary Dooley was being taken seriously by those in the know. He was, to all intents and purposes, the business.

He was also not exactly known for having a gentle streak, especially where business or fucking wankers were concerned. So he knew that he had to make sure that Mary Dooley was prepared to go that extra mile, even when it concerned her own workforce. Jackie Martin needed a serious talking-to, and he had to decide whether or not he thought Mary Dooley was capable of delivering it.

Chapter Seven

Gerald Junior and Brendan were both sitting at the kitchen table with their heads bowed low as they experienced their mother’s wrath. She was almost in tears as she berated them, as she finally realised that they were never ever going to be any good to her. She knew that she needed to find another number two, needed to replace Jackie Martin sooner rather than later, and she needed to make sure that whoever she chose would have the nous to work with her.

That Jackie could have been such a fool was beyond her comprehension. That she could not give him a second chance was something she had understood very early in the conversation. He had stepped over a very fine line, and she had to make sure that she resolved this terrible situation quickly and cleanly. She would cut that fucker out like a cancer, and she would do it without a second’s thought. The real dilemma for her was who she could get to replace him.

Michael Hannon had been very vocal about Jackie Martin’s position, and she had understood his point of view. She was more annoyed because she had not heard about Jackie’s blatant stupidity earlier; if she had, she might have been able to nip it in the bud. She might have been able to salvage something of their business.

Brendan was his father’s double physically, yet he had no real personality to speak of, and his brother was no better. Gerry had forced his opinions and his personality on to these boys with such force that they were incapable of any kind of originality, or indeed, anything even resembling a conscious thought. They waited for someone to tell them what to think and, as she looked at them as they waited for her anger to subside, she felt the full force of her situation. She admitted to herself that never before had she felt so alone, or so isolated. She swallowed down the panic inside her, and forced herself to be calm.

‘Didn’t either of you think that Jackie’s gambling was something that I might have needed to be told about?’

Mary’s voice sounded reasonable, even to her, and she marvelled at the difference it made to her two sons’ attitudes. They finally looked directly at her, and she could have cried with frustration at their identical expressions of relief.

It was Brendan who answered her. ‘Come on, Mum, he’s always liked a flutter, you know that. Dad never said anything about it.’

She knew it was the nearest he would ever get to an accusation of any kind. ‘Your father monitored his gambling, surely you both knew that? And what about his bad-mouthing of Michael Hannon? Surely that should have been something you felt I needed to know about, after all we are only in business because Hannon has given us his backing.’

She was pleading with them to tell her something of import, something that she could use for their benefit.

Gerald Junior shrugged. ‘Look, Mum, all we have ever done is what the old man, or Jackie, told us to do. We can’t be expected to police him, everyone knows what he’s like. And he has a point, why should Hannon get the lion’s share, when we’re the ones who do the fucking dirty work.’

As Mary listened to his voice, heard his words, she accepted then and there that they were never ever going to suddenly come into their own. God help her, they were her sons and she loved them, but they were of no real use to her. If she wasn’t careful they would all be scratching a living, and she was determined that was not going to happen.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied the hammering of her heart. The boys were so fucking stupid that they were willing to believe Jackie’s rhetoric, they didn’t even have the fucking sense to work out the situation for themselves. Why had she never seen just how fucking useless they were before now? Why had she never before seen them for the spineless fucking imbeciles they were? She had single-handedly saved their jobs, their livelihoods, and their reputations. They had then sat back and allowed Jackie Martin to jeopardise all that she had worked for and the worst thing was that they couldn’t even see any of that for themselves. She needed to find herself someone with ambition, someone with loyalty, someone who needed the good life as much as she did. That she would be bringing in someone over her sons’ heads would be remarked on, she knew that. But after the last few months she had a feeling that no one would be very surprised at her actions. These two boys were never going to be anything more than heavies. That, she knew, was something they were good at.

Smiling gently, Mary said with as much sincerity as she could muster, ‘Well, boys, Jackie has burnt his boats. Hannon has more or less insisted that I out him, and that is something we have to do. But we can’t just let him go, Hannon needs to be placated. Jackie needs to be taught a lesson, taught that you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. Now, you both know that your father, God rest him, would tell you both the same thing if he was here now. So, can I trust you both to do what’s necessary, or do I have to go to an outside agency?’

Brendan and Gerald Junior looked at each other then, and Brendan opened his arms wide, as if accepting the inevitable. Then he said with a quiet confidence, ‘How badly do you want him hurt, Mum?’

Imelda was listening quietly to her mother’s harangue of her brothers; that it had taken her mother all this time to finally realise that they were a couple of fucking morons gave her a small flicker of satisfaction.

As she pulled deeply on her cigarette she felt the child inside her kicking and, rubbing her distended belly, she wished the whole experience was over and done with.

She had decided that once the child was born she would give it to her mother, that way she could get shot of it and, at the same time, she would earn herself a few brownie-points into the bargain.

None of her friends had lasted the course and, even though she consoled herself it was because of her situation, she knew that the reality was because she had treated everyone like dirt.

When her father had been alive, Imelda had not appreciated just how much his name had carried her through her most formative years. She had not understood just how much he had influenced her life, and the way people reacted to her.

That her mother was attempting to re-create that world for them once again, and that she was actually succeeding, annoyed her even though she craved those easy-going days again. Unlike her brothers, Imelda had always known that she had more than her fair share of brains, and she had always used them to her advantage. She had learnt as a small child how to manipulate the people around her. She understood now why her father had always favoured her over her brothers. It was because he had sussed out that they were borderline fucking retards at an early age. In fact, he had been a major factor in the arresting of their developments.

The thought made her smile, and the smile changed her whole face. Imelda looked, as always, like an innocent, her smile was really beautiful. It made her look like an angel, and it belied the anger and the resentment that she nurtured. She held on to every slight, real or imagined, that she felt had been directed her way. She kept a close grip on any insults or any maliciousness that she felt had been directed at her personally and would go over and over in her head what had happened, how she had felt at the time, and what she would do to the person concerned when she was given the chance to repay them for their wickedness.

She felt she had been badly used, not only by her friends, but also by the men she had been foolish enough to fall for. Imelda Dooley saw herself as a victim, and the role of the victim was now something she actually relished, actually enjoyed. That her bitterness was destroying her more and more, she refused to accept. As Imelda’s belly grew, so did her discontent, and the depression that washed over her only added to her feelings of persecution and isolation. Her childhood home was now more like a prison, and her father’s absence was like a constant reminder of what she had caused, what she had lost. His betrayal when he had found out that she was pregnant had been worse than anything that had ever happened to her before in her life. She had wanted him to make everything all right, instead he had made it worse. She had kept her mouth shut, had waited for Jason to come for her, to make it better. Like her father, he had only succeeded in making it all so much worse. And now she was left with a bellyful of arms and legs, and she was also left with the stigma of her actions, and the devastation they had caused.