Faces (11 page)

 

Michael was waiting by the scrapyard, and he was freezing. As he drew deeply on his Dunhill cigarette, he kept his eyes skinned for any movement in the shadows beyond. He hated this bit of the night, he never knew what time Danny would get there, and he felt vulnerable with the wedge of money he had to carry around. His fear was finding someone lying in wait for him, determined to relieve him of his dough and give him a hammering into the bargain. The darkness was unfriendly here, the shapes of the piled-up scrap looked intimidating in the blackness. The smell was smoky, thick with dust and rust; it made him think of death for some reason. The two German Shepherds who ran loose in the yard of a night to discourage thieves were used to him now. They were oblivious to him, but he was wary of them, knowing that they were kept half-starved to make sure that they were irritable and vicious enough to scare off any errant looters. Danny could walk in there and they’d run at him like long-lost relatives after a pools win, all rolling tongues and wagging tails. Danny always had a treat for them, made a fuss of them; even their owner was impressed despite himself, they didn’t even really seem to like him. They were handy though. If anyone did happen to walk by, they went berserk, throwing themselves at the fences and guaranteeing that the person soon went on their merry way.

Michael was numb with the cold now. His ears were aching and his teeth were on the verge of some hefty chattering.

‘All right?’

Danny was behind him, and the loudness of his voice made Michael nearly jump out of his new shoes. ‘Fucking hell, you nearly gave me a heart attack.’

Danny was laughing loudly, a deep resounding laugh that echoed around the place, making the dogs run to the fence barking ferociously.

‘Shut up, you noisy pair of fucking gits.’

Danny was still laughing heartily and the dogs started to whine. Danny rattled the fence to annoy them, and Michael suddenly wished he had not got involved in any of it. His dad was right about Danny; he was a looney tune, and it was at these times he was reminded of that fact. The dogs were almost tearing at each other now because they couldn’t get to them and Danny was winding them up by barking at them and rattling the gate chains. Michael watched him for long moments, waiting until he tired of his game. If he said anything he knew Danny would prolong it just to be awkward, to irritate him.

Michael lit another cigarette and offered it to his friend, and Danny took it from him eagerly, bored now by his baiting of the dogs and annoyed he had not provoked a reaction from his friend. Danny smoked in silence, petting the dogs now, his hand rubbing their ears, the animals pleased at the attention.

‘Fucking horrible things, how you can stand to touch them, I don’t know.’

Danny turned to face Michael and, frowning, he said seriously, ‘Don’t let them know you’re scared, they can smell it off you. Dominate them and they’ll do whatever you tell them without a second’s thought.’

Michael had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the dogs, but was warning him that he had sussed him out.

Then, sighing, he said amiably, ‘It’s fucking taters ain’t it, mate? By the way, I picked up a bit of work from Frankie Daggart tonight. He wants me to sort out a lad who has been hassling his sister’s boy.’

Michael didn’t answer him, he didn’t know what to say.

‘Thought I’d show willing, like, see what occurs. You in or what?’

Michael nodded his agreement, as Danny had known he would.

‘Got me poke then? I want to get home, it’s fucking freezing out here.’

Chapter Five

‘Where’s me blue shirt, Mum?’

It was said with the voice Danny Boy used when in the presence of his father, a deep, slow drawl that dripped with deliberate insolence.

‘Hanging in your wardrobe, son. I washed and pressed it this morning.’

Danny walked from the kitchen slowly, his huge bulk making the small space feel even more claustrophobic. His father watched him go with tired eyes. The boy was out of control and there was nothing he could do about it. To think that a child of his, a child of his blood could turn out so vicious was something he pondered on a daily basis. He was a size, and he was confident enough to know that his bulk was his greatest asset. Like many a man before him, he would earn a living off his wits and his muscles. Even the priest gave him his due, which alone told him more of his son’s rise in the world than anything else.

As Big Dan sipped his tea he looked down at himself, at the wasted leg that dragged behind him, and the knuckles that were scarred from trying to stop the crowbars as they had rained down onto his prostrate form. He looked around the kitchen, saw the dramatic difference that was echoed through the flat and wondered at a boy who was so single-minded he could achieve all this just to prove a point.

His wife Ange was a bundle of nerves. She sat at the small table and sipped at her tea, her usually open face grey with worry. But he had no sympathy for her, the boy had been ruined by her from the moment he had entered the world. Aching all over, and lighting a cigarette, he smoked and drank the last dregs of his cold tea. The noise grated on his wife’s nerves as it had since her first visit to his mother’s house and the realisation that he had no manners at all, and had been brought up in a filthy hole by a woman who could barely string a sentence together.

Big Danny had always remembered that look on her face, could still feel the flush of shame as he looked around him, and the first stirrings of his colossal anger. An anger this little woman could inflame with a look or a word.

Now he was dependent on her, but he was getting better all the time. Eventually he would be more mobile, the doctor had assured him of that. It was what he was living for, then this scum would be out of his life once and for all.

Danny Boy walked back into the kitchen and, studiously ignoring his father, buttoned up his shirt, slowly. Every movement was calculated to irritate the man who had sired him. Then, tucking it into his trousers, he stretched languidly. Taking a wad of money from his back pocket he peeled off ten five-pound notes and threw them into his mother’s lap, hushing her protestations that she had plenty by giving her a hug and a kiss. ‘If you need anything else, you let me know, there’s plenty more where that came from.’

His father was staring at the floor so Danny forced his head up and, looking into his eyes, said quietly, ‘By the way, the Murrays send their regards.’

Jonjo was watching the little play from the doorway, his sister quiet for once as she drank in the drama of it all. Annuncia thrived on any kind of excitement, and now her eyes were bright as she surveyed her father’s humiliation.

‘Get yourself off now, son.’ His mother would have pushed him out of the front door if she could have got away with it, and they all knew it. When Danny finally left, the whole family breathed a collective silent sigh of relief.

 

Frankie Daggart was sitting in his car outside Upney Station, listening to the radio and watching the girls as they walked by. The young men today didn’t know how lucky they were, the birds were all half-naked and up for a bit of a lark. In his day you had to know where to go to bag a sort, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee you’d get your leg over. That was only guaranteed with certain paper money or coins of the realm, plus copious amounts of alcohol. But he’d prided himself on never, ever paying for it outright, no matter what the occasion.

As he pictured a series of pornographic scenarios with various young girls, he was broken out of his reverie by Danny Boy Cadogan opening the passenger door and bringing a blast of arctic air inside with him.

‘All right, son?’

‘Yeah, you?’

Frankie was disconcerted by being caught with his metaphorical pants round his ankles and, starting up the car, he drove them to the nearby Railway Tavern.

Once inside the doorway Danny watched in awe as Frankie was greeted by each and every person, offered drinks on the house, and finally seated nearest the fire. A place where they could talk in peace, where no one could overhear their conversation, and where they were seen as
Faces
.

The place was buzzing with people and they all automatically shook hands with him, Danny Cadogan, because he was with a local hero. It was heady stuff and Danny basked in the reflected glory, wanting this for himself one day. He knew Daggart was a Face, but this reception was like nothing he had ever experienced before in his life.

‘Sorry about that, son.’

Frankie could see the admiration and naked ambition in the boy’s eyes and laughed to himself. If he was correct in his assumptions, this little fucker was going to make a mark that would reverberate for generations. Either that or he’d get an early life sentence for murder and his investment would be wasted. It was a chance he was willing to take anyway.

‘Now, about this ponce who’s earholing my sister’s kid.’

Danny listened with barely concealed excitement as Frankie explained the whole sorry situation, and then described, graphically, what he saw as the only remedy.

Danny Boy couldn’t wait to sort out this little problem. It was his in, it was his guarantee of approbation. It would earn him more than a few quid, it would earn him the kudos he needed, wanted. Depended on for his new livelihood.

 

Louie Stein was happy for once, spring had finally sprung and the days were getting longer. The yard was working at full capacity and his other business dealings were on the up. Even the totters were in a good mood, they suffered in the winter, out in all weathers, trying to grab a pound; they weren’t known as hardy perennials for nothing. He was in the Portakabin watching young Danny working outside. The boy’s strength was phenomenal, all the heavy lifting had broadened him, he really was a lump now. As Louie saw him making a rude gesture at a passing policeman he laughed out loud. He was a case and, from what he was hearing, he was getting his name known in the right quarters. He was a young one, but he had no fucking care for anyone else and, in their world, that was a bonus.

Louie called the boy inside a little while later and placed a large mug of tea in front of him. Danny took it gratefully and, settling himself comfortably in the filthy old armchair that was now his designated seat, he blew on it vigorously, before taking a large gulp. All the time he had been working for Louie he had never once asked for or made a beverage off his own bat, he waited till he was either given one, or told to make one. He had good manners. It was another of the things Louie liked about him.

‘You got some fucking muscles there, mate, I was watching you throwing the steel about like it was polystyrene tiles!’

Danny smiled, accepting the compliment as his due.

‘How are things going with the Murrays?’ It was said in conversation, but there was an underlying interest that stemmed more from personal experience: something it seemed that they were both aware of.

Danny shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘OK. I’m earning, they’re earning.’

Louie nodded. ‘Good. Remember what I told you.’ He lit them both a cigarette and, passing one to the boy, said harshly, ‘That pair would tuck each other up without a second’s thought, so outsiders are deemed fair game. Now, I’ve heard a rumour that they are about to get a tug, so you keep a low profile for a while, OK? Use any reason you want, but don’t score off them for the next few weeks.’

Danny listened to his friend and mentor and then he said quietly, ‘Thanks for the heads up, Lou.’

But this knowledge disturbed him. How come Louie was warning him, but not warning the Murrays? After all, he was just a kid. And how did he even know it all in the first place and, more importantly, what was he personally supposed to do with this knowledge, now that he was in possession of it? It was a melon scratcher all right, and it certainly merited serious consideration before he could make any kind of decision. He wanted to weigh this all up and decide what course of action would be best for him in the long run. This was going to be a crucial decision in his life, and therefore not one to be taken lightly.

In fact, Louie giving him advice like this made him paranoid. He was just a kid, and the Murrays were a force to be reckoned with. He only had to look at his father to be reminded of that. He had to think long and hard about his next step.

 

‘Come on, Dan, finish your food.’ Ange was panicking now, her voice trembling with fear. She wanted him out of the way and was hurrying him up in case golden boy came in early. Well, his son and heir, golden boy, could go fuck himself; he wasn’t in the mood for him at the moment.

‘Please, Dan. Don’t upset him . . .’

She was frightened of a teenage boy and, what was even worse was that so was he. Big Dan clenched his fists until the pain was too much, then he exploded. ‘Will you
shut
the fuck up, Ange.’

Jonjo and Annuncia were both wide-eyed at the turn of events; their father almost sounded like his old bullying self.

‘You’re like a fucking scratched record, repeating yourself over and over again. Well, I’ve had it. Now, piss off, woman.’

Jonjo, at nine, was already a big lad and, seeing the hurt and shame in his mother’s face, slammed his knife and fork onto the table and bellowed, ‘Don’t talk to my mum like that. You useless old bastard . . .’ He was close to tears, and his dark-blue eyes were glistening in the light.

Angelica suddenly saw the similarity between her younger boy and Danny; both the living image of the man they despised and, gently sitting back down, she put her hand over her mouth, as if she was going to be sick, and held it there tightly, near to tears herself.

Dan looked at his younger son. He had never really taken any notice of him, of any of them really except for his daughter; when she set out to get his attention it was difficult to resist her. Now, as he watched the lad reach over and pick up his plate of food and throw it angrily into the kitchen sink, he saw that they were all more like him than they realised. They were all deeply flawed, just like their old man, and that legacy would hound them for the rest of their days.