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Chapter Twenty

'All right, Lenny?'

Lance's voice was, as always, neutral. He was a strange lad and Lenny wondered about this lad's calm demeanour, as he had many times in the past. He didn't bother to turn around and face him even though that was an insult in their world. He was too busy counting up the boxes of wine he had acquired that morning from a young up-and-coming Face who, it seemed, had a natural talent for hijacking lorries. He also, it had turned out, had an aptitude far beyond his tender years for sniffing out quality gear to thieve. Definitely someone to keep an eye on for the future; if he didn't get a capture and a large lump within eighteen months, he would consider bringing him on to the firm full time. Until then, he would buy anything of value for a fraction of its true worth and keep the boy onside with his protection.

'All right, son. What brings you here?'

He was expecting an answer and when none came he turned around slowly, one eyebrow raised, and an inquisitive look on his face.

'What's the matter, Lance? You lost the power of speech?'

Not for the first time, he felt a prickle of fear. Lance was staring at him with those dead eyes and he knew that the boy was definitely a few ampoules short of an overdose.

'You owe my mother money, Lenny, and you know it. I am here to remind you that we ain't kids no more and you are taking the fucking piss.'

Lenny bit on his bottom lip; his fat face was red and bloated and he looked like he wasn't capable of anything that could be construed as even remotely out of order. Lance, like most people who got to know Lenny well, knew that was his strength. As the years had gone on though and no one had stepped in to challenge his authority, Lenny had stopped pretending he was a nice guy. In fact, he was making the mistake a lot of men made when they finally reached the top of their professions; he had stopped caring what people thought about him. He thought he was above everyone around him and that he could disregard the opinions and the goodwill of the people who actually made it possible for him to pursue his ideals. Or, in Lenny's case, earn his daily crust.

'You a hard man now, Lance?'

The words were said with such disdain that Lance felt them as if they were a physical slap.

'You don't fucking scare me, Lenny. I am more than capable of taking you out, mate. Unlike you, I don't rely on other people to do my dirty work. I'd do it meself and you know that. I've done enough of it for you over the last few months.'

Lenny knew the boy was flexing his muscles and he also knew it was because his older brother was home from clink with a decent rep and the hunger for money and recognition that could be the death knell of people like him if they weren't careful.

Once you got too settled, you made mistakes, and one of Lenny's biggest mistakes was underestimating the boy in front of him. Lance was a handful on his own but only if he thought he had someone bigger in his corner and, until Pat Junior's release, that person had been him. Now though, blood would out, as it always did in these cases. And Pat and Lance were close, closer than most brothers were; probably because of the circumstances surrounding their father's death. The trauma had affected all the kids in one way or another.

Lil's love for her firstborn had been the bane of Lenny's life with her; it wasn't just that she loved the boy, it was because he knew Pat Junior was his father all over again. As long as Pat was breathing she would never be without the man she had adored.

Two children later and he was still no closer to her than he had been in the beginning. She had used him as he had used her and he could even have accepted that if only she had not made him feel second-best.

Lenny had everything that Patrick Brodie had worked for,
owned,
except the one thing that really mattered. Lil Brodie had been the icing on the cake as far as he was concerned. Only, he had got her by default and he knew that and, eventually, she had known that. Once he had laid his mark on her he had not wanted Lil any more and had punished her with his complete indifference. He had used her as he used everyone, even though a part of him, a small part of him, knew that what he had done to her was wrong. That the people in his circle who he depended on had lost respect for him over his treatment of Patrick Brodie's widow.

Lil's boys had grown up and now they were a team and it was up to him how that problem would be dealt with in the future. As he looked at the boy in front of him he knew instinctively that every sneaky deal he had done and every lie he had ever told, especially those that had pertained to Brodie's death, were finally coming back to haunt him. He had let people think that he was the man who had taken it upon himself to avenge that terrible death, to see that justice had been done when in fact he had actually been instrumental in its execution. He had allowed it to happen so he could take what he saw as his by rights. The affair with Lil had been seen as her falling for him because he had been so good to her. Because she needed his protection. Not that his wife had seen it so romantically, of course. She now lived in Surrey with a banker called Wright who had a comb-over and enough money to assuage her feelings of inadequacy and provide her with everything she had ever wanted.

That Lenny had abandoned Lil with two extra kids was a nine-day wonder and was something he would never live down. Until now, that had not bothered him too much; seeing Lil brought low had given him a measure of satisfaction. It had been the ultimate slap in the face for Brodie and for her, because her children were more important to her than he would ever be. Lenny would never accept that from anyone.

'Look, Lance, I appreciate all you've done for me lately and I understand you not wanting your brother to find out about any of it and he won't. He wouldn't be as open-minded as us, now would he?'

He let his words sink in before continuing; his voice, as always, neutral. 'I wouldn't grass you up, would I?' Think about it, you're like family to me.'

This was from a man who had let his wife take his children away with her and who had no real affection for them or for any of his other children come to that, Lil's included. He gave women kids for no other reason than to put his mark on them. He did it to make sure that they never forgot him, even though he was liable to forget about them at some point.

'What about me mum; you won't get away with short-changing her now
he's
back on the scene.'

It was the way Lance had expressed his brother's presence that alerted Lenny once more to Lance's feelings about his older brother. He loved him, that had never been in any doubt at all, but he also resented him because his mother had worshipped her eldest son since she had given birth to him. Whereas Lenny knew that this boy was not high on her list of favourites. In fact, she avoided him when possible.

Lance himself knew that she found him difficult to care for and that she had no real affection for him. He had been forced to rely on his grandmother's love.

'Pat will make sure you sort yourself out, Lenny. He has a habit of making people do what he wants.'

Lenny forced down his anger at Lance's attitude and his anger, when he let it go, was legendary. 'Why don't you let me worry about that, eh?'

Lance stared at him and once more Lenny Brewster was unnerved by the boy's complete lack of emotion. He was only there now because Pat was finally home and he would be making a song and dance about everything as usual. Pat thought he was the dog's knob, always had done. Now Lance was nervous because he had been working for Lenny on a regular basis and he was worried that his big bruv wouldn't approve. Lance would also know that Pat Junior would have expected him to watch out for his mother's interests, at least. Patrick, he knew, would be after something for his younger siblings and that meant he would be around to see him at some point.

'Why don't you get home, Lance, and let me worry about the big man, eh?'

The sarcasm was evident, as was his complete disregard for anyone or anything he saw as interfering with his equilibrium.

Lance knew that Lenny had something over him with Pat's release from prison and that he would use his recent disloyalty against him without a second's thought.

As he walked out of the warehouse, Lance pushed over a pile of boxes, knocking them to the floor with such force that the bottles of wine they housed shattered on impact. The wine bled out from the cardboard boxes quickly, snaking across the concrete floor and picking up dirt and grime in its wake before finally disappearing down the drains.

Lenny stood there for a few moments watching the liquid as it slowly ran its course and then he turned back to the job in hand and finished his inventory. Lance had pulled a few stunts that were not exactly kosher and he had been well paid for them, so Lenny was secure in the knowledge that Lance, for all his bravado, would not want these little indiscretions coming to light. But then neither would he, come to that. Which is why he had brought Lance in on them in the first place.

But Lenny Brewster knew that he might have to welcome home the prodigal son with open arms because, by the sound of it, that was what everyone else was going to do.

Lil was in the club and she wasn't happy at all. For the last few weeks she had gradually been getting more and more irritated with the way the girls she worked with were carrying on.

This was a straight hostess club, no more and no less; she had opened the club with her old man, for fuck's sakes, and now she was having to deal with people who acted like she was an incompetent. Lenny's treatment of her meant that they thought she wasn't worth their respect any more. It was hard for her to keep any kind of order and to make the girls work the way they were supposed to without her resorting to threats and intimidation. She was aware that the girls had heard the whispers about her. Within days of her offering them a job, the insolence would be on their painted faces. Lenny's attitude would be common knowledge, making her job all the harder. But the hostess had not been born who would get the better of her and they eventually found that out the hard way.

Since Patrick had come home from prison she couldn't help being reminded that she had once owned the bloody club and that now she was reduced to running it. To add insult to injury, the new crop of hostesses were under the mistaken impression that they knew it all. A few months on the game and they were convinced they had some kind of fucking second sight. They thought they knew everything that they needed to know about the life and were now experienced enough to lecture
her
on the correct way to get them earning.

The main culprit was a new girl called Ivana. She was probably thirty though she swore she was twenty-two and she seemed to have a negative opinion about almost everything around her. She had ambitions for herself and Lenny, that much was evident in the way she spoke to Lil and the way she smiled as if she had some kind of authority over her and the club itself.

Lil was not in the mood for her tonight and whereas she usually listened politely to the girls' petty grumbles and let them get them off their chests, tonight she couldn't be bothered. In fact, she was feeling positively aggressive. As Ivana walked purposefully towards her she knew it was going to be another twenty minutes of pointless griping; insinuations that Lil didn't know what she was doing and if she would just listen to what she was being told she would learn something of merit. The girl was a brass and, when all was said and done, that was the sum of her life experience. She had the hard eyes and the blank look of a woman who had slept with too many men in too short a time. Lil wasn't in the least bit interested in entering into any kind of dialogue with her.

'What is wrong with you
now
, Ivana? Is the floor too near your fat arse? The punters not tall enough? What?' Lil was blunt to the point of rudeness, as she had intended to be.

Ivana opened her arms in a gesture of futility; her slim body was encased in a cream boob tube and a black leather miniskirt. Her long, blond hair was styled to perfection and her make-up was flawless.

Lil was generous enough to admit that the girl was absolutely lovely; far too good for this club. She should really have been on someone's books earning a fortune and flying all over the world meeting rich Arabs, secure in the knowledge that they would pay her exorbitant amounts for her body and her discretion. That way she would have at least had the opportunity to marry someone with a few quid. A lot of older men were willing to buy the girls with marriage and make them respectable in the eyes of the world, if not in the eyes of their Soho counterparts. Instead, the silly bitch was here and arguing the toss every night like some kind of fucking shop steward. Lil knew there was a hidden agenda, there always was. Girls like Ivana saw everyone as a mark eventually; they used everyone in their orbit through sheer force of habit.

'Look, Lil, I am only trying to make this a better place to work in; we could earn a lot more money, you included.'

Loud music then filled the club as a stripper walked on to the small dance floor. She was a Soho veteran, in her thirties, and she had her act off pat. Three minutes of pure semi-naked pleasure and for the last ten seconds, total nudity. Of course it seemed much longer to the audience. Like everything in Soho, it was an elaborate charade. It promised the earth while actually delivering next to nothing. The stripper would go from club to club throughout the night, with her music tape and her costumes. She would earn a set amount for each strip and still be able to have an Equity card and class herself as an exotic dancer.

Lil knew Soho like the back of her hand and to have someone like this girl standing in front of her, hands on hips and a face like thunder, trying to educate her, was beyond belief. She grinned at the utter stupidity of the Ivanas of the world and, pushing her face close, she said loudly and with menace, 'Look, sweetheart, you are a
brass,
right, pure and simple. I know you have a high opinion of yourself and what you think you can do but this is a
hostess
club. Therefore, I can't earn off you girls unless I have favourites, and they would then be obliged to give me money and this would be to make sure I seat them with the best punters, wouldn't it? But what about the other girls, the ones who are not as fresh as they once were; how will they react, do you think? Well, I'll tell you, shall I? They will
murder
you without a second's thought, darling. Now, I know you feel you are being exploited and that is probably because
you are.
So shut the fuck up, go back to the meat seats and let me get on with my job, eh?'