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Now though, he was going to celebrate with a shag and a curry, in that order. This girl with the crooked teeth and the heavy eyeliner was just what the doctor ordered. From her denim waistcoat to her Union Jack clogs, she screamed easy lay and he should know, he had been perfecting the art of ferreting out girls like her since he had been at junior school. She was soapy but that didn't put him off; he wanted to fuck it not marry it. Even though he had acquired a reputation for predominantly shagging birds from the lower-end of the female food chain, he had no shame. If it had a pulse he was there. No matter how old the birds were, as long as they were passable on a dark night, he was game. He didn't want Miss World, he was happy enough with Miss Buy Me a Drink and I'll Drop Me Cacks.

It was all relative as far as he was concerned. He liked the thrill of a new hole and enjoyed the feel of different breasts and different bodies. He didn't want perfection, he just wanted a bird who was as up for it as he was. A bird who had no illusions about what would be happening to her and didn't expect declarations of love before, during or after the momentous event. A fuck was a fuck as far as he was concerned and he liked to get in at least a couple on a daily basis. He searched out strange like other men searched for gold or holy grails. He just loved women's bodies, all shapes and all sizes.

As young Natalie smiled her acquiescence he felt the familiar rush that a new conquest always gave him. She had been about, he knew that; her eyes and the way that she knocked back her drinks told him that much. She was the type who had found out at an early age that men were really only after one thing and she had been supplying them with it ever since.

Leaving the pub with her, he was unaware of the man watching him from a black Beamer in the car park. It pulled out quietly behind him as he hit the main road, his radio blaring out and his head full of the night's coming attractions.

Annie was alone again and she didn't like it. Throughout her marriage she had dreamt of a life surrounded by people, a life filled with events and happenings that included her. Unfortunately, she had never learnt the knack of actually
being
around other people. Her daughter had been the reason she had finally found companionship but even then it was only the children she wanted to see. One child more than the others but she couldn't help where her heart lay, the boy had captured it from the moment she had seen his face. She didn't admit that her daughter had the baby blues at the time; that she had used her daughter's post-natal depression to inveigle herself into all their lives. She saw herself as selflessly taking on her daughter's family and helping her Lil out when she was at her lowest ebb. It was only because of that that she was even tolerated. Even Annie's harshest critics, and they were legion around their streets, gave her that as her due; she had been there for her daughter when she had needed her.

She had made Lance her own and for the first time in years she had felt something akin to happiness. Now though, she was once more on the outside looking in, and her Lance was being victimised for a prank, a childish prank.

As Annie put the kettle on, she looked out of the window of her flat, the home her daughter had provided for her. The grass outside was in need of a good cut and the other flats around her were all lit up, their occupants going about their nightly routines. The flicker of televisions and the occasional sound of a dog barking broke the silence for her. Families were eating together, watching television together, being together.

She was on the verge of tears once more and taking her tea, she walked into her front room slowly. The room was over-furnished and over-polished. A heavy smell of beeswax and cigarettes permeated everything, even the wallpaper with its pink roses and a thin gold line as the background. Every surface was covered in photographs, mainly of Lance, though the twins were also in evidence. Lil and Pat Junior were in only one. Patrick Junior's Communion photo. It was on the mantlepiece, along with Lance's.

Annie stared at them now; wondering if her boy was all right and worried about Pat Brodie's reaction to his son's foolish prank. She could kick Janie Callahan's arse for the trouble she had caused her family. She missed the twins, their little voices prattling on and the happy faces that glowed with pleasure every time she turned up with a Wagon Wheel for each of them. She now understood just what a joy children could be and, if she was honest, in her darkest moments, she wished she had learned that secret many years before. Lil had been a burden to her from day one, had always been a burden, but now she was sorry she had not made a friend of her only child earlier. She missed the conversation and the noise that her daughter's house seemed to be filled with constantly. She missed the pranks, the kids' laughter and the endless cups of tea and cigarettes that were now a staple of her days. Lil was all right and it had taken her this long to admit that to herself. She was heartsorry now for all the years she had made her own life a misery, along with her daughter's.

Annie had been lonely before, but now it was like a physical ache inside her and not just for Lance. She was actually missing her daughter, missing her chatter and her easy-going ways. It had been a week since she had been to the house and it felt like a lifetime. How she had lived under that cloud for so long she had no idea any more; the years of sitting in the quiet and waiting for a man who had no real interest in her seemed ludicrous now. The waste of her life bothered her. That she had broken under the weight of her husband's disregard and had joined forces with him in his hate and his disappointments, had made them her own, and for no reason other than that she had only seen him as a way to regain respectability because she had been pregnant with Lil. Now the opinion of the neighbours meant nothing to her; girls had babies without a second's thought and no one really cared any more. It was a nine-day wonder and she had been lumbered with her old man to give her child a name. She had thought it was so important once and she had held a grudge against poor Lil because of it. She had lived in a vacuum with a man who had snatched her up because no other girl would have had him if they didn't have good reason and lived in a home devoid of life, laughter and peace of mind.

Her daughter's house, on the other hand, was inviting and warm and, most of all, happy. Until Lance's little mishap with the Callahan girl it seemed to her, with hindsight, that her life had been ideal. And in truth, it had been.

Now she was back where she started, alone and unwanted. Even her new friends were only really civil to her because of her daughter's name and now she might be on the out they were avoiding her like the plague. When all this calmed down she was going to make an effort to be indispensable, amiable and approachable; she was lost without them and she didn't want to feel like this ever again.

The knock at the door made her jump. She wasn't a woman who had visitors; in fact, very few people had ever been inside this room. The urgency of the door knocker brought her hurrying into her hallway and, as she opened the door, she remembered that she should have checked who was behind it first.

Look, Spider, I never touched Cain in that way. You are barking up the wrong tree, mate, if you think any different. I think we all know who the culprits are, don't we? You knew he was on the missing list and you did nothing about it so don't come the fucking concerned brother now.'

Spider was quiet. He'd had to ask and he knew Patrick understood that and wouldn't hold it against him.

'He had a fucking good hiding and I admit that. You know it was long overdue. Fucking screwdrivers in the lughole though; that ain't my kind of retribution. That smacks to me of an opportunist, an amateur using whatever came to hand. He was a skaghead for fuck sakes so he could have been done over by any number of people. Even though you are his brother it wouldn't stop anyone taking what was rightfully theirs and you know it. Not to mention the fact that he was hanging out with the Williamses. We dropped him near your place. We knew he would make his way there whatever and as he was out of his fucking box on Special K and whiz, among other things. We felt that he needed a hand in that direction. He was not capable of finding his own cock, let alone your drum or even his own, come to that. He was wasted and he was well battered and, believe me, I felt like taking him out but, at the end of the day, we are hardly going to kill him and dump him in a skip, are we? I mean, give us some credence, for fuck's sakes.'

Patrick poured them both drinks but his anger and his obvious disdain were more than evident.

'His dealer, another fucking skaghead, any number of people could have ironed him out for any number of reasons and you know it. He was on the brown and you can't fucking trust anyone on that; they would sell out their own granny for a two-quid wrap. He was a good kid and he chose to fuck up but you have to sort your head out, Spider. Stop fucking overdramatising everything. Cain got mullered; it's sad but a fact of life. Get over it, will you, or at least look for the real culprits.'

Patrick was a big man and Spider had forgotten how Brodie could intimidate those around him without resorting to physical violence. It was this that had made him the top of his game and it was also what kept him there.

'I'm having the Williams lot tailed to see where they go and what they do. I would lay poke they were behind Cain's demise because he was too fucking close to them. That fucking Jasper is on his way over to give his opinion on the latest events and you can bet he is in on the fucking lot of it. But this is the Williams brothers' fucking swan song. I ain't fucking letting it go this time. They have really pissed me off and I will teach them a lesson they will never forget. You were the one who wanted me to go easy on them, remember, you and Cain. So don't fucking bring your shit to my door ever again unless you want it cleared up. You had your fucking chance and you did nothing and now you are finding out what happens when you let your emotions take over.'

Patrick's anger was ripe and justified. He had tried to keep the peace, had given Spider time to sort his brother out and this was the upshot. He must be getting soft in his old age. Well he was going to cause a fucking war over this little lot. He was going to set an example that would be noted and digested by everyone in their world. He loved Spider like a brother and that was where he had gone wrong. Watch your own arse; it made life much easier in the long run.

Spider watched the changing expressions on his friend's face and knew he was on the sidelines himself over his brother's foolishness and his delay in curbing it. He also knew that Patrick was having family trouble himself; his son's crime was common knowledge and, though most people were of the opinion that he was out of order and in need of a good hiding, there was also a general consensus that he would make a great enforcer one day. If he had that kind of viciousness in him now, what would he be like in ten or fifteen years? He was a born heavy according to the powers that be and his rep was already being established. The little girl in question had already become an older boy in the retelling of the tale. All stories got stretched in the telling and this one was no exception. So Lance was already a known quantity to the men his father moved among. They saw him as a chip off the old block, as someone to watch out for in the future.

Spider had never liked the boy, though the other kids were lovely. He knew, as Patrick knew, that the boy had a screw loose somewhere. He was a weirdo and that was being nice about it. Cain, it seemed, had had the same defect, had suffered from the same selfishness, and it was this that was making it so hard for him now. Like Brodie he was of the opinion you cut out the cancer before it devoured you and yours but he had not wanted to do that to Cain. He had not been capable of harming him. He would have, eventually, he knew, but only when he had exhausted every other route first.

He knew his brother had met his death
because
of this man before him, if not by him, but he couldn't let that colour his thinking. Patrick had only done what he should have done in the first place. What he should have done without thinking about it, uncaring of the fact that Cain was his brother and his best friend. He had loved that boy as if he was his own child and that had been his downfall; he knew that now and he accepted his stupidity. He had let his brother's bad behaviour carry on without even attempting to curb it and now he was reaping what he had inadvertently sowed. It would never happen again, he was sure of that.

Now they were in a worse situation and it was all down to him. Cain was dead and gone but the world was still turning, the sun still rose and set and he still had a family to feed.

The Williams brothers were dead meat though, that much he could at least control. And he was going to make sure they were visited before the week was out. Spider believed in personal service and he was looking forward to taking them out one by one. But first he had to calm the waters with Brodie and ingratiate himself once more with the man who had given him everything he had in life and who had given it without a second's thought.

Spider had to salvage what he could from all this and he hoped that, at some point, that included his pride and the respect of this man who had given him more over the years than anyone else in the world.

Alan Palmer was a man who knew his own worth and, as the acknowledged front-runner in the world of the East End discotheque, he was more aware of what was happening in his nightclubs than anybody would have given him credit for. Alan was a big man, not heavy but solid, thick blond hair and icy-blue eyes; good-looking enough to warrant female interest with or without his loaded wallet. He had been dealing with Brodie for years; he knew that he would not be able to run his clubs without his express permission and he paid a fair price to guarantee that.

Alan Palmer had three brothers-in-law, all handy enough, all with decent credentials and all dependent on him for their livings. His brother had been murdered not too long ago by relatives of the young man sitting opposite him. He had Ricky Williams in his offices in Ilford offering him protection at a reduced rate and not one of his brothers-in-law were available to aim this ponce out the door, so it looked like he was going to have to sort it himself. For Alan, violence was a last resort, unlike his brother, who had seen it as a first resort. Now he was brown bread, so what did that tell you? Violence was also something to be used with the utmost discretion, especially in the entertainment business. This was something he had learned many moons ago and it had been an expensive, inconvenient and hard-taught lesson.