The Good Life (30 page)

Linda looked up as Jenny said to her quietly, ‘I’m so sorry about this, Linda. Families, eh? You can pick your friends . . .’

Linda Lloyd smiled nervously then and answered, ‘Don’t worry about it, Mrs Moran – my lot are just as bad after a few drinks.’

Eileen laughed heartily. The girl had somehow lightened the atmosphere. ‘Good to know. Your mum can hold her own, I’ve heard.’

Linda grinned. ‘Especially after eight Pernod and blacks.’

Jenny stood up then and went to Molly, gently ushering her back into her chair, and poured her another whisky. ‘Drink that, Molly. You’ve had a shock.’ Then she turned towards the door and shouted, ‘Where’s that cab coming from – fucking Romania?’

Cain Junior walked back in. ‘Sorry, I had to use the little boy’s room. It’s on its way.’ With that, he sat beside Linda and poured them both some more wine. Putting his arm around her shoulder he pulled her close. ‘Sorry, darling.’

Linda snuggled into him and said gently, ‘That’s all right, Cain.’

As he squeezed her to him, he said, ‘But that’s the point, Linda, it’s not all right.’ He looked at his grandmother. ‘I mean it, Nan. If you ever pull another stunt like that, I will never speak to you again. I’ll not have you, my dad or King Street fucking Charlie criticising my mum. You remember that.’

Jenny was proud of her son for his words, but she also felt sorry for Molly. Inadvertently, she had broken the heart of the one person in the family who had genuinely loved her.

Cain Junior raised his glass and addressed the table. ‘Here’s to family. You can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them.’

Eileen raised her own glass and clinked it against her daughter’s, saying happily, ‘Amen to that.’

Jenny Moran turned and touched her glass to Molly’s. ‘And here’s to Cain. Wishing he was here with us tonight.’

Molly smiled solemnly, relieved to have at least one person in the room throwing her a kind word.

Cain Junior raised his glass again. ‘To my mum.’

Jenny and her son looked each other in the eye and as Cain winked at her she wondered what she had done to be blessed with such a wonderful, loyal and handsome son.

Cain was working out in the gym in good spirits. He’d just heard that Hasan Osman had sorted things with Jason Biggs. It was certainly a weight off Cain’s mind. Like Biggs, he believed that there might come a time when they would need to band together against the Russians. There were too many of them trying to muscle in on established operations. It was the nature of the beast, and a reason to keep on good terms with people you might need in the future. It was a different world these days, and the sooner people realised it the better off they would be.

Cain Moran had been feeling increasingly as though he was being slowly buried alive in prison. Even with the educational courses at Parkhurst nothing was the same as being out in the world and experiencing life for yourself. It was frightening how far technology had advanced. Cain had heard from Des Harker that Jason Biggs was recruiting for computer fraud operations, which sounded amazing. No real graft there – you just took money at the click of a button – and that was something that Cain Moran was very interested in. He wanted to keep Jason Biggs and his brothers happy. If he could partner with them properly in the future they could make some really big money together.

Cain had never liked dealing in women but there was no avoiding it these days; there were so many girls turning up from Eastern Europe, especially now that the Russians were so active. They would happily sell their own grannies if the price was right. Human trafficking was something Cain Moran had resisted up until now, but when times changed you had to change with them. That was the harsh reality of the Life.

The Russians who had come through the unit were hard men who had grown up in abject poverty. The inmates had been astonished at how tough their lives had been, especially those from the Ukraine. Even older men who had lived through the war and been brought up on bombsites were amazed at how those men were raised. Poverty bred criminals – it was as simple as that.

One thing that had struck Cain was how they used tattoos to let others know why they had been banged up, and just how much they were capable of. Certain designs could indicate that they were murderers for hire, or that they had killed policemen or other gang members out of self-defence or for profit. They were each covered in a network of inked tattoos that were as weird as they were colourful. These were the Russian equivalent of cockney rhyming slang – completely incomprehensible to the outside observer, but crystal clear to those in the know. They were dangerous fuckers who needed to be treated with extreme caution.

Cain had to admit, though, that he liked the ones he had met and admired their stoic acceptance of their sentences. From what they had told him, the British penal system was a doddle compared to the Russian equivalent, where the most basic amenities were few and far between. Even food had to be bartered and paid for – it was an eye-opener all right. They were clever fuckers for all that, and worthy of their reputations. Cain knew he had good reason to be wary of them, so was pleased that Hasan and Ali Osman had come round to his way of thinking, and now they had Jason Biggs on board for the future, which would work to their advantage.

Cain’s son would be coming in later on for a visit, and he couldn’t wait to see him. Cain Junior had made himself very useful to his father, liaising directly with those on the out on his behalf, and it was working even better than he had hoped. The lad had a natural affinity for the Life and he enjoyed the day-to-day which, at his level of the game, could be monotonous. Cain was a lucky man to have his enterprises looked after so well in his absence.

He had spoken to his Jenny earlier. He never failed to marvel at how much she still meant to him after all these years. He had long forgiven her for Freddie Marks, and rarely allowed the thought of him to spoil his days. Just hearing her voice was enough to give him a hard on. She was still the sexiest woman he had ever laid eyes on, and he told her so constantly. He missed her so much, just as he missed his family life. From what he could gather, his mother had upset everyone at his boy’s dinner party the other night, and he wished she could keep her fucking beak out of everyone’s business. She was a loyal old bird, and he had to allow for that. Trouble was, no one else did, and that was something she didn’t seem to grasp.

The past was the past and sometimes you had to leave it alone if you wanted to have a future. Cain finally felt the time was coming for that to become a reality, and it felt good. He had wanted the Good Life, and had had it for a while. Now he wanted a good life, and that was something completely different.

As he showered, he felt another tingle of excitement at the prospect of seeing his handsome son; he lived for the visits from Cain Junior and his Jenny. They were what made this fucking shithole bearable. They gave his life meaning, and provided him with a reason to get out of bed every morning. Without them, he didn’t know how the fuck he would have coped all these years.

Ali Osman was drinking in a small boozer on Old Compton Street. It was a private club owned by an ex-con and frequented by a legion of cronies and their associates for planning operations and discussing times gone by. It was also a place where you could drink alone and be sure that no one would bother you, unless you wanted them to.

Ali was there to meet a man he had tracked down through an old acquaintance – a well-known Face in his own day called Kevin Donovan. He was now retired and just did the occasional quick job for good financial gain, provided his involvement was kept on the down low. He was adept at planning things down to the last detail and was always in and out with the minimum of fuss. Kevin was sixty-seven years old – though he looked a good decade younger thanks to his healthy lifestyle and a new wife of thirty-two. He had a little boy of five who he adored, and a string of older grandchildren.

Ali Osman was determined to have his way over Jason Biggs and this was how he was going to achieve it; it gave him great pleasure to shake Kevin Donovan’s hand and get on with planning the next move. If his brother Hasan couldn’t see what was going on then, as far as Ali was concerned, it was a good job that he had it all sussed out for them both.

The two men settled in a dark corner with their drinks before Ali said quietly, ‘It’s a big job.’

Kevin grinned, showing expensive veneers. ‘I’d sort of worked that out for myself.’

‘It’s a hit, and it’s on Jason Biggs.’

Kevin Donovan sat back in his chair and Ali could see he was shocked. Kevin drained his entire drink before getting up quickly. ‘Not in a million years, Ali. Sorry, son, but I plan to live a bit longer. If you want my advice, I would forget the whole thing before it gets out of hand.’ With that he walked away.

Ali Osman sat there for a while, contemplating Kevin’s words and wondering how best to move forwards. It didn’t occur to him that if a man like Kevin Donovan wouldn’t go near a proposition, it was unlikely anyone else would consider it lightly. Kevin was a hard man who would do literally anything for the right price. The very fact that he was walking away should have spoken volumes. But Ali Osman wasn’t thinking straight. He had a blind spot where Jason Biggs was concerned and was still smarting from the man’s attempts to humiliate him. He was also too coked up to rationalise his behaviour. Cocaine did that to the body after prolonged use. He was snorting first thing in the morning and suffering from nosebleeds and numbness in his face. His teeth were getting loose and his gums bled when he cleaned them. He also had regular headaches and panic attacks – all symptoms of long-term cocaine use. He was convinced that people were talking about him, laughing behind his back and trying to do him down. He saw his brother – who he adored – as the enemy when he didn’t agree with him on every single matter they discussed. Ali Osman was an addict and, like all addicts, his habit would be sure to destroy not only him, but everyone else around him.

Cain Junior already had the teas and biscuits waiting when his father walked into the visiting room. Cain Moran always felt a surge of pride when he saw his boy – he was very good-looking and easily a head and shoulders above everyone else in the room. If the admiring glances he got from the women were anything to go by, Cain Junior also had his father’s way with the opposite sex.

Seeing Cain Junior always reminded Cain that he had another son out there in the world. Cain had written many times to Michael, and was pained by the fact that he had never received a single reply. He continued to send him birthday cards each year, even though he guessed they would be thrown away. He wanted the boy to know he had not forgotten him, even if he had forgotten his father. He hated Caroline for her part in the loss of his first son, just as he hated her for ensuring that Jenny would never bear another child. Caroline had a lot to answer for and he hoped that when she got it, she would get it big time.

Cain Junior embraced his father briefly, and then they settled down at the visiting table. He had been doing this for so many years that it never felt strange to him. Seeing his father incarcerated had been something he had come to accept as his way of life – for the most part this had always been his reality.

‘How are you, son, and how’s that lovely girl of yours?’

Cain Junior blushed to the roots of his hair and his father grinned.

‘Good, Dad. Actually, I have some news and I wanted you to be the first to know. She’s pregnant – she’s having my baby.’

Cain Moran was stumped for a few seconds. Then with a beaming smile he grasped his son by the shoulders and hugged him tightly, much to the amusement of the people sitting nearby.

‘Congratulations, son. Fuck me – your mum will be over the moon. She loves babies. I don’t know how fucking Eileen will take it though . . . She’ll be a great-granny!’

They both laughed at that.

‘My mum will be thrilled too. Don’t be too hard on her, son. I know how you feel but when it comes to family they don’t come more loyal than her. Never forget that.’

Cain Junior just nodded; he wasn’t getting into that conversation today.

‘I wanted to tell you first, Dad, because I know how hard it must be sometimes, always getting things second-hand. We’re going to tell Mum tonight.’

Cain Moran felt a sudden urge to cry and had to blink away the tears. His boy had grown up to be such a kind and caring man, and that was because of Jenny. Christ knew, he couldn’t parent him from in here – Jenny had taken on the role and here was the result: a decent, loving man.

‘I appreciate that, son, and you’re right. It is nice to be the first to know. I am so pleased for you, mate. A new baby, and I’ll be a granddad! How’s Linda doing?’

‘She’s grand – determined not to put on too much weight, eating the right food, all that fucking palaver. She’s only a couple of months gone.’

Cain laughed at his boy’s resigned expression. He could tell that this Linda already had him well under the cosh.

‘We ain’t told her mum and dad yet either. I wanted this to be yours alone. Everyone else can wait.’

Once again, Cain felt the urge to cry, and he wondered if this was part of getting older. He was much more sentimental these days, and he wished he had his old mate Blokko to talk to about it; Blokko always had an answer for everything to do with long stretches inside. Cain knew that this was a tough reminder of another big event he would only see from inside, and that was hard to take.

‘I can only say that I’m honoured, son, to be the first to know. This is a real milestone.’

As his son outlined his plans and dreams for the future, Cain Moran marvelled at how much of a man his son had become. He was so proud of him and pleased for his news, but at the same time he couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that the first time he held his grandchild would be in this shitty room, watched by every fucker in the place. But, as he had always told himself, it was what it was. He had chased the Good Life, and now he was paying the price.